Isaac Kettering (just_presuming) wrote in regulation, @ 2008-04-12 23:54:00 |
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Current mood: | in pain |
Current music: | "Bullets" - Augustana |
...black and white, no you're not to blame - holly swing, put me down to shame...
Who: Isaac Kettering & Matt Cavanaugh
What: Some saving, some shooting, some explaining
When: January-ish, 2007
Where: London, England - an alley near a club, Matt's flat, then Isaac's flat
Rating: R - violence, someone gets shot, cauterising the wound, and a whole hell of a lot of cursing
Status: Closed, complete.
It was pure bad luck, more than anything, that had his usual corner store closed - the sign on the door had said something about an emergency and Isaac could only assume that half the family had died or something, since the store was never closed. Or practically never. It operated during his usual hours, which was rather impressive considering he didn't usually get back to his flat before dawn, if then. It was also pure bad luck that he found himself out of beer. The two separate instances of bad luck had coincided in such an inconvenient way, though, that he found himself out and about, feet tramping over the pavement as he sought out a shop that was open and that sold beer.
He wasn't looking forward to carrying it back, but he'd do what he had to. The bottles on his windowsill were dusty - they needed replacing. And if he had to listen to his current girlfriend natter on for one more minute about whether she should wax her eyebrows and did she have a unibrow, he was going to tell her to go fuck herself right out the window. And that would be awkward.
Taking a turn, then a shortcut down an alley, he paused, frowning at the the scene that greeted him. Too familiar - but here, of all places? He supposed it didn't really matter where it was. Vampires got hungry, they didn't discriminate. Food was food, no matter what its bloodtype or whether it had a family. But maybe he was wrong - this was rather public for a feeding and vampires, while greedy, weren't often quite this stupid.
Matt flicked a cigarette away as he came up the steps of the - in this case literally - underground club and lit another as his foot hit street level. This alley was still cobbled, and his foot wasn't entirely steady.
It had nothing whatsoever to do with being drunk. Clearly. It was the roadbed's fault, not his.
He grinned and sauntered casually down the alley toward the street, or at least toward A street. All streets led to other ones, that was the joy of streets, and Matt was quite drunk enough not to give a fuck about which one he happened to find. If it didn't get him home, either there was one somewhere that would, or it wouldn't matter.
"It'd be an adventure," he half-slurred half-muttered to himself as he finally focused enough to note the man standing at the end of the alley. "Oi! Lost?"
Of course - of course life couldn't move smoothly. Murphy's fucking law. Isaac wished, sometimes, that he could strangle Murphy. It was times like this that he seriously considered whether or not he should re-evaluate his profession. He shook his head, though, in response to the drunk man's question and took a step back, watching as the second man - the vampire - slunk out of the shadows. He hated having to act like a drunk when he hadn't had a single pint, but there was nothing else for it.
The vampire's expression was suspicious and Isaac knew he was clearly visible, given the creature's superior senses. So he stumbled out of the alley, hand braced on the grimy wall, and let a laugh escape him as his hand slid away from the brick. Falling, he half-rolled into a sitting position, inches from a puddle of something that looked like it might be vaguely acidic. He was upwind of the vampire now, so there was no chance he'd smell the silver until it was too late. Letting another laugh, more a giggle, drop from his lips, he half-stood - pretended he was having trouble - and looked up as he twisted his wrist to release the knife held in the sheath there.
The metal was warm against his palm as he waved his other hand, nearly toppling over again in actuality, but catching himself. It lent the whole thing credibility, but sometimes he really despised knowing things about the magical world that the rest of the nonmagical world didn't. "Oi - oi... maybe... I think 'm... yeah... a mite... on the lost side of things." The vampire had paused, watching them both, and as he let himself lean against the wall, knowing the dirt and soot would rub off on his jacket, he tried to figure out how many steps it would be to the man, to the vampire - the bass from the club vibrated up, through his feet, and he wondered how the vampire could stand it.
Matt grinned wider. "Not like I can fucking help you there, mate," he said, slurring a little. "I'm a stranger here myself." It sounded like a quote - it was a quote - but he was drunk enough to not give a fuck.
