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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 1:57:37 GMT -5
TI
Your trip starts here.
Once out of the valley that harbors Los Angeles and sparkling Hollywood like Mammon’s treasures, bright studio spotlights give way to a vast ocean of stars, more immortal than any screen gem who dipped his or her palms in a little wet cement. Blinking, smiling billboards erode into clumps of short, cabbalistic trees that try to eke out a living in a terrain juxtaposed between oppressive, rocky Sierras and the Pacific coastline. Glaring traffic lights, blinking red, yellow, and green in rote memorization, are replaced by the occasional opulent glare of a wild animal’s eyes in an oncoming vehicle’s headlights. Out here, where the media utopia is but a distant glow over the East Hills, Nature reigns supreme, whether protected by God’s divine intervention, the EPA, or Hollywood studios that need to reel in some last minute “open-air” footage.
But don’t confuse nature with serenity. Tonight does not bode well for the forces of peace and tranquility. An ominous harvest moon bleeds its polluted corona into the sky, foretelling misfortune. Thunder rumbles in barely contained booms of vengeance, causing the earth to tremble beneath its bellowing. Gusts of wind, some chilly and others sickly warm, compete with one another in a grand race to reach the roiling black clouds, almost imperceptible against the night sky. Only the hungry void, empty of stars, reveals the location of a brewing, brooding evening squall.
Streaks of hatred shatter the atmosphere, and sweet, warm vengeance begins to drizzle slowly from the sky.
MotorDragons
A quartet of motorbikes speeds down the highway leading east out of LA, snaking serpentlike through the hills. There had been plenty of opportunities for tricks, races, and road rash for the less experienced on the sharp inclines and curves, but now the highway had become a straightway, cutting through a small valley where a malicious squall was brewing.
The front three bikers formed a triad, with a fourth trailing close behind. Lightning flashed off in the distance, a crystal clear white-blue bolt streaking from sky to ground. Shortly thereafter, the biker in the lead, the talkative MotorDragon, lifts one black-gloved hand high in the air and gestures northwards. Right in the direction of the storm.
Then, with a growl of his engine, he cuts over the curb and onto the turf, kicking up a cloud of dirt as he goes offroad. The other two bikes follow him, en route to the rendezvous point.
Junko
Jun'ko will laugh to herself, as she assumes the rear guard position of the teardrop shaped formation, how Freudian she will think to herself, laughing for the Motordragons probably know, and care nothing for Freud's works.
Following the trio off road Jun'ko controls the cycle with her skill not her supernatural strength, she has had plenty of time to hone her skills and a relentless taskmaster to judge her, she handles the large cycle with an ease that would surprise those who judged her soley by her looks.
Her eyes twinkling with the challenge she will turn herself into the path of the tempest, her body the hammer, her mind the anvil, all she needed for fulfillment was to withstand the heat of the forge.
--> From Chop Shop Suey
MotorDragons
With a carbaulic burst of speed, Jun'ko slices through their teardrop formation, causing her biker compatriots to scatter outwards for several feet to avoid getting a faceful of dirt. A thrilling sensation electrifies the air and churns deep within the seat of her bike.
Suddenly, one of the MotorDragons guns ahead on Jun'ko's right, where he evens out for a few seconds. Then, unexpectedly, he leans left abruptly! The friction of his back wheel shrieks as it straifes way too close to Jun'ko's front tire!
Once he's jetted across Jun'ko's front, he looks over his shoulder. Though none can see his eyes behind the visor, he's looking to see whether she can keep up. She isn't the only one challenging tonight.
Junko
Jun'ko's laughter is lost in the thunder of the cylces, but her face clearly shows her pleasure as she moves ever so slightly to match the MotorDragon's course, making the manuever look as effortless as a leaf floating over a pond on a clear summer night.
Eyes twinkling Jun'ko will fly over the next bump and land on her rear tire, dropping back down to both wheels after she has held it for a short time.
TI
But for a short enough time that none of the MotorDragons are truly impressed. Jun'ko's attempt does, however, encourage tougher tricks amongst her riding partners.
The two quiet riders fan out and parallel Jun'ko before looking across her path at one another. Then, in an instant, they both lean forward and dig their front tires down, swerving their wheels left and right as erratically as possible without toppling over or spinning out. A Grind maneuver, usually better reserved for dirtbikes.
The Dragon on Jun'ko's right pulls up swiftly out of the maneuver, the soil a little too damp from the drizzle to let his wheel run freely without sticking. Clots of clay stick to his wheel.
On the opposite side, the Dragon has even less success, going into a full spinout after pulling a tricky run not meant for a bike his size. A halo of grass clumps and dirt spray out, missing Jun'ko as her momentum takes her far ahead of the driver who lost control. Lagging behind, he revs and gets with the program, catching up after a forty seconds or so.
Tamed, they drive alongside Jun'ko. They may have just given her the impression that they're amateurs, but they want their chance to change that.
Junko
Jun'ko will pump her hand in the air acknowledging the MotorDragons, but she will continue on without further displays, tonight there is a job to do, and a chance to bind these young men closer to her than they already are.
MotorDragons
Reluctantly, the MotorDragons cease their antics, momentarily put in their place by a superior rider. One bout wasn't enough to convince them of that entirely, however, and although they rode quietly along on either side of Jun'ko, they waited for their next opportunity to show her up, or at least to show-off and restore their credibility.
The leading MotorDragon, however, above the competition since the beginning, suddenly flips on a floodlight attachment, spilling a swath of much-needed light out over their cross-country trek. By now, the clouds were beginning to swallow the valley sky, inking out the stars and hiding the moon. Thunder pealed louder now, sundering the air and breaking through helmet padding to assault the ears. The rain, too, began to increase, growing heavier and thicker as it slapped against Jun'ko's visor in little beadlets.
Then, without warning, the leading MotorDragon hoists a hand high in the air in a frantic signal! Thirty yards or so ahead of Jun'ko, he rises above ground level and then disappears downward. In preparation for an unexpected jump that's too late to turn away from, the other MotorDragons crouch in their seats, settling their weight low to let the shocks do the rest, as a drop of unknown depth looms only a few seconds ahead.
Junko
Jun'ko shoots over the edge, letting loose a heartfelt "Banzai!" as she enters free fall. Her honed reflexes allowing her to make last moment shifts before she hits the ground with a minimum of slop, however her heavy bike sinks in slightly before leaping free, allowing her to continue her ride.
MotorDragons
The seven-and-a-half to eight foot drop proves little difficulty to Jun'ko, barely much of a free fall at all, but one that could have been disastrous to a rider caught unawares.
Metal scrapes across ground as the MotorDragon to the left of Jun'ko hits the ground with a nasty hit on the shocks. His bike bounces painfully up and down before catching friction on the ground again and pulling itself out of the muck.
Thankfully, Jun'ko's right-hand escort doesn't come careening down on top of her head. With a tight grip on his steering, he adjusts his weight and rolls into the fall, landing with only a minor fallback like Jun'ko.
The weather only gets worse as they move forward, rain droplets now beginning to pound against the ground like tiny aquatic bombs.
Junko
Keeping a closer eye on the terrain Jun'ko closes the gap between her and the lead MotorDragon as she wonders what other surprises await her, both on the ride, and at it's end.
She has the beginnings of a good pack here, however she must be sure before she presents anyone to her sire, lest she get fed to them, like all of her clan Jun'ko was ambitious. But not fatally so.
The night sped on, and Jun'ko grinned to herself at least she wouldn't have to rationalize the real reason she was pale and cold, at least mankind had graduated from sitting around the campfire to get warm. Space heaters worked much faster and presented far less risk to her kind.
MotorDragons
But space heaters would short out in a short time in this cold, heavy rain. Obese droplets plummeted from the sky, gushing downwards as though the clouds cut the sky's abdomen open. A veritable floor show of lightning danced through the mass overhead, only rarely making a Riverdance stomp towards the earth to split a lone tree in half or to blemish a hillside with soot and tiny shards of glass.
At this point, Jun'ko and her prospective gang were nothing short of hellish stormriders, reeling their way through a tempest that couldn't touch them. An onlooker might believe, in fact, that it had spawned them, built them from the bottom up with heady arrogance and destructive intention.
The terrain changed along their path, and a hill that had been in their collective view for some time now loomed, a giant of the earth rising in consternation against the unnaturally active atmosphere. Instead of moving around the hill, a venture which might have cost nearly a quarter of an hour of time, the leading MotorDragon veered right, onto a barely noticeable grooved niche that zig-zagged up the hillside.
It was a rally point for motorbikers. By day, they would brave wicked lacerations, broken bones, and the possibility of death for a good thrill. But even they weren't crazy enough to brave it at night, in the midst of a storm.
The Stormriders were, though.
Junko
Jun'ko eyes light up as she sees a worthy challenge, and this challenge is worth doing well.
Accelerating, Jun'ko moves toward the muddy path, ready at a moments notice to fuel her undead limbs to enhance her ability to respond.
MotorDragons
Dead people don't spend hard-earned cash. And for most people, you can't take it with you. By the time he reaches the leading MotorDragon reaches the first upward turn, he slows down and digs his heels into the mud, wheeling around in a gradual 180 that keeps him on the trek rather than throwing him over the lip of the niche. One slip off the obvious path could be disastrous; the sharp slope would drag a bike and its rider all the way to the bottom. The higher they get, the worse a disaster it could be.
Once turned about, there's a slippery pass going on for what appears to be about a half a mile. Add the rain, lightning, severe dropoffs and runoff waterfalls, and you've got a veritable crash course from hell.
Jun'ko can hear the two wheelboys behind her guttering up the pathway. With visibility so low, if she doesn't keep moving, or pauses, or spins out for any reason, they might not notice before the resulting head-on collision.
Junko
Closing the gap, Jun'ko does not bother to slow down, but neither does she accelerate. Yet.
While she is not worried about the consequences for her, her companions are so much more fragile.
She rounds the curve with little room to spare feeling her rear tire sliding close to the edge but, with a slight tap on the gas, pulling away from potential disaster.
Grinning as she slowly closes the gap Jun'ko is on high alert for a chance to pass without endangering her young companions too badly, they are mortal after all, but still she doesn't want to be charged with coddling them either.
MotorDragons
Jun'ko takes the turn like an impatient daredevil, riding just outside the shower of muck thrown up by the leading MotorDragon's rear wheel. A start shakes him in his seat as he looks over his shoulder and sees their "guest member" riding him. The faceless helmet then turns about, looks forward, and lowers as the lead's bike accelerates, pushing ahead towards the next turn, a few thousand feet away.
Behind them, the first MotorDragon takes the turn at breakneck speed, not losing a trace of traction and gaining on Jun'ko just like she gains on the lead. Last and, in this gang, least at the moment, takes the turn much slower, digging his heels into the muck and rolling around the edge, falling behind quite a distance, but not far enough that he's out of sight.
Junko
Fueling her limbs with vitae, and strengthing her mental fortitude as she gears up for the task at hand, Jun'ko puts everything she has into a burst of speed and fury, pushing the cycle and her to the limits as she attempts to shoot past the lead rider.
MotorDragons
Crunch! Screeeeech!
Jun'ko guns ahead of the leading MotorDragon at a suicidal pace! With a yelp, a cry, and a fierce jerk to the left on his wheel, the mortal rider's heart skips a beat as the rear wheel on Jun'ko's back knocks against his prone leg! Leather is shorn from with a scratching, teflon sound, and smoke jettisons into the rain-filled air! A ferocious shower of sparks bursts from the rider's right as his bike begins dragging against the hillside, pushed to an extreme side to allow Jun'ko's complete bypass without his wheel going out of control and sending him careening off the ledge to plummet some forty or fifty feed to the ground!
Despite the overwhelming anxiety and the near-scrape with death, the rider manages to even out his bike by locking the steering into place and letting the wheels catch steady friction before he goes out of whack. Now several feet behind Jun'ko, the lead MotorDragon keeps a moderate pace, his expression thankfully hidden behind a black visor. His pant leg whips in tatters on the left side of the bike, torn apart by Jun'ko's wheel.
The sting of red lacerations just above the ankle haven't begun to hurt yet. He can't afford to feel the pain at seventy miles an hour on a veritable mud-covered tightrope.
Junko
Pulling ahead Jun'ko glances in her mirror and smiles grimly to herself, we'll see what happens now, she thinks to herself and concentrates on the task at hand.
MotorDragons
Jun'ko does not have much more than a minute to reflect on the consequences of her ambitious strive to take first place. Before she knows it, the end of the path looms, the force of gravity and the pressure of height drawing her dangerously close. The sky opens up, brilliant with bolts of electricity, bursts of white fire intermittent between a hail of wicked cold rain.
The lead MotorDragon has less time to stew over his injuries. Worse could happen, if he doesn't make the turn. The others lag behind, doing all they can to keep up in such a dangerous situation. Perhaps the first doubts have begun to sink through the leather jackets, cold and cloying as the rain: is the money really worth this?
Junko
Continuing her relentless assault on the mountain path Jun'ko maintains her speed as she moves into the turn, showing them that the path to remption and success lies in the ability to balance danger with your skill and accept the dangers that come from existing in the present.
MotorDragons
In the present or not, continuing to exist was in itself a daunting task. As the apex of this hill grew closer, and the ground conversely farther away, the payoff for such a daring venture paid off in the blood. Sugary blasts of adrenaline basted MotorDragon veins, quickening their movements and tightening their control as they pushed their shrieking bikes further uphill.
Through the haze of rain and the dizzying lightning, Jun'ko and her followers can make out a black shape far ahead on the path. Almost two stories above them, the loosening mud had released a rock from its holding place, sending it tumbling down the hillside, rebounding off of every bike niche and spinning as it went. By the time it picked up enough speed to skip two whole rows, the sun-dried boulder vanished into the void beneath them.
Junko
The fury of nature startled Jun'ko for a moment as she rounded the curve, suddenly she can feel the bike start to slip and no matter what she does the bike begins to slide ever closer to the edge.
TI
The same loose dirt that caused the rock to fall now shifts like putty beneath Jun'ko's wheel! Clods splatter out behind her as, for a gut-clenching moment, all traction disappears! Her bike slides inexorably closer to the edge, and from there, to certain death...
Junko
Slamming her foot into the mud Jun'ko attempts to use her unnatural strength as a fulcrum to twist the bike away from the edge.
TI
Jun'ko manages to get a foot down on the ground, but the weigh-in is all wrong; after the motion, the bike's balance is thrown off and in a split second it collapses on top of Jun'ko! Blunt metal bludgeons her chest and hips while a rocky ground beneath a layer of mucous-like mud chews at her leather attire!
The edge looms closer as Jun'ko, pinned beneath the vehicle of her hubris, whirls towards the edge!
Junko
Pointing her feet down Jun'ko digs herself into the ground immobilizing her lower body but stopping her slide to the edge.
Being pressed between the ground and the bike hadn't been pleasant but she was jusb bruised a little.
With a mighty heave she caught the cylce as it started to slide off the edge and twisted her upper half and swung the bike back around toward solid ground, hoping that the three who followed would be able to miss her as she pried herself out of the mud.
MotorDragons
After what Jun'ko had done to him, the least he could do was return the favor.
Jun'ko's struggling body came into view ahead of him. Beneath his helmet, the leading MotorDragon grinned. With deliberate haste, he dropped his feet from the rungs and dug his heels into the muck, spinning 180 degrees. A dirty brown tsunami threshed at the back of his wheel, splattering all over Jun'ko as she tried to lift herself from the ground.
Revenge, he decided, could be sweet. Three high beam flashes of his front light warned the other two to slow down before the three of them collided. They caught up and stalled, looking down on Jun'ko with unknown expressions.
The leading MotorDragon walked his bike around Jun'ko and up to the next path, where he hopped up, kicked it into gear, and doused Jun'ko with mud a second time.
Junko
Jun'ko's laughter is a little on edge right now, but she gets the joke as she pulls herself out of the mud, and wipes her face clean. She checks the cycle to ensure that it received no lasting harm from that incident before getting back on and beginning the trek to catch up to the group.
MotorDragons
Self-satisfied, the leading MotorDragon cruises up the path, victory now in sight - the top of the hill was only a few more tracks away! Charging the motor, he revs and speeds ahead, leaving his followers in his wake.
Packing up her pride in a tiny, muddy package, Jun'ko takes up last place. The lead is out of sight, somewhere ahead in the torrent of rain, and the second-place racer's light is barely visible from where she is. But the headlight wobbles. It twists, flashes against the side of the hill, and then, with a sinking feeling, vanishes from sight. Only one biker separates her from...whatever just happened...
Junko
Irritated about losing to a mortal, Jun'ko almost continues on, but there is a difference in the thrill of the moment, and going into the unknown when you know that there is something wrong.
Jun'ko will slow to try to see what has happened and more importantly, why it has happened.
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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 2:07:01 GMT -5
MotorDragons
In the span of a heartbeat Jun'ko no longer felt, chaos seemed to erupt.
Once Jun'ko's motor quieted and brought her to a stand-still, a terrified shout pierced through the padding on her helmet. There weren't words to the screams, no enunciations - just a heady sensation of panic behind them. Somewhere, several feet in front of Jun'ko, somebody was crying out. The single light ahead of her swiveled left and right, also halted, before tipping right until it crashed onto the ground.
That's what Jun'ko saw it. In the MotorDragons headbeam, a black-gloved hand grasped frantically towards the face of the hill, desperately trying to get a sure handhold on anything stable! The land itself, that one five foot portion of pathway, saturated by rainwater, was oozing slowly past the stranded biker, threatening to drag him away and over the edge in a tidal wave of thick, choking runoff! The other MotorDragon stood helpless on the opposite side, alternating between shouting at their leader, already blazing a trail far ahead of them, shouting to catch Jun'ko's ears in warning, and trying to find something to help his comrade with!
By a stroke of luck, the biker managed to get his hand around an immobile chunk of rock. Waves of rainwater and mud pounded his hands and his face, and he could feel the weight of gravity increasing beneath him as the pathway literally disentigrated!
"Jun'ko!" he shouted, spitting through a mouthful of dirt! "Fuckin' help me! I can't...help!"
Junko
Laying her large cycle down Jun'ko will wrap one leg around the front strut and lay down on her stomach, reaching her hand out to the biker.
"Reach for me, I'm as far out as I can!"
MotorDragons
Frightened tears mingled with rainwater, masking the biker in his moment of weakness. His slim, Oriental eyes swiveled up towards Jun'ko, connecting with her face before moving across her hand. But his gaze alone won't save his life. Only by reaching out to her can he maybe have a chance. Already, he could feel his feet hanging out over the edge, with nothing underneath them but empty air.
I'm going to slip. I'm going to fall. I'm going to die.
