A Lancashirian Werewolf in London
Drabble: A Lancashirian Werewolf in London
Rating: R (langauge)
Pairing/Character: Tully, some vampires.
Fandom: Being Human
Word Count: 481
Note: For razycrandomgirl. Tully gets attacked by some vampires. Meha.
"Wankers."
"You what?"
"I said you're a bunch of dead, soft, southern wankers."
They all laugh, a few fangs flash in the dim light under the bridge. He was just having a kip when one these bastards had kicked him to the ground. He hated this City, probably why she and his boy had decided to move here. They ring him, a patchwork of different classes and ethnicity. But all filled with that corrupted, ancient blood.
The one that had kicked him, the blond posh one, leans over slightly with a sneer. "At least we don't refer to ourselves in the third person, you freak. Are you asking for another kick? No? Then piss off."
Tully picks himself up from the wall, licking the blood off his lips and they move back, clearly wanting some but revolted. Werewolf blood is not to their tastes. He smiles and winks at him. "Oh someone looks hungry. Can't seem to leave me alone, can you?"
He sniffs in disdain, pulling down the cuffs of his Parker. "Don't flatter yourself. Look at you, you're filthy, sub human. Our time is coming and I yearn for the day we won't have to deal with you lot. But well, you don't let rangy dogs roam your grounds. You get the gun out."
This was the fourth time he had been attacked and he knows that the next time would not end with him walking away. On his feet but leaning against the wall for support Tully looks at all of them, gaze more predatory then their reptile eyes can hope to muster and inhales a deep sharp breath. He taps his nose. "Tully's got your scent now and I may not be up to my prime but when that beautiful moon shines down oh I'll find you. All of you."
Some of them, the younger ones perhaps, stir and flick worried eyes to the leader of their pack. The posh man tilts his head, not overly concerned. "You can't do that, we're not in some bloody forest."
Tully looks around, hears the gentle pull and push of the dirty old Thames and smiles wisely. "Look where we are, where we stand. This city is built over thousands of tunnels, vaults, crypts, dungeons. A whole deserted labyrinth and it's my playground." He taps his nose again and is immediately punched in it. He slides down the wall with a growl, cupping his nose.
"Cocky bastard. London will fall in before that. Come on, the stench is dreadful and I'm peckish. Night-night Fido."
They leave him and he slumps down to stare into a puddle. He looked like he's been hit with a brick. Maybe the wife will let him in, seeing him in this state again.
"Where there's life, there's hope." He gets back to his feet and cautiously sniffs the air before staggering to the bus stop.
Rating: R (langauge)
Pairing/Character: Tully, some vampires.
Fandom: Being Human
Word Count: 481
Note: For razycrandomgirl. Tully gets attacked by some vampires. Meha.
"Wankers."
"You what?"
"I said you're a bunch of dead, soft, southern wankers."
They all laugh, a few fangs flash in the dim light under the bridge. He was just having a kip when one these bastards had kicked him to the ground. He hated this City, probably why she and his boy had decided to move here. They ring him, a patchwork of different classes and ethnicity. But all filled with that corrupted, ancient blood.
The one that had kicked him, the blond posh one, leans over slightly with a sneer. "At least we don't refer to ourselves in the third person, you freak. Are you asking for another kick? No? Then piss off."
Tully picks himself up from the wall, licking the blood off his lips and they move back, clearly wanting some but revolted. Werewolf blood is not to their tastes. He smiles and winks at him. "Oh someone looks hungry. Can't seem to leave me alone, can you?"
He sniffs in disdain, pulling down the cuffs of his Parker. "Don't flatter yourself. Look at you, you're filthy, sub human. Our time is coming and I yearn for the day we won't have to deal with you lot. But well, you don't let rangy dogs roam your grounds. You get the gun out."
This was the fourth time he had been attacked and he knows that the next time would not end with him walking away. On his feet but leaning against the wall for support Tully looks at all of them, gaze more predatory then their reptile eyes can hope to muster and inhales a deep sharp breath. He taps his nose. "Tully's got your scent now and I may not be up to my prime but when that beautiful moon shines down oh I'll find you. All of you."
Some of them, the younger ones perhaps, stir and flick worried eyes to the leader of their pack. The posh man tilts his head, not overly concerned. "You can't do that, we're not in some bloody forest."
Tully looks around, hears the gentle pull and push of the dirty old Thames and smiles wisely. "Look where we are, where we stand. This city is built over thousands of tunnels, vaults, crypts, dungeons. A whole deserted labyrinth and it's my playground." He taps his nose again and is immediately punched in it. He slides down the wall with a growl, cupping his nose.
"Cocky bastard. London will fall in before that. Come on, the stench is dreadful and I'm peckish. Night-night Fido."
They leave him and he slumps down to stare into a puddle. He looked like he's been hit with a brick. Maybe the wife will let him in, seeing him in this state again.
"Where there's life, there's hope." He gets back to his feet and cautiously sniffs the air before staggering to the bus stop.