02-18-2017, 11:37 PM
“Absolutely. You look like an intelligent young man, moreso than your friend over there.” Harlan waved the bloody brass covering his knuckles toward the prone form of a musclebound Ork, the heavy metal welded to his jaw still vibrating from the left hook that had knocked him cold. The Kindred reached down to his stomach, and pulled out a rusty shiv, wiping it on the trembling human dressed in ripped leather and busted tin cans. “I’m sure your boss will reimburse me for the cost of the tailoring work my shirt will need.” He reached with his other hand and hoisted the kid up by the collar of his jacket, drag-marching him into the shadowy hookah bar on 30th street.
As soon as they were silhouetted against the doorframe, the Ravnos heard the telltale click of automatic weapons being chambered and the clinking of metallic blades being drawn. His hostage whimpered, struggling to get away, and yelped. “Me and Irontooth tried to stop him guys, he’s a Prime! He just came up and cracked the guy’s jaw!” Harlan cuffed him in the back of the head and he fell silent once more. Dull, ember like pupils cast their gaze around the room. Too many to fight head on, which he’d expected. Their boss was seated against the back wall, idly sucking on a hookah piece and watching the scene unfold, radiating the kind of lazy confidence that permeated this type of outfit.
Harlan threw the kid onto the floor and raised his hands, appearing to surrender. “Sorry for the hub-bub, fellas. Had to make an entrance. I doubt you clinks would pay attention to a fancy dressed fella like me without a bit of the old ultraviolence to liven things up, right?” He wrinkled his nose, making a show of sniffing the air. “And talk about livening things up, phew! Argus back there looks like he’s fusing to the couch!” At that, Argus stood up to his full height and kicked the table over in front of him, shattering his smoking piece and clomping towards Harlan in big leather boots. Bits of chain and leather and other detritus jangled on his outfit, the man bald and imposing at 8 feet tall with muscles like steel cord and bright green glowing veins. “How. Do. You. Know. My. Name, punk bitch?” He asked, on what was less a voice and more a growl.
The Ravnos gave him a cheeky smile and snapped his thumb at Argus. “Easy, Rock. I just asked around the neighborhood. Asked who thought they ran this turf. Junkies, hobos, and burnouts, all said the same thing. ‘Argus and the Metalheads.’ “ Harlan took a step back and did a small, pacing circle of the store, the rest of the gang members looking at the stranger uneasily and then back at their boss, as if to reassure themselves that this strange, dapper man would soon be dispatched and things could return to normal. “But it’s very, very apparent that you don’t run shit around here. Disgraceful. Simply disgraceful.”
The vampire heard Argus’s chains clink as he moved his arms in an unseen gesture, followed by two sets of boots trying to be quiet. A gesture of his own gloved hand, and a rough, braided hangman’s noose materialized from the ceiling, looping over the neck of the first thug and yanking him off his feet to dance a merry jig of asphyxia. “You see, I know this city. I lived in this city. I fucking ran part of this city.” The second assailant, unaware of his reduced advantage, took a short breath and raised a heavy wrench to smash Harlan’s skull open. There was a whirl of motion and a BANG , and the blue, scaled alien stumbled backwards clutching a bloody stump of a fist, Harlan’s Colt pointed upwards. “And by ran, I don't mean I sat in a hookah bar and doped myself loopy. I mean ran, as in taking care of your fucking citizenry . You take care of the turf, and it takes care of you when you need it too.”
The impudence was too much for Argus, the threat to his authority making his rage boil over. He let out a mighty roar of dominance, and with a forceful uppercut, punched Harlan’s head clean off his body. Bowler hat still miraculously attached as the vampire's cranium smacked against the wall and rolled to a stop just inside the doorframe. Argus spat in contempt and turned away as the man’s body crumpled to the ground, satisfied….until he heard the stranger’s voice again. “I’m sure the locals will celebrate the change in leadership. If any of you decide you’d rather continue living, I suggest you leave now. Auditions will be sometime after I’ve cleaned up the mess. Ta.”
Argus didn’t see it happen, but the reactions of the few men who hadn’t fled were more than enough to make his break out in a cold sweat. The room went inky dark, and a horrific, meaty, skittering noise filled the air. He felt sharp needles penetrating his flesh, tearing him apart bit by bit as nightmarish creatures flooded out of the stranger’s ragged body, screams and wails of sheer terror silenced beyond the storefront. A stray hand clawed desperately at the window, making a muffled tapping noise before being dragged back into the inky blackness filling the interior of the bar. Death was heavy in the air as Argus and his hapless gang writhed on the floor, screaming as illusions ripped them apart in their minds. That made it quite easy for Harlan to drink his fill of warm Vitae, and execute the rest with bullets to the dome, or just beating them to a bloody pulp. His Beast was roaring triumphantly in his ears, and the temptation to completely go all out was consequence free.