The MotorDragon ground his teeth, pulling one hand tenatively from the stable rock holding him in place. He brushed the palm across his jacket, to clear off the mud, not wanting the hand to slip out of Jun'ko's grasp when he finally has to let go with the other hand, the only thing standing between him and death right now.
"C'mon, man! Fuckin' take her hand!" the landlocked biker on the other side shouted. "Taka, do it now!"
Straining, Taka stretched his right hand out for Jun'ko's. Almost there. The finger move a few inches forward. Almost! Taka slides his body just a few inches to the right to close the gap...
...when suddenly, a gush of runoff sweeps over his arm, battering it down and nearly throwing him off the rock! But he manages to stay on, whimpering but unwilling to move his body any further. Just a few more inches, and he can reach salvation in Jun'ko's grip.
"No! No, it's too far!" he whines, pulling his hand back to the safety of the rock, holding on to a tenuous safety he knew wouldn't last. Dropping his head against the rock, he screws up his face in terror, wishing there were something he could do!
Junko
Jun'ko will nearly snarl, but will bite it back so as not to panic the boy, "Taka, I need you to look at me Taka, just look me in the eyes, I can't help you unless you help me."
Assuming he does, Jun'ko will bring the full force of her will down onto the boy, as she speaks, "Grab my hand." as she stretches her hand out the the boy.
MotorDragons
"Taka, I need you to look at me Taka, just look me in the eyes, I can't help you unless you help me."
Taka needs all the help he can get. No amount of bravado now is worth losing his life. Tightening his grip on the rock, he turns a shivering head towards Jun'ko, looking her directly in the eye. He clings to her gaze, hoping to see something that will give him hope inside.
"Grab my hand."
Without thinking, without hesitation, Taka's hand jettisons forward and latches on, fingers entwining with Jun'ko's. A moment of silence separates the two of them. Then, Taka's left hand shakes with effort, and the fingers slip directly off the rock! He shouts!
"Hold on, man!" the other MotorDragon cries out, waving his hands. "She's got you!"
Junko
Jun'ko will grip his hand tightly, but not so that she will break bones and haul him up in a smooth motion that appears effortless as she backs away from the edge. She will stand up and move Taka and her motorcycle away from the edge as she guages the distance of the chasm and her chances of making the jump with the extra weight of Taka on the cycle.
She will then turn to observe Taka, as he recovers from his near death experience, intrigued by what may be going on in his mind, now that he has been pulled back from the brink, would he hestiate, or would he begin to understand the limitations of his existance and accept them?
MotorDragons
A long suppressed shudder and scream escaped from Taka, as all the tension in his body finally caught up to him. The adrenaline in his blood exploded like fire, and he raged for a minute. A few tears, ones like he'd never known before, squeezed out between his eyelids, searing his face with a heat he could never recall feeling.
But as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving Taka spent and distant, like those few seconds after orgasm. And his eyes were still on Jun'ko's.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." The words couldn't do his feelings justice, and his body was too stiff to bow. He felt like an idiot and like he were on top of the world all at the same time. "What now? What are we gonna do?"
Overhead, the leader's engine grew more distant as he forged ahead, unwitting of the disaster behind him.
"Hey! Jun'ko! Taka! There ain't no other way around! If you're gonna run it, you gotta do it now before it gets wider!"
A section of the pathway, like a rotten tooth, collapsed with an earthy shudder and smashed onto the pathway below.
Junko
"Get on now, or stay here!" Jun'ko jumps on the cycle and guns it to life revving the massive engine as she pivots the bike on the front wheel, aligning it with the center of the path.
MotorDragons
Some would say that getting on Jun'ko's bike and trying to make the leap might be suicide. Fact is, staying here on a crumbling hillside in the middle of an unrelenting, torrential squall is suicide. Taka needed no more convincing. Abandoning caution, he leaps on the back of Jun'ko's cycle and wraps his arms around her waist, ducking his head down behind her shoulder.
"Damnit, hurry up!"
On the other side of the raging gap, the Dragon scrambles away from the edge! A footwide swath of dirt road collapses, transforming into a minature waterfall that threatens to drag the rest of the path along with it!
"Jun'ko! The whole thing's gonna fall!" he shouts, picking up his own bike from the mud. The front headlight is cracked open, the heavy-watt bulb inside broken when the bike slammed into the hillside, explaining the sudden disappearance of his light.
Junko
The tire throwing up a rooster tail of mud Jun'ko accelerates to the edge of the gap triggering a burst of nitro just prior to clearing the edge of the gap as she wildly accelerates toward her fate.
MotorDragons
"Nitro? Nitro, Chris! Get out of the - "
A fiery burst of nitrous propels Jun'ko's cycle clearly over the runoff waterfall, her furious wheels barely getting caught up in the flow. But the nitrous doesn't stop, and the forward motion of the cycle only increases.
Thud.
"Chris! Oh, Jesus, Chris!" As they sped forward, Taka got no response.
Taka had tried to warn him, but the cycle was on top of Chris before he could finish the sentence! Jun'ko's cycle shuddered as the wheels ground into the ground - or into Chris. It was hard to tell. One minute he was in front of them, and the next, he was somewhere behind them.
"Shit! Shit shit shit!" Clang! Clang! Clang! Taka's grip on Jun'ko's waist tightened as the Dragon tried in futility to kick the tank out its holding with the bottom of his boot! Once again, Jun'ko veered ever nearer the edge of the hillside, but this time, she had even less control that she had before, with a nitrous tank raging out of control and propelling them with increasing speed towards the end of their lives.
Junko
For the moment concerned with Taka and herself Jun'ko put's thoughts of Chris aside as she reaches back and attempts to yank the nitro tank free, fueling her limbs with more precious vitae, soon she would need to feed.
She had however done to good of a job when she had put it on, it refused to budge.
Keeping the bike from wobbling even in the deep ruts of mud, the edge is looming closer as she shifts her grip from the tank to the line feeding the nitro into the engine, ripping it free.
MotorDragons
Even while flaring out of control, the nitrous tank refused to budge. Even against Jun'ko's incredible strength, the metal bolts rattled and bent in their hinges, but refused to break. One finally snapped in half, as Taka's boot came crashing down on the sparkling cylinder! For an instant, the bright blue flames sputtered, pointing upwards at a forty-five degree angle! The rear tire suddenly felt the weight of new force grinding it into the dirt, slowing the momentum of the cycle by 10-15 mph in a few short feet!
Jun'ko does manage to keep the bike steady under the new direction of forces, but the bike still speeds along towards the edge! Taka's hands clench against her stomache, and he shouts, "Brake! Brake!"
Junko
Jun'ko steers for the inside of the curve close to the hillside as the massive bike begins to dig in and slow down, kicking her feet into the ground Jun'ko adds her own unnatural strength to slow the bike's momentum, "Hold on tight, this is gonna be close!"
MotorDragons
Taka held on tightly as Jun'ko slowed the vehicle, using the brakes and her own heels to cease their fatal momentum. His own motorbike was gone, probably a hundred-something feet below him, gears covered in mud. He himself had almost lost his own life.
And Chris...
The MotorDragon rolled off of the bike, his boots landing with a splash in the murky puddles forming all along the pathway. Before Jun'ko could get her own bike redirected, he was running in the direction they had just perilously come from, calling out Chris' name over the peals of earth-tearing thunder and praying for some response.
Overhead, the Leader's motor was nearly indiscernable. Perhaps he had already reached the top, or perhaps the rain and thunder simply drowned the sound out. The only thing apparent to Jun'ko was that something that was expected to be cake turned out to be a disaster, and if Chris was nothing more than a blotch of leatherclad roadkill, it would certainly be a tragedy for the mortal biker gang.
Junko
Jun'ko will ride back to where Taka is and park the bike as she looks to see what has happened to Chris, a plan begins to form in her mind.
MotorDragons
The world had dissolved into a wet, cold, and lonely place; Taka ran on and on until his calves burned, choking on sheets of unrelenting rain that poured into his open, shouting mouth. A painful lump in the back of his throat had swollen, so that Chris' name came out like rasped barks, like a neutered beast of burden braying in the midst of an uncontrollable tempest. Plasmic bolts of lightning clashed overhead, an angry god's flashing eyes and cruel, arcing smile. It was as if the squall had a curator with a heart as hard as stone, a heart that answered only to the demands of a tormenting - and tormented - mind.
All at once, the thunder cracked open the sky with a monstrous cackle, divine in its insensitivity to Taka's plight. It laughed, even as the preceding lightning revealed Chris in a halo of saintly fire, standing on two feet by his downed bike. A mystified expression washed over his face, ignorant of the long black bangs hanging over his eyes and the beads of rain growing on his nose and above his eyebrows.
"Chris! Holy shit, you're alive!"
Bewildered, Chris looked up, his face more gaunt than before. As Jun'ko pulled in behind an ecstatic Taka, she could see the confusion and fear in Chris' eyes, and somehow it seemed familiar to her.
"I know," Chris answers, pressing his hand against the right side of his chest, just beneath his ribcage. Hesitantly, he pushes against it, flinching in anticipation of pain, and when there's no sign of suffering, he just shakes his head in wonderment. "I don't believe it..."
"Believe it, man! God damn, I knew you'd jump out of the way in time! You had to! You're a MotorDragon, man!" Taka embraced Chris with two arms and held on tight. Both their boots struggled to stay in place on the mud, but Chris managed to latch a hand onto the hillside for support to keep them both from toppling over. "Motor Dragons are invincible, damnit. We are. I thought you were..."
Chris shakes his head. "I'm not."
Motor Dragons are invincible, damnit. Taka's words buzzed incessantly inside Chris' mind, bringing a recognizeable dulcet overtone to his tongue. Better than sacharine, sugar, liquor or E, with a feeling more penetrating and permanent than Great White, or even sex with an Asian high school girl.
"I'm not. Let's go. Where the hell is that idiot?" Chris snarls, looking up into the overactive sky overhead, and then up the hillside. "C'mon, let's catch up. I'm going to kick his ass for ditching us," he mutters, picking his bike up off the ground.
Junko
A slow smile spread across Jun'ko lips as she watched Taka and Chris interact, they had both stood at the precipice as she had and seen that there was nothing out there to catch them. But they were wrong, she was there, and as her sire had done to her, she could bring them across the gap. But not now, now was not the time.
Turning her bike around she looked to the two boys, "Taka, I've got a bit more room on the back of my cycle then Chris does..." she leaves the invitation open, knowing that it would be almost impossible for him to refuse on so many different levels, her sire was so right, manipulating mortals was easy.
MotorDragons
Taka sidles up against Jun'ko's back, giving Chris "one of those looks" of pure self-satisfaction. Chris rolls his eyes and hops onto his own bike, toggling the lights. The fractured light casing on the front clicks, but refuses to come on. "Damn. The light's busted. I'll have to follow along right behind you, at least until we're over this damn hill."
His cycle roars back to life, and he takes off after Jun'ko.
Junko
Jun'ko chuckles inwardly to herself as she takes the lead, headed for the top, taking the corners cautiously so that Taka isn't flung off into the void, it would not due to lose him now after all that they had been through.
MotorDragons
An unnatural calm descends from on high; the Night Wind's seductive voice in the ear of the storm, or a shaft of heavenly light blinding this, its placid eye, hanging almost directly above the hill. An almost visible wall separated torrent from drizzle, and soon, Jun'ko cycle broke through that weather barrier, reaching the plateau'd hilltop with relative ease. Behind her, Chris puttered in slowly, wary of obstacles he cannot see with a shattered headlight.
But they didn't need Chris' headlight to see the leader standing some thirty feet away, one hand on his hip and the other nursing his helmet at his waist. When they arrived, he turned about, cupped two hands over his mouth, and shouted, "There you are! Come over here and look at this!"
Chris revved slightly, and started walking forward. Behind Jun'ko, Taka whispers under his breath, "That bastard..."
Junko
Jun'ko will roll her cycle up to the leader of the MotorDragons, and shut it down as she waits for Taka to get off the cycle, as he does she will lay her hand over his, "Patience..."
Walking over Jun'ko will take off her own helmet and begin to clear her visor of the accumulated mud, making certain the all of her possessions are still in place. She will need to check the shotgun to make sure that it isn't clogged but that can wait until later, the Smith and the sword were still in place, and that was good.
MotorDragons
"I ought to smack him like the little bitch he is," Taka curses under his breath, but heeds Jun'ko's words. For the moment. Chris nearly lost his life while their boneheaded leader went off racing phantoms. Taka, at least, remembered their pledge to stick together, no matter what happened: rival gangs, family problems, trouble with the LAPD, even just plain day-to-day business. His cocky friend needed a lesson in humility, and Taka was determined to teach it to him. With two fists, if necessary.
"Let it go, man," Chris mutters in a tone lowered by the weight of other preoccupations. After all of that tension, and with the job still to come, Chris' mind seemed elsewhere. "I'm ok now. He didn't know."
"Ain't just you, man! If you remember, I - " Taka bursts out, but Chris hushes him with a jab of his hand. "I was hanging on for life, if you didn't forget."
"I didn't forget." Chris shakes his head, brushing drenched hair away from his face. "But leave it for after the job, man. This money's important. You need a new bike now."
"Shit. Don't remind me," Taka hisses, wiping a hand over his face to clear away mingled sweat and rainwater. "Jun'ko can help me there, though, hai?"
When Jun'ko came closer to the leader, suddenly something came into view. Or rather, someone. The man was standing just to the leader's left, and seemed to be just a few inches taller. Whether that was the stranger's natural height or something augmented by the long, black slicker and raincap he wore, she couldn't tell. All he did was stand and listen to their fearless leader.
"We're all here and we're all ready to do this. Have we got a clear path back to the city? Who else is involved? When are we going to do this? Is anyone armed?"
Junko
"Hai."
"Hai, I am." Jun'ko will step forward to acknowledge the question and get a better look at this unknown factor.
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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 2:14:57 GMT -5
Stefan Darwin
Their first meeting may have been more comfortable, had he answered her in kind. Yet like the storm swallowing the passive night, there is nothing kind about Stefan Darwin. Compassion, he had resolved almost a century prior, was an instrument of entropy; all things great and empirical will inevitably erode beneath the onslaught of unavoidable passions inherent to mankind. The leader of the MotorDragon's spoke with excitement, bright, red, and sanguine. Yellow bile simmered in the guts of those who answered to the leader. Stefan could tell - a leader who arrives with his followers lagging behind leads none but himself. These colorful passions would gradually erode one another and their bearers until there is nothing left. No gang, no friendship, no body, no soul, until at last they return to the inert soil.
But my own humour is black. The irony of his deep-rooted bitterness would churn his stomache, if the atrophied sac in his abdomen still had the strength. Instead, it turned an intelligent, enlightened, even inquisitive face into a cruel, terse, intimidating mask of commanding power and arrogant solidarity. When those disregarding eyes analyze Jun'ko, they bite like machete swipes, cutting her down to size, as if she were imported bamboo or a victimized bonsai. Worst of all, those tempestuous eyes held no respect or honor, due or undue, to Jun'ko as an Asian, as a woman, as a human being or a Cainite.
To Stefan Darwin, forgotten descendant of an infamous naturalist, she is one of a billion mayflies; she has lived and she will die, and he will be none the better or worse for her existence.
Still, he considers, moving his tense lips into a thoughtful pinch that appeared more a scowl than anything beneath his belligerant brow, can I afford to be so sure? Out here, out from beneath the stone-dead weight of ancient traditions and under God's discerning eye?
"Who are you?" Stefan did not need to point. The sedate anger behind his eyes illuminates his meaning more viciously than the sudden streaks of lightning arcing overhead at his question. Rainwater streams fall from the slicker cap's brim, but cannot impede his bullish demeanor.
Junko
Hoping that Taka and Chris realized that she was willing to help them, and would stay calm for now. Now that she had a way to unite them, together against their former friend.
She feels his eyes disregard her as insignificant and feels the beast swell up within her breast, but even as it does she beats it back into place, thinking to herself, if he discounts me, then I am better off, not worse, do not give him cause to consider you a threat, but also now is not the time to be demure, she must strike a bold balance between the two.
She smiles not only at his question, but at the fugue contained within it, ignoring his insults and demeanor as is proper. "I am Jun'ko Morimoto, and I am... part of their... extended family, as she pulls back a sleeve of her jacket displaying a vibrant dragon tattoo terminating, or perhaps beginning at her wrist
Stefan Darwin
"Is that so?"
It was not what Stefan wanted, but he should have expected it to happen. These gangers, the MotorDragons, and their shadow kings had no organized rank and file, and thus, no accountability to anyone but themselves. While the presumption to work outside of his orderly plans irked him, Stefan dealt with it, toning down a tyrade of pissing and moaning to a straightforward comment.
"As I understood it, Xang, it was only to be the three of you," he says softly, really meaning as I ordered it. The subtle rebuke in his voice has a noticeable effect on all three gangers. Simultaneously, they look elsewhere, overcome by a moment of shame, before looking haphazardly at him through the drizzle. "But the more coverage, the better. A machine can only be improved with a little extra oil."
Jun'ko's tattoo means nothing to Stefan. The mark was merely a self-inflicted sign of commitment to a social group she found comfort amongst. May she never see the day when those signs become shackles.
Rubbing at his wrists, Stefan's eyes travel up and down Jun'ko's body, but not in the way she may be accustomed. The lean physique, smoothe Asian skin, and grease monkey tone may relieve the frustration in some wanting men, but Stefan's source of frustration comes from something entirely different, something far more personal.
"Besides, she looks capable. Well-armed, too." Next, he addresses Jun'ko directly, with some tiny measure of respect. "You came prepared. Good."
His boot taps in the muck, a muffled, liquid Luger shot. "There are four of you, and only three bikes..." he trails off, waiting patiently for an explanation.
Junko
"Mudslide." Jun'ko will shrug her shoulders as if it was no big deal, then continue, "We saved Taka, his bike can be replaced." Bringing Chris in for credit for saving Taka would only strengthen the bonds between them, and distance then further from Xang. Perhaps Xang could be salvaged, and then again, perhaps not...
"My bike has more than enough power to carry two, so hopefully there will be no other problems." although she hopes for no more problems her voice will contain a certainty that if problems do arise she will deal with them and swiftly.
MotorDragons
Xang reacts, shocked. "A mudslide? I didn't see any mudslide. What the hell happened?" he inquires, stepping up to his fellow members. "I didn't notice anything but a bunch of mud that collapsed at one point."
Taka fumes, his nostrils flaring. "Baka. You were racing to the finish line like there was a naked white girl waiting to screw you at the end. Didn't pay shit attention to us. I almost got - "
Thankfully, Chris interjects. "We could have been hurt, but we made it fine."