Something caught his eye, a shadow moving wrong, and his expression turned guarded and closed, but he couldn't move quickly enough.
In fact, he fell over as he turned to face whatever was coming up from behind him. He thought, as he fell, distantly, that he would feel that in the morning, and, in fact, in the afternoon, evening, and for several days while tonight's hangover was just a fading memory, but that didn't change the fact that he was falling, that his feet had refused to move like he'd thought they would, and had tangled together.
The ground was cold and damp through the seat of his pants, and the gun left another bruise, one deep enough to knock the breath out of him - it felt like his lungs had flattened directly over it, even if that wasn't possible.
"Got to carry that under my fucking arm," he said aloud to no one, sluggish with the thoughts, and looking up just as the shadow moved again. It was something that moved like a predator, but really - spoiled for fucking choice in this part of town. Whatever this thing wanted, he wasn't inclined to give it, but he giggled at the thought that he might not be able to stop it.
"Stranger... s. Es..." Isaac pressed his shoulder a little harder into the wall he leaned against, watched the vampire move toward the other human. "Alone together, together alone... un... known..." He had not fucking clue what he was saying, but that didn't really matter, he just had to wait for the bloodsucker to get close enough so the knife would be effective. He had a second one, always carried two at least, but he didn't want to waste it.
The strike, when it came, was quick - faster than any human would be able to move... faster than most human would even be able to notice. The guy in front of him was up, off the ground, and being pressed into the wall almost before Isaac could blink, but that was for the best, really - he might not see or remember what had to happen next.
Three, two -
He didn't give himself the third second, as the vampire's fangs had already extended and he'd turned the human's head to the side, the angle too extreme to be held for more than a moment before becoming painful. Movements fluid, he pressed himself up against the vampire's back and slid the blade between his forth and fifth ribs, twisting it precisely to get it into the bastard's heart before releasing the handle and wrapping his arm around the vampire's throat. He wasn't quick enough, though, and the bloodsucker jerked away, taking his knife with him as he stumbled away - reeling but still too strong to take down now that the element of surprise was gone.
That was a shot of sobriety, right fucking there.
"What the fuck!" His voice was a shout, loud enough to temporarily silence the sounds of the street - London was never, ever fucking silent, though occasionally the fucking birds shut-the-fuck up, like, for about ten minutes. "What the fucking fuck was fucking that?" His voice was shrill, higher than he'd like if he were in a position to pay attention, but fucking hell.
He'd seen fang, the moment before the thing that had grabbed him, and okay, Matt was a giant nerd, he knew completely what the fuck that had to be, even if it hadn't been something he'd ever fucking thought possible, it was a fucking vampire, and it was staggering away from him.
He shoved the other man out of his mind, either he wasn't an enemy or he was a not-actively-biting sort of problem, and drew the gun with suddenly sober fingers. It wouldn't do a fucking thing, but maybe he could hurt it enough to get the fuck away. And right now, he'd welcome the fucking cops, preferably about a thousand of them.
The bark of the gun was loud in the alley.
"The head - the head - aim for the bastard's fucking head!" Isaac was about two seconds from reaching over and taking the gun away, but since it wasn't actually pointed at him, he figured he'd let the bloke who was packing - even if he was drunk off his arse and lost - handle the shooting. There was a reason he didn't carry his around with him. "Jesus fuck. Of all the fucking nights - "
A moment later and he had his second knife out and it was soaring through the air, hitting the vampire in the throat despite the shadows cast by the lights behind them and the fact that people were starting to come out of the club. "Fuck it - put that gun away before you get us fucking arrested." He couldn't exactly flash a badge while telling everybody and their fucking mother he worked for the Special Branch of Scotland Yard, thanks, so could they take the cuffs off already?
Tommy was going to fucking kill him. "All I fucking wanted was beer," he muttered, checking over his shoulder to see the girls who were crowding out of the club in a massive huddle, then turning his eyes back toward the vampire. Stumbling, the bloodsucker jumped and just managed to catch the roof of the building down the alley a bit. And then he was gone - but he had silver in him, so he probably wouldn't make it much farther. The sun would be up in a few hours and, hopefully, he'd be dead.
