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Post by rowanashke on Jul 12, 2008 9:38:53 GMT -5
Patrick sighed and pushed the door to the pub open. God, he needed a drink. He smiled a bit wryly; it wasn't his usual thing to go to a bar. But then, he'd not had a usual day. Rubbing his face, he walked to the bar, slipping onto a stool. Only then did he look around.
He'd chosen this bar because he smelled no vampires; he didn't think he could deal with sitting and casually sipping a beer while he had to smell one of those undead bloodsucking demons. But this was a pretty nice bar, all things considering. Obviously, it catered to more of an american taste; it was near several hotels. He scanned the drink menu fast. Almost no wine, he noted with a quiet chuckle. Lots of imported beer...
He was feeling adventerous, so he chose one of the beers at random and waited for his drink, scratching his face idly with his fingers. There were several werewolves in the crowd; he cautiously sniffed, but didn't seek them out. None of them were pack; he didn't feel like having a territorial issue tonight. Nor did he feel like company, really.
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Post by roscoe on Jul 12, 2008 16:54:12 GMT -5
((I just wrote the massive long fight scene for the heck of it. X] Skip to the part where she's dragging her sorry carcass to the pub.))
Roscoe stared a little dazedly at the warm, wet blood on her hands.
“I... I'm bleeding...” It was hardly genius, but Ros had just received the most massive of whacks round the head, and was understandably feeling a little out of it. In fact, she was almost sure she could see stars circling her cranium, if only she could focus her alien eyes on them long enough.
Shhhhkeerack...
An odd noise; one that could have been a cat in a dustbin, or rather a bat. Roscoe giggled a little at the incredibly bad joke and looked up with agonising ponderousness; she was dimly aware of a violet shadow flying towards her, shouting something along the lines of “Take that, you filthy canine!” and then another glancing blow tore a deep gash across her forehead.
Unnnnn...
More blood, great ruby rivers of it, all over the place, flowing microwave warm over the wolf's dark brown and badly bruised skin. Roscoe gave another low moan.
Sheesh, I'm like a fucking walking buffet. Thank god I'm not human. I'd be eaten in seconds.
She had the sense to lift her bony hand up to her mouth and wipe away the trail of haemoglobin before staggering to her feet. A barely-there mumbled phrase (“You're the filthy one, you parasite”) and then she was off again, lean frame darting into the darkness of the alley with all the grace of a fish out of water. (Well, the wolf was sure she'd ruptured a couple of internal organs. Considering that, she was doing quite well, really.)
Claws out. Elbows in. Teeth out. Legs in. One unclothed foot leapt agilely on a dustbin, narrowly escaping the deadly pair of fangs the vamp possessed. Roscoe took full advantage of her newly acquired height and launched herself wrestler-style off the clattering metal and onto the dark shape beneath her.
There was a satisfying 'splootch' as her claws sank into granite flesh.
Game over.
Neither of the gruesome twosome was in any fit shape to continue fighting. Roscoe stood up blearily from where she'd collapsed on the floor; beside her, the vampire was doing the same, and with an obviously painful, contorted sneer it flew off to suck somebody else.
Roscoe quickly sneered back, before it could leave. It was a matter of honour.
Ten minutes later, she threw open the pub door.
A bottle of beer, to drown away my sorrows Mary
A bottle of beer, to drown away the pain
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Post by rowanashke on Jul 12, 2008 23:42:50 GMT -5
The crowd was finally thinning out; Patrick guessed they were down to the hard-boiled drunks and the regulars. He was on his third beer-really, the imported stuff was good, if you gave it a chance. No kick though; he had a feeling he could drink it all night and not even get buzzed. Dissapointing. Then again, he really didn't need to be drunk these days.
Too much riding on my shoulders; poor me, always in some position of responsibilty...
Ok, scratch that. Maybe a little buzzed and feeling sorry for himself. His mood shifted abruptly and he chuckled wryly, shaking his head. Oh, yeah. Poor me. Idiot.
He sighed and lifted the beer to take another drink. The door opened, and Patrick's sensative nose immediately smelled the rich, distinctive scent of blood. Blood and vampires; snarling, he turned instinctively towards the door, his hand clenching. But it wasn't a vampire at the door, rather a werewolf.
Holy crap, she looks like hell...
He waited a moment to see if anyone in the crowd was going to help her; to his vast un-surprise, no one even seemed to notice her state. They'd all begun the slow, quiet slide into the oblivion of drunkeness. Standing, Patrick carefully approached her, keeping his signals slow and non-threatening. If she'd just been in a fight, she was probably on edge.
"Hey. Let me help you." Patrick said, his voice pitched low and deep-an alpha's voice, and hopefully, if she was still running on instincts, she'd obey it without hesitation. Time to sort her out later, when she wasn't bleeding on the floor.
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