KC (doingmything) wrote in low_tide, @ 2009-12-13 00:46:00 |
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Current mood: | surprised |
Trial By Fire
Kris had just gotten off shift an hour or so ago, but after that close encounter with mister likes to bite a lot she had decided that maybe just maybe she deserved and could do with a drink. She'd promised Leon that she would at the very least speak to Jenny about the bite, but honestly Kris didn't know what else Jenny would be able to do given that she had already had all the relevant shots anyways.
She stripped off her jacket as she slid onto a stool, ordering herself a shot of whatever was strongest in this bar. Her hair had been tied up but was shortly let loose and free, curls settling around her shoulders and resting there for a moment until pushed out of the way by a hand that steadily worked at some of the tension.
"God," Kris murmured quietly. "What a night." The white bandage on her neck and the bruises on her face were the telltale signs that this off duty police officer had had a rough night.
She straightened the curve of her back and thanked the bartender for the shot, dropping the hand from her shoulder to clasp the glass, lifting it to her mouth where she swallowed it in one.
"Rough day?" The bartender inquired with a raised eyebrow.
Kris chuckled softly and offered him a smile. "Yeah, something like that. Could I get another?"
The bartender nodded and turned away, getting Kris another shot.
He'd safely tucked himself into the corner of the bar some time ago, ass firmly planted on the stool, feet on the thin metal support and back against the wall. It was a habit his 'previous' self had crafted from his days as a private investigator; this made it easier to keep an eye on the flow of traffic from the front door, sweep the landscape for any signs of trouble. It was something Whistler wished he'd thought of.
The latest in a long line of shot glasses was upended onto the bar, as he waggled a finger towards the nattily dressed bartender. "Not strong enough," he groused. "I'm still seein' one o' you."
Peripherals caught sight of the woman seated five down to his left, and her determination to drown any demons she was battling. His hand then went towards the wooden bowl and scooped up a plethora of peanuts. "Tell ol' Bart there," he floated to the brunette, as the drink-slinger shot him a glance, "to give you the stuff he keeps under the cash register. It'll get you there quicker."
Kris turned her head to ascertain where that voice had come from and found dark eyes resting on a man sat right on the very corner of the bar, apparently comfortable and completely at ease in the somewhat awkward position he'd put himself in.
"Stuff under the cash register?" Kris repeated, lifting her gaze to the bartender who she could only assume was the Bart the other man was referring to. "I'm starting to like the sounds of that." Another drink wasn't going to kill her, it certainly took a lot more than a couple drinks to get her drunk, it was another weird thing she had.
She reached into her wallet and deposited some money on the counter. "Is that enough to cover a drink for myself and for my advisor over there?"
Bart (a name Whistler had given the man as it fit somewhere between 'hey you' and caring enough to ask) simply pulled out the musky-coloured bottle and poured out two shots. Before he could hide it again, the hatted man withdrew his own billfold and slapped down his own currency. "And one for the woman who could kick my ass without breakin' a sweat."
Despite the growing alcoholic haze, Whistler could pick out the aura of a Slayer. If he'd been rock solid sober, he would've twigged to her the moment she walked in the door. But now that she had his attention, it all came into focus.
The events that transpired in his dimension had occurred here. The Battle of Sunnydale, the Calling of Potentials. He'd met and guided many to their path. This one found hers via other means, but she still ended up in this bar, on this night, bandaged and bruised.
Finger and thumb lightly grasped the brim of his hat and he tipped it to his drinking companion. "To battle scars," he smiled.
Kris ducked her head at the mention of her being able to kick his ass without breaking a sweat, wondering if she somehow carried the persona of a police officer with her even when she wasn't on duty. It wouldn't surprise her, not one bit.
She returned his smile. "To battle scars and a good drink." Kris waited for a moment before offering her hand. "Name's Kris." In another place and another world she would known who he was instantly, but this was here and Kris knew nothing of demons, her calling and the events that could take place in the future.
The shot that had been placed down in front of her and her new drinking companion was picked up and considered. "Bottom's up."
Whistler got up, grabbed his drink and took a seat closer to Kris. He took her hand and shook it warmly. "Augustus Whittaker," he offered in exchange, "but friends call me Whistler." He downed his shot, and shook slightly as the alcohol peeled a thin layer of skin from his oesophagus. "Up to you which you prefer."
He tried not to study the woman too closely. For one, it would make her uncomfortable. And if she hadn't yet pegged him for being more than human, that was worth investigating.
Despite his new lease on life, the Agent hadn't yet shaved the stubble from his face. It aged him slightly, if that were possible, and he believed it allowed him to blend in more with the community. And for those who'd known this man before version 2.0 had come to be, it kept continuity.
She hadn't pegged him, not by a long shot. Kris got some sort of feeling in the pit of her stomach, but that was about it, she had no idea what it was or even how to use it to pick out the not so human amongst the general population. Weird things happened to her all the time and odd sometimes scary feats of strength caused difficulties around the house and in her working life, but Kris had no clue what any of it was and was trying her best to ignore it.
"I think Whistler is less of a mouthful," Kris muttered before taking her shot, trying not to wheeze as a direct result. It took her a moment to regain her ability to speak and when she did so she managed to say, "No offence."
She brushed the back of her hand over her mouth and let out a breath. "Wow, that shot sure as hell had some kick to it." The good kind that was, she'd been needing a kick like that ever since the freak had bitten her. "Kinda needed that."
