LostRogers (lostrogers) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2018-01-18 21:27:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | elliot rogers |
Who: Elliot Rogers, Inspector Jeffords (NPC), Stahl vampires (NPCs)
What: Taking action
Where: London
When: January 1889
Ratings/warnings: Violence and death
Elliot still wasn’t entirely happy having a vampire as his backup for this mission, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and Chicago had been very firm on this point: he and the other Pinkertons in the UK were to cooperate with the Night Watch, period. If that meant having a vampire watching his back as he went after Charles Stahl then he had to just suck it up and soldier.
It didn’t mean he had to like it though and he took comfort in the fact that he was loaded for bear with the best gear the Agency had to offer for hunting vampires. The pump shotgun (and wouldn’t he have killed to have one during the war! What wonders would they think of next?) was a comforting weight resting on his shoulder filled with anti-vampire rounds and he still had his trusty revolver on his hip for mortal troublemakers. Short of being shot in the back he had a good chance of getting out of this alive and with a ‘live’ (for a vampire) prisoner to interrogate.
An anonymous note had given them a lucky break after months of fruitless effort and the loss of Christophe to family business back in Haiti. Of course it could be a trap, but he doubted that if only because it had been so long since he’d arrived in England. If the bloodsuckers were going to come after him first they’d have done it already. Their mistake.
DI Paul Jeffords didn’t tend to think much of Americans as a general rule.
Too loud to a person, vulgar, and no end of violent.
Rogers was no exception.
However, he’d been assigned to make sure Rogers didn’t get his fool head torn off by a rogue Stahl, and the entire business was enough of an embarrassment to begin with that the sooner it was sorted, the better. His mandate was clear -- the vampires of London needed a good showing.
When he’d seen the American’s equipment, he had to admit, he’d found it fitting, and more than a little offensive. The message was beyond clear -- this could just as easily be used on you, bucko. (He’d heard the Union held a certain… prejudice, so he supposed it was only to be expected.)
“I suppose you’d like to take point, then,” he sniffed, upon seeing Rogers all outfitted for his hunt. “I’d hate there to be an accident. ...You know. Get the wrong bloodsucker caught in the crosshairs.”
Elliot bared his teeth in what could charitably be called a smile if one ignored the coldness in his eyes. He'd seen too many corpses leftover from feral vampires as well as the handiwork of the group he currently hunted to especially care what one ‘civilized’ vamp thought of him. But he wasn't interested in needlessly antagonizing the London vampire community either. “I don't kill without cause or less they're tryin’ to kill me in return.”
He resisted the urge to spit (he'd picked up some bad habits during the war and his time out west) and nodded to his ‘partner’ for this outing. “You make sure nobody sneaks up past you ‘by accident ‘ and we have no issues, you and I.”
“Hm,” Jeffords replied, with another sniff.
Americans.
All bluntness and no tact.
“Right then,” he said, drily. “While this has been no end of delightful, we’ve got a job to do, don’t we? And rest assured, Mr Rogers, I plan on doing it. Time is of the essence, and I’d rather not waste it.”
He swung out of the room, the tails of his coat swirling behind him.
A snort was the response as Elliot followed Jeffords out the door. It hadn’t been the most tactful exchange on either side, but if he lived through this then maybe he’d consider being more polite to the bloodsucker.
A half hour later found both men outside a well known vampire haunt for those wanting to indulge in more than just a drink of blood ‘on the hoof’ so to speak. It was no Miss Lydia’s but for supernaturals wanting privacy and a free hand to indulge in whatever tastes of the flesh their hearts desired it was the place to be.
Elliot already felt the adrenaline pumping through him in anticipation of the coming fight. Hopefully it would be over quickly but there was no guarantee.
“We need to go in hard and fast, can’t be pussyfooting around with the madam or anyone.” He was reasonably sure Jeffords knew this already, but Elliot wanted there to be no misunderstandings. “We don’t know who Stahl might have with him and I don’t intend on letting them stop us.”
Jeffords frowned, annoyed. “You’d rather go in than wait and ambush?” He said in a low hiss, concerned about the possibility for collateral damage to the otherwise innocent clients and employees. “You’re sure you can make an identification on the fly?”
“I’m sure.” Elliot kept his eyes on the entrance and frowned as the door opened. The pale man that stepped out was clearly a vampire, and eyeing the surroundings with the air of someone looking for threats. “But we might not have to go in after all.”
