Rhiannon Lee (rhiannon_lee) wrote in city_limits, @ 2009-04-23 00:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | rhiannon lee, victoria foxworth |
Blood in the Air
Victoria liked art. A certain type of art, mind you, but she appreciated it. That her own fanged maker was an accomplished painter, no doubt contributed to that. Some vampires found things to do outside of the more stereotypical habits and the brunette certainly liked her more artistic pursuits, as shown by her various business enterprises. Her preference was for looking at it, rather than remembering dates and names, although one stood out among many others, at an advertised showing: Rhiannon Lee.
A part of her wondered if this was not part of the reason why the Slayer had congratulated her first film's cinematic presentation. The least she could do, was to make a personal appearance and see the other's work, for herself. Vicky was in two minds about whether to make a personal greeting, but was interested in what they produced. Artistic expression said a lot about someone's personal needs, desires and even frustrations with the world, as they perceived it. Even Deanna's book was a form of that and a few of the situations Victoria knew to be embellished, seemed to be done so out of either a need for the redhead to make herself appear stronger or others weaker.
The venue's styling seemed to veer somewhere between gothic and a little punkish, in terms of theme. Probably because it suited the nature of the exhibition, Victoria guessed. In a way, it suited some of what she knew about Rhiannon. Not chaotic, exactly, but not the type she ever imagined to wear a ballroom gown, either. Besides which, Victoria vaguely recalled someone who she was sure was one and the same Slayer, back when everything had shifted to a 1980s high school setting.
Comic art... Victoria was unsure quite what to have expected, but the revelation of it being partially what Rhiannon was there to show, in the programme she had just picked up, brought a smile to Vicky's face. It made her even more curious, if anything, to discover what was in the drawn panels. Either a certain red-haired vampire would feature or be completely ignored, she was betting. Making her way through the door, Victoria was sure of one thing: If a Slayer drawing comic strips did not exemplify how equally mundane both their kinds were, outside of usual confrontations, then nothing would.
Comparing style of Rhiannon's more serious paintings to those of Deanna's, would be a source of irony, too: In a way, it made the pair's rivalry take on a whole new sense of logic.
Rhiannon was not much of a mingler. That quality might hold her back in the long run, had she any hopes of financial success in the industry, but while other local artists stood before their work and explained it in eager gestures of arms and flurried hand movements, the brunette sat behind a folding table. Paintings hung on display in the cramped gallery space allotted to her, and copies of James Downing's fledgling The Necromancer, Issue #4 -- for which she provided primary illustration -- filled a metal rack. Flyers advertising their collaborative web series on Slayers were stacked there, also.
She remained unaware of Victoria. An ankle crossed on top of Rhiannon's knee, the booted foot rolling in a circle, and on her lap balanced a portfolio of another person's art, which she flipped through slowly. No smokes around the canvases, no drink she might spill on flyers. She scratched her cheek, burgundy fingernails a stark contrast to pale and freckled skin.
If Victoria wanted a visual take on her sire, one awaited on the wall behind the artist's head.
The small painting originated as practice for a web storyline she wanted to tell. In Nevada, Rhiannon knew a priest who supplied her with holy water ampules. Often she met him outside a soup kitchen to collect the small weapons. On one occasion, she interrupted Deanna lacing the soup with toxic ingredients and a fight broke out behind the kitchen. The painting was an experiment in capturing Deanna's face, its razor-sharp elegance and cruelty, a vampire the informed public would have trouble imagining, even now.
It was by chance that she glanced up when Victoria came closer. Because of their truce and the public venue, Rhiannon only sat back a little, no alarm bells ringing. She followed the vampire with eyes in heavy make-up.
Oops... 'Vicky, trouble. Trouble, Victoria. Oh, what was that? You're old friends? Oh, but of course!'
The vampiress froze up a little, when Rhiannon's gaze settled upon her. Victoria was unsure what to expect, only that there was always the potential of being set upon. She held no illusions and knew that, if Rhiannon ever chose to, the Slayer could take her. Deanna had a whole lot more experience than she and Vicky remembered several times when she had to mend the redhead back to something approaching physical normality. Victoria had nowhere near the same gifts of knowledge and age, tending to avoid confrontations, altogether, if she could do.
So, glancing over the top of her programme, Victoria paused for a moment, before curving mouth up into a formal smile and waggling fingers in a makeshift wave.
