What Are You Looking At?

James pulled into where the paper ordered him to go–and with that, he parked the car and killed the engine, leaving the cabin of the car silent up until Nate began to move around, checking his weapons, and eventually addressing James before he ultimately left the car with his trigger happy hands wrapped around his weapons of choice.  Now, while James did respect the Jamisons (in a sense), there was no way he was going into any of this without his own weapons. There was simply no excuse for it–he had the means, and he knew his style. There was no need to rely on anyone for what he needed. With that in mind, it was important to note that James had brought his own things–albeit, in a hurry, but the tools he relied on most were there, and he was comfortable with that. He reached down to pull the ‘overnight bag’ (as he called it), and unzipped it with quick movements. Inside the bag was a confusing mess of gun parts, and a variety of ammo. Anyone who didn’t know James would think the contents were bullshit, that James had brought along a bag full of useless bits and pieces–but the truth was, James knew what was what, and he was sure that he’d be able to assemble the military grade weapons when he needed to–he had military school to thank for that.  However, when Nate admitted to the culprits being vampire in nature, James knew an automatic weapon of any kind would be overkill. Instead, James opted for an Austrian revolver–for he liked his guns like he liked his women–foreign and powerful. He carefully picked the bullets for the zeliska, loaded a few into the chamber, and pocketed excess just in case. With that, he pulled a baggie from the larger bag, crafted a single like on the dashboard with one of his bullshit i.d.’s, and inhaled deep before finally exiting the car–it’d be the kick he needed, the kick he wanted, before a hunt.  James watched as Nate shot into the air, the sound travelling like thunder through the air around them–a calling card for whoever, whatever the hell Nate was talking about. Again, James didn’t bother asking questions. Instead his lips curled in a sarcastic smile as they usually did. “Cute.” the hunter said as a comment on Nate’s weapon of choice–the Desert Eagle. 

What James could immediately gather from the middle Jamison–perhaps the one Jamison he had heard of often but knew far less due to the strained relationship he had with James’ connection with the famed clan–Charlie–was that he was one showy son-of-a-bitch. His little show with the gun didn’t help his case, but it didn’t put James off either. The older man laughed lightly as a response just before the kid started running his mouth again. He was good at it, that was for sure. But it was all part of his charm.  The boy began to spit orders like he was in charge, but that was a fair assumption to make. James had no hand in whatever bullshit the young hunter was planning–and frankly, he wasn’t about to be the bitch who asked questions. However, that did not mean Nate did not receive a confused glare of sorts, fleeting in nature. “You Jamisons sure are dramatic little shits, aren’t ya?” James said at the end of his rather abrupt costume change as he took the keys to the shitty car that had been provided. James moved towards the car, and crouched down low to climb into the driver’s seat. The keys jingled momentarily before they were shoved into the ignition, and twisted accordingly. The beat up piece of garbage surprisingly started, and that’s when James pulled the piece of paper towards him for reference. It only took him a few moments of consideration before he was setting it aside, backing out from where the car had been parked, and entering the road where traffic was dead for the night.

It was nights like these that James did not favor. The ones where things were quiet, dull, and he was left awake to wallow in the mundane. And that’s exactly what he was doing–all at the pathetic excuse he had for a kitchen table with a cigarette in between his lips while he sharpened a knife all for the sake of keeping his hands busy. At the time, he would have believed that this would be the rest of his night. And while it bored him to no end, he had come to terms with it. That was until there was a knock at his door. Immediately, he turned his head–brows lowered, defensive in nature. The hunter then rose and pulled the gun that sat atop the table into his grip, and walked to the source of the knock. He took a moment before twisting the knob open, his gun raised as he did so. And with that, he pulled the door open only to find that the threat he assumed was there wasn’t a threat at all. James lowered the gun, and pulled the cigarette from his lips as a side-ways smile fixed on his lips. Smoke left his lips and his nostrils before he began to speak. “What’re you doin’ here, pup?”

“That’s some grade-a optimism you got there buddy, but it’s time to face the music. You got stood up.”