"We could have been killed, damnit!" Taka shouts, not one to have his anger set aside for the moment. He deserves to vent a little. He was just knocking on death's door, after all. "And where were you? Some leader."
"Hey, knock it off, Taka. How was I supposed to know?" Xang argues, increduously. "I can't notice everything that goes on. If you can't keep up, then that's your loss."
"Fuck you!"
Immediately, Chris has his arms around Taka, holding back a haymaker and a pugnacious scowl Taka was wearing as he lunged for Xang. The leader just stepped back with his gloved hands in the air, letting Chris do the talking.
"Calm down, man. Really, we're ok. We'll pool our cash from tonight together and get a new bike..."
Stefan Darwin
One might expect something cinematic from Stefan at this moment. A raised eyebrow, a harsh word to settle the score or force some control onto a situation rapidly degrading into violence, or at the very least, an amused smile.
But Stefan finds nothing amusing about this belligerence and it's interference with his own designs for the night. Still, he will give them his patience while they sort out their overwhelming needs.
For the time being, at least.
Stefan Darwin watches with passive interest, the several inches of rain extinguising what could be the man's short fuse.
Junko
Jun'ko will place a hand on Taka's shoulder, "You made it across the gap, Taka, that's what counts. That's the only thing that counts, and I'll help too. We stay together on this. Hai?"
MotorDragons
"Whatever." The squall steals Taka's thunder and rumbles, mocking his impotency in the face of his own feelings.
Xang shakes his head. "Taka, you're taking this way too seriously. You know that, if I'd known you guys were in trouble, I'd have come back to help out. But there are things that are more important right now," he says, maintaining a firm presence in front of Taka, even while his eyes slip left to glance at Stefan. "We've got a job to do, and you and I know both know this is about more than just the money. Maybe not to us, but to others. For once, Taka, grow up and stop thinking about yourself."
Spent and exhaused, Taka loses his fire for a time, his humours oozing into a cynical cesspool in the pit of his stomache. "If I don't think about myself while I'm fucking hanging onto a rock that's gonna fall any minute I'll die. Being selfless doesn't mean shit when you're dead."
"He does have a point."
Interested parties look at Chris, who interjects his opinion into the fray.
"You didn't see him, Xang. He really was going to fall, but Jun'ko saved him. He was terrified." That earns Chris a glare from Taka, and wisely, he recovers. "I mean, we were all terrified. I honestly wasn't sure if he was going to make it."
"What about you, Chris? Jun'ko ran you over like roadkill, and somehow, you're still alive!"
"You guys didn't run me over. I stepped aside in just enough time to get side-swiped by the handlebar." Instinctively, he places his hand under his ribcage, feeling and pushing and pressing, as if finding a source of pain will somehow explain all of his confusion.
"Well, point is, it wouldn't have happened if Xang had stuck around. Like a leader should," Taka finalizes, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I've been leading this gang since before you lost your virginity, Taka. Don't talk to me about how to run things. My problem here isn't the quality of leadership; it's the followers I have not being able to make the cut. We're in the major leagues now. Stefan made sure we understood that, and I don't know about you, but I take what he says very seriously."
Lightning shatters the peace, bringing an instant of unnatural daylight to the hilltop. In that one celestial flare-up, Taka's fire returns to him, renewed. He lifts his shaking hands to his chin and clenches his teeth, seething through them. "So do I! You don't think I do? Asshole!"
When the thunder proceeds it's sparkling sister, Xang stands up straight, hands on the leather hips of his pants. "Prove it, then."
Growling, Taka lunges forward, his elbow junting backwards to deliver a debilitating gut-blow into Xang's abdomen. That elbow catches Chris in the kidney as he moves forward to try to stop Taka, neutralizing his peacekeeping attempt with a whoof! and a harsh escape of air.
Junko
Boys will be boys, but right now she needed them in a more... able condition.
Sighing she pulls out her shotgun and pumps a round into the chamber with an audible KA - CHICK and then she discharges it harmlessly into the air.
KAARACK!!
MotorDragons
"Hey! Wha-whoompf!" Xang's outcry is forced out between his lips as Taka's fist connects firmly beneath his diaphragm. The young, able-bodied ganger doesn't stop there, and takes that opportunity to elbow his leader on the crown.
"Whoa! Cut it out! Not in front of..." Chris trails off, giving Stefan a sheepish look of apology. He tried to grab at the sleeves of Taka's leather jacket, but mud and rainwater collected made it far too slick for him to get a decent hold on his friend.
What finally stops Taka, however, is a well-placed grapple on his calf, and a hearty yank by a downed Xang, which sends Taka toppling head over heels onto the ground. He lands with a dull thud, only to have Xang instantly jerk him across the mud by his collar.
Chris holds his breath, seeing Xang's fist raised, balled, and shaking over Taka's head, ready to come down hard and break his teeth. "Augh!" he roars, and sends the fist downward towards Taka's unbelieving face!
KAARACK!!
No, that isn't the sound of Taka's jaw shattering. Jun'ko's shotgun splinters the air with more force than even the thunder overhead. Chris ducks, covering his ears, and the deafening report reveals Xang's quivering fist, less than a foot from Taka's nose.
All eyes are on Jun'ko...
Junko
"You know that sh!t might cut it with the local chicks, but I'm not impressed. We're here to do a job, after we've accomplished that then you can play macho and beat each other senseless, but as far as I'm concerned if you keep this up you're already there."
Jun'ko gestures to Stefan with her free hand, "Right now that man right there is probably wondering what he's paying for, I sure would be. Sure Taka, Xang should have stuck around, he didn't, we made it through though, that's how you learn. Right Xang?"
Without waiting for his answer, Jun'ko continues her verbal barrage, "Look at Chris, I nearly made him into pate` and he's not swinging at me, acting like this isn't going to get you a new bike." pointing at Taka.
Swiveling her gaze to Xang, And beating Taka up isn't going to get you any closer to the big league." Her gaze encompasses the three, "Now, are we all on the same page, and ready to do this job, or do we keep playing King of the Hill?"
Stefan Darwin
It was an entirely different lifestyle, being in a "gang". But as Stefan watches their interaction, their surges of passion tinted with an obseqious willingness to serve for personal gain, muffled amazement lights up in his dark eyes. The Alpha Male Syndrome is in full swing; the lengths they go to impress draws a similarity between their lifestyle and the one Stefan left behind.
Or escaped from.
Or seeks to return and save.
One major difference stands out, however. At least the MotorDragons are up front about their struggle to the top. When their nose is bent out of shape, they seek vengeance in the open with a fist.
"Thank you," Stefan levels to Jun'ko, before casting his cruel gaze upon the MotorDragons, and lastly upon Xang. Once Xang has lifted himself from the ground, Stefan beckons him over and grips him tightly by the arm, pulling him close.
Jun'ko, Taka, and Chris can see Stefan's small, taut lips undulating like stormclouds, whispering silent thunder into Xang's ear. They watch as Xang's shoulders, once held high in mock pride at his apparent vicotry, droop like a wedding tarpaulin assaulted by typhoon rain. An invisible lightning bolt makes him shiver at something particularly fierce, something said that makes Stefan's skeletal lips peel wickedly back from his teeth, hissing words toxic to his self-esteem.
After ten seconds or so, Xang walks several feet away from Stefan, not looking at anyone, even Jun'ko. Stefan's eyes are on him as he goes, before turning again to Jun'ko, Chris, and Taka. "Come with me to the north side of the hill. There, I will explain your modus operandi," he says forcefully, like a man accustomed to giving orders instead of politely requesting compliance.
Stefan Darwin turns his back on them and walks north, all the while thinking how wonderful it felt to say those things to Xang, to watch his ivory towers crumble around his ears. It isn't enough to overcome his bitterness and bring a sunny smile through the stormclouds, but it does put a briskness in his step.
Junko
Jun'ko nods, not speaking to Chris and Taka, they should know to follow, if they don't then she didn't do it right.
The man's command irritates her, it reminds her too much of her sire and his damnable arrogance that come with having lived two full mortal lifetimes as a vampire, but she has been conditioned to not only command but to respect those in command, as long as they prove themselves to she follows, for now...
MotorDragons
Taka and Chris look on as Stefan silently berates Xang. For all of Taka's belligerence towards Xang's leadership of the gang, he is thankful that he is not now in the leader's shoes.
The curl of Stefan's lips makes Chris shudder in fear. "What is he saying?" he whispers the question aloud to his company.
Taka shakes his head. "I don't wanna know, man. Serves Xang right, though." At last, Taka puts a rest to it, swallows his pride and his fear of death and marches after Jun'ko.
Taking a deep breath and patting his ribcage, Chris reluctantly falls into step behind him.
Junko
Once they are where Stefan wants them, Jun'ko will look the two boys over then nod to them, hopefully letting them know that what had happened back there was just business.
Jun'ko will then turn her attention to Stefen.
Stefan Darwin
"That's it, down there," Stefan extends a pale white hand when they've all gathered around him at the hill's north end, more gradual and grass-covered than the steep, dirtbike course on the south side. "The 451 into LAX, ETA 2am. The transport for our target."
From here, looking out over the bowl-like valley beneath them, the view of the storm overhead is magnificent! Heavy clouds tumble like smokestack emissions, over and over and over, moving eastward. Yet on the opposite end of the valley, those same clouds sweep low towards the hillsides, in tornadic wallclouds, before spiraling back upwards into the deepening vortex above and rushing westward. The squall seems determined not to budge from this small valley, which cannot be more than 20 miles wide. Intermittently, Nature's pyrotechnics turn night into day, revealing all that this rain-sodden pit has to offer.
On the far northern side, an expanse of vineyard stretches out, it's crops tangled in vines and cloying to wooden posts, praying, as their tender must be, not to be washed away in the stormwater runoff. On the south end of the valley, just below where the gathered group is standing, there is only open, untoiled field, sparse trees, and lots of small, peach-hair grass that cannot seize the rainwater to make it pool harmlessly in one area.
What Stefan seems to be pointing out, however, is the strong division bisecting the valley into vineyard and field - train tracks. More precisely, the major Amtrak line into Los Angeles, coming through a tunnel on the east side of the valley and disappearing into yet another tunnel on the west side. Normally, a train scheduled to arrive at the LAX Amtrak station would emerge from the first tunnel, gain a delightfully scenic view grapevines to the north and beautiful hillscapes to the south, before disappearing into blackness again to emerge in full view of the LA lights.
Tonight, things were different. Terribly different. Another divider bisected the valley into east and west, crossing the Amtrak lines at a staggering, spiking perpedicular. A deluge of stormwater runoff could be seen - yes, and even heard - rampaging down a nearby hillside, coursing through the open field, drowning rows upon rows of grapevines, but most importantly, washing out an entire thirty foot section of railway. No train in it's right mind - especially not the commercial Amtrak line - would risk crossing the washout, lest the soil beneath those submerged tracks will sink beneath the weight of the train, throwing it violently off it's scheduled joy ride.
The result would be a disaster worthy of national news coverage. Hundred scould die, and the accident itself could cost millions for Amtrak in court fees and damage control relations. The media would have a field day, toasting glasses brimming with crimson Cabernet to spilt blood and high casualty rates.
Thus, it is no wonder that the fifteen-car train has come to a complete stop, it's forward flood light illuminating the muddy river in front of him. The surface scintillates like constrictor scales, choking off the train from salvation.
"It coursed it's way over the track about an hour ago," Stefan explains in casual detail, eyeing the scenario like a hawk. "Safety Control received an anonymous phone call about thirty minutes ago, warning them of the danger. They sent a radio message to the train and ordered to halt it's progress. Now it sits, unable to move forward."
More thunder makes the very drizzling dropets around them quiver with anticipation, masking the sound of Stefan rummaging through his slicker. With decisive fervor, he begins handing out small plastic baggies, each with a copied polaroid photograh inside, protected from the elements for clarity's sake.
Hollywood has a history of entertainment, from major movie productions to USO shows to rumored government kickbacks for positive press. The entertainment business is lucrative, moreso than it ever has, as billions of people throw hard-earned money at their problems, trying to drown them out with a little studio-manufactured fantasy. Alan Greenspan insists, year after year, that this money has to go somewhere...and judging from the picture, a good portion of it goes directly into this woman's pockets. Her high cheekbones indicate good breeding, a physical throwback to the City of Angel's American settlers. Blonde hair, cascading like golden wheat down her shoulders, frame the kind of face Audrey Hepburn would get implants for, just to keep up. Young, pouting lips, barely touched with designer name-brand lipstick, smile brilliantly for the very camera that took this picture. Her eyes, however, seem to resonate altogether differently; the thick line of mascara on the underside, fading into indigo eyeshadow, gives her come-hither expression a power no mortal should wield, in person or on camera. It is a wonder, then, to all gathered, why they do not recognize such a starlet. She isn't any known actress.
But those are diamonds in her ears, nonetheless....
MotorDragons
Xang whistles. "Hey, I'd do her."
Taka moans. "No shit. You've always been too yellow to get yellow tail."
Chris bites his lips and tries to give Jun'ko an apologetic look...
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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 2:23:41 GMT -5
Stefan Darwin
Stefan glosses over the interruption as if it hadn't occurred.
"This is our target. Intelligence in the field reports that she has her hair in a bun this evening, apparently dressing down for the long travel she has made from Phoenix to Los Angeles. Study the face, and do not forget it."
For emphasis, for clarity, in the hopes that these chuckleheads will retain the information and work like an in-tune group, Stefan lifts his index finger. "She is priority number one. By no means is she to escape. She must be apprehended and transported under tight security to the storage warehouse on Pier 26. I have already assembled a highly-trained strike team to infiltrate car number 13 at my command. They are to eliminate her security swiftly and apprehend the target for our collective transport."
"Priority number two," Stefan barks, lifting his middle finger parallel with the already raised index finger, "is to ensure that no occupants of car number 13 - or any Amtrak personel - escape to act as witnesses to the mission. Here, Motor Dragons, is the reason I have culled you especially among many biker gangs in Los Angeles. You have the vehicles most capable of running down those fleeing the scene after I have given my command; whether this is due to personal skill or above average maintenance makes no difference to me. All occupants of car number 13 must be dealt with."
Here, Stefan paused. He knew that, more specifically, all occupants must be cut down, but ordering the Motor Dragons, mere mortals, to murder their own flesh and blood would be difficult. They aren't soldiers, and this isn't a military. There were reasons he had others to comb the site and take care of those cosidered merely incapacitated.
"Xang, you will take the northwestern quadrant, and Chris, the northeastern. Taka, you cover the southeastern quadrant...and you, Joon'ko," he pronounces, "will take the southwestern quadrant. Needless to say, while Xang and Jun'ko have the smallest quadrants, thanks to the runoff's natural barrier, it is also the direction the escapees are most likely to escape towards. Chris and Taka, you have more ground to cover, but you are less likely to have to deal with escapees. However, do not leave your quadrants until we have confirmed that the mission is completed to the highest percentage we can manage. You may feel as though you are sitting, useless, but the moment you leave, a crafty escapee will use the empty route to get word out. You do not want to be identified in this escapade. The signal for you to leave your quadrants will be a bright red flare, fired directly into the air. At this point, all interested parties will regroup down there," he points, to the very bottom of the hill they are standing atop. "At that point, our outside surveillance will determine the safest route to take, Amtrak safety control and county law enforcement considering."
"Before I go any further, give me an inventory of your armaments. Now that you are more familiar with your objective, we can begin to calculate tactics."
Junko
Jun'ko nods her understanding and ignores the boys vulgarity, she'd deal with that detail later.
"A Fiachi 12 Riot Shotgun now with 6 rounds, A Smith 500, total of 15 rounds, and a katana." Her voice speaks of her competance to use all of her weapons.
MotorDragons
John Woo would be proud. Xang hoists a pair of Skorpions from his waistbelt. "Dual automatic fire. Rat-a-tat-tat." Clicking his tongue, he pats his pant leg, where a large black handle protrudes. "Machete."
Taka shrugs his shoulders. "A .22 and a butterfly knife."
Xang laughs. "Ok, dude, you can shoot the little kids."
"Shut up, loser."
Chris clears his throat and speaks up. "Well, I have an MI Hawk," he announces, then, quietly adds, "with flechette."
"Shit, man!"
"Holy Christ!"
Xang and Taka do double-takes. "Where'd you get that stuff from?" they ask.
"I got connections..."
They turn to Stefan, waiting for approval.
Junko
Jun'ko covertly looks at Chris, definately something to develop there, as her lips curve into a smile.
Stefan Darwin
"Resourceful," is all he has to say about Chris' illegal ammunition.
"Xang and Jun'ko, you are the points. I am pleased that you are so well prepared." Taka does not receive so much as a glance in his direction. By ostracizing him, Stefan effectively communicates his disapproval in how seriously he is taking the mission. I'll have to watch his quadrant with my own eyes, just in case...
"Since all of you possess a firearm of some degree, that will be your primary offense. Shoot for the legs first to neutralize a runner, and then go from there as you see fit." Stefan looks to the train, and is quiet for a few minutes, observing the width of the deluge, estimating it's depth. Technically, there are those in car number 13 that could make it across. "Jun'ko?"
He looks back at her. "I want you to be the one to pursue anyone who makes it across the runoff. They will only be on foot. They must not reach the city limits. In the event that someone does cross the water, use the westside tunnel to your advantage. They will have to go through there, if they want to make it at all. Cut them off."
After more thought, Stefan furrows his brow and points towards the vineyard. "Chris and Xang? Anyone escaping towards the north, towards the vineyard, should be a priority. The foliage is tall enough that someone can lay down and hide it out. I do not want that. Do whatever you can to make sure they do not reach the lip of the vineyard."
"We only have a short time left for planning. Are there any other tactical suggestions? Is there anything you notice that may have been overlooked?"
Junko
Jun'ko gives the plan her consideration, Taka was at a disadvantage for he had no cycle, but with the importance of her area, no way was she going to surrender a bit of advantage.
Mentally reviewing the high points, and what needed to be done, she nods her approval, not that Stefan would care, but it was well thought out and detailed, as long as the special team didn't have orders to eliminate the extra helpers.
She would keep an eye on that budding situation as well, if she had to pull anyone out right now it would be Chris, hopefully she could salvage the others right now, but he could prove useful.
"Understood, it seems to me that it is a sound plan, although perhaps Taka may need assistance due to the area he needs to cover with him being on foot, also since he should deal with fewer escapees, I would be willing to lend him my shotgun, between my cycle and the rest of my equipment, I should be able to handle whatever comes my way."
Stefan Darwin
"That's fair," Stefan nods. "I will be aiding Taka in his quadrant, since he has the disadvantage of being on foot."
