londoncallingrpg | Gathering Post : 2/24

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Gathering Post : 2/24 - 3/2

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"Sorry, fellas, I just wanted to take a slash..." John had been out and had limited himself to two drinks, but on the walk home he'd needed to find somewhere for a quick piss and ducked into an alleyway. It wasn't his intent to disturb who-the-fuck-ever wanted to canoodle in the shadows. He'd done a lot worse, after all.

(Not recently.)

While it was dark, there was enough interplay from the light of the moon and the shadows for John to realise in a couple of moments this was no ordinary making out session: instead his hand was already in his pocket to flick open his lighter and ignite a thin, deadly whip of flame, which he cracked over the head of the guy doing the - what the fuck? biting? - as a warning. Because of course there were vampires. Of course there were. Or this was one fucking bizarre mutation.

"C'mon, Dracula. Drop the happy meal and step away slowly." While John did not give one boiled fuck for who the hell was currently getting their veins sucked, he did not like the idea of some threatening creature of the night stalking around London all happily fed.

Damon growled as his meal was interrupted, pulling back to look the mugger in the eyes. "Don't. Move," he compelled the man, then turned to face the newcomer, eyeing the--what the hell even was that, a whip made of fire? Jesus. Witches. Why did they always have to crash his parties?

He licked the blood from his lips and dragged his eyes away from the weapon to the face. "What are you, the Good Witch of the East End?" he asked, hoping his dinner didn't bleed out behind him while he dealt with this asshole.

"Not exactly a local, and not a witch," John replied, in an accent that clearly demonstrated - if it hadn't before - Damon was closer to his neck of the woods than most Londoners. "As for good..." The whip hung in the air, almost close enough to lick at Damon's lapel, not following any normal laws of physics. "Not particularly. I just get defensive when things that might kill me turn up in my neighbourhood." Nothing personal, weird blood-sucking vampire guy. John's demeanour was all cool and almost business-like: he honestly just wanted to fix this little 'problem' and go on his way.

"Riiight, so you just asked the fire nicely to do...whatever the hell it is it's doing," Damon muttered, rolling his eyes. If he wasn't a witch, then what the hell was he? Not that the guy seemed likely to be up for a round of Sharing just then.

"Kill you? Hell, I'm not even gonna kill this guy, unless he dies of blood loss during our little chat," he replied. "So how about you reel it in and go on your way so that doesn't happen?"

"I've got a commanding personality," John said flatly, eyes and expression betraying little. After all, technically he wasn't supposed to exist. Or something. Universe bullshit gave him a headache, mostly because he didn't give a crap, and disdained all reflection. The whole 'keep quiet and stop the future' thing had not been his rule to live by: John would much rather have burned down the fucking future, thank you very much.

"Yeah, because I'm gonna trust the amoral self-centred violent guy. I am the amoral self-centred violent guy, I know not to trust you." John shook his head a little, his expression (such as it was) indicating that he was not playing. "So why don't you walk on by and I get this guy to hospital? If you need food though, I can tell you who it's okay to kill."

As a display of good faith, John curled up the whip, holding the coils across his palm like a cowboy in some movie. Most cowboys didn't have coils of fire, though. And John didn't have the hat. Fuck the hat.

Edited 2016-03-10 09:33 (UTC)

Damon growled in irritation and tore open his wrist with his teeth, turning to the guy and pressing it to his mouth. At this rate, he really was going to bleed out if he didn't do something. "The hospital won't be necessary," he snapped, then added to the mugger, "Drink." He looked back at fire-guy and continued, "And I don't kill. Not anymore," he muttered the last, clearly not entirely thrilled by the fact.

John simply raised an eyebrow, his expression otherwise cool. That was fucking weird. Sharp teeth, and the....bleeding. John had no problem with blood, or gore, or death, but he didn't linger on it, or think about it. Destruction was a mechanism to get what he wanted: moments to revel in the fire were few and far between.

"Well, that's...great for you. It's good to know vampires can turn over a new leaf." John ever crossed his arms, his body language clearly dismissive. "While we could have a great conversation about the benefits of violence," he dead-panned, "I gotta get home because I have a honey to snuggle, and I guess..." His eyes swept to the mugger, seemingly unconcerned, "now I know you're no threat, I should leave you to your dinner."

Whatever this guy was, he seemed pretty ready to accept Damon at his word, which suited him just fine. Not that he was lying, but it was good to know he probably could have gotten away with it if he'd wanted to. "Please, don't let me keep you," he said with a dismissive wave of his arm, turning back to his victim, whose neck had nearly completely healed now that he had vampire blood in him. The man was still standing there, looking dazed, under the effects of his compulsion, as Damon considered him, trying to decide if he wanted to go for seconds or just let the guy go, now that he'd gone to the trouble of healing him up.

John glanced between the guy, and Damon, and the guy again. Vampire blood made someone a veritable Wolverine, he thought, and filed that fact away. (Actually, Logan vs the vampire would be a cute cage match. Could they both die in the process?)

"Guy's kinda cute," John observed. "If you like the other kind of necking." Shrugging, he backed away, keeping his eyes firmly on Damon before disappearing into the crowd of passersby.

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Gathering Post : 2/24 - 3/2

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