"Yeah, well." Matt was all of a sudden up in Isaac's face, gun still out and not - quite - aimed at the other man. "All I fucking wanted was to be motherfucking drunk in fucking peace. And now what I want is some fucking answers. What the hell just happened?"
It wasn't a good idea to threaten him on the street like this, particularly not when he was hearing the sound of club girls behind him, but fuck it. It wasn't as though he was going to invite the other man over for a drink, either.
He gestured with the gun and it poked the other man in the side. "Fucking answers, mate. Now."
Jaw setting in a hard line, Isaac wrapped his fingers around the other guy's wrist, then pulled and swung him around until they were pressed front to back and he had the man's hand pointing the gun at his own chin. "I'd think a bit more carefully, were I you, about how I talked to the bloke who just pulled a bloodsucking son of a bitch off your fucking neck, mate."
The club girls giggled behind them, but he could hear their heels clicking as they walked in the opposite direction. Something, at least, was going the way he wanted it to. "Whoever the fuck you are," he said, letting the guy go with a shove, "You'll want to be careful from now on. You were likely just an easy take, what with stumbling all over the fucking place, but now he's got your scent he might be back. If he lives out the night, anyway. Depends on how young he is and whether he can get back to his safehouse or not. But you want anymore information than that and you're gonna have to wait till I get my fucking beer because I just lost my two best knives saving your arse."
It didn't really matter to him that the guy - sounded different, funny accent, probably American - still had the gun. He'd faced down worse and if he got shot, at least it was a human that did it.
Matt might be small, but he had a certain scrappy strength. He also had, basically, about three ounces less patience than most other people, and he was really fucking sick of weird shit happening around him with no explanation for it. He said a silent Fuck it and shifted a little further away from the other man.
So, yes, it was completely fucking planned when he shot the other man through the shoulder. At that range, a 9mm round made a really big fucking hole, too, and bone gleamed in the dim light.
"Now," he said conversationally, "I can fucking shoot you again where it'll really fucking hurt, or I can help you bandage that up, and you, in return, will give me some fucking answers as to what the fuck just fucking happened!"
His voice was going shrill again, but frankly – he deserved that. And a lot of other things. Like a Prozac IV and a bottle of really good Scotch. "And some fucking answers," he growled, before realising he'd said it aloud.
The force of impact sent him stumbling backward and he barely managed to catch himself on the wall. "You motherfucking son of a cunty whore," Isaac said. It took a moment for the pain to register, for the heat that flooded through his system, the initial burst of adrenalin, to fade just enough for other things to start coming through. It stung like fuck. It was a good thing, he thought in a small, detached portion of his mind, that it was his left shoulder that'd been hit because if it'd been his right, his aim probably would've been a little off when he regained his footing and punched the little bastard in the face.
He felt bone crunch more than heard it and he did the only thing he could think of to do in the situation - he laughed. Because what the fuck? He went out of his fucking way to keep some drunk little bitch and the guy had the nerve to go and shoot him? It was probably written somewhere, in some obscure textbook of law, that Witchfinders weren't supposed to ever, under any circumstances, kill other nonmagical humans in back alleyways outside clubs in the middle of the night. But he sort of didn't really care.
Knocking the other man's hand, the one holding the gun, to the side, he watched the guy's fingers tighten on the trigger, listened to another shot go off, the flare of light so brief most people wouldn't have seen it at all. "Fucking shoot me again, fuckhead, and I'll make sure they find your body floating down the Thames tomorrow morning, just another tragedy on the fucking evening news."
Isaac didn't trust, though, for a minute, that the bastard wouldn't try to shoot him again despite the threat and the fact that killing him wouldn't get him any of the answers he seemed to want so god-damned badly, so he hooked his leg behind the other man's and tripped him enough to make him hit the ground for a second time that night, then stepped on his wrist with one booted foot to make sure the gun didn't point in his direction again. "It's a bloody fucking miracle the fucking bouncers haven't come out to hand us both our arses on silver fucking platters, so just calm the fuck down." He was seeing stars by this point, the pain having gotten to his head, and he felt dizzy, sort of nauseated, but he couldn't show that weakness now. Jesus fuck.