He nodded in agreement. "We all need a kick-start now and then."
Whistler took stock in the woman seated nearby. The bandage on her neck. The bruises he'd seen so many times before, and there was an underlying tenseness that Kris held, an energy that rippled through her muscles. Ready to react at a moment's notice. But there was something else underneath even that. He tried to think of what--
Jesus. She wasn't Aware.
The Agent gestured to the covered wound on the Slayer's neck. "I'm assumin' you didn't cut yourself shavin'."
Kris' hand went to the bandage in a self conscious gesture and she let out an uncomfortable laugh. "I wish." She shook her head and turned her shot glass over in her fingers, lifting a shoulder as she looked at Whistler. "This guy bit me when I was trying to arrest him. Pretty surreal, huh? I've had all sorts happen in the past, but never had anyone bite me before."
She wet her lower lip and caught a cut, ignoring the sting of pain. "I swear he was on something, he really was." Why she was sat in a bar telling this story to an absolute stranger was... Kris couldn't explain it, maybe she just needed to talk and have somebody tell her that it was okay and lots of people bit you when they didn't want to go to jail. Yes, she realised how crazy that sounded, but it had been a long night.
"Rough night," she finally settled on.
Things fell into place for Whistler. Kris had been Called but -- as he (or his alter), the Powers or what was left of the Watcher's Council hadn't tracked the brunette -- she'd been allowed to live a blissfully unaware life of what lurked under the ebony cloak of darkness. But Destiny was strong and nearly impossible to ignore, hence her still fighting for the light, wearing a shade of blue.
"Jesus." Whistler nudged the second shot glass in front of Kris while he took hold of his own. "On PCP was he? All freaked out and bug-eyed?"
Kris picked up that second shot glass and nodded. "Yeah, something like that. Moved really fast and scaled this fence like nobody I've ever seen before. The things that drugs will do to you if you take enough of them for a long enough time."
She downed the shot and ignored the way it raced a burning path down the back of her throat, willing it to cut through her abnormally high tolerance to alcohol. "Eventually knocked him out and hauled him back to a cell for the night."
"You... put him a cell." That was a new one for Whistler. Locking up vampires? "A nice view of the outside? Or one of those things you see on Law and Order where they put 20 yokels in the same room."
This had potential to get real ugly, depending on Kris' answer.
"Well, yeah." Kris looked at Whistler again. "Thought it might do him some good to have a night in jail, go cold turkey, that sort of thing." She rubbed at her shoulder again and moved her neck in such a way that it released a knot that had built up ever since that guy had bitten her. "I put him in a cell by himself, didn't want him attacking anybody else. Pretty sure it had a window, why?"
Something had told her not to put the suspect in with the rest of the population, something about the way he'd looked and she'd felt.
The Agent breathed a sigh of relief, then realized Kris was watching him more intently. He downed his shot and gurgled slightly. "Why?" he squeaked (which he attempted to blame on the alcohol). "Uh, just you know, they're bloody strong when... hopped up like that and you wanna make sure they're uh, not gonna ever hurt anyone else..."
A bead of sweat trickled down from his left temple. Was it his responsibility to indoctrinate Kris into the only world he'd ever known? To pull back the blinders and reveal just what had attacked her only a few hours earlier?
Ignore it, and it'd be like shuttering her in the mausoleum without a stake to defend herself.
At least this time you won't trip her up. And she has police training.
She's still defenceless.
And he's ash in four hours.
But she's still a Slayer come sunrise.
"Kinda freaky though, huh?" Whistler waived at Bart for another round. Kris might need to be drunk to hear the rest of this. "With the bumpy forehead and yellow eyes."
Kris turned a little more until she was more facing Whistler than she was the bar, eyebrow arching at what he'd just said. "Uh..." What could she say other than 'yes, that sounds about right'? She didn't really want to considering just how crazy that sounded and how quickly she'd find herself written up for a psych review if she started talking about suspects having bumpy foreheads and yellow eyes.
"He did look... kinda weird." That much she was willing to say. "I mean, not like I was expecting." She cleared her throat and picked up that shot, tipping it down the back of her throat as she allowed her mouth to finally catch up to her frantic thought processes. "It was just the drugs, wasn't it?"
"And jeez, those teeth. Not like these..." Whistler grinned entirely too much, but to show his incisors were of a non-threatening variety. "Going for your neck and all. I mean, what kind of fucked-up high do you have to be on to dry and drink someone's blood?"
He pushed his shot towards the brunette. She was going to need it more than him.
Kris' eyes dropped to Whistler's bared teeth and she instantly replayed the altercation over in her head, frowning as she remembered the strength and sheer brutality of the fight and how for one brief moment she'd thought she was done for. "People do fucked up things when they're high."
Was he... he could not be suggesting what she thought he was suggesting. Those sorts of things didn't exist outside of movies, bad movies at that. Kris' hand went to the shot again and she wet her lower lip, turning it over in her teeth. "What are you saying? You saying that there was more to... him than drugs?" She might have been asking really stupid questions considering she was a smart woman, but she was trying to grasp the reality of this particular situation.
Ignorance was bliss after all.
"Fast, agile, strong... freaky looking with a taste for blood. Clothes probably so wrinkled and outdated that he could've stepped out of a really bad Benneton ad?" Whistler nudged the shot glass. "And then there's you, Kris.
"You took the perp, probably surprised yourself when you took him down. Did it feel right when it was over?" Fingers drummed slowly on the counter, in rhythm with the Slayer's heartbeat. "Get a rush?"
