#sunblxdes

⋆✧˙⋆⊹⛤ draw a card, @sunblxdes! ೃ༄.

He can sense Hanjae's aura a beat before he hears the click of the door. A subtle warmth, like early morning sun, and the faint shimmer of magic warping the air. Billy is exactly where Hanjae had left him: on the couch with his feet tucked up, half a dozen spellbooks littering the floor and coffee table around him. The only evidence that any time had passed at all were the burned-down spires of the candles and the ring of condensation around his mug.

The back of his skull hits the wall with a wet crack, setting off an fireworks show in his vision. Dex's head lolls forward, only for the creature to catch his jaw and shove him back into the brick.

There's a way out of this. A weapon he can use. An angle he can hit. But the hand at his belt comes up empty -- his knives are still hilt-deep in the belly of one of the vamps they'd flushed out earlier. He should have grabbed them, should have grabbed anything, but there’d been no time. Through the haze of adrenaline, or anger, or whatever his misfiring amygdala is currently kicking up in spades, he thinks: Shit.

There are good ways to die. Preferable ones. He's sampled several, though none have stuck yet. But it takes little imagination to place trachea ripped out by frenzied newborn low on that list. All the downsides of death without the primary, considerable upside. It's almost funny, in some shitty, cosmic sense.

The vampire's breath is humid on his throat. Before Dex can move, its body jerks, milky eyes gone wide. And then blood sprays his face, his chest, soaking his suit dark as the fine point of a silver bolt splits through the bridge of the vampire’s nose. It groans, twitching, then slumps forward into the crook of his neck.

Dead.

Dex kicks the body back and lets it drop.

The bolt’s fletching protrudes from the back of the creature’s skull. A clean shot. He knows without looking whose work it is, but he looks anyway. There: a few paces back. Familiar eyes over a familiar mask. Chase.

Dex leans back against the wall, sloughing the blood off his eyelids with a gloved hand. He’s in no rush to test his footing after his head got used like a bell clapper, and he's not about to ask Chase for a hand. When it comes to the soldier, the scales are already tipped too far out of favor for his comfort.

"Body, Achievement, Connection, and Enjoyment. BACE." The redhead explains, cleaning off his shades using the hem of his shirt. "Usually people use sticker charts for it, but, uh, that didn't really seem like your type of deal."

The Riegelmann Boardwalk. Coney Island. It's early, and yet already swarming with people. In God's honest truth, he hates the place. Zero appeal in fairgrounds and carny food, especially when half dressed beach bodies are shoving face. Elijah can already feel his arteries clog. Unfortunately for him, he knows Chase carries an appetite.

Elijah drags an unsteady hand over his jaw- the rough stubble of his returning beard grazes his weary palm. A favor. He was doing the guy a favor. The guy in question just happens to not be Chase. A bug-eyed asshole comes to mind, in close to as pleading a voice he can get: Just hang out with him a while, please? Elijah still doesn't know why he agreed.

               the  soldier  is  unaccustomed  to  trainees  that  ask  questions.  most  were  too  afraid  to  even  look  the  legendary  killer  in  the  eyes.  perhaps  he  was  losing  his  edge  –  the  allure  of  his  danger  now  dissipated.  a  killer  subdued.  ❝   yes.  you  have  to  watch.   ❞   arms  crossed  over  his  broad  chest  and  the  cold  wind  blew  over  exposed  skin.  they  were  both  dressed  in  black  from  head  to  toe,  blending  in  against  the  night  sky  –  though  not  much  of  it  was  visible  through  the  thick  smog  of  an  over-populated  city.  looking  down  to  the  younger,  he  tipped  his  head  slightly  and  arched  a  brow  –  it  was  the  closest  he'd  get  to  a  smile.  ❝   can't  do  that  yet  anyway  –  who  would  make  sure  you  get  the  job  done?   ❞

Eugene doesn't consider himself a nervous man. He's never even had to contemplate it. A sound mind. A brilliant mind, truthfully. Able bodied and somewhat strong. There's never been any doubt in his mind that he's a capable being--never anything to test it.

That is, until tonight.

As he stands on the periphery; sweating skin confined in crisp suit and tie, Eugene realizes that he's never actually attended these without his faithful redhead. The redhead in question being the perfect mouth to annunciate his mind. The redhead in question being at some museum nonsense.

So now, Eugene stands, idling in the corner and twisting his cuff links as he studies the board of guest speakers. The dainty calligraphy spelling Dr. Hansson sets a stone in his gut. It's a sensation he hasn't felt for a long time. Decades, maybe. Sometime around middle school when he-- that isn't relevant. Regardless of the distant memory, here is where Eugene stands.

Thankfully, he at some point secured a plus one. If Elijah can't be here to be the mouth, someone has to be the calm. Tonight, Eugene's calm continues to eyeball the meats selection of the buffet table. With a knowing smile, he leans over to Chase.

@sunblxdes from here !

                  the  tips  of  his  boots  skated  across  the  edge  of  the  tower  like  he  was  daring  the  building  to  shudder  him  off  of  it's  surface.  the  wind  was  stronger  here,  blowing  wildly  through  his  dark  hair  and  sending  it  in  tangles  over  his  eyes  and  into  his  face.  there  would  be  no  such  luck—  the  skyscraper  did  little  more  than  sway  lazily.  turning  back  to  his  partner,  he  held  the  dark-haired  male  in  a  stern,  anchored  expression.  decades  as  a  soldier  made  rigidity  natural. 

Ben let out a sigh as he looked down at his cake, now covered in a rather unappealing layer of grey dust. He glanced over at the glass casing that contained the rest of the delicacies he had been tempted into the establishment by- No, all covered in the remains of Chase's latest undead triumph. Ben set his fork down and pulled his glasses off to wipe the dust off them.