Who: Hannibal King (Open) When: 6-7PM-ish…starting to get dark… Where: Some swank/hip jewelry store Why: Shopping for THE ring before he plays lets make a deal with Drake Status: Open Rating: R
In the comics King and Blade were partners. As we do not know King’s backstory in the movies I am fleshing it out with a little comic info, sorta, I am implying that King and Blade were partners, going their separate ways when King was bitten by Danica. Anyway, the first bit is King dreaming….
*Crunch, Crunch, Crunch* A handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, his dark eyes peering through the end of the binoculars. On the other end of the night vision modified goggles the group of vampires glowed green.
“Can hear you chewin’ down here.” Came a deep voice in his ear piece. Hannibal swallowed his junk food and clicked a series of pictures with the evolved binoculars. Another handful of the salty snack was tossed into his mouth. Blade was watching from the ground, near his car, ready to follow as soon as they moved.
“Why do you think they call it Cracker Jacks?” Hannibal asked as he chewed and swallowed the salty, sweet mix of popcorn, nuts and other crap, he jiggled the box and tossed it behind him when he realized it was empty. “Think you can make a run to the seven eleven down the street?”
“Who’s that shit stain?”Blade asked as a hulking blonde standing at least six feet five inches came through the door. He stopped; arms folded over his chest, and looked up and down the side street. Behind him more of the fang gang emerged from the club, letting the thundering music escape out the opened door.
“Dunno.” King scribbled, Shit stain??? , on the notepad sitting on the ground beside him. “How much do you think he weighs? Makes you look petite—“ Then again Hannibal was taller then his brooding partner. Just not as….dense.
“He ain’t that big.” Blade stated in a flat tone. They were of course looking at Jarko Grimwood, they didn’t know it then but that name would not pass between the two men until after King’s five year jaunt as a vampire.
A pint sized woman was hidden in the shadow of the hulking vampire. When she lit up a cigarette it made the green tones light up with a dim burst of light. The door to the car was opened for her by the vampire who had clearly maxxed out on steroids. “That’s her…..”
“Told you before….don’t like midgets. Creep me out.” He muttered as he took pictures of his target. Danica Talos.
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“Why me?”
Hannibal was not amused by his role on this job. Bait. That never ended well. Not just bait. He was playing the part of a bitch. A familiar. Or he was going to try. Getting close so they could get to the bottom of what the up and coming vampire was doing when the sun was down. She wasn’t knitting baby blankets or rescuing kittens from the unsavory city streets.
“I have a reputation. They know me.”
King rolled his eyes as he tossed his legs up on the desk. His eyes roved over the file once again.
“And we aren’t killing them why?”
“Yet.”
Looking up from the papers at Blade he just raised a brow.
“We aren’t killing them yet.” Blade corrected.
Setting the file down he got up and went into the other room. A few minutes later he came back in the room tugging a shirt over his head. His hands smoothed down over the edge of the black slacks he wore. Blade looked him up and down giving a snort.
“Gonna wear that?”
King looked offended as he glanced down at his shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”
A big, dark hand reached out and dusted off the sleeve, sending the residue of a dead vampire to the ground. “Smells like a vampire wiped his ass with it. Then you staked him and wiped your ass with it.”
“Oh.” Hannibal rolled his eyes as he turned around, tugging the shirt off as he left the room. Apparently the duo needed a housekeeper. At least to do the laundry. Would have asked Strange but, well, that guy was weird and King figured he would put some sort of weirdo mojo on his boxer shorts.
“Try that black one you like so damn much.…” Yes. Blade, the Daywalker, just gave Hannibal King advice on what to wear.
It was the last conversation they would have as partners. Once Hannibal disappeared into the throngs of people at the club frequented by the queen beeotch herself, he wouldn’t reemerge for five years. When he did come back to the human side of the fight he would bring with him all the intel they needed to wipe the vampires from the face of the earth. Plus a few other tid - bits of knowledge that no one ever needed to hear about.
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King never got the chance to work as a familiar. Apparently she sent his application for employ straight to the top of the stack. He lit her cigarette for her, pretending the whole time he didn’t know who she was. Pretending that the fangs she didn’t even attempt to hide didn’t make him just the tiniest bit squeamish.
“Got a name, lover?” She uncrossed and re-crossed her tiny legs, letting the toe of one foot rub against the inside of his thigh.
With a brazen smile King worked his charm. When he leaned in his hot breath warmed her unnaturally cold skin. His low, dark voice purred with dangerous intent. “Hannibal King, but, kitten, you can call me yours.” She laughed like a highschool girl and curled her hands around his thick waist. It was the last memory he had of his life as Hannibal King, human. Once the lights went out on the world everything changed. He rose a midnight son, with a thirst for blood and a hatred that burned in the pit of his splintering soul.
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Waking up he wiped the sweat from his brow and took a few deep breaths. Drake was right and the Nightstalker hated waking up to that realization. But the memories, the dreams, they wouldn’t let him forget what she had taken from him.
What realization you might ask…the one where he decides that working with Drake is his best bet for defeating the wicked bitch of the West for good this time. First thing is first, before he could admit to the stupidity that he was going to commit himself to, he had a ring to buy. Just in case anything went wrong…
On the door to his room there was a note tacked up. Back in a few hours. King. In the back of his slacks was a gun that was covered by his untucked button up shirt. That was all he needed for this little outing.
Turning around halfway down the hall he trotted back to his room and quickly snatched his wallet off the table next to his bed. Wallet. He needed his wallet.
The bike rumbled to a stop in front of the hip jewelry store. Young kid that was probably a model slash actor came around the front and opened King’s door. The keys were passed off to the much younger man with a warning glance. A shadow passed over the hunters eyes as the keys gave a metallic jingle in the kids hand. “Just remember kid, all ten fingers will make quick work of your boyfriends bra. Six and you might struggle. Don’t fuck with my car.” The thumb and forefinger are mans essential tools for removing the daring under things naughty girls loved to wear.
The classic, black cruiser wasn’t perfect by any means, it was well taken care of though and the paint looked new. It reminded him of his dad. Of Sunday mornings. Of things that weren’t vampires or touched by vampires. Made it a treasure of invaluable measure. To King at least.
Leaning against a tall podium on the other side of the doors was a vision of debauchery, complete with six inch heels and draped in curtains of red hair. She smiled at him as he casually approached, nearly blinding him with an unnaturally white smile. King didn’t bother taking his shades off, helped to diminish the glare from her teeth.