Kris swallowed and turned away from Whistler, feeling a little on the nauseous side. He had to be lying because those sorts of things did not exist; they were just make believe stories that your parents told you to make sure you behaved yourself. The only monsters in the dark were the human beings who enjoyed hurting people.
"Right?" She repeated, hand curling around the shot glass. It always felt right when she took anybody down, but he was right about this last guy, it was different, she had felt... something. The shot was downed and the glass placed back against the bar, hand moving to catch wayward drops of the liquid on the edge of her thumb. "I guess you're right, I did feel something, a rush, like it was the right thing to do. I dunno why, never know why I feel the things that I do sometimes."
Like how she'd known to go down that alley and how to take that jump. "I always know where to find them, you know? Always know where to look, where to hit and I just don't understand any of it." God, she needed another drink.
Whistler slapped down a large number of bills onto the bar. "Leave the bottle," he instructed Bart.
"You like the Matrix, Kris?" It was an odd question to ask, but he couldn't think of a better analogy at present.
Kris turned a distinctly confused expression on Whistler, but nodded nonetheless. "You mean the movie?" She placed a palm against the bar and flexed her fingers there, restlessly. "Yeah, I guess, even if the acting is a little on the wooden side at times. Why? What's it got to do with any of this?"
Why did she get the feeling that in a moment's time she was going to need another shot and then another straight after?
"Here's the thing." Whistler accepted the bottle from Bart and poured out two shots. He placed a coaster over hers. "Consider that the red pill," he continued. "You take that and your world opens up and you learn just who and what you are, and what it all means. Or.
"You can refuse it -- take the blue pill --" The hatted man kept his gaze steady. "And walk out the door, and never have a second thought."
Kris' eyes cut to the door and it was there in her head, for a moment, to just walk away and not dig any deeper. God, it was so tempting. She found that her eyes came back to Whistler, managing to find his steady gaze from beneath the brim of his hat.
She'd gone this long without knowing what any of it meant, would it hurt her to go a little longer? Maybe, probably, especially if her perps kept trying to bite at her. "And if I take that red pill, what then? Am I alone? Will I be better off not knowing anything?"
Why did this conversation feel like one she should have had years and years ago?
Am I alone?
Whistler swallowed his courage, and then the drink. "Not if I can help it," he answered solemnly. "You're not alone Kris. You're not just one gi--woman in the world standing against the darkness. There are people who help out -- they're called Watchers -- and they make sure you're properly trained (though you're already off to a good start) and informed."
Christ he could go for a smoke right now. The Agent always chain-smoked at times like this. "And worse comes to worse, you can lean on me."
Kris swallowed hard as her head reeled with all this new information and she found herself struggling for something as simple as air, wondering if it was normal to feel physically sick. Not that it stopped her from reaching out to pour herself another drink, swallowing it mere seconds later. Whistler was telling her big things here, that she was some sort of special person and she had some sort of responsibility to stand against the dark, whatever the hell that was and whatever it actually involved.
"Why would you wanna help me?" Kris asked. "And how do you know I am this... I just- I don't- I'm not special, not in the way that you think I am." She wasn't, she couldn't be, there was nothing special about her.
Kris gave up on the shot glasses and settled for taking a direct pull from the bottle itself, gesticulating with it and a pointed index finger. "How do you know for certain I'm one of those women and not just some sort of freakishly strong... freak?"
"Because it's my job." Or was. No. Is. Despite his nature to talk in circles, sometimes it was best to be direct. "I find people like you -- Slayers -- and put them on their path. And I know you're special Kris, even if you don't believe it. Yet."
He leaned back slightly on the raised stool, and watched her. "So I'm guessin' by the Big Gulp attack on the bottle...?"
Kris rested the bottle back on the top of the bar and breathed out slowly, trying to get some sort of... rational distance on this whole thing, which was far easier said than done. "I know... I'm different, known that for a long time. I mean there's a reason I had checks done for performance enhancing drugs done when I joined the force, just..." She turned back to the bar and put one hand in her hair and other flat against it. "This all sounds crazy, like some sort of bad dream."
She turned her head and looked up at Whistler. "I'm having a really hard time with this. Up until a few moments ago I was under the distinct impression that vampires did not exist, not outside of horror movies anyways."
"How do you even know I'm cut out to be a Slayer?" Wow, that was weird to say, even weirder to hear herself saying it. "I'm kinda... freaked the fuck out right now. In a lot of ways and the alcohol believe it or not is actually helping." Even if she ended up going home drunk.
Of all the questions Kris could ask, that was likely the easiest to answer. "You put a vampire in Jail!" he exclaimed. "Granted, a stake through the heart is the preferred method to deal with 'em. But," and Whistler had to chuckle upon remembering, "the whole sunlight thing is a pretty effective means to an end as well. Your precinct have a vacuum cleaner in storage?"
That caused Kris to pause in her tirade, blinking as she took in what Whistler was telling her. "So you're telling me he's going to be nothing but a pile of ash when I go to do his paperwork in the morning?" How in the hell was she going to explain that to the higher ups? She groaned and pressed her forehead against the bar, unaware of how all her hair just cascaded around her shoulders and pooled around her head. "That's going to be hard to explain."
Her hand groped blindly for the bottle and once her fingers had caught it, she curled them and sat back to take an impressive sip. "So... I'm a Slayer with this destiny and I'm- I mean, I'm supposed to have somebody to guide me. Is that about right?"