The pain of the punch - and fuck, was that a broken cheekbone, again? or was it something else? - was enough to make him stagger back a couple of steps, but he managed to come back enough to retort "Leave my mother out of it."
And then he was down again, more bruises across his body, and part of him thought, hysterically, distantly, that he was having a really, really shit night, and he really, really did not want to be here.
But there wasn't anywhere else to be, apparently.
"Get off my wrist," he said finally. "How the fuck did you get so fucking heavy, eating your weight in fucking lard? And, just as a fucking point of total fucking curiosity, do you plan to fucking answer my questions or are you going to fuck off like everyone else does? If you're so fucking worried about the fucking bouncers, then fucking well get off my wrist and we'll, I don't fucking know, go somewhere to bandage you up. And now me. Because it's really fucking important that I have another broken-fucking-bone."
His free hand came up to touch his cheek gingerly. "Ow," he added, conversationally. "That fucking stings."
Growling low in his throat, Isaac let up the pressure on the guy's wrist and took a step back, leaning heavily against the wall because now he actually needed the support. "I'll... answer your god-damned questions, just don't fucking let me bleed to death." The stars weren't really going away, but he'd been through worse before - a whole hell of a lot worse - so he wasn't as worried about the whole 'being shot' thing as he probably should've been.
Breath escaping in a short burst, he held his good hand out to the other man, offering silently to help him stand before muttering, "Name's Isaac. Pretty sure you saw the fangs on that piece of shit that tried to bite you. Patch me up proper-like and I'll tell you all about them." Funny, how the dizziness only got worse the more he calmed down. He needed something to keep his adrenalin levels up or he was going to pass out.
"Right," Matt said, starting to look worried, even through the pain that wracked most of his body. Whatever he felt, the other guy's was worse.
He carefully collected the gun and looked quickly at Isaac. "Matt," he added, irrelevantly as it might be. "Do you need help?" But he didn't wait for an answer, just wrapped the other man's arm over his shoulders. Not that he was likely to be that helpful that way, but better that he didn't fall over.
Fortunately for all of them, his current lodgings - a tiny flat he shared with some guy he'd met in a pub, who was probably currently out at that pub, where he seemed to live - were nearby. Very much so.
Unfortunately, it was up two flights of stairs, and Matt was fairly sure that the nearest elevator was several miles away.
"This is going to suck," he said finally, stepping carefully up, trying not to jostle anyone.
"Fucking understatement of the fucking year," Isaac muttered, eyeing the stairs balefully for a long moment before gritting his teeth and starting up them.
But they made it, eventually, and there was only a little fancy dancing to get the key into the lock. "Go on, sit," he said, half dropping Isaac into a chair near the door. "I'll get...things. Like maybe emergency services." Not the best idea, but neither was just slapping a band-aid on a gunshot wound and calling it good.
"Don't - they'll report it to the MPs and I've no need to deal with them... something to sterilise it - " He really didn't think the guy was going to want to even think about cauterising it, " - alcohol'll work for that, straight liquor if you've got it... can't sew, can you?" That might not be any better than asking him to cauterise it, though, so he made up his mind that he was going to have to ring up Tommy, get him to pull some of his magical strings so he could be seen at a clinic without having to worry about stupid reports being filed and questions being asked.
Ah, Jesus, had to go and rescue the one guy in London who'd turn around and shoot me. Just fucking brilliant.
If he'd been a religious man, there were about a million different things he could've been thinking about the life he'd chosen to lead and the people he chose to associate with. Instead, he felt around his pockets to see if he had his mobile on him.
"I can sew," Matt muttered. "What do I look like, a manly man?" He was too concentrated to make it the joke it should have been, though, eyeing the wound with trepidation. "We've got some Everclear that I snuck into the country. That should be really fucking good for cleaning it out. And...well, fuck. I have no fucking idea what I'd fucking sew to what, man."
He retrieved the small bottle of Everclear, and said, "Do you want something to, like, bite on, or are you not going to scream when I fucking pour this in there? And please tell me I don't have to light it on fire, but if I do...I can probably manage that."