It was a massacre.
As soon as they were silhouetted against the doorframe, the Ravnos heard the telltale click of automatic weapons being chambered and the clinking of metallic blades being drawn. His hostage whimpered, struggling to get away, and yelped. “Me and Irontooth tried to stop him guys, he’s a Prime! He just came up and cracked the guy’s jaw!” Harlan cuffed him in the back of the head and he fell silent once more. Dull, ember like pupils cast their gaze around the room. Too many to fight head on, which he’d expected. Their boss was seated against the back wall, idly sucking on a hookah piece and watching the scene unfold, radiating the kind of lazy confidence that permeated this type of outfit.
Harlan threw the kid onto the floor and raised his hands, appearing to surrender. “Sorry for the hub-bub, fellas. Had to make an entrance. I doubt you clinks would pay attention to a fancy dressed fella like me without a bit of the old ultraviolence to liven things up, right?” He wrinkled his nose, making a show of sniffing the air. “And talk about livening things up, phew! Argus back there looks like he’s fusing to the couch!” At that, Argus stood up to his full height and kicked the table over in front of him, shattering his smoking piece and clomping towards Harlan in big leather boots. Bits of chain and leather and other detritus jangled on his outfit, the man bald and imposing at 8 feet tall with muscles like steel cord and bright green glowing veins. “How. Do. You. Know. My. Name, punk bitch?” He asked, on what was less a voice and more a growl.
The Ravnos gave him a cheeky smile and snapped his thumb at Argus. “Easy, Rock. I just asked around the neighborhood. Asked who thought they ran this turf. Junkies, hobos, and burnouts, all said the same thing. ‘Argus and the Metalheads.’ “ Harlan took a step back and did a small, pacing circle of the store, the rest of the gang members looking at the stranger uneasily and then back at their boss, as if to reassure themselves that this strange, dapper man would soon be dispatched and things could return to normal. “But it’s very, very apparent that you don’t run shit around here. Disgraceful. Simply disgraceful.”
The vampire heard Argus’s chains clink as he moved his arms in an unseen gesture, followed by two sets of boots trying to be quiet. A gesture of his own gloved hand, and a rough, braided hangman’s noose materialized from the ceiling, looping over the neck of the first thug and yanking him off his feet to dance a merry jig of asphyxia. “You see, I know this city. I lived in this city. I fucking ran part of this city.” The second assailant, unaware of his reduced advantage, took a short breath and raised a heavy wrench to smash Harlan’s skull open. There was a whirl of motion and a BANG , and the blue, scaled alien stumbled backwards clutching a bloody stump of a fist, Harlan’s Colt pointed upwards. “And by ran, I don't mean I sat in a hookah bar and doped myself loopy. I mean ran, as in taking care of your fucking citizenry . You take care of the turf, and it takes care of you when you need it too.”
The impudence was too much for Argus, the threat to his authority making his rage boil over. He let out a mighty roar of dominance, and with a forceful uppercut, punched Harlan’s head clean off his body. Bowler hat still miraculously attached as the vampire's cranium smacked against the wall and rolled to a stop just inside the doorframe. Argus spat in contempt and turned away as the man’s body crumpled to the ground, satisfied….until he heard the stranger’s voice again. “I’m sure the locals will celebrate the change in leadership. If any of you decide you’d rather continue living, I suggest you leave now. Auditions will be sometime after I’ve cleaned up the mess. Ta.”
Argus didn’t see it happen, but the reactions of the few men who hadn’t fled were more than enough to make his break out in a cold sweat. The room went inky dark, and a horrific, meaty, skittering noise filled the air. He felt sharp needles penetrating his flesh, tearing him apart bit by bit as nightmarish creatures flooded out of the stranger’s ragged body, screams and wails of sheer terror silenced beyond the storefront. A stray hand clawed desperately at the window, making a muffled tapping noise before being dragged back into the inky blackness filling the interior of the bar. Death was heavy in the air as Argus and his hapless gang writhed on the floor, screaming as illusions ripped them apart in their minds. That made it quite easy for Harlan to drink his fill of warm Vitae, and execute the rest with bullets to the dome, or just beating them to a bloody pulp. His Beast was roaring triumphantly in his ears, and the temptation to completely go all out was consequence free.
It was a massacre.
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”