And there was Deanna. Victoria was sure the disapproving look in those eyes was directed at her, personally... 'Non!'
She could almost hear the inevitable tutting.
Well, there was no time like the present! She held in her hands something perfectly sign-worthy and, although having once interviewed the other brunette, never got an actual signature. Not that there was much of a reason to, back then and, besides which, Rhiannon was the person most likely to make her fanged creator dust, but still... She was a celebrity, in several respects.
"Hey, you," the vampiress greeted, figuring that meeting in a public place at least helped out with the lack of staking. "Mind if you sign this? I know at least one person who's going to be sorry she missed this... Good likeness, by the way. Just a hint more blusher and it's almost picture-perfect."
With some wariness, Rhiannon took the event program and held it between her fingers. She was not averse to holding conversations with demons, in certain circumstances, and especially so with Victoria. The pair struck up a truce, so long as Rhiannon didn't catch her actively feeding on a human or intentionally going near Juliet. That wasn't to say they made the best of pals, and being around the other brunette made her think of unpleasant past incidents.
"Hey, Vicky." Unsure why the vampire wanted an autograph, she nonetheless picked up a black, sharp-tipped marker and penned the exaggerated loops that made up her signature. Tapping the card against her index finger, she asked, "So what's the deal, did you just happen to be here?"
Her eyes flickered away, beyond the vampire's shoulder. Certain now that Victoria arrived alone, a little tension eased from Rhiannon's spine. God, did she want to avoid an accidental run-in with Deanna, who might not blink at launching herself through the crowd with the Slayer's neck in mind. No such bad luck, so the ruse of normality continued, with no one the wiser about her predicament.
Rhiannon chucked the program at the opposite side of the table.
Sometimes, Rhiannon struck the vampiress as a little on the grumpy side. That, however, was part of her charm. Had it not been for Deanna's constant run-ins with the Slayer, then Vicky would not have thought half as much about the girl as she had in the past. When those times came, the one word she mentally associated with her, more often than not, was 'sardonic', closely followed by 'jaded'. One of those seen-it-all warrior-types, who you only ever expected to see in action films. Some might have said it took a personality like that to square up against Deanna, but Victoria was positively a rainbow on legs, compared to her maker's nemesis. Not quite so much as she <>had</i> been, back in Las Vegas, but certainly less of a cynic than what she knew of Rhiannon.
"I like art... I saw your name... Thought why the hell not, you know?" The vampiress breezed with a happy lift of shoulders, as she took the pamphlet back into hand. She hoped the ink would not smudge; without a clear envelope with which to place it in, there was always that chance. "At the risk of sounding egotistical," she queried with a smile of curiosity, "did you ever put me in one of those comics?"
"Not yet." Rhiannon tipped her head, a mane of brown spilling onto her shirt sleeve. The corner of her mouth puckered in a hint of a smile. "Which is a good thing for you. So far, it's about women I know and their arch-enemies. You know... people they can't seem to shake. But who knows? Maybe you'll work your way into one." She quirked her eyebrows at the vampire and tapped her marker on the table.
"Making any new films?" The question asked out of politeness, a mutual respect between creative personalities.
"Funny you should ask... I'm about to do the fame thing, again. Well, kind of - but it's not film, it's... Well, I don't wanna' jinx it, but I'm pretty sure you'll find out." Truthfully, the vampiress still needed to put down a few signatures of her own, before her newest venture was a certainty. She was also hoping to involve her darling Star in at least the initial enterprise. Where it went from there - if it went from there - was up to fate. "Don't worry, it's nothing you'll feel a need to reduce me to ashes for. Who knows? Maybe you'll even turn out to be a fan."
Opening up a nearby booklet showcasing some of the young woman's best comic work, Victoria raised an eyebrow, clearly finding a reason to smile with amusement. "If that's the same desert town I'm thinking of," she considered, finger resting contemplatively at chin, "this brings back memories..."
"Yeah." Rhiannon nodded, with backbone staying glued to her seat. There was no need to lean closer and glance at the drawing. It was definitely Searchlight; she wouldn't make the tiny, desert town mistake twice. "Kind-of a shit hole." Her opinion of the rustic locale was unflinching but not spoken rudely. Besides, the cosmopolitan air of this vampire convinced Rhiannon she might agree on the place's drawbacks. "I think I told you I'm from Michigan," she said, hearkening back to their interview. "Chicago's a lot more my speed. Had to get used to the cold again--"
CLASH.