His estimation of the guy, Matt, rising, Isaac muttered, "Just... here." He pulled his jacket off, lips tightening as he moved his shoulder despite his best efforts not to, then he pulled his shirt off, suppressing a grimace. This was going to be fucking awful. "Right..." Looking down at the gaping wound in his shoulder, he took a slow breath. Since Matt'd mentioned it, he figured he might as well go with it.
"If you can clean it up, that'd be great. Cauterising it'd be better than leaving it open, so... yeah. Light it on fucking fire, mate - but give me a drink of that before you do it, cause I'll fucking need it." It wasn't every day you went and got yourself shot, after all - and it wasn't every day you had an American holding a bottle of Everclear right in front of your fucking face. "I'm probably going to pass out, just so you know. When you do the fire thing."
"We'll be fucking lucky if I fucking don't," Matt said, but he handed the bottle to Isaac and watched him drink. If he had to do it, he had to do it, and he tried to remind himself that there were at least a few other people he would do it for. Isaac might not be on that list, but cleaning up after his messes was something Matt was good at.
Taking the bottle back, after what felt, subjectively, like about a million years, he grimaced and said "Okay, lie back. And, actually, now that I'm thinking of it..."
Going to the tiny kitchen he brought back a bin liner and said "Just in case. Just in case what I don't fucking know, but, you know. In case. Or something. This is called 'making a sop to the courtesies'." He was rambling and this wasn't going to get better. Hissing in a breath, he poured the Everclear on the wound, slowly enough that it didn't splash much, watching Isaac the entire time to gauge his reaction.
"Because I was tired of being fucked with," Matt said simply. He pulled out his lighter when the wound was soaked and said "Because, I don't know, a lot of weird shit's happened to me since I got here and I thought maybe you'd have a fucking answer. Vampires. Getting fucking stuck in a fucking alley. Shit."
He flicked the lighter, but hesitated. "I think you can stay here," he added. "I mean, Jake and I have a sort of a casual thing about that, so it should be okay. And if not, we'll fucking deal. But if you're going to pass out and all."
He wasn't quite resolute, and he said "So...fucking tell me what was going on, or better, tell me you'll tell me when you're awake."
Isaac wiped the excess alcohol off of his chest where it had dripped because, while cauterising the wound itself was all grand, he didn't feel like having burn scars all over his front. He had enough scar tissue all over him as it was without adding that bit of history to the list of stupid things he'd done in his life. "Right, let's go, then... I'll tell you anything you like to know just as soon as I'm conscious again. Swear it."
And then he had a flaming mess of alcohol burning up inside a hole in his shoulder and he was pretty sure he'd never felt anything that hurt as bad as that, which was saying something. Rather, he couldn't remember ever having felt anything like that before, but maybe he had. Maybe this was why people couldn't accurately recall pain because Jesus fuck, if they could, they'd never leave their fucking houses, they'd be too scared of hurting their god-damned toes.
It was some time later that he actually came to and everything was kind of hazy around the edges, but that faded quickly enough when he tried to shift and jarred his shoulder. "For the love of Christ," he groaned, trying to remember just what the fuck he'd gotten himself into. He took a look down and then he remembered. "Fuck." Burning it had seemed like a really good idea at the time. He kind of regretted it now, though - he was impressed by the fact that Matt had managed it. Where was the little bastard now, anyway?
The muttered words caught Matt's ear and he came out of the kitchen, cigarette in hand.
"How're you feeling?" His voice was quiet, slightly tentative, the anger and hysteria of earlier gone. "You were out a while."
He stepped closer and eyed the wound, hand reaching for it in unthought action, but he paused before it touched.
"Eh," Isaac muttered, voice rough around the edges, lips pinched tight at the corners. "Wouldn't mind being out again..." But he rolled his shoulder a little, just to see if he could, see what his range of motion was, before grimacing again and letting it settle, elbow tucked in close to his side. "Thanks, though, for letting me crash. I appreciate it."
Conveniently, he didn't think about the reasons he'd had to crash at all. "Think I owe you some answers though, huh?" He rubbed his right palm against his knee, pressing the scar tissue on it over the fabric of his jeans. "So I'm guessing you actually noticed the fangs, yeah? I stabbed the bastard - silver. Got to the heart, so he's hurt bad, if he managed to get somewhere the sun wouldn't find him. Might not make it... but..." He paused, took a breath, kept it slow, and said, "But I should start at the beginning."
