Hutch (shatteredlife) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-10-12 16:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | peter foster |
Who: Peter, NPC: Roger and NPC: Frank (NPC's played by Linny)
What: Peter needs to get two wolves in line before everything falls apart
When: October 11, 1888-Night
Where: An alleyway by some non-descript pub
Warning: Violence
Peter stood in the shadows and waited. There was a slight chill to the air, October had moved in and brought it’s cousin Fall with him and though he was usually always warm the breeze carried the chill a little more through him and he wrapped his coat around him a little more, shoving his hands in his pockets. Though his eyes were on the door of the small pub, he let his mind wander to his sister and then Zipporah. He needed to meet with his sister soon, to check on her. Now that things were different, it was easier to just pop in and say hello. He should check on Zipporah as well. He worried about her frequently, especially since the attack she’d had from another witch. He worried because he knew he was getting close to her.
His wandering mind zapped back to the present when he caught sight of Roger and Frank exiting the pub together. They were both laughing and slapping their hands on each others backs for some job well done. The moment they started to walk down the street in his direction, Peter folded more into the shadows of the alley way and waited. The moment they started to pass by, he grabbed them both with a snarl and tossed them into the darkness with him, snarling.
“There was a meeting. Why were you not there?”
“Oi, toff,” Roger replied with a reply curl of his lip. “We answered to Damian. Not some playboy who ent done a day’s work in his life.” He raised his chin defiantly, baring his teeth more fully. “Sides,” he answered, a cold glint in his eye, “I don’t aim ter follow no blood traitor to an early grave.”
Frank’s eyes darted between Roger’s and Peter’s, uncertain and nervous.
“Damian is dead,” Peter snarled back. “And what would you really know about me?” He gave a shake of his head, eyes narrowed. “I’ve been put in charge of yous all, and you’ll follow your orders or get the same fate as Damian,” he snapped. “By me or by the ones that I take my orders from. Ya think they will just let you go?”
Calling him a traitor only prompted him to grab Roger by the throat and pin him against the wall. “You will get in line with the rest or you won’t see morning,” he growled. “Damian made your promises he could never fulfill, I’m telling you I’ll fight for you to keep your damn heads on your shoulders.” He couldn’t let them go and in fact if they were fighting this hard to not follow him, he would have to do something to keep them from telling others his plans, what he was doing working both sides as a double spy.
Roger’s growl was a rough, choking sound against Peter’s hand. “Sez who?” He snapped. “Who sez this’ll do a goddamn thing? Sides you?” He twisted against Peter’s hand. “Damn you,” he rasped, his eyes flashing. “Werewolves need to take what’s owed ‘em, and I ent gonna give that up just cause some goddamn toff sez so.”
He kicked out, hard, and caught Peter in the torso with enough force to twist out of his grip, and stand there, hands clenching and unclenching loosely at his sides. “Well?” He said, tipping his chin. “Whatchoo gonna do bout it?”
“Rodge,” Frank said in a low whine, his eyes wide, “Rodge, c’mon, let’s not, can we just… can we just leave?”
“For one, says the people who Damian answered to,” Peter growled. “What do you think is gonna happen if you decide not to follow? You think they gonna let you go? Think, Roger! You’ve done too much shit, they’ll end you before they let you go.” The kick to the ribs had him releasing and wrapping an arm around himself, taking a few steps back as he sucked in air.
A slow smile, evil in nature, pulled at his lips as a challenge seemed to come his way. He stood and met Roger’s eyes, his own starting to glow. “No, Frank, you can’t go,” he said slowly, not taking his eyes from Roger. “Not until I have an answer of what you are going to do. Either join up as you should, or take the consequences from those above me. You have a chance at a semi-pack life. Something more than what Damian was offering.”
“So, Rodge,” he used the name Frank had used. “You want to challenge me? You want to be in the position that I’m in? Come and take it, if you think you are wolf enough, man enough.”
Roger snarled a low, rumbling, rasping growl, his eyes locking with Peter’s. “You say the Crown’ll pat us on the head and all’s forgiven,” he said, before spitting off to the side. “I say you’re full o’ shite, and Queen Vicky can go straight to hell for treatin’ with them pointy-toothed corpses.” He pushed off of the wall, keeping eye contact with Peter. “So yeah,” he said, tilting his chin. “Yeah, I s’pose I do.”