He does not bother to elaborate on how, instead leaving it up to their collective imaginations to come up with something. The greatest fears that can be instilled are imagined ones, as Stefan knows.
"Keep in mind that we will not be using any communication devices out here. Amtrak receivers can be used to pick up exterior frequencies, so our means of communication will be through signals. Once you have your areas secured and you are in position, you will wait for the opening signal. Our other operatists in the field will be waiting for the same signal. It will be big, and you will not miss it."
Stefan removes two fat-barrelled flare guns from within his slicker. "As I mentioned earlier, the rendezvous signal will be a red flare. It indicates that the target is in our possession and the opposition has been neutralized effectively." Stefan holds up a flare with a piece of red tape circling the barrel.
"On the other hand, should something go terribly wrong, you will see a blue flare go up. In the instance of a blue flare, our rendezvous point will be there," he points, "at the mouth of the east tunnel. From there, we will plot our most effective escape route. However, I have gathered together what I consider the most capable groups. I do not expect failure."
Oh, how near tolerate was to his lips; but these people, they're different. No more dangerous than the others, but less likely to respond in the way he wants.
"Does that cover all the necessary bases?" he asks the MotorDragons, but in particular, Jun'ko, whom he faces, straightforward. Stefan shows no more appreciation or concern than he did just ten minutes ago, but he does show her more attention.
That is, perhaps, as good as it gets with Stefan Darwin.
Junko
Jun'ko will give Stepan a curt military nod, the kind you use in the field when you don't want to let the sniper know just how important the person you're talking to is.
At the same time she will keep her answer short and sweet, "Hai." sliding the shotgun off of her shoulders she will toss the riot shotgun to Taka, "Six rounds in there, the first one's already in the chamber." Jun'ko pauses for a moment as if to give Taka additional instructions, but decides not to.
She could get used to Stefan, at least he acknowledged her usefulness.
Stefan Darwin
"All right, then, it is decided. Take your positions, but do so quietly. Engineers are out inspecting the train, and they may take sight of you. Wait for my signal," he stresses, before pointing down the gradually sloping hillside. "Go."
Lifting his head towards the swirling storm overhead, Stefan stares into the inky heavens, preparing.
MotorDragons
Taka catches the shotgun with both hands, preventing it from falling to the ground with a splat. Xang and Chris keep their motors dead as they begin a gradual horse-trot-roll down the hillside. Jun'ko back seat squeals as Taka hops onto the back again, uninvited.
Once they've gone several yards away from Stefan, Taka pipes up from behind Jun'ko.
"Hey, guys. This is all pretty convenient, you know? Talk about good timing. How did he know there was going to be a storm tonight?"
Xang lifts his hand, shushing Taka. "Obviously, he watches the Weather Channel. Duh."
Junko
Jun'ko eyes the storm suspiciously, coincidences were in short supply in her world, where an seemingly harmless gesture could spark a blood feud.
I wish I had my sire's talent at reading auras right now... I wonder if that storm is natural...
Rolling down the hillside, she wonders, just who is being hunted here?
She allowed a predator's smile to sweep across her face safely hidden behind the mirrored visor of her helmet, soon. Soon she would feed.
TI
The earth seems to invert itself against the sky as Jun'ko and her companion MotorDragons descend the hillside to take their positions, their quadrants, as a commanding Stefan Darwin had aptly named them. The storm's swirling vortex only grows wider and more menacing as they enter the valley that lives beneath it's oppressive rain and wind. By the time Chris' boots splash onto the base of the hill, the drizzle has yet again transformed back into a downpour. Arcs of lightning lick demonically, like skeletal arms swiping at the earth to destroy, with a touch, anything that stands stalwart against the stone.
The Amtrak train, the largest and most resilient object in the valley, sits in apprehensive defiance. An "eye" of sorts in the storm, a position of centrifugal force, bears down on the cool, silvery roof.
There are lights still on inside the cars, and as the MotorDragons watch, they can see the occassional shadow form against the pane, looking out into fields to awash with rain to see more than thirty feet, let aone all the way out to their attackers. Two engineers on either side of the train stumble about with large yellow slickers on, waddling like ducks in a spring shower. Two more engineers stand between the railing stalks, their yellow bodies encased in the light from the train's front flood light, several feet from the swarming deluge, pointing and talking and trying to determine depth, assessing the danger to crossing.
Stefan must have been correct. Within a minute after Jun'ko has taken her place, the men shake their heads and walk back to the train, shoulders sunken.
All they're waiting for now is Stefan's signal.
You'll know it when you see it...
Junko
Chuckling to herself, Jun'ko takes her helmet off so she can freely feed, and makes certain that she can easily access her pistol and sword.
I'll know it when I see it, will I? I'll bet some red hot vitae that it'll be big whatever it is...
Licking her lips in anticipation, Jun'ko will crouch forward in anticipation, after another look around her quadrent to satisfy herself of her position.
Stefan Darwin
It is time.
Darwin has no need for a wristwatch to tell him so. His swift and far-reaching rooks have taken their places, armed to the teeth and ready to make his campaign a complete success.
Jericho grew up out of the railway tracks, properly railroaded into a stalled submission. Like Joshua, Stefan stood atop the hill, a lone, insignificant soloist. Closing his eyes, he hoisted one hand in the air, like Joshua had brought the horn's mouthpiece to his lips so long ago. God Himself began to stir in the sky, as the storm's central eye grows more compact. New winds churn vividly, molding the shapes of the clouds, barely noticeable against a blackened sky.
Where there is a shift in temperature, there is a brief stirring in the air’s molecules. The stirring begets wind, which begets cloud, which begets rain and lightning, and thunder roars like a bastard child. To define the elements at work overhead delivers imperceptible control into Stefan’s perceived hands; a small crimson urn of Greek fire, unholy union of Fire and Water, churns with the same beastliness of Nature’s tempest, when Air’s heady arrogance takes domain over it’s siblings and seeks to erode Earth. It commands Water to fall, to flood, to wash away and reconfigure. Air’s anger opens the door for Fire’s metamorphosis into a divine state, Longinus’ spear turned plasmic, as it strikes without fetters against Earth. It brings shining terror, blinding rage, and utter destruction; Air laughs in its aftermath, once the deed is done. Stefan hails them as they are, with shifting eyes, needing not to speak, but only to realize.
Nature is nature. But Stefan assigns an identity of purpose to nature that makes it believable.
In his mind's eye, his uplifted hand becomes a symbol representing a force of nature active in the squall. The atmosphere is a warzone of oxygen and hydrogen and particles of dust; hydrogen shock troops assault oxygen bulwarks, and the force of their collision coalesces them into clumps of moisture that absorb the dust and form the clouds. Whole battlefields form, and eventually grow so heavy with conflict that they fall from the cloud as a droplet of rain, to shatter against the earth below. All that separates the war within the storm and man's history of wars is purpose, though which one is possessed of the purpose is up to debate by historians and social scientists. Darwin is a naturalist, and as such, he clamps his teeth together and capitolizes on the spoils of the storm-war: negative ions, atomic widows and orphans, with no direction.
Across the horizon before him lies empty space, like the distance between countries or worlds. While Stefan's left hand remains clutched towards the sky, his right hand reaches, palm up, towards the Amtrak train, in particular Car 13. Therein lies the benefice of mankind; his ability to create, to turn useless matter into useful tools. A polypopulous sheet of metal roofs the train's Car, and as Stefan touches it with his senses, he detects a veritable ocean of man's accomplishments, the excess of his melding and welding. Positive ions writhe with unspent, unrealized potential, like soldiers prepared for the fight. Their battle exists beyond the space of the horizon, and subtetly, they begin to form rank and rise, rise into the air.
Science makes it possible. Stefan’s knowledge of nature makes it probable.
A spark ignites in Stefan’s veins. The soles of his feet shiver and the tips of his fingers clutch at an invisible force, not so much an external power as an internal conduit. Pure, intoxicating power washes through him like a burst dam or a severed artery. Gasping fresh air into old lungs, Stefan’s eyes widen. Did his pulse just quicken, as if from a suddenly beating heart, or was it something else? Deep inside of him, on a level more metaphysical than physical, a transference occurs. The seeds of Paradigm stir in his blood’s soup, coagulating into gems of holy might. It is the only place the human spirit exists any longer – in the fluid that keeps him living from night to night. A ladder to Heaven can never be built from blood. It’s surface is too slick to admit the ascender. But on earth, its raw capability to perform miracles…or to wreak hell…cannot be questioned. Stefan leans forward, opening his mouth and his doomed soul to the primal force suddenly cowed by a being now claiming to be far older and far more primal than it.
Through the power of his undead blood, Stefan Darwin forsakes Man’s science to make the impossible possible.
“…..!” Stefan commands. The words are swallowed by the wind, or are too ancient, archaic, and strange to be heard, understood, or even comprehended by the minds of the ignorant and unbelieving. Whatever Word Stefan uttered through lips clenched in concentration is carried on high, laden on bat’s wings. The sheer hatred contained in its unrecognizable letters explodes with force! Stefan feels it far more than he sees it, and it is as though the whole of the squall, the whole of the sky, and the entirety of Nature, his life’s study for ages, leans towards him in submission! It is cowed. It believes him, and thus, he believes it himself. Setting a stern, imperious gaze upon Car Number 13, Stefan begins to draw his hands ever closer together, their hideous, twisting fingertips seeking to meet but repelled by a force as strong as opposing poles.
Darwin will not be daunted.
Gritting his teeth, he strains, willing the resistance to subside as a lesser force to the power of his eternal blood. Over the heads of the passengers, the target and others in her car, Stefan’s own hired professionals and the MotorDragons themselves, the marches commence. Positive ions, now at the complete beck and call of an ungodly thaumaturge, swarm upwards. Negative ions blaze a trail across windy plains, falling to meet the sworn enemies on the Plains of Troy.
Much to the MotorDragon’s amazement, and even some passengers paying attention, Car Number 13 begins to take on a ghostly blue tint. A sapphire halo surrounds the metal box, a light both natural and seemingly unnatural. It does not reflect in the slick face of the grass or the railroad tracks.
By his indomitable force of will, Stefan commands the elements, commands the Storm, and makes the believable, the probable, and the possible happen.
Stefan’s eyes flash.
He screams. But there’s no sound, only the silence before the inevitable.
KRAK-KOOOOM!
The ensuing thunder has such force that it knocks against Jun’ko and her companions with palpable natural force. Jun’ko’s eyes are instantly blinded by a brilliant blue Finger of God, cast down from the storm’s central eye and into the open side of Car Number 13! Like Gomorrah must have trembled beneath the judgment, the entire Car rocks on the tracks, and by the time Jun’ko and her companions can unshield their eyes and look at the carnage, they see everything unfurl in split seconds of recollection: windows burst outward, vaporized shards of glass disappearing in mid-air, as violent air and errant spikes of electricity vomit forth from all the Car’s open ports! They squirm and crawl and crackle over the roof, the wheels, the roofs of the surrounding cars and, finally, snuff to nothing on the tracks laid in the soil. Engineers in yellow slickers lie motionless on the ground, dead or fazed no one can be sure. All that is left is a rupture in the center of Car 13’s southern side, smoldering as the last bits of fiery, molten metal cool into hard, mercurial waterfalls frozen in place.
The inside of the Car is black, from the outside. Whatever power it had fueling the lights are now fried.
Now is the time to strike, and Jun’ko can make them out between the trains: a cabal of seven, perhaps eight shapes billowing out of the vineyard and rushing towards Car Number 13…where only now, almost ten seconds after the disastrous lightning strike, horrified screams and panicked shouts echo like the hapless cries of doomed prisoners.
Junko
Hissing in surprise, and at the light's sudden violation of the night, Jun'ko bares her fangs even as she draws her pistol, it's hard to imagine anything being able to survive that blast.
A chill will settle down her spine, she knew who could survive a blast like that and be able to still get up and walk around. If Darwin's elite team missed anything, her boys would get a lesson they might not like...
TI
A catastrophe, Nature's fury gone mad. Those handful of engineers picking themselves up off the damp ground or peering into blind darkness with the growing terror of their sudden immobility could only blame coincidence, accident, or fate for the terrible mishap. One looked on at the smoldering southern side of Car 13, aghast. No one inside could have survived...could they?
While the engineers may see happenstance, the MotorDragons, even separated as they are, find themselves nagged by the feeling that there may be something more to this than they had thought. Coincidences do not occur in bulk - a lightning strike, on this night, in this valley, on that train, on that particular car. Was that the signal Stefan Darwin had mentioned? How could he have known?
Conductors, Xang reasoned, gloved hands squeezing his padded handlegrips. He could see the swarm of bodies creeping ever-so-silently towards Car 13. He must have had conductors installed in Phoenix, knowing that there was a projected storm for the night.
Taka, opposite his leader, crouched defensively behind a tree, the shotgun barrel's cold metal side against his cheek. The train is the tallest standing object, and...I think Car 13 is in the valley's center. Stefan's a fucking genius! The lightning would strike the tallest thing! But how did he know it would be here? I don't buy the Weather Channel business. Moments later, Taka jogged several yards away from the tree, realizing it had now become the tallest object he could see in the valley.
The first of the night-swarthed bodies leapt onto the train's intersections, some splitting to the east door and others towards the west door. Anyone inside - anyone left alive, anyway - would be caught in a swift pincer maneuver with no escape. Chris watched, anxiously clicking the MI's safety off and on; he had his own ideas about how the lightning came down, and why the train was in the condition it was in now. It made his stomache churn and his lips go dry, despite the fresh rainwater tumbling down all around him.
From Jun'ko's view, Car 13 loomed like a fallen relic. Looking up it, everything seemed so surreal, something no Hollywood FX master could possibly hope to ever recreate. Her brain told her that, by all standards, it almost seems as though the car shouldn't even be there, but rather blown to pieces or melted into a useless pile of metal. But only one side of it is burst outward, with jagged tin teeth spread, as if the lightning had struck the roof and, by forces unknown, been pulled out sharply out of the side, like a dog yanked on a leash.
And then it happened.
A cloud of smoke detatched itself from the smoldering side of the Car and rolled several feet outwards in the grass. Little blazes of fire struck up momentarily around the blast site, before the rain put them out with serpentine hisses. The smoke cleared, and a moving, still-living shape lifted itself from the grass. Long, matted hair silhouetted a large head and a high collar, belonging to what must be a duster.
Dirty blonde hair glistens wetly in a bouncing flashlight beam. "Hey! Oh my God, you're alive! Stay there, don't move!" one of the Amtrak engineers waves with his free hand, barrelling his pudgy body across the ground to the victim. Huffing, he reached the lumbering, crawling body. "Listen to me. Just stay there. You might be seriously injured."
The escapee's head turned towards the yellow engineer.
"Wha?"
He barely had time to scream as the shape pounced upon him, its back legs kicking him off the ground like a jungle cat. His mouth clamped over the engineer's neck, and Jun'ko watched them both tumble to the ground, the one over the other, his back undulating as if...
...as if feasting.
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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 2:35:43 GMT -5
Junko
Jun'ko licked her lips, hungrily, and began to hope that the cainite would come her way even though she was a little low, the smith would deal wounds that it would have to heal and then the sword would deal the finishing blow before she moved in for the final kiss.
TI
The asian Cainite looks on her target with the strong desire to slake her blood-lust on his exquisite vitae. But her prey, on the other hand, has other things in mind: staying alive.
Huffing, he drags his tongue across the engineer's throat and crouches, crawling through the grass, like a scavenging hyena stalking from a lion pride's feast.
"Hey, Bill? What's on your side?" someone asks from the other side of the train, sending a flashlight beam sweeping between the train cars. The survivor ducks low, picking up his pace as he struggles to get away from the train and it's mortal company. By the time he reaches the fifth car, he stands and begins running, first like a man on his hind legs, and then down on all fours, picking up speed as he goes.
In an instant, he's veered in front of the train and is scrabbling madly across the gravel and soaked planks. Following the tracks might be his only way to get across the floodwaters - stepping anywhere else might cause him to lose his footing and slip under. The tracks might be stable enough to let him cross and make it to the tunnel, and from there, to the city.
And from there, to the Prince.
Junko
Jun'ko draws her sword and holds it in her left hand as she kicks the cycle to life, it's once god-like thunder muted as the baffling system reduces the noise. Accelerating toward her target like an modern samurai to cut the chaff from the wheat and reap her just rewards.
TI
Who's attacking us?
Cold hands and feet thudded against the ground as he ran from the train, leaving his charge behind; there couldn't be any hope after that.
What the hell hit us?
The answer wasn't an easy one, but he could guess it must have been lightning, from the thunder he heard while crawling out from beneath the cushioned seats. Despite the carnage it had caused, the storm still seemed to howl for blood.
My blood?
He came to a stop several yards from the water, watching the water flow for any sign of a safe way through. It lurched and burbled over the train tracks, almost as if driven by its own internal desire, and --
What was that?
Fear ears twitched, and he swung his head to look behind him and southwards, out into the torrent. Was that a motor...growing louder...coming his way?
Shit!
He had chosen the wrong quadrant to escape through. Jun'ko bore down from afar. Someone is eager for his blood...
Panicked, he bolted forward, trusting in God knows what to deliver him from this devil's land and back to the City of Angels.
Junko
Jun'ko accerlerates toward the train cutting across the same planks that her quarry did, her dark hair flowing behind her as she kept her head down so none would be able to catch a glimpse of her face.
First the planks and then along the track, her quarry having chosen the perfect spot to be run down...
TI
Chugga-chugga-chugga!
Jun'ko's motorbike straifes through the deluge after the bounding vampire, the water slowing her forward momentum down in a way that only makes her gradual gain more languishing. Walls of water shoot out from either side, like the parting sea, God's fury on the tail of a fleeing, doomed man.
Junko
Jun'ko was glad she'd taken the harley, the heavy cycle plowed through all obstacles and helped her maintain her relentless pursuit of her prey. However, her prey had to be alerted to the fact that she was coming, gripping her sword firmly in her hand, as the gap between them shortens.
TI
He kept running like a wild dog loosed from its pen, snarling over his shoulder as the rider gained quickly on him. He could smell the first traces of blood welling up through perspiration pores; the sight of a long, silvery sliver in his pursuer's hand made him realize just how much trouble he was in, immediately.
Jackrabbit - that's all he can do to keep his head on his shoulders. Then maybe he can make some more ground if she misses.
Even as he charges ahead, he looks back and forth quickly between Jun'ko and the looming black tunnel ahead, trying against all odds to judge when to throw himself out of harm's way.
Junko
Jun'ko comes up on the fleeing man her speed deceptively slow, as she makes her run the bike roars to life as she jacks the speed up for a harder hit, bringing the sword down in a flash, close oh so close.