Whistler checked the patrons and Bart before he took out his soft pack and shook it. The bartender gave a curse shake of his head and the hatted man dejectedly replaced his cigarettes back into his shirt pocket. Bloody political correctness run amok.
"Near as I figure," he began, answering Kris' first question, "when he starts yelping and the sprinklers spring into action, if you're not exactly there to douse him --. " Not the best response and it did provide another problem.
"Oy, wait." His brain wheeled. "They'd assume he pyro'd himself, right? But if you're not the one who performed the cavity search... pretty sure that'd go against regulations. So some other poor bastard'll get cited for that." Think, dammit. "Can't stage a jailbreak, either. So... okay, leave it to me. I'll get him released, only you'll have to be waiting out back with a stake to take care o' things."
Getting him released meant pushing into several minds at once, a lot of mental manipulation so they wouldn't question the Slayer afterwards, or make dangerous phone calls that could be traced back to her. All in a day's work, right? It's not like Whistler hadn't gotten others out of stickier situations.
"As for havin' back-up, Kris, that's how it works." He motioned for her to pass the bottle. "Watchers as like private tutors. Home schoolin' for the supernaturally inclined. Yeah, there'll be textbooks and phys ed and weapons trainin'."
Kris passed the bottle over to Whistler and took a deep breath, wondering just how many more drinks she could get down the back of her throat before she started to feel the effects. "A stake?" She repeated. Where did she get a stake of all things? Could she break... off a chair leg and cut it down to the right point or something? It didn't have to be a special sort of wood, did it?
She wet her lower lip and started to work out the logistics, where she could be when the vampire made a run for it and how she could get there. She could do it, provided Whistler could get him released.
"I never liked school," Kris commented with a slanted smile. "Always learned better on my feet."
The Agent took a swig from the bottle. Enough of the liquid had dulled the pain as it went down. "Yeah well, time for a field trip I think."
He got to his feet, managing not to tip over. Despite his constitution, the alcohol was beginning to have an effect. "What are ya waitin' for, Kris," he chuckled, "a signed note from yer mommy?"
"Field trip?" Kris muttered warily as she eyed Whistler. She turned back to the bar and took one last final drink before she rose to her feet, wondering where this trip would take them and what was going to happen. And there she went with over thinking everything, thankfully the alcohol helped to keep parts of her brain dormant when they might have been active and stopping her from going with this hatted man that had just opened her eyes to a world she'd never been aware of. Not consciously anyways.
She cleared her throat and turned to Whistler, tipping her head. "After you."
Whistler padded to the exit, and held the door open for his new charge. With one hand he pushed open the door and allowed her to pass. "Hope you drove," he said, "'cuz I walked here. And I'm pretty sure you know the back ways to your precinct, as I don't think it'd behove us to get pulled over in a drunk spot check."
Kris stepped out of the bar and turned to face Whistler, nodding her head. "Yeah, I drove." She rubbed at the back of her neck. "How do you feel about bikes?" Hopefully he wouldn't freak out because Kris had driven a bike for the last couple of years. "I do have a spare helmet."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys, turning on heel to wander over to the black and silver bike she had parked out front. Kris was starting to be thankful for her high tolerance to alcohol or she might be feeling it by now.
Back ways it was, Kris knew them pretty well.
Oh this'll be a laugh, crawled through the Agent's brain. He wasn't scared of motorcycles per se, but he'd seen 'Blood on the Asphalt' once in an art house (part of a 'this was entitled to scare people senseless but now we find it intensely funny' series) and given his eidetic memory -- a blessing and a curse when it came to being powered up by the Powers That Be -- it naturally replayed in 4x speed behind his eyes.
He paused behind the bike, and took the helmet when offered. He slipped it over his hat (please don't crush it, the thing's a classic) and strapped it tight under his chin. After Kris climbed aboard, he straddled the seat behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, fingers laced tightly. "If my hands slip," he offered, "it's nothing intentional. 'Sides, I think you'd swerve just enough to throw me into the curb."
Kris didn't say anything in response but the grin on her face and the laugh that escaped her said more than words ever could. She tugged her helmet on and secured it beneath her chin, glancing over her shoulder to check Whistler was doing okay. "You alright?" She held up a thumb to Whistler before guiding his hands to her waist so he'd hold on when the bike lunged into life.
Once she was sure he was settled and not about to fall off, Kris accelerated away and took to the road smoothly and with confidence.
There were several reasons the man enjoyed driving his Impala, the first of which was the windshield. It would've caught the bug that had immediately flown into his open mouth when he uttered "Oh shiiiiiiiiiit" when they took the first turn. In his long life the hatted man had eaten many disgusting delicacies (tete-a-tetes with warring demon tribes solved over sit-downs, etc.) but live bugs? That just squicked him.
Whistler gritted his teeth and swallowed, praying it wasn't an insect with a stinger. He managed to keep his lips sealed the rest of the journey, and gave silent thanks when the vibrations between his thighs finally ceased.
Kris on the other hand was completely at ease and totally comfortable with the ride, handling corners and pushing the speed as much as she could within the designated zones. She made sure to pull off the main roads, taking shortcuts to her precinct, the last thing she wanted to do was get pulled over by somebody she knew.
When the bike stopped she kicked out the stand and slid off it, pulling the helmet off her head. "You doing okay?" She asked, passing a concerned gaze over Whistler, he looked a little on the pale side.