With breakneck speed, a guy in a mohawk, wallet chains, and bullet-lined belt thrashed into the side of Rhiannon's table, jostling all of its contents. He nearly knocked the brunette's chair over in his mad scramble for the door. He spun around and shoved a wallet in his pocket.
"Hey!" Rhiannon's motivations were less altruistic than stopping the guy from committing a petty crime. She was pissed that he collided with her and half the pieces of art on display. One painting swung precariously loose. Unthinking, an arm snaked out and she grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. He jerked easily out of her grasp, which in the confusion, could've been explained away by slippery fingers. A weak hold on his coat. But then he elbowed her in the mouth before bulldozing past the next group of people.
The impact was a lightning bolt in Rhiannon's head. She grabbed onto the table to keep her chair from toppling sideways. A bright, red drop of blood hit the table. When she recovered her balance, she touched the injury and found that her teeth had ripped her lip open with the delicacy of paper. "Goddamnit..." The shock of how much it hurt kept her from chasing the guy down and beating the living shit out of him.
It didn't dawn on her immediately.
In those seconds, she first thought about blood in general, and a vampire's reaction to it. Especially a Slayer's blood. Then it hit her that hers wasn't. It was normal in every way. If it wasn't, her lip wouldn't bleed so easily in the first place.
And then came the realization of what Victoria just witnessed. Thunderstruck, she pushed her hair back and looked up at the other brunette, wiping her mouth clean. That expression was the guiltiest part of all.
Victoria blinked, trying to process what she had just seen. It was not completely out of the realm of possibility that the shock of it could have caused the Slayer to react below par, but the blood... Like a shark, Victoria could detect even the slightest hint of it. To her, it was like how an ordinary human might catch a whiff of sizzling bacon or milk chocolate; it was an instant mouth-waterer and would cause head to turn instantly to the source. It was normal, like any other - but that was the problem. For, with a frown, the vampiress realised that was precisely how it smelled... Like any other.
Vicky knew the scent of Slayer blood and that was not it.
That, and the lack of any kind of real result from a confrontation which Victoria, herself, could have ended in a far more decisive manner, made for very interesting viewing, indeed. A viewing which, when combined with Rhiannon's expression, pretty much filled in any blanks the fanged brunette might have, if not provide some.
Something had changed Rhiannon and the Slayer was no more. Or if she was, then had been severely diminished.
Saying nothing, Victoria knew what was next in store and started to back away, looking for the nearest exit. Someone's hand had just been caught in the metaphysical cookie jar. The question was, whose?
"Victoria!"
The chair legs scraped plaintively on the floor. Nevermind the precious few printed copies of comics, the portfolio, and costly high-color flyers on the table, which she had protected seconds before. Rhiannon scrambled directly over them now, jumping off the other side. Hundreds of square papers fluttered in the air. "Stop!" Perhaps it was ironic that the portrait so close to falling was of the fleeing vampire's redheaded sire; All Rhiannon saw was the certainty that Victoria would run directly to her and tell everything.
And then Deanna would come.
In hot pursuit, Rhiannon shouldered past a couple of onlookers, her shoes pounding across the wooden floor. She made a wild grab for the back of Victoria's head.
Making a dash for it, Victoria almost succeeded, only to find that long hair of hers having turned into a liability. The vampiress had a very real reason to panic now. There was no way to know who she would tell, if anyone, and she flailed arms as Rhiannon tried using the fibres as leverage to yank her back. "No! No!" Came the corresponding yell. "I've seen spy movies! I know a secret and you wanna do away with me!"
Miraculously, the kind of move which would have been futile against Rhiannon at any other time, led to a far more successful twist out of the living brunette's grasp. Albeit, with a slight sacrifice of dark locks. Whirling on the now-former Slayer, Vicky had yet to show fangs, but was now effectively a cornered animal. Eyes were darting, trying to find a way through the crowd, but attention was focused squarely on Rhiannon. Whatever she had seen was obviously enough to have the vampire killer lunge after her, which was bad.
"Not another step closer!" She warned with a vehement shake of pointed finger. "I mean it!"
"You're out of your fucking mind, if you think I'll let you out the door," said Rhiannon, voice conveying as much fear as ever heard, from her. It was a combination of emotions strongly felt: Worry that her biggest foe would find out she wasn't herself and take advantage, and understanding that to keep it from happening, she'd have to take down Victoria as she was.