She keeps the bike on a steady run towards the tunnel ahead as she slows and stops the cycle. Grinning she flips the security button on and then crushes the blinking light so he won't realize that anything is amiss. Leaving the keys in the ignition she will turn to face her prey.
TI
While most people might not hear the swipe of the clean blade's edge overhead, he heard it better than most: the razored edge tore the air clean, as if it were cutting through fine fabric. The memory of the sound made him twitch as he lay low against the ground, having rolled low enough to avoid being decapitated.
Could these be hunters? Or Sabbat? Likely the latter. He growled and began slowly crawling through the grass, at a much, much slower pace than he had been before. The cavalier with cutlery had disappeared, along with the light on the motorcycle. The rain washed away any scent stronger than those wafting up from the broken soil, and the darkness obscured his range of sight. Still, a little train light flooded in from behind him, on the other side of the deluge he had splashed through while trying to escape.
Keeping low to the ground, he crept along, heading generally towards the tunnel, wary of where his assailant had disappeared to.
Crack-boom!
Lightning kissed the sky with fire, and daylight saturated the valley. In that instant, he saw his stalker, ahead and off to his right. All black...
Hastily, he bounded from his patch of grass and began rushing ahead, towards the tunnel!
Junko
After shifting her sword to her off hand, Jun'ko pulls out the Smith 500, the newest pistol on the market, five rounds of .50 caliber love taps. Smoothly tracking the kindred through the rain she sqeezes off a round.
TI
The Smith 500's flashbang illuminates Jun'ko like a single strobe effect, and a .50 calibre slug impacts with the ground a meter to the Kindred's left, kicking up a small explosion of dirt and grass. A moment before, the Kindred had been in the path of that deadly round, but with more luck than skill, he managed to knife out of the way like a frightened rabbit.
Huffing like a wild animal, it suddenly veered its path away from the tunnel mouth...
...coming directly for Jun'ko, fangs bared, ready to scatter at the gunpowder flash of that deadly weapon.
Junko
Jun'ko smiles grimly as her target comes to her, all other thoughts are pushed aside as she homes in on her prey and caresses the trigger, as she sees in her mind's eye the path the bullet will take to it's target.
TI
He has the murderer in his sights, dressed not unlike one of the number who stormed the train with automatic weapons; before he returns to the city, and to the sheriff, he'll bring one of their heads with him!
But in an instant of hazing anger, his world goes black. Utterly dark and smothering.
"Hmph?"
He sniffs the air, then scrunches his nose and whuffs, annoyed. Even the scent of rain was gone, though he could still feel droplets oozing down through his matted hair like oil. The feel of the grass felt more like sinking soil, and he couldn't hear a thing. What the hell is going on?
Blang!
It sounded hollow and tinny, but he knew it to be a revolver shot. Instinctively, he dropped prone, but not before he felt his ribcage burst into flames as a high-calibre slugged ripped through his chest and splintered out through the back. Somehow, in his growing, dark confusion, he couldn't feel the difference between blood and rain - they both felt warm and sticky against a hand he couldn't see, even held up to his face.
Panicked, he fell to his side and began to draw himself up to two feet, running what he can only guess is east...towards the city lights that have suddenly disappeared.
Junko
Giggling maniaclly to herself, Jun'ko stood perfectly still and pulled the trigger again. As soon as the trigger is pulled and the bullet speeds on its way she is off and running toward her prey, sword in her off hand, pistol in her good hand and her fangs bared as she closed on her prey.
TI
He may be the only one with a chance to get out alive. He may be the only one to tell the Prince what has happened here...
But all of the Gangrel protector's wishes for survival lodge in his throat, like a searing pistol round lodged in his throat. He chokes them up with an animalistic wretch, spilling them, and his blood, onto the grass, clutching at his throat. Bits of vertebrae rattle inside a windpipe he hasn't used in ten years, but seems to be using now, as if to recapture his breathing days in the minute before he dies.
His lungs begin to swell with vitae, sinking down his gullet from the massive, traumatic entry and exit wound severing his throat. The weight of his own cursed blood drags him down to his knees, and the momentum of his panicked flight drags his face into the dirt, fangs dragging through several feet of damp grass.
He lay quivering, ready to be put down like the dog he's become since the night he died.
How terrible, that his dark angel, his savior, had to laugh so...Jun'ko's maniacal giggling echoed in his throbbing skull, as sight and sound swirled and soon became swallowed in a miasma of ever-darker shapes.
Junko
Jun'ko closes on her prey now that he is down and not moving, not caring about stealth, it wouldn't do for him to die before she could attend to him now would it?
Moving in for the killing bite Jun'ko aims for where then neck ajoins the shoulder to pierce that great vein and guzzle his power and strength, all for her and her alone!
But she is not stupid as she bites she presses the barrel of the gun into his back prepared to break and shoot again should he show any sign of resistance.
TI
Set upon even by one of his own kind, in this dark hour, the Kindred expunges one last forced contraction of his lungs, disgorging a pool of watery vitae from his lungs. As Jun'ko enjoys her bloody meal, it seeps from his mouth and sinks into the soil.
Unviolently, his hand falls on her leg, holding on as he at least feels the pleasure of the Kiss before Final Death is dragged through his faint, bleating jugular.
Junko
Jun'ko maintains a vigilent watch even as she drains the other kindred's essence, enhancing her power as his blood howls through her fangs and into her body.
TI
A 40 mph gust whips stinging rain into a fervor, pelting Jun'ko and bringing a deeper chill to her already cold body. A chain of lightning linking through the clouds brightly illuminates the area surrounding Jun'ko and her downed enemy, making the black blood smeared across her chin a fuller, richer technicolor crimson. The Storm itself, this fated night's agent of chaos, seems to favor the Asian beast's brutality.
All around her, it seems everyone's world must be breaking apart. The lifeless corpse in her arms, soon to be ashes; the people of Car #13, whomever they may be, and their target; and Jun'ko's own street soldiers, armed to the teeth with weapons of destruction. She knows that they have no idea what they're really up against, but if they play it right, she'll see them all at the rendezvous point.
Not too far to her north, Jun'ko can make out two tiny, strobing orange lights. When the lightning flashes, she sees their fearless leader striding backwards, unloading two clips from his twin Skorpions into something that seems to be cruising in his direction.
Once the rumble of thunder has subsided, a second, much smaller, much quieter boom echoes on the southern side of the valley. Perhaps the sound of a shotgun, signifying that Taka has his hands full?
More importantly, however, Jun'ko can make out someone's black silhouette running along the tracks in her direction. The person's features are obscured by the searing floodlight on the front of the Amtrak train, but even at this distance, Jun'ko can judge him to be over six feet.
Junko
The wind sucks the warmth out of her that she had gained from draining her foe's vitae. She lifted her head to sky to let the sky annoint her head in victory. Soon her soldiers would be blooded, at least in some small way, and then... then they would be blooded in a whole new meaning of the word, should circumstances and her sire permit.
No person on her team approaches such a height, nor would they be travelling toward the pipe therefore it is an enemy that needs to be eliminated, remembering her quarry dropping to the ground she will aim lower and track his progress waiting for him to unwittingly enter the shroud of darkness that will be his doom. A good night indeed, with a little luck she should be able to come out of this fully fed and refreshed. As she waits the twisted smile smile returns to her mouth as she contemplates her next victim.
TI
That hulking frame makes it way down the tracks at a hefty trot, hard-soled combat boots banging against the train's pilings. Breaking those two goons' necks with his bare hands wouldn't mean much if he didn't make it out of the valley and back to the city.
He knew what this was about. It was her. They came for her. Now they had her, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Better to save his own hide than to have this entire house of cards collapse on top of him. Maybe he'll get back to the station, pick up a one way ticket back to Arizona, and just get the hell out of LA altogether.
The air grew warmer, and darker. Abruptly, he ceased his run and stalled for a moment, swiping his hands out in front of him. He could hear the thunder, but there was no lightning that he could see, no brilliant, illuminating flashes.
What was this?
"Fuckin' a!" he shouts, stumbling backwards, as if extracting himself from a nest of cobwebs, swinging his gloved hamfists at the sifting, cloying atmosphere.
Junko
And that was her signal, as the man fought with the cloying darkness that engulfed him whole she caressed the trigger once, twice. letting her unnatural strength handle the recoil as the smith pushed up and back sending her messengers of death speeding toward her goal, to their final destination.
TI
"Oomph!"
Camoflouge threads burst out from his shoulder where the first slug impacts, getting his attention. The bullet still stings hot against his unnaturally tough skin before the rain cools if off. Instantly, he bares his fangs in what can only be a Brujah's challenge, snatching at the butt of a semi-automatic in his hip holster. "Just like you fucking Sabbat to whoa!"
The second slug slams into his arm, putting an abrupt end to his braggadacio. "Where are you?" he roars, holding the business end of the pistol in the direction the shots are being fired from. All that's there is darkness, and the air only grows more oppressive, as if it were trying to pry his lips open and sink down his gullet and clutch his heart...
Junko
Frustrated that the high caliber pistol seems to have had little to no effect on him and leery of being shot herself, Jun'ko tenses her legs before haphazardly firing a shot at his torso before leaping to her feet and trying to cover ground before the kindred react and track her to her new location.
TI
Blang! Ka-Ping!
Shadows lap hungrily at the gunpowder flash, absorbing the light, but unfortunately, not the bullet, which sparks against the metal tracks. It was a shot meant to intimidate, to let his opponent know he was armed; maybe it would buy him enough time to get to some place brighter.
Steeling himself against the feeling that something is dreadfully wrong with his surroundings, he charges forward, keeping his feet coming down on the gravelly planks, his gun held in both hands at his side.
Junko
Jun'ko smiles while she will have no more time to strike from a distance the fool is charging straight toward her. Placing the smith back into it's holster or dropping it if there is no time, Jun'ko will take her Katana in both hands and wait until he is in range and sweep it forward into his chest adding his momentum to her own.
TI
The tunnel to freedom had to be getting close. At least, he dearly hopes it is. Whatever he was in, it wasn't natural; it was making his years of military cool buckle like he was first year infantry in 'Nam again. His pace only quickens in desperation to see the lightning again, and to feel the rain uninterrupted by this warm haze.
It has him before he knows which way is up - the sleek, sharp edge of Jun'ko's katana bites directly into his chest, mauling him in a pitifully easy way. Fresh blood, and lots of it, coats the sword, along with viscera and bits of cleanly sliced flesh.
"Aaaaah!" he closes his eyes, howling and putting his hands at his left side. Cracked ribs crunch as he stumbles forward, and something inside of him shifts like it shouldn't, and he just barely heard the sound of something falling onto the ground at his feet, like the camp cook tossing an iron bucket of congealed gruel onto the ground behind the mess hall. It made him sick, and it made him angry. But now he knows where the bastard is, and if he's gonna be cut down now, he's taking the little fucker with him...
Still downed, he flips over onto his back and holds the gun out in front of him, two strong, steady hands keeping a strong hold on the recoil. He squeezes the trigger twice, sending two slugs into the thick black in front of him!
Junko
Jun'ko lets out a peal of laughter as she rips the sword from his body, laughter that is cut off abruptly as her prey lets loose with two shots from his own handgun. A small hope rises in her chest as the first shot goes wide, the second however strikes her dead in the chest, she looks down expecting the worst...
And a second round of maniacal laughter bursts forth from her lips, her sword held causually at her side she inhales deeply the smell of blood, gunpowder, and fear. The stench of fresh vitae is too much for her, even though she has just fed, the remembrance of the diablerie is still fresh in her mouth and she wants to experience it again and again.
Sending her own vitae through her body she dives forward onto the downed man striking swifter than the shadows as they move to absorb the offending muzzle flash that intrudes upon their realm... Her realm.
TI
Maniac.
It's all he can think when he hears the distorted laughter. Mirthless chuckles from a mouthful of cotton; Charlie's last bloody gurgle before taking a bullet to the brain. It disturbed him immensely, and he was on the verge of giving in. Was he dealing with Sabbat, or something else?
He barely pops the second shot off before his attacker is on top of him, a hand jamming his chest down against the ground and another yanking his head sharply to the side. "No!" he struggles against what can only be the strength of another vampire, before catching a glimpse of that face in his peripheral.
Beautiful eyes. Beautiful skin. Beautiful blood caking her lips, and as her teeth sink in, he wants to kiss them, to lick those scented traces of vitae from the corners of her mouth, to suck it from the lining of her fangs.
The pain of his wound disappears, becoming nothing more than a dull throbbing, and he stares up into the swirling, black miasma above him, hypnotized as he felt every fluid ounce of precious life slipping away. It was as if the vortex above him was the drain on a barracks shower. In the last three seconds of a minute long shower, he would watch the water drain away to nothingness.
He never imagined it could have felt so good. At this moment in time, the war was worth it - the war against the gooks, and the war against the Sabbat.
"I...I..." he sputtered, spasms of pleasure tearing through him.
Junko
Jun'ko began to feel herself bloating , channeling the vitae through her body, she continues to drink her hands roam his body trying to memorize his features by touch.
TI
"I wannnnnt you," he whispers through clenched teeth, two large canines slicing into his lower lip. At last, he was able to get the words out, drawn from out of his shrinking heart in the midst of his enemy's tender administrations. Jun'ko's caress coaxed him to ignore the pain of her Kiss, or the pain of his severed flesh, her nails drawing old synapses to new life. To think, he and the commandos had joked about things like this in the steamy jungles north of the latitude line.
If I die out here, I want to die with some slant-eyed girl's head between my legs. I wanna be smiling when they zip the camo bag over my face, Joe, he said to him, flying over the rice fields in a clunky chopper. Straw hats scattered several feet below them, and Joe laughed, realizing he'd been thinking the same thing....
Beneath Jun'ko's grasp, her victim laughed, just like he had in his memory. It came out strained, as if through gallons of water.
But it abruptly stopped. A correction came to the fore, amidst a remembered hail of bullets, mortar fire, and the grip of terror you had with every step, knowing the next could blow a grenade that would split you up the middle.
When I die out here... He'd said when. Not if.
It came rushing to him. He was being murdered! The pleasures of the flesh were just a precursor to the end, to the Void of Death that still choked the air all around him.
"Get off," he whispered lamely, squirming under Jun'ko's hungry drinking. "Get off!"
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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 2:42:52 GMT -5
Junko
Jun'ko smiles as the man begins to thrash about, and here she thought he'd just lay here and take it like a camarilla puke, looks like he has some spunk in him after all, to bad it won't do him any good. Fueling her undead limbs with vitae she will grip harder and hold on, with any luck this ride won't last more than a few more seconds. Ride 'em cowgirl, ye-ha!
TI
Jun'ko's fangs dig deeper into his neck like scissors, and her firm hands crush him beneath the weight of her love. Resistance is futile, but sweet, and his shouting turns into a delirious few short bursts of laughter before his body twitches, once again ensnared in the beauty of the feeding.
The beginnings of a droplet of blood, welling up in his eyes and sliding down towards his temple, is washed over by a black raindrop splashing onto his eyelid. A tiny flood of fresh, cold rain washes the blood away, but not the vampire's smile, large and ridiculous, surrounded by a brocade of splattering raindrops starbursting with tiny, liquid pecks on his face.
Even for Jun'ko, the moment seems peaceful, just she and her meal, shrouded protectively beneath a swarming cover of Night. The fighting, the battle, their pretty target, the MotorDragons and even Stefan's own severe commands just seem to melt away under the aegis of thick, sweet vitae, swelling in Jun'ko's body and filling her dead stomache.
Junko
By Cain! How much vitae does he hold within him, I feel like I'm about to burst, as if weeping in sorrow over her victim's impending death, blood begins to leak out from around her eyes, forcing her to wipe her eyes clear in an effort to keep her eyes clean she sits up, cradling him in her arms, perhaps this will help keep him quiet as she drains him.
Fueling some of that excess vitae to her shoulder where she had struck it earlier this evening on that wild ride. Her senses twitch as she peers out into the night, straining to see and hear what it happening out in the darkness.
TI
A monster groaned.
It hissed through the dying vampire's open mouth, which grew wider as his life slipped away, enlarged canines bared menacingly to an unknown foe. Animals know nothing of ecstacy. Like a mammoth gorilla ready to roar and charge at an enemy, his jaw opened wide and groaned angrily. And hungrily.
The unnatural pleasure of the Kiss was quickly becoming an anathema to the primordial force that finds joy in only the basest activities: sleeping, feeding, and destroying.
It's eyes locked onto Jun'ko's face and widened, growing large, dilated, and feral. Now, It struggled to gain freedom, muscles tensing all over to overcome Jun'ko's vice grip.
About that time, something splashed in a puddle off to Jun'ko's right. A footfall? A large hunk of hail? Something else?
But there was nothing there, and her captive was already growing restless...
Junko
Jun'ko continued to feed, she had to keep going, if she allowed him to regain control for just one moment, she would have in her hands not a passive camarilla vampire but a ravening beast fighting for it's unlife. And thirsting for hers...
Hunger warred with reason, and instead of fighting Jun'ko proposed a compromise between her warring needs. Fueling her undead limbs yet again, as this was becoming a neccesity with the amount of vitae she was drinking she concentrated into the darkness trying to discern fact from fantasy.
TI
As Jun’ko continues to drink, the flow of blood grows anemic; the hot rushes coursing down her throat were less forceful and less fulfilling, like a heart pumping more air than sustaining vitae. At last, the subject was dry, his eyes fully dilated, struggling to break free of her rapture. And when he does…
To further addle Jun’ko, something unusual occurs. When she looks up from her feeding at the sound of a foot in the water, she sees the glint of lightning off of metal studs and rainslick leather. A creep from Gangland, USA, with a glittering Bowie cut and a waif’s waist that Oprah would die for, creeps slowly along the edge of the shroud, cautiously peering about as if expecting to be seen, shot, and killed at any moment.
In fact, Jun’ko wonders why she’s been feeding this entire time, because she suddenly realizes he’s been prowling around in her peripheral for the past two minutes, glancing nervously off to the north at the sound of intermittent burst-fires and, once, even a longer, blood-chilling fully automatic few seconds.
Anxiously, his pace increases as the tunnel in the distance comes into view. At any minute, he’s going to bolt.
Junko
Jun'ko realizes that she has the advantage for now, he doesn't know she is there and that she can give chase, of course if he finds her motorcyle while he stumbles in the dark the security system will give him pause, long enough for her to finish off this puke, one at a time she can handle, but it would be foolhardy to allow this one to get back up while she had a fresh target in front of her. Biting down firmly Jun'ko continues to feed from her prey, watching as the other draws closer to the false illusion of freedom.
TI
"Gah!"
Icewater flooded his black veins. Sight vanished. Only the darkness remained, and he seemed to see it now better than he had before. Now it seemed real. If felt real.