Another short pause, then one word. "Vampires."
"I fucking figured," Matt said. "I did grow up in America in the 1990s, I've sort of fucking heard of what it fucking means when someone picks you the fuck up and tries to fucking bite your throat." He raised an eyebrow in ironic disdain, and added "Never heard that they were fucking real, though. Live and learn. So you hunt them. Is that all you do? Is it, like, a fucking growth industry?"
"Growth industry?" Isaac snorted. "Bloody Americans." Then he shook his head, suppressing a wince. "They're fucking real. Half of what's in the movies doesn't mean shit. I hunt them, for the most part. Keep an eye on other things, but I figure I'm probably not supposed to talk about all that. Course, you've already seen the fucking fangs, so..." He was really going to have to get out of the habit of shrugging. "There's a lot of shit out there in the world - magic and people who can use it. Monsters, even. Monsters worse than vampires..." His mind wasn't really processing all that well, but he definitely thought he remembered Matt saying he was tired of not getting answers, so he'd had a run-in with something before - only question was, what had he gotten into and then gotten out of?
"Maybe if you tell me what it is you've not gotten your answers on before, I can help you out with those. Cause at the moment, I'm not really in stellar condition mentally speaking..." Glancing around the room, he tilted his head to the side a little, taking in the surroundings.
"Are you checking whether this is my, like, fucking dungeon or something? It's a friend's flat. I stay with him in lieu of having somewhere fucking else to live." He tipped his head in a conscious imitation of the other man's gesture and finally said "I don't feel like sharing. But there's something fucking weird going on here that I never saw at home, and if fucking vampires and fucking being frozen in place is normal around here, I think it's about time I fucked off to Saudi."
He took a step or two either direction and said "Do you want anything to drink or something? No idea how you're fucking feeling."
Isaac snorted. "Yeah, I'm checking to see if you've got shackles and shite hidden behind the curtains over there. Looks like you don't, so I'll believe your story. For now." He kept a perfectly serious tone of voice while speaking and the look he gave the other man spoke volumes. Without pausing to shift gears, really, continued, "There's a whole other world - Witches, Wizards, wands, dragons, ghosts, vampires, goblins, giants - you name it, it's real. Everything you thought was just a story when you were growing up? It exists. They've just managed to keep it hidden..."
He stopped, then, and moved in the chair until he was a little more comfortable, though that was something of a relative term. "There was a war that ended years ago, but everything they did to keep us nonmagical folk from finding out about them? It got kinda fucked, what with all the spells and shite they were tossing around. They're not doing such a great job these days of hiding themselves or the other things in their world from the rest of us. Creatures the likes of which haven't been seen in centuries are popping up all over Britain - so yeah, you might like go hie off to fucking Saudi or whatever, because I can't see as it's gonna get any neater or prettier over here." Isaac rubbed at the back of his neck.
It was a conscious choice, not to mention the Witchfinders, mainly because he figured if weird shit was happening around this guy, chances were he'd come into contact with something or someone. He - they - really didn't need the Obliviators running around trying to fuck with their memories to make them believe they were doing their job when they weren't.
"Wait, what? The fuck?" It wasn't really two sentences, though it could have been, it was two distinct thoughts. Matt lit a cigarette and sad "You're fucking high." It was flat. "None of that shit's fucking real. I know I'm a fucking tourist here myself, but seriously, that's all pretend."
But fangs said otherwise, part of his mind told him, and it wasn't a part he wanted to listen to, but it also wasn't a part he could easily ignore.
"I fucking wish I was high," Isaac muttered, knowing it wouldn't really have done any good so far as the pain was concerned but also knowing that he would've at least found this whole situation funny. "Pretend and make-believe aren't exactly - Jesus fuck I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here. Look, you go back to your happy little life of fucking denial and have fun with that. Ignore the fangs and the other weird shite that's going on. It's none too important, anyway."
Pushing himself to his feet, he glared at Matt until the room righted itself, then paused. He needed a shirt that didn't have a fucking hole in it. And wasn't covered in blood.