The vampire standing next to him tensed. “Wait for it -- he won’t be alone,” Jeffords muttered, pulling out a wooden stake from the holster on his belt, his eyes trained on the man at the door. Luck was on their side -- they were downwind, at least for the moment.
“It’s not him anyway - that’s him.” Elliot didn’t point but he didn’t have to. A second vamp had stepped out after the first gestured for him, followed by a third. “The one in the middle.”
Jeffords nodded. “Tell me the play,” he said, keyed up and impatient. They hadn’t been noticed yet, but would lose their advantage soon.
“Let them get a little closer, then blind them and strike fast.” He pulled an egg shaped cardboard container out from his satchel. “This is going to cause a flash three seconds after I push the plunger so guard your eyes. Three shots with the shotgun to put them down and you follow up with that twig to make sure he’s not getting up on his own.”
“On your mark,” Jeffords replied, tersely.
It was, as he’d expected, a rather brute force approach, and was predicated on the two companions running away rather than putting up a fight.
If they did (and the Stahls were loose cannons, so who knows), he didn’t care for their odds.
Elliot didn’t intend on any of them running away, he intended on making a statement. He waited a few more seconds, letting them drift close enough to be where he wanted, then tossed the grenade while murmuring “Mark” loud enough for Jeffords to hear.
The grenade detonated on schedule just as Elliot swung the shotgun up into both hands, setting off a brilliant flash of ultraviolet light. Startled and disoriented, the Stahls staggered back and clutched at their eyes. Unaffected, Elliot popped out from where he’d stayed concealed and opened fire, sending a cloud of sharp wood shards flying at their chests with enough force to penetrate. Given that the shards were made of Australian ironwood Elliot had no doubt the slivers would go right through the ribs and into the hearts.
Jeffords managed to shield his eyes just before the… the light bomb, for lack of a better word, went off (he could feel it, though, despite his ring), and as soon as he heard the blasts, he leapt, stake in hand -- the residual corona around his eyes disorienting, but he could still see well enough to know which one he had to target.
He crashed into the target stake first, his teeth extended in a snarl, and the two rolled together on the cobbles. After a brief and furious bout of wrestling and snapping, the stake slid home, and the vampire beneath him stiffened, eyes wide with rage and horror.
“Done,” he gasped, and seeing one of the remaining starting to stir, he leaped to his feet and began to make his way over to the vamp, ignoring the twinge in his arm until he and Rogers were out of the woods.
“Well done.” Elliot walked toward the downed vampires, calmly slinging the shotgun and pulling his revolver. Vampires could heal fast and they wouldn’t be down long, but not even vampires could heal from having their brains blown out.
He stomped down hard on the first and stared into its angry eyes, a cold smile on his face as he brought the barrel to rest on the bridge of its nose. “Give my regards to your ancestors when you see them.”
“Fuck y-” the vampire managed to grind out before the revolver discharged.
Jeffords flinched at the sound, his head whipping around to see what was left, his expression one of shock and a sudden, sharp kernel of what might’ve been fear, and he backed away from the third vampire, hands up. “What…” he said, his voice high and thin, “what are you… Jesus,” he swore, shakily, while the vampire he had been approaching began to scramble weakly backwards, making an inhuman noise of fear.
Elliot took his boot off the corpse and started toward the third vampire. “When you have mad dogs there’s no cure, you have to put them down. These fellows had a choice: abide by the law and be productive members of society or be murdering bastards who torture people for sport.”
He drew a bead on his target. “They chose wrong.”
The days of humans cowering in fear from the supernatural were over.
The revolver cracked, echoing loudly in the cold air, and the vampire twitched and lay still, his head a ruin.
Jeffords looked on, quietly horrified.
The ease with which his supposed ‘partner’ had dispatched two vampires, and without any apparent moral compunction at that sent a chill down his spine, but there’d been gunshots (multiple, at this point), and it was only a matter of time before they drew very unwanted attention (he had no earthly notion how to explain this to a member of the Yard. None at all.)
“We…” he felt his arm throb just then, and looked down at it -- the Stahl he’d staked had shredded it thoroughly, and while it appeared to be healing (a bit sluggishly -- he hadn’t fed properly that morning), it still hurt. He made a face. “Damn it,” he muttered, “I liked that coat.”
He looked over at Rogers, the pain in his arm helping to regain some of his senses despite the lingering twinge of unease. “We need to get him off the streets,” he said, referring to the staked vampire. “I can carry him.”
“Send me the bill. That’s what expense accounts are for.” Elliot holstered his revolver and quickly went through the dead vampires’ pockets before coming to Jefford’s position.