It felt horrible. He was dying.
Again.
Junko
Jun'ko shuddered as fire ran through her veins, she was drawing forth the primal essence of what makes a vampire what they are and it was simply wonderful. Like the first time her sire sank his fangs into her, from his offered wrist when he spoke that one word. "Drink." Everything came rolling up on her like a freight train and it just wasn't stopping, her eyes rolled up back into her head, the other potential escapee for the moment discounted as she bit deeper and suckled at his wound like a dog worries at a bone making certain she got every last drop. She couldn't stop now even if she needed to.
TI
The lightning flickered crimson in Jun'ko's eyes, like long veins pulsating in the sky, swollen so full with vitae that it rained down all around her, surrounding her and her victim in a flood of gore. Soon the sweeping sensation, the succor of stolen thunder, washed over her soothingly while it battered his body again and again and again from the inside out. Empty rivulets bloated beneath his skin, and he choked back a scream he never had the strength to deliver. Though he was sure his hands were gripping Jun'ko's hips, neither of them could feel the touch. The ocean of red vitae engulfing them became a blistering vat of black oil, and he,
Roger Dee
felt himself melting. The nerve endings in his fingertips went dead; he felt like he'd been caught in a devestating dropfire of napalm, with the sinking sensation of ground zero Hiroshima on the red, sunset horizon.
"I want out of here," Roger thought, keeping the rancid ricewater out of his mouth as he continued laying low. The enemy was on the march, carrying out orders that Roger's IO had said involved the strategic takeover of a riverside village a few hundred kilometers north. Damn them. He'd heard the stories of their atrocities to the natives, what they did to the old men and the young girls. It'd been in the ESO Newsletter circulated in their camp. Some infantryman, an investigative journalist, had gotten the scoop with Troop 31 when they went deep in the jungle for two weeks.
"Three." The field commander didn't have to speak the countdown. Roger could see his muddy fingers, splayed like Satan's pitchfork, razored edges pointed at the gooks. They were quivering. So was he.
"Two." He'd been locked and loaded for ten minutes, waiting. Couldn't afford to make a sound to let them know they were about to be slaughtered with good old American impunity.
"One." I still want out of here.
In unison, automatic fire erupted, just before the marching bodies did the same. The sound of hollow barrels belching out deadly shells filled every inch of air. The ricewater trembled as it had been an hour ago, when one of those showers passed overhead, dumping soured rain on them all. The thunder now was worse. Louder. And the lightning much, much deadlier. But it struck on their side, sending Charlie after Charlie toppling to the ground like leaves blown in a gale. Roger's own punisher rattled in his arms, delivering cold iron death to fragile bodies. The return fire soared over his green dome or blasted domes of dirt several inches apart in front of him. As long as he was safe, under the cover of reeds and dirt and muck, he could stay here.
As long as he wasn't dying, he could enjoy killing them.
"Break rank! Break rank!" the field commander cried, and out of the corner of his eye, Roger saw shapes that weren't US soldiers jumping from the underbrush on the opposite side of the ricemarsh. The unknown soldier to his right jerked to the left, falling towards Roger, and the butt of his gun propelled back into the water, beneath his body, as his hands lost control and the recoil of the last few burst-fire rounds made it go out of control.
"Dee! Watch your back!" Someone yelled it. He doesn't remember who.
All he remembered was the cold blade sinking into his back, missing his spinal cord, his heart, and his lungs. Non-vital flesh was sliced open, and by instinct, his boot kicked backwards. He felt the heavy rubber sole connect with a stalk of a leg and heard a groan of pain before the weight of his attacker fell upon him. In an instant, his head was underwater, his eyes burning and his throat being crushed by two hands. The heavy gun and the shoulder strap weighed him further down, and struggle as he might, the enemy had weight and superior position on him. There was no way he could get out of the water. He wasn't drowning yet, only suffocating. But in what felt like several very long minutes, his chest started to burn and shudder. His entire body was on fire. No oxygen was going anywhere; the blood was running dry. All of his extremities were like ash; they might as well not exist. The only thing he could feel was his heart, the last piece of himself, beating furiously in his chest as sharp grass cut into his numb cheeks.
Roger can never remember what caused it, but that fierce Kung Fu grip relaxed, and with every ounce of survivalist capability, he threw off his attacker and pushed himself out of the water, lowering his head as the shoulder strap to his harnessed rifle fell into the water and sank beneath its turgid surface. He gasped, but only two lungfulls before turning about and gripping the pommel of his machete. It was supposed to be for cutting the thick vines out here, or marking a tree for a safe path back to camp.
As he bore down on a scared slant-eye, no older than fifteen, he knew it would work just as well now. Rage and arrogant anger welled up inside of him; how could a child be responsible for almost killing him?
"Hah!" There wasn't any time for a movie line, something like John Wayne would say. He brought the sharp end down across the enemy's face and watched it split open like a Christmas ham. "Aaaaaah!" A little more creative, a little more passionate, and he hacked again. And again. With every blow, he sucked in a mouthful of precious air, only now beginning to feel the pain wracking him subside. "Hahaha," he giggled, a little madly, and pulled the SA from his belt.
He put the barrel against the boy's crotch and fired, reveling in the brutality.
"I'll never die that easy," he quoted, ramming the pistol's end directly through a wall of teeth that snapped and broke beneath the force of black metal. With a swift jerk of his wrist, he turned it up inside his would-be killer's motionless, mutilated head. Then he smiled, thanked God, sobbed, and soiled his military issue pants with sex-seed in one brilliant moment, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
Thunder crashed! A blast of wind blew into Jun'ko's face, taking with it blood-soaked beads of rainy dew and what could be swimming wings of ash. She felt her hands shaking, her arms quivering, and the cold, comfortable grip of her revolver. The bright spark of gunfire still burned in her corneas, and the slight tingling sensation of kinetic recoil tickled her arms but went no further.
She was standing alone in the midst of her Shroud, gun drawn and the echo of her scream swallowed by the thunder and the wind.
Roger Dee was gone. She knew he was. She could have loved him, with all his death-defying anger. She felt like she had loved, or had at least known him well enough to try, once upon a time.
Junko
Her body tingling from the experiences of Roger Dee, her throat would have been sore had she still been alive. Sliding her pistol back into it's holster she gripped her sword as blood tears rolled down her face from the memory of the brujah Dee, her lover. Her secret sin...
Vaulting to her feet she scanned the area and raced for her cycle, so that she could take down the gook that tried to escape, the one that had taken down the unknown soldier to his right.
Gook? His right? Jun'ko shook her head to clear it as she ran, her sword held out in front of her like a talisman, it was clear she would need to speak with her sire about the thoughts that were running through her mind.
TI
Tall, balmy palms drizzled out of view for good, leaving only an open field, a valley in southern California beset by a strong shower, with weakening lightning as it finally seemed as though some of the mass were breaking up on the high hills. Perhaps the winds were finally tearing the storm apart. It was being murdered by its own blustering anger, drowning in the fresh tears it cooled the earth with.
Its death was its own damn fault.
But even still, the intruder, the one Jun'ko could have sworn she'd spotted earlier, was nowhere to be seen. Her motorcyle stood, drenched, unmolested by anything but innocent rain.
How long had she been down on the ground, drinking? It could have been minutes. It could have been forty years.
Junko
Snarling, Jun'ko hopped onto her cycle, disarming the security device with a simple flick of her fingers and brought it to life flicking it's high beams on into the tunnel as she roared forward, sword in hand, challenging hell itself to stop her with her battle cry...
TI
Jun'ko's battle cry reverberates in the air around her, tinny from a distance but terrifying nearby. The tunnel's mouth loomed less than a quarter of a mile away.
High beams flicked back and forth across wet grass and tracks, but revealed nothing other than the scenery. Maybe ahead, just a little further, in the natural darkness of the tunnel...
Junko
Heedless of her own safety the motorcycle lept forward as Jun'ko guns her cycle rapidly shift gears while she still scans the area for sign of the missing man.
TI
The feelings of invincibility and spiritually cosmic proximity Jun'ko had experienced moments before begin to shudder, like a tower whose keystones have been stolen out from beneath the impregnable foundation. But the world still comes through so clearly and so sharply that no detail, even minute, seems to be lacking.
The rain now drizzles. The clouds seem to have settled, like a stomache under the weight of Pepto-Bismol, regulated to a slow, stormy drifts emitting rumblers and flashes no more threatening than heat lightning. The strong light of the Amtrak train still illuminates some of this western valley, but shadows still lurk all around.
At the upwards slope of the valley's western hills, the tunnel mouth gapes open, pitch black on the inside, with the other side invisible from outside the manmade wormhole. The sounds of gunfire are silent now behind her; could they already be picking up the pieces from a blitzkrieg that, in Jun'ko's opponents alone, appears to have taken them all completely by surprise?
Almost all of them, anyway. There's at least one more out here, still. She saw him, but did not kill him. The job is not done, and now the question is: how much time does she have to finish it?
Up behind her, far up on the plateau of the southern hills, where Stefan had directed their attack, all was serene. No flares had yet gone up. Only that would signal the end of Jun'ko's search, and would determine the success or failure of this mission.
Junko
Jun'ko speeds into the tunnel's mouth the smooth darkness seeming to scream in her mind as her headlight pierced it's enveloping folds, Jun'ko could scream she was filled to the bursting and the blood still oozed from her. She strained her immortal eyes searching for her salvation, her damnation. That one lone man who she must kill.
TI
The tunnel is dark and quiet. The acrid scent of evaporated waste lurks inside the opening, brought on by cool rain falling on dirty railtracks. Gravel crunching beneath the wheel of her motorbike sounds louder in here, reverberating off the walls and sounding eerily louder than it should.
In the strong but narrow headlight's beam, Jun'ko can make out various graffiti painting the walls inside the tunnel, as well as water draining down through some cracks in the concrete. Intermittent studs of metal, rusted to a blackish-brown, line the tunnel every twenty feet or so. Altogether, the tunnel extends very far ahead, maybe around 2000 or 3000 feet. The light at the end of the tunnel cannot be seen now, while the motorcycle's headlight is on.
The escapee cannot be seen, either. If, in fact, he did retreat into this tunnel.
Junko
She had to keep going, she had know, she had no idea how long she had been enraptured by the essence of the brujah, now fading into the depths of her being. She had no idea how long she had sat their on the ground, but not for one moment did she regret her decision to drain him, in the end it wasn't just for her, it had been about survival. Accelerating she pushes on searching for something, anything.
TI
It wasn't just for her. It had been about survival.
Frantic, cruel eyes swept through the darkness, seeking the leather-clad, gangly image they had caught only a glimpse of before. The details were hard to recall, and soon felt even more difficult to remember than before; had she seen things right, or had it been a phantom?
And can phantoms step in puddles of water?
The wheels of the motorcycle crunch against the later of dirt around the tracks, making more echoes up and down the tunnel. For the first time in well over an hour, Jun'ko is "dry". It feels good to be out of the rain for a few minutes, even if those few minutes were spent searching for a subject whose very existence is subject to contemplation.
Junko
Was he a phanton or was he real? Jun'ko tried to concentrate on his face but no matter how hard she tried his face would not come, and all she could see was the soldier next to her downed by a viet cong boy. She shook her head and pressed on she decided she would go halfway and see if she could find her phantom. If she could not she would go back and take care of her assigned territory.
TI
The strange perpetrator might have been a stray mental image, or a blotch of ink and spirit drawn from the pages of Neil Gaiman and given life. But wouldn't the rain have made it bleed? Was it capable of bleeding?
Had it been real? The further Jun'ko delves into the tunnel, the more her mind wars: conviction and the desire to succeed demand that the escapee is in here, lurking behind the shadows or in one of the many three foot deep alcoves stretching all the way down to the end of the tunnel. But her memory and her senses heap doubt upon that side, enough to make Libra's scales creak.
She can be sure, though, that no one's breathing...for what that's worth. The way sound carries in here, someone could be whispering several yards in front of you and you just might hear it.
Junko
Stopping the motorcycle she shakes her head and attempts to focus her mind wishing she had the uncanny senses her sire did, but she had her sire's uncanny knack for the unethical and downright dirty. Standing in the center of the tunnel she calls forth the darkness calling it to surround her, succor her and to extend her reach into the side alcoves to flush out her quarry. If indeed her quarry is real, and hiding within.
TI
At Jun'ko's command, at her very mental gesture, the world opens up to accept its darker nature, that underlying truth that speaks, without words, from a mind born out of the failures of humankind...nihilistic to the extreme.
How ironic, then, that as the darkness combs the corridors, the standing silence and lack of change whispers Jun'ko's answer: nothing.
Junko
Sending the darkness back to the oblivion that it had been born from Jun'ko turns her cycle around and kicks it to life. Accelerating, she moves toward the entrance cursing herself for falling prey to shadows of the mind as she moves back to cover her appointed area and wait for the signal.
TI
The bark of Jun'ko's motor echoes outwards in a blast of sound, which is then quickly subsumed by the intense roar of her engine, amplified by these closed acoustics. From the outside, it must sound like a dragon roaring and charging for the exit.
From the inside, it is almost deafening, enough to agitate even the calmest nerves.
As she rides for the exit, the brilliant central light of the stalled train becomes a growing point in front of her.
Suddenly, the far end of the tunnel seems to take on a crimson hue that cakes the farthest ends. The light is dim at first, then it grows brighter, until finally it flickers and fades from the walls altogether after fifteen to twenty seconds or so.
Junko
The signal! Jun'ko accelerates letting her mechanical thunder roar throughout the tunnel as she rockets toward the end of the tunnel. Laying down on her cycle to cut down on wind resistance she wishes for the thousandeth time that she hadn't had to rip off her nitro system, but better a bit of damage then trying to learn how to fly in mid~fall.
TI
Bursting from the tunnel's entrance, Jun'ko watches the telltale light of another motorcycle zooming ahead of her: Xang. The bike guns it, leaping over the train tracks before landing on the other side and veering southeast in the direction of the hill's base.
Their rendezvous point.
The flare has been sent. The mission has been called, at least to some degree, as a success. "Priority Number One", as Stefan had barked earlier, must have been accomplished.
Only Jun'ko knows about the relative success of "Priority Number Two"...
Junko
By now Jun'ko has almost convinced herself that the shadow that she had seen was not real, however she was a practical vampire, she had done what she had to do to enusure her own survival, now she would do so again when and if she faced Stefan.
Jun'ko arrows toward the base of the hill, besides it served Stefan right for not indicating that they would be facing kindred, by now she had burned the excess vitae from her system and welcomes the cleasing rain so that too many questions will not be asked by her young companions.
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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 3:03:34 GMT -5
MotorDragons
"Just chill and take it easy, Taka."
"Take it easy? Chris, that guy probably fucking broke my arm! He broke off a tree branch and hit me with it!"
"Amazing he even got the chance. You were the one with the shotgun, after all," Xang quips, punching the youngest member of their gang in his good arm. "Nobody got by me. What about you, Chris?"
While helping Taka out of his jacket, Chris shakes his head. "No." He does not elaborate. "Where's Jun'ko?"
"Right behind me," Xang announces, as her bike comes into view. The three of them, standing alone together at the base of the hill, turn to see her ride up.
Junko
Jun'ko will pull up and idle her bike as she studies the MotorDragons, she hopes she doesn't look too bad, but right now she doesn't really care. This being the first chance she's had, she will empy her pistol, pocketing the shells and reload it.
"Well... How was your evening, gentlemen?"
MotorDragons
Far out in the middle of the valley, the Amtrak train sits, a semi-demolished wrecked serpent, welded by heavenly fire to the iron tracks below. Where once it seemed imposing with its giant, cycloptic floodlight-eye emblazoning Jun'ko's field of view, it now seems like a distant, expired thing. Like a great Odysseus whose way has once more been confounded, condemning him to await the inevitable passage of time before he can move on.
The MotorDragons milled about on their own, nodding and shaking their heads at Jun'ko's question.
"Fucked up," Taka seethes, holding a limp arm against his side. "I took it square on the shoulder, I think, but I'm still alive. Gut hit me with a tree-"
"Hella stoked," Xang interrupts, circling around Jun'ko, patting the twin Skorpions at his hips. "No one gets out," he says, harshly. "Not on my watch."
"Mm," Chris mutters, pressing spots on Taka's arm and listening to the younger Asian-American seethe in and out. "It went well enough, I guess. Nobody came my way," he says, scrutinizing Xang with an open eye. He had never known Xang to be so lax about killing before, or so heedless of the consequences of his actions. He'd always been so concerned about what the MotorDragons got involved with, knowing that anything that the cops could sniff up would be bad. "We murdered people here, you know, Xang."
Taka glances up at Jun'ko, then lowers his eyes. He puts a hand to his head, feeling a pain headache coming on. "Yeah," he echoes. "I blew the guy away. Shot him right in the chest. Only thing that stopped him," he says, patting Jun'ko's massive piece lying on the grass next to him.
Xang rolls his eyes and waves his hand in the air. "You're the one with the flechette, Chris. You came here expecting to kill. Don't get all moral now."
"That's not the point," Chris leveled, standing up and walking towards Xang. "There are bodies in that field. What if they find them out there? What if they link them back to us? Aren't you a little worried that maybe we're in over our head? That maybe they'll find corpses and declare the scene a murder site?"
Xang held up his hands and crooked his lips to say something, but was abruptly interrupted.
Stefan Darwin
"They won't find any bodies," Stefan Darwin announces, black mocassins marching down the hillside towards the gathered MotorDragons. "Our field agents are taking care of that even as we speak."
Tonight has been an affair of cloak and shadow, with dagger, bullet, and lightning bringing surprises and shocks aplenty to what can only be described in outdated military terminology as a blitzkrieg. But now, the shadows are moving aside, being swept by a swiftly moving jet stream over the hills; shafts of moonlight are now beginning to dance across the valley. Its ambience illuminates Stefan's face in a haunting glow, making him seem all the more severe against the serenity of a moon-kissed landscape.
Stefan still wears the yellow slicker, but he has removed the broad hat which now appears clenched in his hands, like a preying bird's talons over a nutritious banana slug meal. Short spikes of deep reddish-brown hair collapse around Stefan's head, stalwart soldiers cropped by comb that now appear fallen, disheveled, and somehow more real. As real as the butt of the flare gun still sticking out of his slicker pocket, in easy grasp of his hand.
"Priority Number One has been accomplished. Soon, we will have confirmation of that." His eyes glance past the group out into the field, where a gaggle of black-clad bodies shift forward, with slivers of other colors jumbled amidst those bodies.
"What is the status of Priority Number Two?" Stefan asks, looking at each of the MotorDragons in turn. "Were our defensive lines broken? Are there any known escapees?"