Frank trembled and his eyes rolled as he looked back and forth between them, a low-pitched whine in the back of his throat, his back against the wall. “Rodge…” he called out, but it was too little, too late.
“No, that’s not what I say,” Peter shook his head. “I said I’m fighting for everyone to get that to happen. I’m not making promises, I’m saying I’m fighting for you, putting my own life on the line. I don’t have to do this, I can give over everything and leave all you shites to your own devices and the crown will come for you and that will be that. But I’m not. I’m trying to save all you damn bastards!”
But that wasn’t enough. Roger had issues with Peter and he had issues with the Crown and issues with vampires. He wanted a fight and Peter was going to give it to him.
Roger launched himself at Peter with a feral yell, teeth bared, eyes glowing.
Peter’s teeth bared as well, his own eyes glowing in the darkness and as the other man launched himself at him, Peter swung and let his fist connect fully with the other man’s jaw as hard as he could.
“Don’t do this, Roger,” he growled out. “Don’t make me kill you,” he said as he felt the partial transformation start, his fingers turning to claws.
Roger shook his head to clear it, his muzzle already lengthening, and his reply was more roar than words, but the sentiment was clear enough -- I’d like to see you try -- as teeth bristled from his mouth, his lips still curled to expose them, lunging forward to Peter’s neck.
Peter knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Roger would not back down, which was to be admired in a way. He willed the beast inside him to surge forward, and when Roger attacked once again he knew there would be no more words said. It would be a fight to the death.
Peter swung as Roger came at him, claws digging in and then pushing the wolf back as his own took over and both stared each other down, eyes glowing, muzzles snarling with teeth bared. This time, Peter attacked. With teeth bared, he went for the back of Roger’s neck in an effort to show him that he was the Alpha here, regardless of if he were an actual alpha or not. He was to bow to Peter, or he would die.
The wolves grappled, Roger twisting and snapping, his own claws ripping through Peter’s shirt and raking across his ribs, panting and growling and refusing to submit, his eyes flashing defiantly, his body tensed, every muscle screaming for blood and dominance.
In the sudden explosion of movement, Frank backed against the wall, his eyes wide, a low whine in his throat, but he stayed there, looking on (and looking out for passers-by so the two wouldn’t be interrupted). Roger’s grunt of pain as Peter’s claws struck home made him flinch, but he kept his claws and teeth in -- this was Roger’s fight to win or lose, and while he was a coward, he wasn’t a cheat.
Peter howled when when claws and teeth took him, but he knew that though the blows brought pain they weren’t ones that would bring death and so the fight continued. They rolled and pushed away and came back together as if they were magnets with a force making them to do so. It was life or death that brought them together, however, each fighting for their life, for their dominance.
Each were dealt blows from the other, blood was shed and filled the air around them as well as tufts of hair that had come free. But it was one moment that had everything come to a still point. Roger made a mistake and in that mistake, Peter took his chance and with his teeth gnashing, he caught Roger by the throat and sunk his fangs in deep, ripping as he brought Roger down.
There was a sharp, pained yelp from Roger, followed by a gurgle and a spasm before he lay still, his eyes staring up at the foggy night sky.
Frank looked on in horror before raising his hands and baring his throat to Peter. “I don’t wanna die,” he moaned, terrified. “I really don’t wanna die.”
Peter withdrew once Roger lay still, his eyes clouding over with death. He then turned to Frank and at the baring of his throat, he willed himself back to full human form, groaning as his face turned to normal and an arm wrapping around his ribs.
“Then you won’t die,” he gasped and looked at Frank. “You stick with the rest of ‘em and when this is all over, you’ll be free to choose and stay or go on your way,” he took in a breath. “But for now, you’re with me and the rest. It’s the only choice. Or you die. Next time a meeting is called, you show or I’ll hunt you down like I did tonight.”
Frank roughly swiped at his face, swallowed, and nodded, his eyes flickering to Roger’s still form before looking back up at Peter. “Yeah,” he said, softly, “Alright then.”