"I've handled a lot worse," Whistler responded, which wasn't a lie, swallowed bug notwithstanding. "I think that question's just as important for you."
Kris had a lot of information downloaded in a short period of time, and the Agent needed to be sure she wasn't going to go catatonic with what was to come. He replaced the helmet on the bike and puffed up his hat. No damage done.
"What's the 4-1-1 inside, you think?" Given the hour, he'd hoped the precinct wasn't overly populated. The more people inside he had to coerce, the harder it would be to maintain control until they could get the vampire out of custody.
Kris lifted her shoulders and started to pack away the helmets. "Can I get back to you on that?" She swallowed hard and locked up the bike, turning to look at Whistler. "I think it goes without saying that I'm more than a little freaked out and kinda... scared." She wasn't about to lie about that, not when it was important to say. "I just don't- I really don't want to do this thing alone, you know? Especially as I don't know the first thing about it." It was hard for her to admit, but Whistler had been honest with her so why not be honest right back?
She turned her head to regard the precinct. "It's probably not that busy, wouldn't be around this time in the evening. They probably have two people maybe three people at most on the desk."
Kris scratched at her eyebrow. "We have had a sudden influx of gang related violence, but hopefully they should've shipped most of the offenders off by now."
Whistler took the moment of calm-before-the-storm to light a cigarette and instinctively offer one to Kris. He understood the woman's unease and endeavoured to lessen it. "First," he offered, "you've got the instincts. You're a cop, Kris, and that goes a long way. You know how to fight and more importantly, how to defend. The first rule of bein' a Slayer is this: stay alive. I suspect it's parallel to what they taught ya at the academy.
"Second, I've got you're back. Somethin' goes bad, I'll be there. I won't be rushin' in with my own stake at the ready," (mental note to the previous tenant), "but I will be ready to distract if necessary." He took a long drag of the cigarette. "Third, pointy wooden things through the heart. Or sever the head from the body. Don't worry about blood and guts, these things turn pretty much to dust right away." He flicked off some of the ash from his cancer stick, and pointed as it was carried off by the wind.
Kris took the offer of a cancer stick and stepped back onto the heel of one foot as she lit it up, instantly pulling in what she considered to be a calming drag. Nevermind the fact she was poisoning her lungs. "That sounds awfully familiar." She flicked ash into the cool night air and rocked on her heels slightly. "Done a pretty good job of keeping myself alive the last couple years." And it hadn't always been easy, people went a lot crazy at times.
She inhaled another drag and nodded as she took in his advice, making mental notes throughout. "Stake through the heart or sever the body from the head." God, that sounded so... weird and thank God nobody else could hear her right now, she might be put up for a psych evaluation sooner than she thought.
"Guess that means I need to find a stake, huh?" Kris eyed the station. "Don't think they'll miss one chair."
Whistler nodded at his partner. "Anything'll do in close quarters. Chair, tree, whatever you can impale. And trust me, you've got the strength to do that, just believe in it." He ran through the checklist in his head to make sure he'd given the Slayer enough tools for her first staking. He took another hit of the cigarette. "Oh right!" he exclaimed. "Holy water? You should always carry some; although obviously it's a little late for that now. So does a cross; they hate 'em. Mind you, I've never really figured out if a Star of David worked or not. Maybe it depends on the faith of the Slayer, dunno."
Kris frowned a little. "A cross?" And here she was the whole non-religious type. "Does it only work if you believe in God?" She sure as hell hoped not because there was no way she was going to start believing in God just to cover her ass against bloodsucking monsters. She took a final drag from her cigarette and dropped it to the ground, to crush it out beneath the sole.
"I'll be sure to find myself a chair," Kris muttered with a small smirk. She was going in to... slay a vampire, something she'd never done and she had no idea if she could do it, just Whistler's word that she was capable.
If all else failed she could always kick it in the balls, even vampires had balls.
"It's weird, but they do," the Agent replied. "Heard about this vamp once who got slammed into one o' those tombstones shaped like a cross and he got one helluva burn. So I dunno if it's some kinda self-destruct things built into their genetic make-up or whatnot, but as long as you're carryin', they're a'flinchin'." Whistler took another slag from his own cigarette before he flicked it into the parking lot.
He motioned to the front door. "After you."
"I'll be sure to remember that," Kris muttered as she turned on her heel and promptly squared her shoulders, readying herself for whatever was going to happen. She felt a familiar kick of something, starting in the pit of her stomach and spreading through her until the tips of her fingers felt like they were on fire, vibrating and itching to act.
She pushed open the door and looked over her shoulder at Whistler, pausing only briefly to check the desk. Thankfully there was only one person on it, the others were in another room, that much Kris could hear. Kris slowed her pace and softened her steps until her movements were barely above a decibel, inching closer to the holding area and hoping that the guy behind the desk wouldn't turn at any point.
Chair, she needed a chair.
Whistler paused a moment as Kris moved onward. He needed to make sure there were no distractions, and especially no questions.
"Can I help you?" came the question from the man behind the desk.
Whistler stayed steady, caught the man's eyes with his own. "Your buddies," he said nonchalantly, pointing in the direction of more voices. "They're planning to prank ya. You might wanna slip in there before they finish the phone to the hooker who's gonna come in here in about twenty minutes and claim you're her baby daddy."