Junko
Jun'ko will shake her head confident that she had just been jumping at shadows, "I stopped one guy before he got close to the exit area, while I was dealing with him, I thought I saw something else, but I ended up running around in circles. I rode into the tunnel, and found nothing to indicate that more than one person tried to make it past me." Her voice is sure and strong, she knows that nobody made it past her.
MotorDragons
"Hell no," Xang answers proudly, giving Stefan a yes-man's smile.
"A-almost," Taka stammers, shaking his head as Chris replaces his jacket. "But not quite. I got him."
Chris doesn't even look up at Stefan. "No one came my way, so nobody got past me."
Stefan Darwin
Xang's obsequious smile incurs no echo of appreciation in Stefan. The man's lips remain solidly flat, a continuous expression of dissatisfaction; not in the mission, per se, but maybe something else - in the kind of life experience that breeds a stoic, or the single fall from grace that can scar an intellectual. Or, even worse, an unknown but constant conflict against odds too invisible, obscure, or esoteric for others to notice.
"Good. Good." Benedictions mean nothing when you don't feel them. Stefan does not. They seem spoken on behalf of the MotorDragons, not himself. His eyes briefly stall on Jun'ko's face, peering at her closely, as if trying to find something more telling of her through those unexpressive, slitted eyes.
"You are all to be commended, and matters of payment will be discussed once the subject is delivered."
TI
Seemingly summoned by Stefan's mention of the subject, a group of eight individuals get within ten feet of Stefan and the MotorDragons. One leads them all, making a beeline for the field commander, and another brings up the rear, a piece in his hand as he watches for stragglers, followers, or spies. Between the two of them, two sets with three men apiece carry not one but two captives, bound from all sides and heavily escorted.
"Priority One acquired," the lead announces, lifting a thick black mask from her face, revealing a thick jaw, round lips, and large cheekbones. Short blonde hair, still wet with rain, sticks out haphazardly in several spikes. Her expressive green eyes, with their Amazonian beauty, move between Stefan and the MotorDragons. "She is shaken, but unharmed."
Judging off of the pictures they had been provided earlier, Jun'ko and her gang would almost be inclined to disagree: the woman held in captivity has none of the starlet qualities of the lacquered image in their plastic baggies. Once perfect hair is now strewn about, obscuring parts of her face as though she had lost the audition to be Aileen Wuernos to Charlize Theron and, in a streak of bitterness, had never bothered to adjust her monstrous bad hair day. Hard eyes stare out between the long hair; they've lost their Hollywood smile. She's traded her Amy Ballard line in for a professional but unasuming burgundy two-piece: a knee-length skirt that keeps her legs bound together better than any captor and a smart coat with brass buttons up the center. Gone are her earrings and other expensive dalliances. She was riding in comfort, not in style, when Stefan's unit viciously attacked and stole away with her.
Despite her disheveled appearance, the MotorDragons must eventually concur - it is indeed their target. Heedless of the fact that she is in no position to expect freedom or equality, she stands up brazenly to her full height once her three captive stop shuffling her forward. Her poise becomes imperious and menacing, despite her predicament, though she utters not a word. One thing has certainly remained in her - the presence of a powerful, successful woman whose spirit will never be broken by such brutal acts as these.
The other captive remains still, a mere shadow against her electric radiance. A loose-fitting collarless black button-up hangs inches below stringy arms, and large, billowing royal blue pants tied off by a belt balloon slightly beneath his waist. He offers up no struggle, his arms held up in the air and grasped by a man on either side of him. Long, thick brown hair - probably dreaded and then undone within the last month, since it still carries an open weight about it - falls around his shoulders. Anxious but cautious eyes ferret around behind a pair of round spectacles, perched bookishly on the bridge of his nose. Although he has a good sense of the predicament he is in, he is hardly acting with the same bravada as the other captive. Perhaps he is more keen on the hopelessness of his situation.
He is staring intently at Stefan Darwin.
Junko
Jun'ko can feel the coldness in Stefan's voice as he proclaims their actions to be good. It doens't bother her, however as she shifts her impassive gaze to the subject know as Priority One and her amazonian escort. She studies the women carefully searching for a telling sign that the blood is present within them.
Just because she does not possess the second sight doesn't mean that she doesn't know what to look for. Then she will look at the wilting flower next to the unbroken captive. She watches his passiveness and wonders if he really knows what is in store for him and his companion, it's hard to say, especially since she has no knowledge of what Stefan intends to do with them. Nothing to do but wait and see.
Stefan Darwin
Stefan's boots plod on the wet grass as he crosses to stand directly in front of their target. He stands there for several seconds, sizing her up, and giving everyone else a chance to notice something else - the captive stands an inch or two taller than Stefan, but he is not cowed. Instead, he speaks evenly to her, with only a hint of dismissiveness in his voice.
"Do not try to negotiate your circumstances. Do not waste words where none will hear them. We are not the ones to whom you will be answering this night. We are merely your deaf escorts. We will not budge, no matter how you coax or threaten. Spend the time you have to ponder your situation. You will need to determine what your priorities are. And soon," he closes cryptically, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side. His upper lip curls in the slightest hint of disgust, and he leaves her be, moving towards the other captive.
"Did I not remind you that there were to be no captives other than our charge?" he asks aloud, irritated. Obviously, he is addressing the unit leader, even though he isn't looking at her.
TI
"Why would I wag my tongue at a mere lackey, who makes it clear he's only following orders?" the target retorts to Stefan icily as he walks away from her.
"Quiet, cow!" The leader who had addressed Stefan lifts the back of her hand, making to strike the captive as she shouts at her over her impudence! However, the captive does not flinch from the blow, and for some reason, perhaps because of orders already given, the blow is not delivered. Instead, the two women stare one another down menacingly.
The Amazonian unit leader appears unabashed by Stefan's harsh words while maintaining eye contact with the bitch. "He surrendered. It was a contingency we had not planned for, so we brought him here to await your decision."
While the two women exchanged daggered glaring, the surrendered begins to quiver in the arms of his captors once Stefan steps in front of him. His lips move as he makes to form words. The moonlight catches a silver chain dangling from his neck. At the end of the chain, there is a sterling, triangular bauble with an almond-shaped gemstone behind its uppermost point made of some orange agate or a similar gemstone.
"Stefan...is this where you've-"
Stefan Darwin
"Stefan...is this where you've-"
Stefan will not allow him to finish the sentence. With a snap of his arm, he has the captive's jaw in a tight clench. Stefan's entire arm shakes with the force of his crushing grasp, and the captive's face reflects the inhumanity.
"She is the only one we are concerned with," he hisses, turning his head to the woman. "We have no need of you."
Lightning flashes in his eyes, and slowly, he draws the unspent blue flare from his slicker pocket. "And since we've been successful, I won't be needing this, either."
Throwing the captive's head aside, causing his glasses to fly from his nose and land in the grass nearby, Stefan frees his hand and levels the flare gun at his chest. Instantly, those black-clad men holding the captive let go and run to the sides, getting out of the way.
"Stefan, no!" he shouts, holding up his hands before the air suddenly explodes into hot, blue-white light! The flare, in a split seconds, bursts from the end of the flare gun and impales the man's chest, flaring and sparking as it digs deeper and deeper! Stefan's face is illuminated in the sheer violence of his act.
Stefan stumbles backwards along with everyone else, shielding his eyes and grimacing as the white hot flare ignites his loose-fitting clothing! As soon as the bright flare is encompassed by his flesh, the glare diminishes, leaving only a collapsed, burning body.
"Get her to the vehicle," Stefan orders, sneering at the pile of burning flesh on the ground. "We have no time to waste."
TI
"Monster!" Their only remaining captive shouts at Stefan, her resolve crumbled in light of his display of ruthlessness.
"Silence!" The unit's leader snatches a lock of the captive's hair and yanks her forward, making the men holding her down walk as well. "Get her up the hill and into the car. If she acts up, restrain her."
Junko
Jun'ko will spare a glance to her young companions to see how they react to this new development before watching the young man burn. Noting as she does where the pair of glasses fall, that could prove useful later. She will smile at Stefan, he was very much like her, and from what she had heard there had been other kindred or perhaps ghouls in that train. Now she had to decide, what category did the captive fall into...
Clearing her throat she will wait for Stefan to give the MotorDragons and herself additional instructions.
Stefan Darwin
There is no length to which some people will go to keep a secret. Hollywood suspense thrillers and conspiracy films prove a daunting fact about humanity: all things are necessary in the pursuit of privacy, even murder. And in the life of the Night, neither morality nor ethics continue to play a role in the decision-making process.
Only practicality and what needs to be done.
"Is the route clear?" Stefan says, turning to face Jun'ko and the MotorDragons. At first, it appears that he is asking them, but then it is obvious he has a simple, low-flux two-way radio in his hand and held up to his mouth.
"Yes...hiss...chopper is coming...crackle...keep lights low, and we should be fine. Out."
Stefan nods briskly in response to the voice on the other side. "Good. Out." He flips it off and replaces it in his slicker before pointing to Jun'ko. "Bring your bikes to the top of the hill. There is an unmarked SUV waiting for us there. You will escort us on your bikes to the meeting site in town. Keep it at a slow pace. The route should be clear of patrols, but we do not want to draw any unnecessary attention."
Stefan takes one last, longing look at the flaming pile on the grass.
"Fool," he whispers unders his breath, before shaking his head and stepping up to Jun'ko's bike.
"May I?" he asks, touching the rear edge of her riding seat.
Junko
She too will glance at the flaming pile, before getting on her bike and looking over her shoulder at Stefan, nod her acquiesance. She does not feel comfortable with him on the rear of her cycle, but she will just have to deal with it for now, if she wishes to avoid suspicions. Starting her cylce after Stefan is on she will cruise up to the front of the pack, not out of pride this time, but so her young companions can watch her back.
MotorDragons
Throughout Stefan's callous display of authority, the MotorDragons remained silent, transfixed by his chilly but erudite disposition and either awed or mortified by his brutal expediency. As Stefan makes to board Jun'ko's cycle, Taka stands a few feet away from the burning body, his wan face enveloped by the flickering firelight.
"You got him, Chris?" Xang asks, saddling up on his bike.
"Yeah," Chris answers, squeezing his palm on Taka's good shoulder. "C'mon, man, we gotta split. Stefan said there's an SUV up the hill. I'll see if we can't get you to ride in back 'til we can get you to a hospital."
Taka swallowed, nodding. "Mm hm."
"Ain't gonna be no hospital for him," Xang interrupted, clicking the helmet strap beneath his upraised chin. "Last thing we need is to draw more attention to what happened here tonight. When we're done making the delivery, it's morphine and a makeshift sling, buddy." Their leader becomes even more impassive as he drops the helmet over his face. "Beats the hospital bills, anyway," he says, muffled behind his helmet, and speeds off up the hill.
"Don't worry about it, Taka. He's just saying that to impress Stefan." His grip on Taka became tighter. "Though he does have a point."
The youngest MotorDragon, the only apparent wounded among them, snorts. "Fuck Xang."
"Get on. Let's go."
Taka spun around on his heel, barely missing the spectacles gazing emptily at the smoldering corpse. "What's with you, man?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what's with you? Ever since...ever since we hit you earlier with the bike, you've been hella different. I don't get it. It's like you've changed. Like you're not having fun anymore." Though he hates to admit it, he does, with Stefan and Xang leaving earshot. "Makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong."
"No, no. It's nothing really, Taka. Just...I'll explain it later. We gotta move, or we'll be left behind. Get on."
"All right," Taka agrees reluctantly, slowly getting on the bike without jarring his limp arm too much. "But you owe me an explanation. Something weird is going on with you, and I wanna know exactly what it is."
Last but not least, Chris' bike roars to life. The traction on his wheels begins dragging the two of them up the hill, towards the waiting SUV and the route they'll take back into town. His hand slides down to his chest, stopping just below his ribcage.
"You and me both, man. You and me both."
Junko
Jun'ko winces as Taka nearly steps on the glasses, but she knows there is no way that she can get them with Stefan on the back of her cycle. She listens with interest to the Dragons' discussion. She shakes her head at Xang's comment, while he is correct, Taka will need more than morphine and a sling. And she knew just how to help him. But she wanted to hear this discussion as well, perhaps she could secure Chris and Taka as her boys. Jun'ko will wait for Stefan to get on and then follow them up the hill.
Stefan Darwin
Stefan mounts the rear edge of Jun'ko's seat, then points a steady finger uphill, to a certain spot some twenty degrees to their right. "Up there. The SUV is waiting. Do you feel the MotorDragons can continue in the capacity of an escort with your youngest member injured? There is adequate space in the back of the SUV to support him, if you feel his condition would hamper your team's ability to defend our transport should we meet opposition."
Junko
"Allowing him to ride might be for the best. But if you would Mr. Darwin, please indulge me, your Team captain seemed to be a kindred spirit, I normally operate independant, but I'm intrigued by your operation. The members work together in a close knit pack it seems."
She hated having to dance around but Darwin hadn't paid them yet and she needed to know if he was a camrilla puke, or and independant or what. And she wasn't about to show her hand with him sitting right behind her.
Stefan Darwin
The odds had been against the fact Jun'ko delivered, but Stefan had learned long ago to expect the unusual. All of the other clues now clicked into place.
"She may seem a kindred spirit, but she has no love for her kin," he explains briskly. And briefly. "We all have a standing respect for privacy. Those are old battle lines."
Stefan's grip on Jun'ko's hips tightened, but remained as clammy and impersonal as ever. "Some of us have drawn new ones."
Junko
"I have no wish to invade anyone's privacy, I simply want to ensure that my... investment in the form of the young man concerned is protected, so that he does not gather undue interest from other parties. And is... recruitment by invitation only? If so, then I would like for you to remember me for your.." Even though he could not see her lips twitching into a smile, "For your outsourcing needs." She kept her voice impassive as if she was not truly concerned about either of the matters they were talking about.
Stefan Darwin
Stefan remained impassive, staring straight ahead over Jun'ko's shoulder.
Thoughts percolated within, though, bubbling silently in his shrewhole brain. He had not needed more proof to know who, or to know what, Jun'ko is. But Stefan searched every word of hers, trying to classify her, to pull her apart with his exacting mind into an orderly portfolio to be filed away for future reference.
"Your investment is protected. And I will remember. Do you have other contributions to make, aside from those utilized tonight?"
Junko
"I'm a skilled mechanic, but other than that I can sho... dish out the whup-ass with the best of them." Jun'ko will climb the hill expertly and she does not feel to mention her skill on the cycle when he can see it first hand.
She had almost slipped up and said shovel it, referring to the practice of Sabbat calling their childer shovel-heads, she hoped he would mis-interpret what she had almost said, but she wasn't going to count on it.
Stefan Darwin
"An auto mechanic, I imagine. Am I correct?"
There were many different kinds of mechanics, each with different specialities and areas of expertise. Stefan's question of clarification almost seems to mock Jun'ko's imprecise language; propped upon a mountain of worldly, scholastic experience, it seems to those around him that he peers down upon them with imperious disapproval.
Was there any wonder Einstein never had the opportunity to develop good social skills? Or why Stefan's own damnable ancestor is now an immortal devil plaguing God's children through eternity?
"I will keep your offer in mind. No resumé will be necessary. Further communication will. Make a point to see me once our business is concluded this evening if you truly wish to continue putting your talents to good use."
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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 3:09:45 GMT -5
Junko
"Yes, an auto-mechanic indeed." Jun'ko hears the sneer in his voice and would do something about it save for the fact that his goons were still close by, and he had not paid them yet. Besides, every mechanic knew that what they did was more important than the other mechanics.
"Very well then." She is satisfied for now, she has an inroad into a valuable group, with time and patience she might eventually be able to make use of it as well.
Stefan Darwin
Soon, a purring SUV loomed atop the hill, another masked individual sitting in the driver's seat, peering over his shoulder at the approaching motor troupe. Stefan motioned for Jun'ko to come to a halt, then dismounted.
"There's room in the rear for the injured. Let him ride here," Stefan directs Chris, who does as he is bidden, helping Taka off the back of his bike and into the rear seats of the SUV. "The trip down the hill should not be too bumpy. We're making use of an abandoned industrial road, and - "
"Kcch. Stefan?"
A burst of static and a hesitant question interruped Stefan, emenating from the comm unit at this hip. He lifts it and depresses the activator. "What?"
"We have a problem. Wallace did not respond to our communications when the rendezvous began. We sent...hiss...sorry, we sent a unit out to his position. All we found was his communicator, abandoned in the field. It appeared to have been there a while."
Stefan's eyes flashed in sudden anger. The walkie-talkie squealed beneath his tightening grip. "Do you have any reason to suspect a security issue?" For Dietrich's sake, Stefan Darwin hopes so.
"No. All signs point to desertion."
"Un-der-stood," he emphasises every syllable, as if doing so were a method of anger management, like counting backwards to ten.
Should I be surprised? Stefan thought, hanging in those still moments while his unit on the other side waited for direction. Dietrich Wallace is weak. Stefan had known it upon his first interview with him. He had not wanted him to be a contributor to this operation, but in Wallace's case, he had not had a choice. He only had so many to work with, and he had expected some losses. However, he had not wanted any to come from desertion. The idea embittered him severely, for like any capable leader, he took the slight personally.
"May he flee 'til the wolves of cowardice nipping at this heels devour him at last. Continue on with the plan. Secure our route into the city. Over and out."
Gloomily, Stefan slumped into shotgun, staring out through the front windshield, grimacing so much that neither the driver nor the rest of the field units who caught up with them said a word to him. They knew better.
Junko
Jun'ko will look to the Dragoons who were still mounted up. "Be ready for anything, it is possible that this... Wallace knows where Stefan is headed towards, we need to be more alert as we travel and once we get there and are leaving."
With that, Jun'ko will pre-empt Xang as she pulls up to the right side of the SUV and waits for the signal to go.
TI
A deserter? Stefan had not initially referred to him as a flight or a runaway. Dietrich Wallace had been labeled a deserter, the most despicable - and, as Jun'ko points out, perhaps the most dangerous - kind of person.
One minute, the deserter is at your side, ready to serve and defend. The next minute, the gun is at your back and he is gone. Lip service indicates that he will see it through to the end. But when needed most, he has gone to make his own end, leaving a trail of dust behind him. It is no wonder Stefan Darwin, the calculating, displeased leader of this clandestine group, swallows the news of Wallace's MIA like old, dead, soured blood.
Everything happens quickly, and with well-planned efficiency. The target, bound and subdued, is thrust into the rear of the SUV and covered with some kind of rough, fabric tarp. Once the bulge has gone flat, leaving only Stefan's short swath of rusty hair staring from the shotgun seat, the SUV rocks forward and begins its descent from the hilltop, from the valley, from the dismantled, smoking Amtrak lying in its belly, between fields of grape and grass.