The two were more fairly matched now than before. Rhiannon had no super human strength or reflexes, no invulnerability, but muscle memory and knowledge still supplied the choreography. Victoria had power and stamina, fangs and relatively few ways she could be killed, but she was not a habitual fighter.
"I can't let you tell her." Rhiannon's chest moved rapidly in and out, adrenaline making her pulse accelerate, her lungs beg for oxygen. "Sorry." That was where reasoning stopped, and it was all the apology given. Making quick work of the space between them, Rhiannon balled up her fists and began to punch.
Either the vampiress was planning to or had already put two and two together, because there was no verbal protest. Not that she realistically had any diplomatic way out of the situation - why would Rhiannon believe her, even if she claimed such a thing was not on her mind? And it had to be, of course. Victoria did have loyalties to the redhead.
Right now, it was like a match up between mongoose and spitting cobra. Really, it was just as well that Victoria preferred stylish boots, rather than high heels. The latter would have put her at a disadvantage at a time like this. Reacting painfully to the flurry of punches, there was no question of the living brunette giving up and the one with fangs knew it. Rhiannon might not be a Slayer in body - a fact of which she was now certain, if the reduced strength was anything to go by - but that fighting instinct had yet to desert her.
Head went this way and that, as hits came squarely to face. After four, though, Victoria had had enough. She had something else on her side: Reflexes. A quality which was put to good use in a swift duck, causing opponent to miss her fifth target. She had been able to defend herself in Las Vegas, like most vampires, but the gap of a year had led to brushing up on those predatory skills. Grabbing that same arm by the wrist, Victoria was no martial arts expert, but she did have killer instincts and pulled it sharply towards her, trying to get the former Slayer off balance and somehow get her down on the floor.
The crowd might not have any idea what the scuffle was about and were making way, but there was potential for this to become a life or death prospect.
Something which might have had far more serious overtones, if not for Victoria's internal monologue of, 'Shit! Shit! Shit! I'm fighting Rhiannon! Shit!'
For Rhiannon, it was a far more unpleasant inner monologue. Thinking that the slower pace of her punches, and the need to strike three and four times to come close to her usual effect, was like a nightmare. How many times had she dreamed of that? Running through molasses? Arms not working, no matter how hard she tried?
Her knuckles ached with each impact. Hyped-up chemicals masked some pain, but Rhiannon experienced shockwaves up into her shoulders, which affected the subsequent punches. When Victoria pulled, she cried out and was yanked forward, off-balance, until her body made contact with the vampire. "Let go!" Growling furiously, she grabbed a fistful of Victoria's clothes and drove her kneecap up into the vampire's midsection.
If the vampiress showed her less human face, it was going to jeopardize her own survival; those around them had no idea what was going on, but he was intelligent enough to realise that someone fighting a vampire could easily sway a mob in their favour. Even so, she was getting sorely tempted to do so. Without it, she was being denied her primary killing tool. A pained, "Ooph," of severe discomfort as she was kneed in the abdomen and Victoria acted on the impulse to recoil. "You! First!" Commanded the undead brunette, doing what she could to try and elbow Rhiannon in the face.
There was an urgent need to break out of both hold and venue. If she could get out on the streets, Victoria hoped to have the advantage of speed. She looked more delicate than the scrapping Rhiannon, but with supernature on her side, decided to go for broke with what she hoped was a good impersonation of a Judo move, wanting to throw the girl over her shoulder and onto the floor.
Hey, it worked in the movies, right? Then again, so did guns which never ran out of bullets.
The elbow struck Rhiannon's temple.
A firecracker of colors exploded in her eye. Too altered to counter the next move, Rhiannon landed on her back, the air pounded from her chest in a pained cough. Watery-eyed, she blinked at the ceiling. Memories flooded her. In a tiny instant, she flashed to being ten years old on a playground, scuffling in a cloud of dust with another kid, under the swaying seats of the swingset. She remembered how bad it hurt, and how her child's mind pictured strangling the other girl in the swing chains.
Above her, she saw Victoria's back still turned. Rolling into a tight ball, Rhiannon kicked both feet overhead and back, aiming for the base of the vampire's spine. She followed through the roll and got up fast. If your fists aren't enough, find a weapon... Nearby, another artist sat in a folding chair. "Get up!" Rhiannon ordered, grabbing onto the metal frame and claiming it. She closed it and swung it through the air, wrestling style.
Almost there! Almost there! Almost th-!