"Sit the fuck down." Matt's voice was uncharacteristically cold. "I can shoot you again, you know. And if I do, it's going to hurt more. But I promise it'll stop soon. So sit the fuck down."
He paused and lit a cigarette. "That was me trying to make my fucking life make fucking sense. Whether it worked or not - that's not for me to say yet. I still think it's fucking weird that that shit's real, but believe me, I'm processing as fast as I can, and seeing a bunch of shit that I'd have called make-believe last month happen in front of you kind of has to make a believer out of you. However."
He grinned; it wasn't pleasant.
"You're the first person to even say anything about that - and believe me, I'm very fucking grateful that you haven't decided to kill me - so you're elected to play fucking tourguide. And if you don't like it, I really don't fucking care. What 'other weird shite' - and that's a really fucking stupid word, you weird Limey - is going on? And why do I seem to have become a fucking target? Is it like this in America and I didn't give off weird-world bait till I got the fuck here or what?"
"You know, you're an asshole," Isaac said, his tone strained but completely sincere. "You're an asshole, and if you hadn't fucking shot me, I'd be inclined to like you. Which is the only reason you're getting your fucking answers, so why don't you try to just calm the fuck down, you high-strung bastard, and we'll see about how all of this shite pans out." Isaac reached out and took Matt's cigarette off him, taking a drag before half-collapsing back into the chair. "Jesus fuck," he muttered, holding the cigarette with his lips as he rubbed at his forehead. He really wasn't in any condition to be running around, but he was sure he could get back to his flat if it really came down to it.
"How the fuck should I know if it's like this in America? I've never fucking been - I know you've got Witches and Wizards and all that other shite, plus a few happy surprises of your own, same as the rest of the world. But the thing is, you picked a right fucking bad time to cross the pond. Like I said, our lot, our Wizards, went and decided to try and blow themselves up. Didn't work quite like they wanted and now they're having trouble keeping everything hidden, keeping it all in order. That's what I've managed to figure out, anyway. So what you're seeing over here? More pronounced, probably..." He took another drag off the cigarette, exhaling slowly.
Matt lit another cigarette. "So everything got flushed, like game, when they went to try to blow themselves up. Fair enough. Whether you would like me or not really doesn't matter to me, “he added, but he at least lowered the gun, pointing it at the floor. "It really, really doesn't. What matters is how I fucking avoid being snacked on again, or any of the other likely-crazy things that are happening to me. Any way of avoiding you lot or am I just fucked?"
Isaac just snorted. "Avoiding me and my lot? I'm fucking human, so you're going to have a time of that, if nothing else. So maybe board yourself up in your flat and have at wanking as a form of entertainment." He shrugged, then said, "As for avoiding the weird shite... well, you'll just have to be careful. Try to keep yourself out of dangerous situations - carry your gun and don't be afraid to fucking use it if you do manage to get yourself into another spot like with the vampire outside the club tonight."
There wasn't a great deal he could tell the other man. "Crosses and garlic - all that Hollywood crap... it doesn't work. Holy water's just water... best way to handle them is to make sure you don't."
"Well then." Matt looked - well, not resigned, exactly, more as if something had come to an end in his head. "Come on, I'll at least get you home, since you probably can't defend yourself with one arm. Or maybe you can and I just like being a Boy Scout. And..." His smile was wild, the look of a man who sought thrills and life on the razor's edge. "...I'll just have to deal with weird shit when it finds me, then. I'm not fucking changing my life to suit that world. And human or not, you're part of it. You're not exactly putting on a fucking suit and going to the office every day, are you?"
"Jesus, no," Isaac said, the thought of putting on a suit and trooping off to work every day was enough to make him wince. It hadn't exactly been an option before Greta died and it sure as hell wasn't one now. "But I'll take that friendly offer of yours. Not going to need much defending, likely - but making sure I don't fall over in a gutter... that'd be appreciated." He didn't know what time it was, how long he'd been out, but he figured it couldn't be any worse than any other time he'd gone out and gotten himself knocked around. Maybe.