The MotorDragons, sans Taka, fill in around the SUV and drive along nearby, at the ready, most silently drunken off the thrill of success while Stefan sulks in the misery of one indication of failed leadership.
Little do they know...
*******
The train's generator flickers, making the cyclopic eye of light on its front flicker and fade for a few brief seconds. The tunnel far ahead, waiting wide and patient for the damaged vehicle to enter, goes completely black for a few heartbeats of time.
Slump. A slouched, shivering figure detatches itself from a cubby-hole near the tunnel's entrance into the valley. He comes out of nowhere, as if thrust into reality by a deceitful conspiracy of time and space. The trickle of rainwater had been running around his feet, heedless of his presence. The concrete had forgotten he was there, but now that he showed up, it oppressed him with the cloying coldness lingering after a Pacific rain. The figure shakes his head, spikes of wild hair rushing back and forth over his shoulders.
She had almost found him. It was close enough that she could have clipped him. She might have found him. She might have eaten him, too.
The train's eye opens again, searing him with a blast of light! His mouth, surrounded by black lipstick, drops open, emitting a silent gasp of surprise! Nerves shot to hell, synapses fired to the max, he stumbles backwards, tripping over his own S&M boots and falling unceremoniously into a puddle of muddy water pooling between the railes on the track.
Luckily, Jiminy Cricket was water resistant.
"I need to get in touch with the Prince, Jiminy. I have to do it now!" he says to the green-tinted box in his hand. Jiminy's eyes blinked, broadcasting his last name in broad letters, before he chirped and answered his frightened owner.
Well, Misty, you're no fool, nosiree. You've got to dial 555-0103.
"Thanks, Jiminy," he says, punching in the numbers and activating Jiminy's antennae locator. The phone kept ringing. The train's eye kept blaring at him. It frightened Misty something terrible.
I see you, the Amtrak whispered, its whisper loud enough to shake the valley like distant thunder.
Finally, someone answered. Frantically, Misty began shouting, trying to back away from the train. What if it started moving at him? It would crush him! He'd never have time to get out of here! "Hello? Hello! I have terrible news! Awful, terrible news! She's gone! They've taken her!"
They hurt me, and now you're deserting me. I am going to run you down. I am going to kill you.
"Stop it! Stop threatening me!" Misty turned his back to the train and started running down the tunnel, hoping his feet wouldn't catch in the bars. "No, not you. It's the train. The 1 am to LAX. We've been hijacked! Ransacked! She's been kidnapped. A lot of us are dead. I'm still alive. I have to make it back to the city before the sun..."
You can stay in here, Misty. I'll protect you. It stays dark here during the day. Tunnels may look like they're going to swallow you, but they rarely mean any harm. It's what's in them that you have to worry about.
"Thanks. But the train has to come through here. I can't stay."
You're no fool, nosiree. Jiminy always reminded him.
"I don't know who they were. Someone...a woman...making the night sky kill somebody. Total blackness, and she ate him in it. Tell me what to do! I don't know what to do!"
He stopped running. He paused, concentrating on the voice. "Yes, I'm calm now. Yes, I'm coming to the city. I'll be there as soon as I can."
Run, boy, run. Before I get my wheels moving. The tunnel shook with the force of Amtrak's rage.
"I have to go! Now! Goodbye! Jiminy, hang up! Hang up!"
Jiminy chirped, then dropped the line when Misty pressed the End button. Keep me in your pocket. For good luck! he cautioned, wisely.
Misty pocketed the Cricket cellphone and kept running for the end of the tunnel, for the fields of low grass snoring beneath his feet, for the bright lights of Los Angeles and the tall lights and tall buildings saying, Misty! Welcome home!
Welcome home, Misty!
How he longed to hear those, as soon as he could. He'd been away for weeks. Misty ran, and ran, and ran...
Junko
Jun'ko rode on, the thought that there had been a deserter gnawing at the back of her mind and wondering if she truly had seen something in the rain. Shaking her head to clear it of the thoughts of failure. She rode on.
TI
And they're off, this collection of trained soldiers and their contracted motorcycle gang. Just two miles away from the hilltop, the MotorDragons notice another SUV's headlights creep up behind them, carrying the rest of the field team that had infiltrated the lightning-blasted Amtrak train and assaulted its occupants ferociously. Xang falls back from the lead SUV, riding instead near the front of the rear car, leaving Jun'ko slowling circling Stefan, his Amazonian lieutenant, and their stoic, dignified captive.
A tense silence travels with them towards Los Angeles, broken only by the occassional radio contact as those watchdogs securing their path related the message, "All is clear. Proceed."
Jun'ko watches their path veer south; further south, even, than Chinatown and the surrounding district where her garage sat, locked up for the night. The fields grew darker and darker, as bright, beautiful Hollywood dodged to the right, rolling and shrinking into a bundle of pillowy pastel pinks and yellows. Spotlights from the heart of LA, as they often will on certain nights of the week, streak the night sky, prison searchlights seeking out those who seek to undo their majesty.
But their heads were in the clouds, obscured by dazzling stars, and they see nothing of Stefan, Jun'ko, and the captive as they slip quietly into a rotting junkyard, outhouse of the southern suburbs. A side, back, or front gate - it was hard to tell which - looms open. Without stopping, both SUVs and their escorts enter the yard, wading between piles of discarded mattresses, gutted automobiles, nuevo-artistic sculptures of stacked scrap metal and other assorted castaways.
Finally, Stefan lifts his hand, pointing at a small halo of light shining around a mountain of blown truck tires.
The SUVs came to a stop in an a dusty, open lot, right before an old crew trailer, its wheels gone. The metal pilings and the rickety iron stairwell are all that is left. Faded green letters can barely be made out on the side: W.H. Morgan & Co., a waste-management-company-turned-environmental-watchdog-agency, now defunct. It does not pay to be so altruistic in a world where people always have things they'd rather sweep under the rug...
But it does pay to be a hired hitman, if there's one thing the Jun'ko and the MotorDragons have learned tonight. All they're waiting for now is their money.
Stefan Darwin
Castaways, making their haven amidst other castaways.
Stefan Darwin continued to repeat this line in his mind over and over as they drove by these pillars of unwanted folderol. But the homeless, the destitute, the poor, the low-and-luck had learned the value of society's discarded objects. One man's moth-eaten mattress was another man's insulation from the cold. A fork discarded from a Pacific townhouse in favor of new sterling silverware could prove to be the essential prong needed in a multi-purpose tool, capable of siezing hard to reach items, or cleaning grit from crevices too small for human fingers, or for cooking meat over a fire. Even a weapon, should one have need of it in a desperate situation. World-famous artists had made a name for themselves with soup cans and hubcaps. Inventors had designed progressive machines, like the electric washboard, out of mere flotsam and jetsam, thrown away by the rest of us.
Doctor Frankenstein had created Life from our buried, forgotten pieces. And we, in our arrogance, leave these, our castaways, unutilized. I will do so no longer, Stefan resolved, lost in his own thinking until he noticed the light ahead.
He gestured towards the trailer. The SUV took a turn and, in time, came to a halt and quit the engine. Opening his door, Stefan stepped out of the SUV and cast his searing eyes at their captive. Somehow, the wind had blown her hair back into place. Two bangs fell around her gagged mouth.
"Out," he ordered, pointing a switch-like finger at the ground.
Defiantly, the woman refused to move. Instead, she stared Stefan dead on, as if to say, you killed a man who begged for his life. Why don't you kill me, too?
"Out, woman. I will not ask you again," Stefan repeated, no idle threat in his stern voice.
Their eyes locked, and for an instant, Stefan almost felt cowed by the sheer momentum of his actions. In one cosmic moment of collapsed time, every step he had taken since that night, and every step he would take until it was all concluded, closed in around him like a rush of water filling the void of thought - the dangers, the betrayals, the murders. His straight finger shuddered, losing its assuredness. His eyebrows raised and his lips parted, for a moment.
No. Focus on the moment. Focus on the goal.
"Out!" Stefan hissed, and slowly, beaten back by the bleakness of the situation, she arose and moved away from the SUV. Whatever she had seen, whatever she had noticed - be it Stefan's moment of loss, or her realization of her dire situation - prompted her at least to face her fate with the same dignity that she once resisted it.
Stefan's voice is now reduced to something barely above a whisper. "Come," he directs, gripping her arm tightly and leading her towards the trailer.
O Neg
The trailer rattles as someone moves inside and the aluminum door swings open before Stefan can knock. All that Junko and the Motor Dragons can immediately see is their captive's reaction, as she pulls back hard in the cold leader's icey grip. There is a twisted emotion on her face, but it is not the fear that they might expect in correspondence with her body language.
It is hatred.
She hisses in a sharp breath and seethes, "You!" She sounds surprised, perhaps having guessed that a different hand was rocking the cradle. Her indignation is sharper than Stefan's emotionless smile. The trailer shudders again and Junko finally catches sight of the man that is raising so much contempt.
He is a huge and heavily muscled man, his skin oil black. He carries himself with the loud power of a hurricane, but his movements are deliberate and controlled. Junko has never met the man, but she has heard of him and she knows instantly who he is.
O Neg. The Anarch leader.
He walks past Stefan and his catch and towards the motorcyclists. He has a wallet in his hand. His dark irised eyes study them as he determines where their power structure lies and then he opens his wallet and thumbs through it with thick fingers. Swiftly, he pulls out an appropriate number of individual credit cards and he holds them out to Junko.
"Your help is appreciated. Dispense these cards between yourselves and keep them after they are depleted. We may yet do business another time." His voice runs the deep bourbon of a hole-in-the-wall tequilla bar.
Junko
Jun'ko nods as she accepts the cards, knowing that this will probably infuriate Xang to no end. After she has the cards she will bow low to him. Idly she will wonder who the woman is, but she has a good eye for faces and from her description her sire may know, along with the one that knew Stefan as well.
Stefan Darwin
He sees what I see, as well. Her potential, her strong personality. He probably suspects as I do, too. Stefan's thoughts worked overtime, though his face was a clean slate, staring impassively at O Neg's gift of hard-earned cash to Jun'ko and "her MotorDragons". They may as well belong to her already. She so much as asked me for their hand in bondage...
Stefan Darwin appraised the rest of the Anarchs standing about, knowing their appropriations would probably come later. He held up a hand to his Bavarian barbaress lieutenant, who nodded brusquely and walked from group to group, delivering a final set of marching orders.
Junko
Taking that as her dismissal, Jun'ko will back away from O Neg. Only once she is a respectful distance away from him will she turn her body, and still she will not turn her back to him, she has too much repect for him for that. Passing out the cards, like candy to starving children she will make ready to leave, looking for her wounded MotorDragon.
O Neg
The ebony man turns away from the MotorDragons once Junko has taken the credit cards and nods to his group as they disperse. Whatever reward they have coming, it is obviously different from that which Junko has received. He stops in front of Stephan and their captive and his intuitive gaze meets the other man's. In his eyes Stephan sees appreciation and acceptance and no words are necessary just yet between them.
The moment is over quickly and he replaces Stephan's hand with his own, leading the indignant woman towards the trailer. He carries himself with the pride of a diplomat now and as if sensing her rightful place in these events, she moves her hand to loop around to his muscular bicep, walking willingly for the first time. She will make something of this situation yet.
MotorDragons
"Credit cards," Xang observes, rubbing his hands together as the bearish man saunters back into his trailer-cave with their captive. "No trace! Kickass."
"Taka, you alright?" Chris asks, hesitantly taking O Neg's departure as his opportunity to speak. All of this pomp had him unsettled; bigger things were going on here than he would probably ever know.
"Eh. Still aches. Need saké," the youngest moans, touching his upper arm with his fingertip.
The "leader" laughs, putting his hands on his hips. "You got plenty of money to buy all the rice wine and liquor you want, man. Just charge it." His smile grows wider - and perceptively falser - as Jun'ko comes closer. Stealing all his thunder...she's just an invite, a grease monkey with a nice ass.
"What's up? Ready to get outta here?" Xang asks her, chest out in a stalled buck.
Stefan Darwin
It is done. But you wouldn't know it. Though Stefan thinks it with relief, he cannot muster enough spark in his eyes to return O Neg's honest approval. From somewhere deep within, after an internal sigh that inflates his lungs, he manages to turn around on his heel, walking a few steps behind Jun'ko.
"Taka. Stay there. Let me see your injury."
Perhaps a little too rough, Stefan grabs Taka's wrist and shifts his arm into place beneath the gloomy light rolling down from an overhead light post. Then, surprisingly gentle, he rolls his palm up and down Taka's upper arm, asking time and time again, "Does this hurt? Does that?"
"Remember, Taka, I am a doctor," Stefan finishes, laying the young MotorDragon's arm down. "My diagnosis? You haven't broken anything, though you do have massive bruising. It will be sore for a couple of days. There is no need, however, to visit the hospital. The bills would be a waste of your hard-earned money. Instead, I suggest you stay at home. It will heal on its own."
And it will keep nosy physicians from asking questions, Stefan thinks to himself, taking a step back and away from the group.
Junko
"Actually.." Jun'ko will draw the word out. "You all can crash at the shop if you want, I'd like to check you bikes out to make sure everything is good with them, since something went wrong with my nitro tank. And..." Jun'ko will wave her card. "Treats will be on me, what do you say to that?"
Jun'ko will pause as Stefan tells Taka of the bruising. "All the more reason to drown your pain in wine my friend, I'll check the bikes, foot the bill for the party, and provide a place to crash."
MotorDragons
"Sounds good to me," Chris answers, more to the light overhead than any of his gang buddies or Stefan. "Nothing better to do here."
"Hell yeah! Ow!" Taka hoists his hand in agreement, then winces and seethes, nodding at Stefan. "Right, right, still sore. Thanks, Doc."
Xang straddles his bike like a mechanical bull, determined not to be bucked off by a case of obvious mistaken identity. "I'd open my place - being the leader and all - but I think Jun'ko's shop is better. Besides, she's treating. Can I refuse?" he asks, with black-gloved palms open.
It almost seems as though he's asking Stefan. "What about you?" he does ask the stand-offish "Doctor". It doesn't even occur to him to ask Jun'ko's permission. He is the leader, after all, and can invite anyone he wants...
Stefan Darwin
"Mmmm. Thank you for the offer, but I should decline," he dismisses, eyes skirting over the dying green W.H. Morgan & Co. on the side of the trailer. "This is your celebration, not mine."
Junko
Jun'ko will grin at Stefan's refusal, she had figured he would, a real stick in the mud was the foremost thought in her mind. Then her thoughts drifted back to Xang. She would have to do something about him, he still thought he was the leader. He didn't realize that his time. like that of the dinosaurs was fading fast. Grinning at that pleasant thought she will kick her cycle to life and glance at Taka. "You coming along or sticking around here?"
MotorDragons
She doesn't need to ask twice! Quicker than a boy's first orgasm, Taka is sliding in behind Jun'ko, broken arm/bruised muscle be damned. "Juuuuuun'koooo!" he wails under his breath, once again referencing Akira for the fun of it.
Xang cracks his neck and revs up, as well. "Time's wasting. Let's get plastered."
Only Chris seemed dubious in his enthusiasm. Putting up an apologetic finger, he kicks the stand on his bike down onto the dirt and follows in a trot after Stefan. The expression on his face seems tense, worried; even when the other man turns around to look at him, a paralysis appears to overcome Chris. He stands there, sessile, the breath freezing in his lungs.
Finally, his lips move, and he leans closer to Stefan, worry lining his brow. The hum of his vocal chords can be heard, but the motors drown out his words...
Junko
Jun'ko will watch in amazement as Chris approaches Stefan and she will stifle a low growl as he actually speaks to him. Stifling the urge to bound off the bike and throttle him, demanding to know what he was saying. Instead she simply growled as she revved the harley and waited for Chris to get back on. Later.. Later she would get him alone...
Stefan Darwin
Chris must have uttered a deathwish.
No sooner has the MotorDragon spoken a complete sentence than Stefan is whirling to face him; the stoic "stick-in-the-mud's" movements are so fast that the edges of his black slicker whip around his small, tight physique! The kinetic force in Dr. Darwin's about-face strikes Chris with such force that it surely makes the young man leap back in shock.
Eyes, flashing and angry, bore tiny holes in Chris' face, stealing all the MotorDragon's classic cool in one heartbreaking moment. Whatever the answer, it is softer than Chris' original question, but more powerful in its delivery.
Once Chris departs, a little too quickly, Stefan remains standing, arms crossed, eyes steady and unyielding on Jun'ko. She does not bear the brunt of whatever venom Chris stirred in Stefan; instead, the man seems to be looking for something else, for anything, really, that Jun'ko might communicate before their contract is at last completed.
Junko
Jun'ko will allow a smile to touch her lips as she follows Chris' retreating form with her eyes before she looks at Darwin again. Raising and eyebrow at Stefan she will incline her head, silently thanking him for not breaking her toy before she got to play with it. Her cycle was already primed, therefore she waited for Chris to get onto his own ride, her eyes once again drilling holes in the back of his head.
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Post by Thee Independent on Jun 26, 2005 3:11:18 GMT -5
MotorDragons
"Let's blow," Xang orders, peeling out and taking his rightful spot at the head of the pack.
Chris saddles up and turns the ignition, not bothering to take a final look at anyone before roiling off after Xang.
"Whoooooo!" Taka howls from the back of Jun'ko's bike, ready to take off after their compatriots.
Junko
Jun'ko accelerates, mindful of Taka's hurt arm as she follows the pack.
--> To Chop Shop Suey
Stefan Darwin
Will they remember me?
Anarchs, detritus to the Camarilla, scramble and meander in differing speeds behind Stefan Darwin, most swathed in black fatigues appropriate to the midnight mission. They speak in hushed voices amongst themselves, acting in their own way like a modern secret society, sandwiched not only between crumbling cherry pickers and looming magnetic loaders, but between the very teeth of Kindred living. How many people knew just how active they were? How numerous?
Stefan Darwin stood apart from them all, no longer a part of them or of his outside contracts, the MotorDragons, and their intriguing friend, Jun'ko. He was alone.
And, looking to the future, he knew that he would be alone until the end of it all. Dante, in Purgatorio, learned that Heaven was a star more distant the closer you drew to it. Only as you dragged yourself further away, into the depths of Hell, if need be, did it finally shine brightly enough to be proven real and desirable.
Is that what you were always going on about?
His eyelids close once, then reopen, his body facing the opposite direction. Casually, he approaches an unattended young man, one of his field agents, with an efficient way about him and a greater understanding of loyalty than certain others.
"I need you to do something for me..."
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