Okay, so it wasn't the best idea he could come up with, and the alcohol certainly hadn't helped with that. But the desk sergeant blanched just enough, and after a twist of his wedding ring, offered a meek apology and darted out from behind the desk and into the room beyond. Whistler could hear the cacophony of voices, accusations and denials. He pegged that Kris had two minutes to get her prisoner out of lock-up.
He slipped his hand over the counter and hit the magnetic lock button to the holding cells, releasing its hold so he could slip through.
"You've got about one minute thirty before the sergeant gets back to his desk," he whispered. "Let's get him outta this place P-D-Q. We'll worry about the paperwork later."
Kris reached up to cover her mouth as Whistler convinced the man behind the desk that he was in a lot of trouble, it shouldn't be funny but it was, it really was. Kris wondered if hysteria was normal before slaying a vampire? She took a deep breath and moved into the holding cells, stalking past the other cells in the pursuit of the vampire she'd put in there. Something was guiding her, something other than the tangible memory of where she had put him and the number that was emblazoned on her mind's eye.
She rounded on the cell and pulled open the door, ducking beneath a swing that she hadn't been expecting and still managed to anticipate. She grunted as she thrust a fist straight into its face, knocking it back just far enough for her to get a good grip on the shirt it was wearing.
"Out," Kris muttered between her teeth as she pushed it forward with the staggering strength that came with being a Slayer. She leaned out of the way of a head butt and used her grip to knock the vampire into the wall on the way out, hoping she might be able to disorientate it enough so she could get it out of the precinct with minimal fuss.
Easier said than done, the vampire twisted and turned on her, fangs bared. Kris' eyes widened and she reacted more than anything else, picking up the nearest thing to hand which just so happened to be a pot plant and smashed it over the vampire's head.
It didn't work out as well as she'd hoped.
Hard-headed bastard, Whistler thought. They didn't need this level of trouble, not because it was Kris' first official fray into Slayer-dom, but the location. Any undue noise and the Calvary would come running. They'd end up in the way at best, and worst, collateral damage.
He did the one thing he thought would help most. The Agent dove at the vampire's knees and tackled him from behind, knocking the bastard onto the linoleum.
Kris was grateful for the help, really grateful. She followed Whistler's lead and braced her knee across the back of the vampire's head, exerting all of her strength on his upper body. "There ought to be some cuffs behind the desk, maybe a taser."
The vampire struggled and this time Kris sunk fingers into hair and drove its face into the linoleum again.
Watching the newly-discovered Slayer take the fight directly to the vampire made the Agent proud; it reminded him of Rhiannon's first staking behind the 7-11. Like his best friend, Kris seemed to take to it naturally.
Whistler jumped up and ran over to the desk, thankful to find not just the handcuffs but a taser as well. He wasted no time returning, and tossed the brunette the cuffs. He held the taser tightly in his grasp; as long as he hit the vamp and not the brunette, things should go alright.
Kris' hand went out to catch the cuffs, instinctual now more than it was when she'd first started her police training. She snapped them open and immediately closed them shut with unnerving speed and ease, pulling the vampire's arms back into a vicelike hold that would be hard to break, even for a supernaturally enhanced creature.
The vampire continued to kick up a fuss, meaning Kris was having a hard time of getting it to its feet and keeping it there. "You-" she muttered in-between grapples. "Might wanna shock this sonofabitch."
Whistler checked first to make sure there wasn't a 'crispy' setting on the device, and was surprised to discover a safety. He switched it off. "I hope you're not touching metal," he whispered as he jammed the metal bits into the vampire's neck.
The vampire jolted in Kris' arms and made some of the most disturbing sounds that it had probably made in its entire undead life, thankfully Kris wasn't affected by the shocks now going through the vampire's body and simply caught its weight as it all but slumped in response.
"Nicely done," she murmured with a small smile. She shifted the way she held the vampire, making sure to keep it a safe distance from herself and Whistler, especially their necks. She'd already been bitten once by this thing, she was not letting it get her a second time.
Kris glanced in the direction of the noise and quickly made for the door, shoving the vampire out of it face first.
The Agent followed closely behind, with one watchful eye monitoring the room where the heated discussion between the three police officers reached a crescendo. "Five, four, three--" he muttered, as he pushed out behind Kris. The door swung closed a moment before the desk sergeant reappeared.
"Shit," Whistler continued, as he followed Kris' lead around back of the building, "I forgot to put the taser back. Think he'll miss it?"
Kris was busy manhandling the semi-conscious vampire, but managed to peer around it at Whistler. "Nah, he'll be too busy pretending that he didn't for one moment step away from the desk to worry about where the taser has gone."
"So I'm thinking we ought to go someplace else for the inevitable... staking?" That was the right word to use, wasn't it?
Whistler nodded in agreement. "Unless you want an audience. And to subject your mates to a psych eval."
Just one problem. Not all three of them would fit on Kris' bike. They could drag the vampire behind them though... in a universe of bad ideas, that one owned its own gravity well. "Cop car?"
"...I'm so getting fired," Kris muttered as she headed in the direction of the parked vehicles. She didn't have keys so she'd have to look into that hotwiring malarkey. Yep, totally getting fired.
She paused at one of the cars and looked at Whistler. "You mind holding him for a second?" Kris passed the restrained vampire over to Whistler as she eyed the door and more importantly: the window."I can't believe I'm about to do this."
Hold the vampire? Hold the vampire? That was a first. The Agent jammed the taser into the creature's ribs and jolted it. "Just to be safe."
He took possession of the monster and kept an eye on the police building for the possible commotion over what was to come next.
