#firstblxxd

Kohaku was once again in a setting he couldn’t recognize, this could spell out trouble for his life as he wasn’t sure if there was any monsters, especially demons who might be looking to take the jewel shard embedded in the back of his neck.

Small beads of sweat trickle as he might as well venture forth, he just needs to remain as cautious as can be.

The more he looked around, the more the scenery resembled a jungle of sorts as there was various foliage around him. This was good for cover if he needed it, just in case anyone or anything tries to ambush him.

He kept his right hand on his chained bone sickle, moving stealthily as he took note that night fall would soon be here as the shadows casted were fading slowly. If night approaches, he would need to seek out shelter and fast as the more he stalls, the more likely he was to be spotted.

He kept his guard up, moving without making a single sound.

It's hot. Miserably. Touching metal is a surefire way to singe off some skin and get some blisters. Knocking against the clip of a seatbelt is as good as being branded. Good thing Mox thought to bring work gloves, which he tugs on as he approaches the parked vehicle serving as a drop point, flanked by a fellow Death Rider, who watches for danger, head on a swivel. Mox fishes for the keys, slots them in to avoid any potential noise or beeping by using the button instead, and pops the trunk open. There was supposed to be a cache of guns and money here.

Instead, there's a very bloated corpse- another Death Rider, gagged and bound, who clearly died in the heat after suffering for long enough they tore their wrists bloody and bashed their forehead in trying to escape or make enough noise to be heard.

"Well, shit." His stomach churns. His cohort is gagging. Mox clicks his teeth when he realizes he's forgotten something important. The what dawns on him as he's moving, dropping to the ground just as a bullet ricochets right into where his back was moments before. A second shot tears through the throat of his companion, who falls, gurgling, choking on his own blood and writhing on the gravel. Mox freezes for just an instant, making eye contact with the man, before instinct kicks in and he rolls beneath the vehicle in time to avoid two shots that follow.

He's spattered with gore, pulse flying. His companion is quickly bleeding out, eyes blank, twitching slowing as the blood pools, rolling across white and grey stone.

In. Out.

Mox moves out from beneath the vehicle, staying low and not bothering to fumble for his handgun. Right now, he needs stealth to find some goddamn cover.

He stays low, skirting behind some cars, but all it takes is one reflection to give him away and he's running for his life again, voices shouting behind him, a shot tearing past him and grazing his calf, which sends him staggering forward and toppling into a roll.

Although Peck had a couple of inches on height on the man he had chosen to accost, meaning that he could stare down his pointed nose with a look of great indignation, he was nowhere near as broad — despite how much he raised his shoulders. However, the reality of his comparatively scrawny build did not seem to hinder his roll very much at all, his thinness was obscured by the padding of his suit and his more diminutive build supressed by his combative attitude alone.

Peck had lived in New York long enough to have adopted some of the less tactful mannerisms present amongst his ilk; the volume, the apathy, the hostility. When many of the people you encountered in day-to-day life exhibited these traits, it was easier to just incorporate them into your own demeanour too. Fire with fire. Something Peck had no qualms doing. Not even when this behaviour had him squaring up with a stranger in the street.

❛ It's inconsiderate! ❜ He squalled, gesturing once more to the throng of people weaving around them. ❛ People are trying to get around and you're in the way. ❜ Hardly — but Peck was not about to concede right as he'd begun.

@firstblxxd asked: ❝ i’m in your debt. ❞

✎ㅤ. . .ㅤ𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑫 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺.

"I wouldn't go that far, sir," Stevie chuckles a little, shaking her head a little as she adjusts herself in her saddle. She didn't see it as a big deal, really. She had been out on the trails when she found him, looking extremely lost, so she figured she'd show him the way back to the main campground since she was on her way back anyway.

"How'd you manage to get lost in there anyway?"

✦︎✦︎✦︎ —— A volley of bullets rattled from behind the corner where Howard was taking shelter. He flinched, mostly out of human nature to duck when fired upon, chipping concrete blocks spraying onto him. He could hear the bullets ricocheting off of the nearby car and knew he was cornered with no way out.

Sometimes, even with teeth this sharp, you're bound to bite something too big that you can't gnash nor swallow whole. This was exactly that something for Howard Pike, who was told to wait for a contact for a considerable sum of non-sequential stack of one hundred dollar bills in a black Chevrolet Vega. Fresh off the boat (literally), he knew nothing about the vast, interconnected, high-octane, high-velocity gang rivalry in the United States; and to be caught up in a cross-fire between them would mean a death sentence.

If he was alive, at least.

"Sssssssshit," he cursed, turning his wrist to look at the time. Half past eleven. Dead watch, he forgot. He decided to break a window with his bare hands, slipped into it, and just as he managed to get through, another volley of shots rained down from behind him.

He started on his feet, suit, tie, oxfords and all, across the marbled floor. If he couldn't find a back door to escape from in this office, he'd make one, so help him god. A fire exit appeared at the end of the maze of partitions and office desks. He braced for a shoulder-charge when the handles didn't yield, stumbled out on the other side of the door and ran.

Dusk had just settled, shades of navy and blue against the backdrop of the city's yellow streetlights. Howard ran, and ran. Car wheels skidded and screeched in the distance; they saw him. He veered into an alleyway, hopped over several fences, further, deeper into the stomach of the city.

He pressed himself against a wall. Sweating, blood (uh oh) leaking out from his spleen, and a whole load of gasping for air. What a scene to behold, under the thin hem of the street lamp around the corner.

Howard could hear the two Ford Falcons groaning around the area, looking for him. As he was training his ears to the noise, trying to discern their location, he was jumped by the creaking open of a door.

"Oh--- fuck--. You made me jump out of my skin, mate," Howard groaned, holding his chest in his hand. A funny concept, spooking a vampire. Old habits die hard. "Get back inside, mate, someone's aching for some fun out there."

Gunshots. Screams.

"Get back inside," he repeated sternly.

˚₊‧꒰ა 🎃 👻 💀 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> ❝ MY DAD WAS .. a marine. ❞ came her reply. slender fingers held onto the gauze as she knelt down in front of him. patching up someones arm had become almost second nature to her. she may run a bakery - but a lot of people knew they could come here if they needed help. ❝ he thought it was best i knew the basics before i graduated high school. ❞ she continued - plastering the gauze over the wound. ❝ want to tell me who got you so bad ? ❞

     It had been enough. Mae knew how the weight felt upon her shoulders, to feel closer to death than to life. At the same time, she knew that it wasn't her time to leave. Instead, she headed west. There was a ranch in Arizona. The man who was tending to it didn’t ask questions. Oh, she hoped he didn’t.

     "He said I could ask for refuge at your ranch," Mae watched him closely. Now, she understood why he wouldn’t question her - he’d seen too much stuff himself, he knew what it was like. Maybe their stories didn’t share the same background, but the anatomy of trauma.

He was in a mood, isn't he always in a mood? The anger in his heart morph to insecurities, bringing him to lash out at John. It was stupid, but he felt the need to take it out on someone else instead of have it bottle deep inside. "Yer talkin' bull shit out of yer ass!" He hissed through his fangs.

Feck, John, just leave me alone!