He had no qualms about executing feral vampires. It hadn’t been the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. Ferals were little more than targets for him, and the Stahls were a notorious bunch in Supernatural circles back in the States. If vampires were willing to abide by laws and work within the system, like Jeffords for example, then he was prepared to treat them like he would anyone else.
Those that didn’t? They deserved to be hunted down and exterminated just like humans did with any other predator.
“You’re right though, time to go. We need to find out what old Chuckie here knows.” He grinned at their prisoner, carried like a bale of cotton. “With a bit of luck he can give us everything we need to wrap this up by February.”
“Hm,” Jeffords sniffed, as the vampire he held stared up blankly at him. “Here’s hoping.”
They managed to get Charles Stahl to headquarters without attracting too much attention or an ambush -- which was a surprising bit of luck -- Jeffords expected the entire coven would be on high alert after sensing two of their own had been murdered.
Once back at Night Watch headquarters, a team of constables prepared Stahl for his interrogation while Jeffords changed his ruined shirt and jacket (leaving his tattered overcoat to be dealt with later) and they both warmed up with some tea.
Jeffords kept himself focused on the job at hand, although it was decidedly difficult to look Rogers in the eye. When it came time to question Charles Stahl, he followed Rogers into the room a little warily, sitting down in a chair off to the side.
Elliot gave no indication he noticed the difference as he sat down in front of the Stahl who was heavily chained to the floor, his arms and legs shackled. He put down several pieces of paper and a few photographs on the table in front of the vampire. One was a wanted poster with his name and likeness, with a bounty of five thousand dollars listed for his recovery.
“Well, well, well. Charles Stahl, we meet at last.” He told the vampire, smiling widely, feeling very satisfied at the sight of this particular vampire in chains. “I’m Elliot Rogers, Pinkerton Special Branch. I heard all about you and your kin, even before I knew what you were. You served in the 4th Georgia Cavalry back during the war, didn’t you? You boys were a nasty bunch, glad my unit never crossed your path.”
“We’ve got a list of charges against your gang a mile long, and my English friends-” a nod of his head toward Jeffords “- likely have some of their own. We’ve got some questions to ask and how you answer determines how things go for you. Cooperate and you might even not get extradited back home.”
Jeffords raised an eyebrow at the offer, especially on the heels of what Rogers had just done to two of the man’s coven. That, and Rogers’ claiming to be in the war between the States was… interesting.
Charles Stahl looked over at Rogers, grinning as he ground his teeth.
“You’re an idiot,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “An idiot and a fool. And I see you brought your pet,” he added, his eyes darting over to Jeffords, who looked at him evenly. “Kill him and let me go, and I’ll make it well worth your while,” he said. “You could be a part of something beautiful.”
Jeffords was unsure if he should press his advantage, if Rogers would have enough restraint to give him space, but he figured looking over at his so-called ‘partner’ would be too much of a tell.
“Why,” he asked, leaning forward, doing his best to display curiosity, “what’d you have in mind?”
Stahl laughed. “A new age. A new order. An even playing field. Join, brother, or be crushed under the wheel of progress.”
“I’d need specifics,” Jeffords replied. “To know whether it’d be worth my while.”
Stahl paused, and sniffed, his teeth bared. “You’re a lapdog of your coven and the Crown. So be it. Burn.” He stared at Jeffords as he shut his jaw tightly, his teeth cracking together hard.
Elliot had kept his mouth shut while Jeffords made his play and hoped like hell he wasn’t making a mistake. Vampires were a proud bunch and Stahl’s comments made it sound like something bigger was going on than just trying to muscle back in on the ancestral turf.
He hadn’t really expected Stahl to take him at face value. While he’d been telling the truth about extradition he never said anything about getting out of prison time or the executioner’s block depending on circumstances.
“What the hell?” Elliot lunged across the table as green foam poured out of the vampire’s mouth.
Jeffords gagged at the sudden, sharp, toxic smell in the room, corrosive and strong. He couldn’t begin to identify what it was, other than deadly.
“Poison,” he gasped, eyes wide, covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief.
Stahl laughed as he licked his lips and swallowed. “Corpse blood and holy water,” he said, raspily. “Nothing you can do. I’ll be dead in a matter of minutes.”
Jeffords paused -- with that soup running through the other vampire’s system, it was more than dangerous to have Stahl feed directly from him for purposes of healing -- nor would the man willingly feed, either. (The thought of linking however briefly with that level of insanity was also reason to hold off, but he had his duties.)