It seemed that no matter what she did, Victoria could not escape from her personal Alamo. The impact of feet against the small of her back sent the vampiress flying, toppling over to land on her front with all the grace of a penguin jumping up onto an island of ice. Victoria might have the advantage of strength, for once, but still looked a sight when trying to protect herself from an awkward fall. It was unlike her usually seductive and flirtsome self, that seeing her flail around just seemed... Wrong, somehow. Like a crime against nature - or, in her case, supernature.
The addition of metal chair only made things worse.
"Ow! Ow! Ow!" She needed to roll to avoid ever-heavier brute force. Healing might be on her side, but receiving one of those relatively sharp corners to the back of her skull, was not on Victoria's list of priorities. And to think she had asked for the woman's autograph! Guh! "Stop hitting me!" She yelled out in protest, as if Rhiannon would give a damn, then lashed out with a decisive kick to the other brunette's shin.
Whether or not she hit, Victoria went for the blade concealed in her waistband for those times when prickly situations reared their head. A girl needed some kind of defense, after all and several inches of sharp metal was a better guarantee against rape than any whistle. Humans were one thing, but sexual deviancy transferred horrifically well to unlife and it paid to have something capable of cutting certain offending organs off. Here, with one arm defending herself from metallic furniture, Vicky made a slash for where her would-be destroyer's abdomen was last seen.
God, if Deanna could only see her now... Well, yeah, reasoned Victoria. If she could only see her now, the redhead would probably just sit there and laugh.
The shin kick found its target. "Ah!" Pain ricocheted in Rhiannon's leg, causing her to take weight off it and stumble. Because of that, she didn't see the knife until it was coming for her stomach. She tried to block it with the chair. With an ear-splitting scrape of metal on metal, the blade scratched across the seat and carved a gash in her arm instead.
"Fuck!" Blood soaked through her shirt and spattered on the floor. She couldn't tell how deep it went, but if the amount of blood was anything to go by, it was no paper cut. Getting the vampire to drop the knife, before any organs were sacrificed, was critical.
With renewed purpose, Rhiannon charged and jutted the chair up under Victoria's chin, going for the throat. In her cargo pants, a pocket hung heavy with a stake she itched to pull out, but not too fast. If she dropped it, she was screwed.
It might not be Slayer, but Victoria could still smell a potent whiff of blood. It made her feel hungry, but there would be no reaching the other woman's torso, let alone throat: Victoria had found herself soon pinned in such a way to leave her struggling, chocking for breath, had she a need to draw breath into lungs. While Rhiannon might lack the strength to literally decapitate her with it, especially where such a blunt edge was in play, it would allow her the opportunity to get something made out of wood and stab her through the chest. Victoria had no idea whether her relatively young age would mean that she needed to avoid something as simple as a pencil, but was in no mood to experiment. This was an art exhibition, after all. Plenty of things here could be used for a similar purpose.
Victoria was, quite literally, fighting for her unlife. While she might not require air, a curiosity of vampirism was that unconsciousness could set in, if circulation was not provided to the brain. Their hearts might not beat, but something provided circulation, even if only demonic magic. Whatever the cause of it was, the actress was scrabbling under the furniture now threatening to render her an easy target. Rhiannon was either evading or blocking the knife and, with that steel contraption obscuring her vision, Vicky was more or less firing blind.
But she was approaching it all wrong... Rhiannon was no longer a Slayer. The vampiress had gone on the defensive. Still had good reason to fear, but she was the blood-drinking monster... Dropping the blade to grab ahold of the chair, Victoria finally showed her determined edge, shifting muscle and bone into crest and fangs. Screw the bad publicity. She could always claim it was a media stunt. With an animalistic growl, Victoria gave a superhuman push, forcing metal away from neck with the kind of strength unattainable by a human being. It was enough to rescue her from potential unconsciousness and kick out against what was now a declared enemy.
Sometimes, there was just no compromise to be had. Sometimes, it really was as simple as vampire and Slayer, locked in that eternally warring struggle for victory or death.
With that in mind, dress torn and fangs bared, she lunged. Not as the seductive little daffodil of Las Vegas, pleading with mortal girlfriend to allow her at least the dream of a bite, but as Deanna's childe, demoness and killer.
Under the nudge of Rhiannon's shoe, the knife skittered away, out of both their reaches. In her weakened state, a bladed weapon was more a liability than a potential aid. The only good it would do Rhiannon was to saw something off Victoria, which took strength and time. When the demoness shoved, she stumbled backwards, the chair dropping with an echoing clang.
