honey, i wanna break you Who: Regina Hawthorne & Seth [NPC]. What: Regina makes a sloppy attempt at a kill and is justly rewarded. When: Backdated; six months ago. Just after sundown. Where: Mid-city of New Orleans. Warnings: R for violence and torture. Progress: Gdoc, complete.
The windows of the house stared down at her like eyes; Regina couldn't decide if they were condemning or beseeching. It would depend on whether the house realized its parasitic infection, and despite the reality she was aware of when it came to things that went bump in the night, she wasn't quite ready to apply sentience to the sort of structure she lived in. Not that this was her house, nor anything like the apartment complex she called home; the dilapidated building in front of her was cordoned off with yellow tape, another victim of Hurricane Katrina still dallying on the waiting list for either repairs or complete demolition.
She hefted the bag she was holding over her shoulder, fixing it into place. The hand carved stakes within jostled musically against one another, and the slosh of liquid from the gas can in her right hand sounded gently as she took a step forward. The gun situated in the back of her waistband was a comforting presence, as little good she knew it would be against the undead. A knife in her boot was more security, but the amount of time it would take to reach for it less so.
Going it alone was stupid, but Regina had no idea how long this particular leech would make this shithole his lair. He'd been causing quite a stir among the local Kindred population, killing indiscriminately between both neonates and kine alike. He was old, older than most of the Kindred she'd dealt with, and Regina knew killing him would send a message that might settle things in mid-city for at least a few months. The idea of a respite appealed to her, but even more so was putting this particular notch in her metaphorical hunter's belt. Those were the thoughts that dispelled any worries in her mind as she went around the back, finding a backdoor that led into the place. It was boarded over, but Regina wasn't looking to let herself in through conventional means.
It was apparent that looters had already made the house a target of assault; windows were smashed open, then covered haphazardly with tarps that came down easily under Regina's touch. She carefully let herself in through the broken pane, putting the gas can into the building first before stepping in through the gaping hole. She swung her head under, and once she was inside, crouched low to the ground until her eyes adjusted to the dark interior. Any furniture that had previously occupied the space had long since been removed, and a scattering of beer cans, old newspaper and other trash littered the floor. The room had two doorways, open and lacking doors. One led into a tiny bathroom whose fixtures were missing; the other led off into a hall that connected to other rooms in the building.
Swallowing, Regina wrapped careful fingers around the gas can's handle and started forward slowly. She tested each floorboard before putting her full weight on it, trying to lessen the chance of a creak that would prematurely announce her presence. The second room was a kitchen, again empty, but with a pantry set into one corner. There were no windows in the room, making it an ideal resting place for Kindred looking for privacy and some semblance of security. Heart pounding, Regina crept forward to the door. She reached out, fingers trembling as they wrapped around the curved door handle. It looked out of place in the sparsely furnished space, far too ornate for the house. It could have been a memory of who had lived here before, but Regina pushed the thought from her mind as she pressed it down and let the door swing outward on its own.
Either she'd gotten stupid lucky or things were going to go far more easily than she'd imagined. Regina had planned this hunt to a fault before setting out, but every failsafe she had in mind seemed to fall away as she saw what looked like little more than a dead body settled heavily into one corner of the pantry. The shelves that had been there before were broken away, their detritus sticking out from the walls like slanted teeth. His face was turned away from her, slumped into the wall. She couldn't tell if he was breathing, but as she came to a crouch near him, it was clear that he had no body heat. If it weren't for the blood around his neck and crusting his hands, she could have mistaken him for another bum that wandered around the city.
She silently put the bag to her right and picked up the gas can. Originally, she'd made a mental note to stake him first, but with no one there to remind her of the steps she'd planned out, Regina started worrying he'd wake up first. She rose to her feet, raising the gas can and splashing the man liberally, making sure to cover his entire body. Anyone alive surely would have been woken by the stinking fumes, which made Regina silently gag as she concentrated on emptying the can completely. She ended up stepping back all the same, covering her mouth as she pulled herself together. The can went next to her backpack, and she reached into her back pocket for the lighter she kept there for this specific purpose. It had seen its fair share of Kindred deaths, but this would be the cherry to top them all.