Kris took a breath and then drove her elbow into the glass of the window, grimacing as the alarm went off. Jesus, she was never going to be able to look her fellow police officers in the eye again. She slipped her hand inside and pulled open the lock, reaching back for the vampire. "Back seat I think." Kris shoved the vampire into the car headfirst, ignoring its grunts of annoyance and turned back to Whistler. "You gonna sit in the back with him or call shotgun and sit in the front with me?" It wasn't really a question she was expecting an answer to as it seemed pretty self evident, but, hey, never hurt to check.
She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the station, ignoring a surge of guilt that rushed through her as she thought about what she'd just done. Kris was hoping that it was all for the best and that this would all work out okay in the end.
Kris eased in behind the wheel and reached beneath the steering wheel, wrenching free a couple wires that she sparked together to create life within the car's engine. "Let's get out of here." She waited for Whistler to get into the car before accelerating away, already making plans to utterly destroy this car and leave it in one of the rougher neighbourhoods.
The Agent jumped into the passenger seat next to Kris. "Do I get to play with the siren?" He'd always wanted to; something akin to the little kid inside him. Granted, when he was a child, police didn't have cars. He chalked it up to a gestalt thing.
He slammed the car door shut and buckled himself in as the Slayer gunned the vehicle. If they survived her driving, they could get past just any obstacle. "Find some place isolated," he offered. "We don't need people with cell phone cameras posting what comes next on YouTube."
"Not unless you want us to get caught," Kris muttered as she turned the wheel and took a corner sharply, accelerating through and around the traffic that littered the streets at this time. The vampire in the back was slowly coming around, a low growl being emitted from the back of his throat. "That doesn't sound good." The growl got louder. "That really doesn't sound good. Is that good?"
Kris eased off the main road and began the journey to one of the more secluded areas of town, knowing this city inside and out. "Someplace isolated, I can do that."
"Hey!", Whistler yelled to their prisoner as he banged on the grill that separated the vampire from themselves. "Don't make me come back there and go all Ponch on your ass."
He kept an eye out on the street as they whizzed by, making mental note of landmarks and the like. Despite his already prescient knowledge of the city downloaded by his predecessor, it made the Agent feel more secure. There's the burnt-out liquor store. And that's the best place to buy cheap cigarettes.
The hatted man looked over to his companion. "Means he's hungry," Whistler commented to Kris. "Or he's pissed off. Or both. Trust me, you want him riled up. They make more mistakes when they're acting on instinct. It's the vamps who think that are the tricky bastards. Which we'll get into later."
"Yeah," Kris muttered in agreement. "I kinda figured that much out when I worked traffic and people took swings at me." She offered Whistler a slanted smile and pulled the wheel until they were disappearing onto the site of a long abandoned building, it hadn't seen life since the late 50's.
She cut the ignition and eased the parking brake on. "This place is pretty deserted, nobody comes round here at all." Kris glanced over her shoulder at the vampire before she eased open the door and went round the back, yanking the vampire onto its feet. It tried to snap at her and on instinct alone Kris drove her fist into its face, breaking its nose. Woah, that was... she had no idea she could do that.
"So," Kris muttered as she held the vampire. "What now?" Her eyes quickly scouted the nearby area for something sharp and wooden.
Whistler fished through his pockets until he found the keys to the handcuffs. He placed the taser into his back right pocket; easy reach should the vamp lunge at him. "What now?" He watched as Kris found her weapon of choice.
Click. Metal jangled against concrete as gravity brought them together.
"Now," Whistler continued, "you become Kris the Vampire Slayer."
At that precise moment the only thoughts to go through Kris' mind were: 'wow, that sounds cheesy' and 'aw fuck me'. Not the best of thoughts, but thoughts all the same. Luckily by the time Whistler released the vampire and the thing surged forward with a new abundance of life or rather unlife Kris had located a wooden door that could easily be turned into a sharp pointy stick that could in fact inflict death upon the supernatural creature.
She turned on her heel and drove her boot into the door itself, splitting it down the middle. Convenient really as the break allowed her to latch on with fingers and pull, managing to yank off a nice substantial piece of wood. Kris was knocked off her stride by the vampire levelling her with a punch followed by driving her into the nearby wall with its shoulders. God, she was going to be bruised after this.
Kris grunted through the initial pain and drove her elbow down and into the back of the vampire's neck, disorientating it enough so she could kick it back, putting distance between her and its fangs. She had to put the newly made stake through its chest to kill it, that much she could remember.
The two of them exchanged blows, some were parried and others hit home, bringing up blood in Kris and sending the vampire staggering back. Hopefully Kris would soon find some sort of advantage so she could stake this son of a bitch already.
It was obvious from the beginning that Kris could hold her own against the vamp, so Whistler hung back and leaned against the vehicle. He palmed his pack of cigarettes and shook one out. He lit up and took a long drag.
Ooof. The wall had to hurt, he imagined. Still, she managed to shake it off well enough. The Agent reasoned her fighting style was influenced by her police training. "Use whatcha got, Kris," he offered. "Think of him as a really rowdy perp. What's the best way to take him down?"
Kris wet her lower lip and turned back to the vampire, regarding him as she would any other rowdy perp, nevermind the fact he was a vampire and could easily rip her neck wide open. She ducked beneath his swing and drove her fist into his stomach and when he doubled over she lifted a knee until she smacked his chin just hard enough to knock him off balance. As he was staggering she hooked her boot under and around the back of one knee, pulling just hard enough so he was literally pulled off his feet and slammed straight into the ground.
