trainwreck

A real casual fucking way to have his world shattered, for sure. Something is dead beside him (maybe? it looks more like a pile of ash now). Something tried to kill him. He—

He catches a whiff of whatever gross metallic perfume she doused him with and retches again at the scent, but manages to compose himself after a few seconds. Then she grabs his face and moves him, and he’s humiliated at the fact that he doesn’t have the nuts to break loose. Get you, what the fuck does that mean?

Echoes of the word vampire kick something loose in his brain, and as she drops him, he’s hit by how close of a call that really was. If this were real. Which it can’t be. Because vampires don’t exist, and this was all just some — just some weird fucking prank, or whatever.

She doesn't hold on when he pulls away, satisfied; if the Vamp had nicked him, it wasn't the end of the world, and he's not sluggish the way you get when they get you, so, whatever. He's justifiably pissed, too, but like, whatever, he hit her with his car.

The adrenaline fading, by the way, reminds her of this fact of the evening, and she twists her spine, eliciting from it a visceral cracking sound and a groan that's either pleasant or miserable or both, even Cleofe can't decide.

She side-eyes. "Feels like it might be a night of firsts for you - first time seeing a vampire, first time hitting someone with your car..."

She stoops, pulling the ashy jacket from the withered pile of man-shaped soot. "Welcome to the secret world, pops. Sorry about your fender." She pulls a wallet free from somewhere, smacking the excess dust and ash from her fingers as she rifles through it for anything that could lead to the next. The guy's voice bites into her attention and she shrugs, standing. "It can be over, but I was serious about breakfast." She tosses him a money clip from inside the wallet stuffed with bills. "He won't need that, take it for the car."

It grabs him by the collar and lifts him with startling ease. This is really it, this is how he dies—

He hits the ground again, and something falls next to him. He doesn’t prop himself up quite yet, just stays collapsed against this disgusting alley floor and tries to breathe. It’s not working great, though, and when he tries to pull himself upright, the movement mixed with the sudden drop in adrenaline makes him retch. He’s on his hands and knees, vomiting whatever’s left in his stomach onto the ground before him. When he can finally sit up, leaning away from the mess, there’s the slightest tremble to his figure.

“That—“ he stares straight ahead of him. “That was… fake, right?”

She kicks through it gently with her boot, shaking some of it free from her toe with a look of disgust. "Nope." The sounds of human retching catch her attention, and her chin tips up as Cleo watches Manuel try to process. It was dumb and reckless, maybe, but the hunter's wolf blood is an active deterrent to a panicked vampire - human blood had been useful to sweeten the pot, if nothing else.

“Asher.” He said his name as if giving it was some great inconvenience. On some level, it was. He really didn’t want to be talking to someone who was going to jump into traffic at night instead of actually following through on a hunt. “Fellowship, new in town.”

He presses and she can't do anything other than shrug with not a small bit of shame.

This has to be fake. It needs to be. All this bullshit witches-and-ghosts-and-whatever can’t be real, because it’s ridiculous. It’s fake, people would know if that was really around. He can’t scrape up an excuse for what the hell she’s doing otherwise, but this has to be a cover for something.

And then— something (someone?) launches out from the shadows, straight for him. All he can manage is an, “Oh, god—“ before the terror of imminent death paralyzes him, vocal chords and all.

Vampires scare the piss out of her - for all the terror of a werewolf - speed, strength, the sheer size of one under the full moon - a vampire is no bigger then either of them, give or take a foot, and they move like a blur, they lay traps. A werewolf's direct, a vampire's sneaky.

Even this one, even with the lily extract drawing out instinct instead of rationality.

Cleo yanks Manuel back, spins him really, and her grip loosens, sending him flying the most important direction - away - and taking the vice-grip of vampire strength on her own shoulder before she feels the floor leave her feet and she sails through the air, back slamming against the wall and then her side slamming against the floor.

It's all she can do to scramble onto her feet, breathless and her vision starry, reaching for the stake and bolting on instinct after the vampire as it closes on her bait.

As quick as the vampire is, so-too is the scuffle. Blinded by hunger and repulsed by her wolfish scent, the vamp's about pick Amador up and bend his neck when it stutters, its grip flexing and then loosening, a sharpened tip of rosewood lifting a tent beneath the front of its hawaii-print shirt.

"If it was a bloodsucker, they're long gone by now, you know that. You got a picture or anything or was this just a random chance hunt?" She sniffs, wiping at her nose. She could use the adrenaline of a hunt right now, but -- there's a part of her that wants to conserve energy for bigger fish to fry.

Able to breath (save for what she thinks might be a sprained rib), she cradles her side and traces Althea's words to the dark, empty alley. Scent's already dulling.

"I'll catch up to him," she grunts as she walks off the absolutely rancid shooting pain that's running down from her knee to the top of her foot, limping on it a bit until she forces herself to grin and bare it. "Vervained him, at least." She holds her hand out for a groupie shake and, clenching Althea's fist in her own, nods. "I could eat a fucking horse."