With a flick of her thumb, the flame swirled to life, emitting a tiny, bright glow like the faintest quiver of hope. Her breath shivered over it, making it dance as she moved to drop it on the resting Kindred. The fire took quickly, emboldened by the ignition she'd provided. He did not stir until the first tongues of flame began to lick at his clothes, until the first stirrings of heat began to cut through to his skin. Then fear and pain awakened him, and the drive for self preservation overcame even daysleep.
His hand shot out, fuel-soaked cloth igniting as he did. Fingers shifted to claws and wrapped tight around her ankle. He jerked her sharply toward him, rising while he pulled her, sharp fangs flashing in the dim light.
Common sense struck her like a bag of bricks. She fumbled backward, trying to release his grip on her ankle with a sharp kick, all while reaching for the Beretta in her waistband. Her own weight and his grip sent her sprawling to the ground; the gun came free before her ass hit the peeling linoleum, and she leveled the weapon's muzzle directly at the flaming vampire in front of her as she lay on the floor in front of him. Gritting her teeth, Regina fired three shots point blank into his face, the sharp bark of the gun all too loud in what was previously a dead silence.
His feral growl was shattered by the shots, his voice wet with blood and agony. He lunged at her, more animal than anything that had ever been human. He pulled her into the growing flames, wrapping his arm around her, sharp claws digging into the meat of her back the moment she was within reach; Regina screeched, flailing. Blood welled beneath his dagger-tipped fingers. He doused the worst of the flames against her own clothes, against her bare skin as he dragged her closer. His fangs snapped at everything within reach, blindly biting in an effort to save himself. She hit him with the butt of the gun, frantically trying to get him away as the flames licked over her form.
Trying to angle the gun, she fired off another shot that went wild, and then a burn to her arm caused her to drop the weapon. She shoved against his face, unable to extricate herself from the struggle. Her next move was to reach for the knife in her boot, but he was all but on top of her. She kicked up, aiming her knee toward his crotch.
The Kindred did not dodge the blow, but if he felt it, he gave no sign. The flames were withering as he crawled over her, and though the pain did not subside, his anger grew enough to overwhelm it. His hands wrapped around her biceps, pinning her down to yellowed and cracked linoleum. He lunged, sharp fangs digging into the meat of her neck, his bite yawning wide enough to scrape her collarbone. Pain blossomed throughout her mind, across her vision. Regina screamed, muscles tensing against the teeth that sank deep into her flesh. She'd been bitten by a dog when she was five, having stupidly offered it food from its own bowl. A visit to the ER and ten stitches later she was lucky to not have lost a finger.
She felt the same sense of hopelessness as she did then now; the arm attached to the shoulder not being mauled rammed a fist against his back, against the floor, against the back of his head, flailing for any purchase that would free her. Her leg kicked again simply for want of something, and despite the fact that each movement gained her nothing, she refused to stop. Regina could feel the edges of something more pleasant sink in around the bite, and struggled against that, too.
The pass of fresh blood over his tongue renewed the Kindred's vigor. His wounds remained, but with every drop his damnable strength began to inch closer to its full measure. His bite dug in until his fangs scratched bone, until he heard the wet snap of muscle between his jaws. Regina made a sound between a gurgle and a scream, the waves of pain becoming almost a numb sensation throughout her form. He tongued the wound, delving deep, coaxing out more precious blood. As she battered at him he reached to catch her hand, in his blind hunger and fury missing her wrist and clawing sharp across her face instead. Her eyes snapped closed and then opened again at the fresh wounding.