The thought that Stahl would take his own life so easily -- without a moment’s hesitation -- was very nearly unfathomable.
He stood, a little shakily. “I’ll see if I can fetch a syringe, prolong things,” he said, before making a hasty exit from the room.
Elliot had thought to pry the vampire’s mouth open but it was clearly too late to have any chance of stopping what was going to happen. He’d known the Stahls were unhinged, but suicide? “Your people not coming after you then?” He asked, trying to understand just what this meant. “Thought for sure we’d have to fight off an attack or two bringing you in.”
In fact, he and Jeffords had been bait for just that. Other Pinkertons had been pre-arranged to intervene if there had been an attack, practically the entire London office had been on call for this operation. The Night Watch had been left out of the loop, to keep their reactions natural, and Elliot saw no reason to clue them in now. It was skirting a fine line what with their orders from Chicago, but cooperate didn’t mean roll over and play dead.
It was damn strange that they hadn’t heard so much as a whisper since they’d captured Chuckie.
“You and I both know I was never going to walk out of here,” Charles replied in a low, choking rasp. “Your traps, your… your pathetic attempts at interrogation are all for nothing, and my people will not misstep again by wasting time and resources.” He looked up at Rogers, his teeth stained green. “Goddamn Yankee scum,” he wheezed.
“Yankee?” Elliot reared back as if he’d been shot and then lunged forward and slammed the vampire’s head against the desk. “Traitorous murdering bastard. Hell’s too good for you.”
Jeffords came back at a fast clip, his jacket off, his shirtsleeve rolled past his elbow, and the syringe already filled. He looked at the scene with a raised eyebrow.
“Right,” he said, briskly, “do you want to bother with giving him a few more minutes to… ask him questions, or let him go on his merry way?”
“He doesn’t look all that interested in answering questions.” Elliot retorted. “But no sense letting him take the easy way out.” Stahl’s slow motion suicide was rattling him more than he cared to admit. He gave the vampire’s head one more hit against the desktop then backed off for Jeffords to come in. “Let’s make the pain last.”
They’d probably be better off going back to where they nabbed him, questioning everyone in the building, and backtracking from there. But this couldn’t hurt.
There was a small pause. “I would hope,” Jeffords replied, a little icily, “that it is worth more than a spot of torture. After all, it will not be particularly pleasant for me, and I would rather there be something useful that comes out of it.”
He approached Stahl and jammed the syringe into his neck, and then shuddered a bit at the feel of his blood flowing through those tainted veins. He stalked back over to his side of the table and got out a fresh syringe and filled it, before looking over at Rogers. “Well,” he said, sharply, “ask away.”
Stahl shook some, and grimaced. “Yeah. Ask away, Yank.”
Elliot scowled at the dig, then took a deep breath and sat back down. Reacting this way was letting the vampire win. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. The Pinkertons had trained him better than this.
“How long have you been in London? What’s the big plan? You said yourself we can’t stop it so why don’t you brag a little? Show off. You got chased out of everywhere else and came slinking back here like rats and you think you’re going to take over? Hah. You couldn’t even stop a bunch of Contrabands from ransacking your plantation during the war.” He leaned in, getting in Stahl’s face. “That’s right, I heard the story. Didn’t realize it was you lot specifically until after I got assigned to your case, but it made the rounds in camp during the war.”
“C’mon Chuckie, you know you want to. Brag a little.”
Charles laughed by way of reply, and looked over at Jeffords, a little glassy-eyed. “I’d nearly forgotten what it was like,” he said, his voice thick. He turned back to Rogers. “You think we’re weak,” he said, grinning. “Good. Keep… keep thinking that.” He licked his lips, panting a little.
“Give me a reason to think otherwise Chuckie,” Elliot leaned back in his seat. “The best of your coven was destroyed in the war and you lot have been running ever since. The only thing you’re good at is hiding. I don’t think you’re weak: I know you are. If you were so strong, so skilled my comrade and I never would have been able to kill your bullyboys so quickly or take you prisoner. We got you, we’ll get the rest.”
Charles Stahl laughed. “You’ve no idea what we’re capable of,” he said, his expression somewhat between a grin and a grimace. “No idea. And once you learn,” he inhaled with a rattle, his eyes sliding over to Jeffords, “once you learn, and you shall, learn hard, there’ll be no going back. Never underestimate the lengths…” he coughed. “The lengths one would go through for… for justice. I never asked for this,” he gritted out. “I never asked to be chained. And now those chains are broken.” He looked over at Jeffords, who looked back, pale and motionless. “Or they would be, if it wasn’t for you. Damn you,” he panted. “Damn you for getting under my skin. I hope you feel it when I die.”