"I promise you'll only fall into a gutter if I push you." Matt's smile was a little thin, but for the most part he meant it. He glanced around the room and said "My mate doesn't have a car. Is it close enough to walk it, or should I call a cab?"
He tossed the cigarette into an ashtray, then picked it up again and stubbed it out. The whole room reeked of smoke, but there was no point in just letting a cigarette smoulder like that. "If it's close enough," he added, "I'm moving. You're fucking weird, dude. And so are your friends. But thank you for not letting that one turn me into a small snack. Or would I have come back as a vampire? I can't imagine it'd have liked me that much, but I've no idea."
"Probably could walk it, but it'd be a while. Cab's probably for the best. But no worries, I won't remember where you live whenever I wake up after bleeding all over my sheets back at mine." Isaac took another drag off the cigarette he'd stolen, then reached over to stub it out. "Have a shirt I could borrow? Or have, since you're probably not going to see me again."
All things considered, he was alright with that - he didn't need to be worrying about a kid who probably couldn't look after himself. "And no, you'd not come back as one. You'd get a freaky connection with the one that bit you, if it didn't kill you, but there's supposed to be a lot of other shite you'd have to go through to become one of them. Makes killing them off easier." Levering himself up, out of the chair again, he braced himself against the back and took a slow breath.
"With any luck," Matt said, more seriously, "I won't be living here next week anyway. I had to leave a place I was staying temporarily. But yeah, I've got a shirt. It'll be maybe short on you, but otherwise, okay. As long as you don't mind if it's tight." This time there was a grin. They were close to the same size around, but the other man was something like five inches taller than Matt, and the same build on that height difference might be very different. It didn't help that Matt didn't like loose shirts.
He moved to the suitcase in the corner of the lounge and rifled through it. "Not all my gear," he commented irrelevantly, "but what I need. So how does that work, that it makes it easier? Do young vampires come back with the urge to kill their creators?"
"Nah, they're a close-knit group, most of the time," Isaac muttered. "But it takes them for fucking ever to decide they wanna make somebody one of them and then there's some process. Don't understand it myself, but it means they're relatively rare in an area this size. Stick close together, too. Move about in groups. But the younger ones are easier to kill because they're a little more human. Still fast as fuck, still stronger than anything's got a right to be, but... they don't quite know what they're doing. They can go out in the sunlight and shite..." He was rambling and he knew it, but it was that or falling over and he'd managed to get himself shot once already, he really didn't feel like getting himself rolled down a set of stairs and out to the gutter on top of it all.
Not really wanting to think about what he was going to look like in Matt's shirt, Isaac rubbed at the back of his neck with his good hand and shrugged. Tonight wasn't exactly going the way he'd hoped it would. Fuck if that doesn't sting like a motherfucking bitch.
"I still think everyone here's crazy," Matt muttered idly, concentrating more on the clothes he was flipping through. He came up with a couple of tee shirts and stood, barely concealing an amused quirk of his lips. "One've these is probably best, but you get to pick which is best." One was an old, faded grey shirt, a tour shirt for Iron Maiden that he'd found in a thrift store in Chicago; the other was a light blue shirt that looked suspiciously like a girl's shirt - it was - with a design of birds in flight. There was a lot of shiny metallic ink on it. Both looked smallish.
"This one," he said, holding the blue one slightly closer, "is longer. That one's going to make you look like an idiot. Or, I tell a lie, they probably both will, but who's to see other than the cab driver and me? And I've seen that already." The grin came out finally. "Pick. So do you have numbers on how many there are, or do they not really like to line up to have their noses counted?"
I don't want to choose, Isaac thought, honestly contemplating going shirtless in England in fucking January given his options. But he couldn't explain away the hole in his shoulder and he didn't feel like dealing with the cops, so he went with the lesser of two evils. Pointing at the grey one, he said, "Give that to me. You're right, both of them are going to make me look like a fucking idiot, might as well embarrass myself a little less so far as looking shiny's concerned." Movements careful, he pulled the shirt over his head, settled it, and then exhaled silently through his nose, willing the spots swirling in front of his eyes to go away. "Right, let's go."
Half an hour later, he was hobbling up his own fucking steps, getting the door open, dealing with Bingo, and then falling into bed because seriously, what the fuck?