His eyes turned up to meet hers as three perfect lines unzipped her downcast face. Blood beaded, then flowed freely. He moved up her body, licking lasciviously at the deepest cut. The invasive touch woke new avenues of pain, ones that she clung to in order to press her fingers to his face. She shoved, her voice raw from its struggle, but she could feel the strength leaving her limbs. Edges of black around her sight were a forewarning of what was to come. Tears stung at her eyes, worry saturating every thought -- that this would be her last night, how could she be so stupid, who would take care of Hailey? Her jaw clenched, fingers fighting to not slip away.
Sharp fingers dug into her as he lapped at her wounds. His hands passed over her, claws tracing her biceps and forearms, following the curve of ribs and torso and hip. He clutched her her waist, holding her against him close as a lover. But there was no lust in the press of his mouth, no teasing in the slide of his teeth over her: all was hunger and rage, pure animal need. Sharp talons pierced her belly, pinning her beneath him like a butterfly on display.
His mouth returned to her throat. He drank deeply of the blood still pulsing from the wound. He felt her fading, felt her struggle lessening with every heady draught. His anger was not sated; he would not let her die so easily. He reached up and tore at his own mending flesh, ripping open one flame-licked wound along his throat. With one taloned hand he lifted her head, burying her face in his bloodied flesh. Regina coughed, blood and bits of charred meat and other things best left undescribed filling her mouth as she tried to turn her face away. She did what she could to deny what he was forcing on her, but the blood smeared over her lips and down her throat quenched a thirst she had not been aware of until that moment. The hands that had tried to reject him stopped, confused. Her mind felt wiped blank of all previous thought, of every worry that had made itself known; now there was only that taste, that copper that coated her tongue. She choked, coughed again, and then fitted her mouth to the gash he'd made of his throat. Even as she drank, a small part of her was stunned with disgust.
His hands softened on her stomach. His claws retracted, returning to the calloused, bitten-nailed things they had been before he'd turned. He smoothed over her skin, tracing nonsense patterns in sticky, drying blood. His neck arched, allowing more of his vitae to pour down her throat. Pleasure coursed through him, the same sickly, brutal pleasure that had come with each fledgeling he had made before. He felt her bound to him, childe and sire, his hunter dragged screaming into unending night. He laughed; it sounded wet against her lips, raw where it clawed its way out of his shredded, burnt throat.
The clasp of her mouth on his neck strengthened, her throat pumping the vitae down into her stomach, into her form for all it was worth. Regina found her hands were pressed to his nape, to his shoulder, as her mouth sucked on the one thing her mind could realize -- that life-giving, sweetly bitter liquid that now encompassed all her thoughts. Her body shuddered against him even as she could feel it dying, and could not stop in any of the above. Whatever plan she'd come into that house with that night was turned astray, shredded and utterly lost.
He felt her heart slow, and finally stop, its hummingbird flutter crushed beneath the weight of her new form. He let her drink her fill and more, until at last his eyelids began to droop and sluggishness seeped into his limbs. The night was young yet, young enough for him to feed and find a new place to sleep. He pressed his hand to her breast, holding her down as he pried himself away from her hungry kiss. Her hands grasped for what it was lost, her mouth working at the empty air even as she felt her body succumbing to exhaustion. She managed to keep her eyes somewhat open as she lay vulnerable on the floor, her limbs falling to her sides, watching him move away from her.
He stood up, straightening his ravaged body with no small effort. He was a bloody wreck, a mass of torn, burned meat, but that was a problem easily fixed. As he always did after an Embrace, he felt alive in spite of his weakness, thirsty and craving in a way he felt at no other time. He looked down to her prone form. He kicked her knife away; it clattered across the cheap, cracked flooring, sliding into the shadows beneath a set of termite-eaten cabinets.
Then he staggered away, leaving only a few droplets of blood and a set of muddy bootprints to mark his passage.
He moved out of her line of sight, all but disappearing. Regina could hear him move through the house, the building itself groaning at his passage; it was the last thing she heard as her lids closed, and she passed out. Part of her hoped she would not wake, but the rest of her knew the truth.