It was as he went down that she set upon him, placing the full brunt of her weight across his chest until she'd effectively pinned him where he was. The vampire continued to struggle but was put back into the ground by the blunt force of one palm, a heel of it being driven into his chin to knock his head back until there was a *crack*.
Kris turned the piece of wood over in her hand and drove it straight down, puncturing the vampire's chest. She didn't stop there, she kept pushing and it was a good thing as well because it needed that extra bit of force for the wood to make contact with a heart that Kris didn't even think vampires possible of having.
In that instant the creature burnt up beneath her and when it was nothing more than a pile of ash Kris hurriedly backed off and regarded the ash that coated her hands, jeans and the splinters that were now embedded in both palms of her hands.
Jesus.
He thought of applauding but that seemed insincere. Kris just discovered what the word 'Slayer' really meant and she needed a moment to let it sink in. Instead, Whistler offered Kris a cigarette.
"Now that," he spoke in a low tone, "was spot-on. Never stood a chance against you." The Agent fished out a pair of tweezers from his shirt pocket (always come prepared) and accepted the brunette's palm. He slowly and carefully set out removing the splinters. "In future," the man continued, "you should carry a stake or two that you've carved and sanded yourself. A weight you're comfortable with. And at least one knife. Always good in a fight."
Kris took the cigarette gratefully, immediately sucking in a lungful of smoke. It was reassuring more than anything and God, she needed that right now. She grimaced faintly as the splinters were pried out of her skin, marvelling at how deep some of them had actually gotten - she must have been gripping that makeshift stake pretty damn tight.
"I'll have to remember that," she remarked quietly, still a little shell-shocked. "Can't carry the, with me when I'm working, but sure I can after work." Her gaze wandered back in the direction of the pile of ash that had once been a big nasty vampire and she swallowed. Hard.
Kris chose to turn her attention back to Whistler and exhaled another smoke filled breath. "Thanks for... helping me, not sure I would've been able to do it without you."
"Keep believin' that or I'm out of a job," the Agent lied. The Powers would always have use for him, whether or not it was discovering called Slayers and putting them on their path. "Next step is to get ya hooked up with a Watcher. I mentioned 'em back in the bar, yeah?" He took another drag of his cigarette. "There used to be a whole bunch -- which I always thought was kinda dumb, I mean... nah I won't bother with the details -- anyway, he'll be there to train you with weapons, different fighting styles, help with research for anything odd that goes bump in the night. But we'll worry about that tomorrow."
Whistler continued his smoke, glad the night was ending on a high note. "So how did it feel? And how do you feel knowin' just who you are, Kris?"
Watcher? Kris found herself wondering if that was the right thing for her, but it couldn't hurt to have somebody helping her out, especially as she had no idea how this whole thing worked. God. She inhaled another breath of smoke and held onto it for as long as she could before exhaling, wishing she wasn't shaking as much as she was.
"Tomorrow sounds good," she said with a small shaky laugh. 'Pull yourself together, Kris.' She flicked ash to one side and turned to regard Whistler. "It's... still very surreal, but it's nice to have a name to put to the weird strength and stuff. I always thought I was some sort of freak."
Whistler snorted. "Freak? Not so much. I've met a few in my very long life and you're pretty damned normal. Well, for a Slayer." He enjoyed another hit on the cigarette. "Well it's obvious you've got clean-up duty-- Oh I mean the car and paperwork, not vacu-suckin' the remains. So I'll leave ya to it."
He pulled out a dated business card that were printed up some time ago. "My cell's on the bottom, but you can leave me a message on either if I don't pick up."
Whistler pushed away from the car and straightened. "Tomorrow, then?"
Kris took the business card, taking a moment to look it over. "Yeah," she muttered with a nod, glancing at the police car. "I already have an idea of what to do with it. This is where being a police officer comes in real handy." She smirked and slipped the card away into a pocket, giving another nod of her head. "Yeah, tomorrow."
She rocked on her heels and brushed her hands off on the seat of her pants. "Should I call you or..." Hell, she had no idea how this worked, how any of this worked.
"You'd better," he replied, smiling. "'Sides, who else do I know in this town who can hold her own in a drinking contest?"
Kris' teeth snagged on her lower lip and her mouth turned upwards into a smile, hand reaching up to rub at the back of her neck. "I'll call you." She patted the pocket she placed the card into. "Once I'm sure this isn't some alcohol induced hallucination."
Whistler shook his head. "When your superiors are runnin' around tryin' to figure out where their car went..."
Deep down, he knew. Kris knew the truth. Of who she was. And while she had just walked through the door into a new way of thinking, the travels ahead were going to get much more interesting. "Tomorrow, Kris."
He took one last drag before starting his journey back to the houseboat. "By the way," he chuckled, "I'm keeping the handcuffs. Might come in handy." He winked.
Kris' eyebrows lifted and she merely held up both hands and shouted at Whistler's retreating back, "What you choose to do in the bedroom is up to you." She let out a small laugh and turned back to what she had to take care of, figuring she needed to drive and burn the car as soon as was humanly possible.
Okay, first things first, get into the car and drive to the roughest neighbourhood Key West had to offer and make it look like somebody had jacked it and taken it for a ride before taking a couple cans of gas to it. Kris glanced in her rear view mirror, reassured that Whistler was real and not a figment of her imagination.
Tomorrow was going to be one hell of an interesting day.