—

It's not quite a Horse, but a Denny's grand slam at 2am. She's feeling better - hopefully not too much better, because like, humans don't fix up quick like that, so she's selling soreness even if it's working itself out in relative short order.

Cleo slouches in the grimy, vinyl-upholstered booth. There's been casual chatter, but every long pause makes her think of the big fucking elephant in the room. She doesn't want to bring Yearwood up, because, well, yeah. But Althea's her friend, kind of. Co-worker? If nothing else, they're on the same side.

That night, they managed to calm him down, just a touch on him, familiar — Reid's touch. It seemed to be enough. But tonight there was no stopping him. Where's Halstead when you need him? Always on a hunt. Minding his own damn business. Every kick threatened to launch Colt clean into the dirt, a hundred feet if the horse had his way.

Then headlights flashed through the trees, light stabbing his eyes. A horn, long and blaring, following a crash. Colt braced for it even before the sound tore through the woods. Crash froze, as though the spell on him had snapped. A rough pat on his neck. Good boy, good boy—

The second he had him steady, Colt was off for the road. Vast stretch of asphalt, empty as far as his eyes could run. There was no car, and no skid marks. Only a body left to lay there. Whoever hit her hadn’t even tried to stop. His heart slammed into his chest hard. Oh God, please let her be alive.

He swung off Cash and hit the ground running. On his knees, taking in the way she groaned, and struggled to get herself up, as if she had anywhere else to be but a damn hospital. "Hey, hey, hey— don't move." Hands out, instantly on her, trying to ease her back into place, keeping her steady and still, "Are you alright, miss? Dizzy? You hurt anywhere?"

Maybe he should've told her he was a doctor, before putting his hands all over her, but he feared they didn't have enough time for that, not when blood could be pooling beneath the skin, "What's your name? You live around here? I can take you to a hospital."

The civvy is steadying her, though, not letting her up. Everything hurts, but not as bad as letting yet another blood-sucker slip away is gonna hurt, and so she pushes against him at first. "M'fine, I'm fine!"

She had to be brand new to this. It was situational awareness 101, look both ways. If a kindergartner could do it, so could a fucking adult. 

He reeled back as she turned on him. There was no way she was going to make this into something that was his fault. “It’s not like I have control over who jumps in front of my car like a deer! You’re the one that—” 

Whyyyy is she even bothering, because now she's gonna have to be paying for that.

She looks up towards Asher at the last question though, expression pinching in recognition. "Fellow," she says, pulling her sleeve up enough to show the tattoo wreathed around her wrist. "I'm Cleo."

Only just regaining her breath. She points into the alley as she comes to a more conversational distance, wincing as she stands up straight. "That's a vampire that... I think it, uh got one of us. It's a whole thing. Are you new in town? It's a shit-show."

Is this some kind of weird new insurance scam? Or mugging set-up? What the fuck?!

Dracunculus vulgaris; vampire lily. The smell of blood pervades the air now, swatches on his clothes. They move through the shadows, stinking of an abattoir.

"You see something move, you call it, otherwise, not a word."

He squints for a second, trying to decipher what the hell she's got with her. She looks like she's ready for one of those fantasy fairs, which... sounds about right for someone living in this weird-ass city. Before he can comment, though, he sees her eyes stop on something. He turns, and-

Cleofe grabs Manuel by the back of the neck, and pulls him away from his car, towards the dark of the alley. "Be quiet." She growls the order, hauling him along. "You know what a vampire is, guy?" She asks, like it's the most normal question. "Don't answer that, you're gonna learn today. Listen to me and you'll be fine.

The curse was less of a word and more of a sound that wretched itself out of her throat. She had never been a good team member and these last couple missions she found herself longing for the days where she was just able to work alone.

The vampire she was tagged to work with tonight was greener than the thumb of any phial witch that had ever walked this Earth, but Kali had tasked her more with watching over him than training it.

Eating on the job….

Failing to eat on the job…

Ha-Jeong didn’t know what connections this 바보 had…the centuries would eat them alive.

The failed meal pursues her assignment and Ha-Jeong trails pursues silently behind them. A figure of shadow. Wristblade poised and extended.

The car comes out of nowhere, taking out the pursuing figure whose posture screams hunter but scent screams wolf. The moron stops of all things and the driver, who has slammed to a halt, has her fist in his throat before they can say boo. Which they couldn’t because Ha-Jeong has a needle in their throat a secound later. They’ll wake up on the street none the wiser…perhaps if they are lucky their care will surface soon after…or it won’t.

“Get in.” She hisses at the moonpied wastrel rounding the car to see what state the hit has left the witness it, thigh handgun already unsheathed. It’s a shame…this hunter wolf already shows more promise than the thing sitting in her car.

Playing dead is a time-honored tactic to not-get-as-fucked-up when you're going head to head with a mother bear. She's never had to do it, and never seen it done, but it's going to have to work here, because Mama Bear is coming, and they're fucking strapped.