“The men, women, and children you lot had enslaved didn’t ask for it either.” Elliot pointed out, ignoring the fact that his family had owned slaves as well. It was beside the point and he’d fought on the side of the Union hadn’t he?
“What are you doing with the objects you stole, Chuckie? You and I both know you wouldn’t be able to do jack shit without them, so what’s the play? We can’t stop you anyway, right? Tell us so we can marvel at your superiority.” Taunting him didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, but it wasn’t as if he could appeal to the Vampire’s better nature or anything of that sort. The creature was dying as well, so there wasn’t any chance of offering him a deal. Appealing to his vanity was really the only thing they had left.
“Haven’t… haven’t you been listening?” Stahl replied, his voice a low and raspy whisper. “We’re building a new world. A… a better one.” His chin had dropped to his chest, and he was breathing in short, light breaths now. “It’s the… the natural… the natural order of things.”
Jeffords looked over to Rogers. “Another dose?” He asked, his voice high and tight.
Whatever the Stahls were up to it was bigger than initially thought. They needed to keep this one alive long enough to find out details. Elliot barely waited a heartbeat before nodding. “Do it.”
The vampire winced, but stood up with the already filled syringe at the ready. As he made his way over to Stahl, however, the chained vampire exhaled one last time and expired. Given his earlier struggles, and the bitterness of his words, it was very nearly gentle.
The response was immediate -- Jeffords’ hands trembled so badly he dropped the syringe, which shattered onto the floor, and he managed to catch hold of the table before doing something truly embarrassing.
“He’s gone,” he replied, his voice harsh and sharp. “Apologies.”
The entire thrust of the conversation -- and, indeed, Stahls decision to essentially commit suicide -- was utterly baffling. Death came at such a cost -- felt so keenly by one’s Sire and anyone one had Sired, that to seek it out willingly…
He shuddered, feeling ill, his blood coursing through the veins of a dead man, the brief link tying them together snapping painfully.
What on earth had Stahl meant? All that nonsense about a New World Order was mostly posturing, he knew, but there was more buried there if only his head would stop spinning.
“Not your fault. I should have had you give him another dose earlier.” Elliot waved off the apology, frowning as he checked to make sure the vampire was truly gone. Good riddance, but the timing could have been much better. They’d have to go through the possessions Stahl had on him when he was captured, and those of his two companions, but right now he was more concerned with Jeffords.
“You going to be alright? I know that takes a lot out of you even without him killing himself.” He still had a hard time believing that Stahl had willingly done that. The level of insanity or fanaticism required...it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
Jeffords sniffed, pulling himself up stiffly, his expression grim as he gripped the table tightly. “Yes,” he replied, bitterly. “The effects should… should fade in a day or so, they usually do, although this is rather unique circumstances, so we shall see on that count.”
He looked over at Stahl, his lip curling. “I shall do my best to write up an accurate report,” he continued, “although my recollection may be somewhat challenged.” He had no doubt his coven would be deeply disturbed by what he’d pass along, and there were pieces that rubbed uncomfortably, not quite fitting together or making sense, but he wasn’t sure if that was his unpleasant reaction, or something he was just missing. “My sort do not take that step, as a general rule. And losing three of their coven in such short order...” he frowned. “It is certain to leave a mark.”
“Hell they were already half mad from losing so many kin during the war. The plantation burning down and going into exile probably didn't help either.” The question was how much of what Stahl had spouted resembled something close to the truth.
“There's crazy and then there's plain loco, as they say out west. That?” He gestured at the corpse. “That's either loco, completely committed to a cause, or some combination of the two.”
Jeffords shuddered. “My vote is for the third,” he replied, and while it took an effort to stay on his feet, he knew that if he sat, it’d take more for him to get up again, and he really didn’t want to be in the room with Stahl longer than necessary.
He frowned. “What that cause might be is another matter, for another day, I fear. I… I think I’ll be taking the rest of the day off,” he said. He sniffed, detesting that he had to show weakness in front of Rogers after that entire display. “I’ll send a bill for the coat.”
“No shame in taking time off after something like that.” Elliot responded with a nod. He wanted to fault the vampire for slacking off, but he honestly couldn’t blame Jeffords for needing the time to recuperate after what had happened. “I’ll get it handled from here. Maybe there’ll be something in the personal effects that’ll give us a clue.”
“Send the bill. You earned it.”
*The NPCs were written by Linny.