∞ [ action post ]
✏ LOGGING: This is your thread for logging, whether spontaneous or plot-related, silly or serious. His normal haunts include shifts at the Blue Light, various city bars, cafes, random encounters, etc. Prose preferred, [] are fine too.
✉ TO SET UP: Just drop me a line at aeloriax[at]gmail.com or Y!M/AIM (listed in the post below) to give me a ( Read more... )
✉ TO SET UP: Just drop me a line at aeloriax[at]gmail.com or Y!M/AIM (listed in the post below) to give me a ( Read more... )
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Amory's hardly aware when it happens-- hardly aware of himself at that point. It's all amorphous colors and streaks of emotion in chaotic tumbles, tearing across his mind, only to draw out a single, sure inclination.
He's hungry. Starving And there's not a single soul here, save for Freddy Newandyke. ]
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Lure is too laconic a verb for the speed in which he pins Freddy against a wall. A hand against his shoulder, hard rock pinning him down with a knee to restrain his lower body, pressed between his stomach and his crotch. His face inches closer, fangs obscured by the dark. ]
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Hey..
[ Mr. Orange is a hot blooded kind of man, there's no denying that. He's practically radiating that shit now because he's assessed the situation: Danger. His gun's too far. Freddy plays the fool for now, don't let this guy know he's packing heat. ]
The hell do you want, man?
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[ It's more an address to himself, than it is a command. He doesn't need to tell Freddy when his fingers are apt to impose silence. Against his lips, a thumb to crush them shut, frozen there as he leans in further, dipping his head toward his neck. Cigarette smoke, a known smell-- not lucky strikes, not camels, familiar still. Traces of motor oil interwoven between the haze of heat and musk.
Sharp points glance against Freddy's skin, and causes Amory to shiver. ]
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Back off, buddy.
[ His tone is low, threatening, but not ready to lash out just yet. If this kid wanted him dead or down on the ground he'd have done it already. ]
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As he drinks, his knee presses harder against his lower body, harder against the wall with a force that could have crushed bone if he'd been rougher. For now, it'll leave dark marks against his back. ]
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[ He's not quiet about that at all because well it motherfucking hurts. Not as bad as a bullet to the belly though, he'll give it that. The heat he feels pouring out is his own, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Fucking vampires. Crushing the nerves at the crook of Amory's neck probably won't work like it does on normal people but he tries it anyway. As for the wrist he's captured, he's going to break it if this kid doesn't move now. ]
Get the fuck--[ Holy shit there's a shot of pleasure to the pain. ] Fucker get off me!!
[He's small for a guy his age and background but the kick he delivers is a strong one. And let it be known Freddy Newendyke is not above kicking another guy in the balls. Amory could count his blessings it's not a taser.]
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The kick makes him shift and it makes him angry. What guy isn't angry when someone kicks him in the balls? The flash of emotion drives him to dig his fangs in deeper. ]
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[ The deeper they go the sickeningly better it feels. What the ever loving fuck? Freddy's going to blame it on vampire magic bullshit when all this is over. And it's going to be over soon if he has anything to say about it. Still there's a mild lull from the way Amory sucks on him, providing a window of opportunity. He braces his heel on the other guy, just enough within reach to pull his Beretta Jetfire. The safety's off with a click.
Even quicker is how he squeezes off a single round aimed for his lower body. The pelvis, the thigh, somewhere not in this guy's chest half because there are too many tangled limbs involved up here. Half because he doesn't want to run the risk of killing a civilian. Again. ]
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[Playing the hero isn't really Frankie's usual role, though it's one he kinda likes to take on when he can. It's kind of a matter of balance. Playing the bouncer is another thing he doesn't do often, but it's one he's good at-- and the commotion outside is near enough to catch his attention.
So, Freddy, your deliverance comes suddenly, armed with a hastily grabbed bar chair and a lack of hesitation. It's not that he doesn't recognize Amory, it's that he doesn't care who's who in this situation. Bar fights-- well, fights outside the bar-- are not okay, and biting is pretty much never okay. He throws the door open, the motion flowing into the swinging arc of his makeshift bludgeon, aimed squarely at Amory's head.]
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[ Really, Frankie? Really? This is what it's come down to? A chair in the head? The chair leaves pieces of fractured chair in his hair. Between the bullet and the chair, it's all enough to render Amory momentarily nonplussed. He pulls away from Freddy with an audible curse (or maybe a snarl), giving the other man space to flee, while he hastily pries the bullet from his leg. It hurts, not as much as it should hurt, but his mind isn't registering the pain-- nor even the weight of what's just happened. ]
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[ One. Where the fuck did that guy come from!? Two. How the fuck is this kid not down for the count yet?! Freddy doesn't know who the hell Frankie is but the chair shattering's a single clue that he's got to be friend, not foe. He'll take his chances with that. This other guy on the other hand, he's not gonna take a chance at all now.
Freddy places his palm firmly over his own neckwound--not that it's going to stop it much--while striding forward to press the barrel right into Amory's shoulder. He doesn't look to Frankie or wait for that guy to say or do anything before shooting again. Everything happens quickly even though to Freddy it feels like it's taking forever. ]
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No! [There's a little worry for Amory, here, but considering how well he's taken a chair to the head, chances are he'll survive this.] Just get the fuck outta here. Get to the hospital. Go!
[He turns back to Amory, shifting his grip on the remains of the chair. These are big, heavy seats, so half a back and leg is still a pretty formidable bludgeon.]
You dumb shit, what are you doing?
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Shit! Fuck--- Fuck! [He clenches his teeth, slicing his own fangs into the meat of his cheeks. ] I- I don't know!
[ Amory can feel the slick sheen of Freddy's blood coating his tongue, his own blood intermingling, and he finds himself trying fruitlessly, desperately, to suck a drop from the remnants. He's still starving. Even more so, now that Freddy's blow a bullet in his shoulder. At that close range, it's left shattered bone and mangled flesh exposed to the night. Instinct forces him to reach into the flesh and draw out bloody fingers, trembling as it hovers over the wound, before its brought to meet his lips ( ... )
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