And now the vampiress was on the offensive, Rhiannon on retreat. Arm throbbing, she dodged behind a booth. Its artful inhabitants got in the way as they scattered like cockroaches, pressing tattooed bodies into corners. Some rushed for the exits; others protected pieces of art. Music combined with shouts of alarm.
I have to stake her. There's no choice. The notion of Deanna knowing was intolerable. Without question, Victoria would tell, and the redhead would strike hard and fast, if she realized she could snap her old enemy like a twig. Deanna didn't care about beating the Slayer on fair terms. The ends justified the means.
For Rhiannon, to stake Victoria was to save her own life.
I can take her.
Picking up the nearest canvas from easel, she hurled it at the vampire, counting on Victoria's arms to come up and block. Rhiannon grabbed the easel, splintered it in half under her foot, and ran at the vampire, intending to force it through her chest.
Why couldn't more Slayers be like Bethany? That was usually the question which rushed through Victoria's mind, at times like this. Her friend had given her a different view of them, to most. A view which Rhiannon's interview for her book had put to the test and now mattered little. Rhiannon wanted to deny her that shot at eternal life. Wanted to reduce her to dust and ashes. She was going to end up as an unremarkable footnote at history's door - if even that. Some vampires thought of living forever as a bonus, but Victoria wanted to try and go for gold, if she could. At least, a few hundred years. Something to make an impact on the world.
To end it here? Now? At an art show? The indignity of it brought back some of those feelings felt at the hand of recent mystical influence. The time when she had felt the need to own, to control, to dominate. Heartfelt apologies had been issued to poor Star, who she had threatened terribly, but now... Now she needed that mindset to return.
The canvas had its desired effect. The easel... It punched through skin, muscle, but hit up against ribs. Either because of being at the wrong angle, Rhiannon's reduction of strength and inertia or both. Victoria's fanged countenance screwed into a pained grimace and an impulsive grab was made for the wrist stabbing her with that splintered piece of wood, preventing it sinking any further. She cursed aloud and what existed of their surrounding audience cried out in astonishment. These were not bikers or convicts; they were art lovers. Falling back a few steps, Victoria made a fist and punched for Rhiannon's jaw. She had never knocked anyone out like that, before, but there was always a first time.
The fist spun her like a top. Letting out a startled note, Rhiannon hit the floor and skidded into a wall. In seconds, her face swelled and throbbed in time with her pulse. The inside of her cheek had ripped on her teeth, and there was so much blood, she had to spit it out or swallow a ton of it. Holding onto her face, she looked up at the vampire.
If looks could kill, Victoria would be a pile of burning ash.
On the floor in a heap, she was every inch the wronged Slayer. All the anger wasn't based on what happened tonight, but it was channeled to Victoria, now, a target to rail against for the indignation and hopelessness of the last few weeks. Rhiannon's face felt as if she'd been battered by a dumbbell. I can't beat her with strength, she reminded herself. So, quelling the urge to tackle the vampire like a football player, she got back up and put herself in fighting stance.
Technique over brutality. Mind over matter.
Initially ignoring the wood protruding from enemy's chest, Rhiannon punched right-left-right, ducked beneath a perceived threat, and spun to kick Victoria, only then aiming for the end of the easel, which still impaled the vampire. Hoping to drive it farther with her heel than she could with fists.
The sole of foot connected with wood and a vicious snap could be heard. A snap and a scream. Apply enough force and a rib could break. Place enough wood in a heart and the undead would scream. It was the end Rhiannon had heard countless times before. The sounds which meant the end of one more stealer of human lives.
Sounds which were also excruciating, when jagged wood ended up penetrating a lung, and the protruding shaft to break.
"You fucking...!"
Whatever she had been about to say, Victoria was seized by too much pain to finish the sentence. The inertia from the kick had sent her hard against a wall and she reached around to snatch ahold of the painting she had felt herself hit against with a tell-tale crunch. The frame frame was broken, but would hold together just long enough to hurl it like a square frisbee of broken glass, straight at the woman who had caused her bloodline so much stress.
Rhiannon covered her face, but the corner of the frame hit her breastplate, and shards of glass rained down around her shoes. Nicks and scratches, too many to count, but one particularly large piece of glass stuck into her torso, between shoulder and collarbone. She gave an agonized gasp and exclamation of, "Ow!" Each fraction of arm movement grated the sharp edge. She pulled it out with slippery fingers and dropped it. A warm sensation trickled down her side.
"You could've slit my goddamn throat!" she yelled. "Easy fucking access!" Beyond the point of screwing around, she got the stake out of the velcro pocket of her cargo pants and held it at the ready. The hits to her skull and blood loss made the world tilt and swim, but she blinked and tried to hold it together, rocking on the balls of her feet. Praying that Victoria couldn't tell. "Let's see if I miss twice."
Had Victoria a need to breathe, then she would be in a worse state than she was now. One her lungs was filling with fluid and, if she even managed to escape this, was going to have to face the agony of removing that piece of wood still lodged in her chest. Physicians specialising in undead procedures were at least easier to find now, providing you had the contacts. The ability to heal a gaping wound could easily mean sharp little splinters being sealed under the flesh and there was every reason to avoid that.
Replying with a venomous, "Looks like I need to improve my aim, then," but the appearance of a stake put the vampiress on her guard. Slayer or not, this was Rhiannon holding it and that was not something Vicky had ever wanted to face. It was giving Deanna's nemesis the psychological advantage. Rhiannon was human, sure, but so were James Bond and Lara Croft. More to the point, Vicky was now injured and knew her chances of a kill were diminished. Getting to the exit was still her best option, but... How?
More in need of a shield than weapon, Victoria grabbed for the nearest on-looker, holding them close and forcing head to one side. "Let me past or he's dead!" She threatened, banking on Rhiannon's absence of usual speed to give her the edge. "Drop your stake... I mean it!"
"Drop my stake?" she asked incredulously. "You've got to be joking." Not when a vampire had a man's neck exposed, just waiting for a set of fangs to dig in. God, Rhiannon could've killed him herself, for sticking around to watch. The look she gave him was dirtier than the one Victoria received. This might as well be a choice, his life or her own. But his wide, blinking eyes stared back at her, his fingers tugging uselessly at his attacker's forearm.
"Shit..." She raised her hands and backed a few paces off. The stake was still lodged within her grasp, but the distance between them would give Victoria a head start. "Let him go," she said, pressing her back on the farthest wall.
Good enough, thought Victoria, edging her way to the exit, hostage in tow. Not being someone in the sadistic leagues of Rhiannon's more dangerous enemies, she was not planning to slit his throat for the sake of it. The fanged brunette wanted only to escape as fast as possible. She almost made it, too, before a would-be saviour decided to come up from behind with a fire extinguisher to the head. Victoria went forward, her world going topsy-turvy and lashing out with a fist. Unbalanced, the man in her grip was pushed in Rhiannon's direction, as Victoria did her best to run out the exit in as close to a straight line as she could manage.
And if she had not planned on alerting Deanna before, now she certainly would.
"No!" The man's weight bowled into the former Slayer. Their legs tangled up and she took a few stumbling steps to the side, hand steadying herself on the floor, before getting her balance again and taking off at a sprint. Idiot civilians, she thought, swinging around the doorframe and hitting the street at a tear, not for a moment considering herself as one.
Up ahead of her, she saw the rapidly retreating shape of Victoria's back and legs between cars and pedestrians. Rhiannon's arms and legs pumped as fast as they humanly could, trying to overcome the dual handicap of ability and lag time. She raced towards an intersection and managed to keep the vampire in sight, until a city bus hauled itself to a rumbling stop in her path.
The soles of her boots skidded as she redirected herself around its bumper, but by the time she reached the next corner, the vampire was nowhere to be seen. "Shit... shit!" Out of breath and hurting, Rhiannon turned in a circle, searching the fire escapes for any sign of her. Nothing. She bent over and coughed. The stake was still in her hand.
That vampires were a lot faster than human beings did not stop Victoria from looking perpetually over her shoulder or taking as many unpredictable turns as she could. The girl could always have got a bus or taken a bike by force. Rhiannon was like her personal monster in the cupboard now and Vicky was sure that the next corner would bring with it the sight of the former Slayer, waiting with a killer's smile, stake in hand. Only half an hour later could she start to calm down and, even then, was worried about who Rhiannon might be calling up. What if this 'Watchers' Council' was being sent after her?
Speed-dialling her maker, Victoria waited for the answer service to kick in.
"Hey... It's me. Guess what kind of night I just had..."