Post by JB on Jun 10, 2009 21:35:21 GMT -5
'Kay, so this is a small bit from a story my friend and I are writing. I wrote this part, and we're doing this story like an RP, but we both write each other's characters instead of switching back and forth constantly. It starts in the beginning with a flashback for my character, (he's a vamp.) so it's not all written in the civil war time period. So, if you want to comment on anything, please do so. ;D
Added more. My friend wrote part of this next bit.
The smell of acrid gunpowder still lingered on the morning air, which was already humid and sticky. Even though the sun had just risen, the temperature was already rising steadily, signaling another hot day on the Gettysburg area. A light morning mist still clung to the battlefield, blurring the fields below. Scattered sunlight broke through the canopy of trees, adding an eerie light to the mist.
The scent of blood was heavy on the atmosphere as well. It was sickly sweet and strong. It hung over the moorland like a demon, lurking, waiting for the prime opportunity to commit another crime. It created an unseen shadow, and was aided by the moans and shrieks of pain coming from the dead and dying. Not just men, but horses and mules, and any other creature that was forced into working.
Even though it was still early in the morning, General Meade's troops were already being roused awake, if not up already.
A lone horse staggered towards the encampment, which had been moved to Cemetery Ridge. It's eyes were wide with fear, nostrils flared. The gelding's breathing was heavy and pained. It wheezed and grunted in certain discomfort. The chestnut coat gleamed with sweat in the morning light. It rolled down the horse's neck, onto it's shoulders, off it's chest, down it's flanks, as well as the muscled haunches. In certain areas, mainly the crease between muscles, the sweat had almost become foam-like. Like the bubbles off of the ocean or lake surf, when it caught extra oxygen running violently over rocks. A trail of dirt and grime slid from underneath the far corners of the thin blue and yellow saddle pad. No rider sat proudly upon the horse. His saddle was empty.
It's socks were stained with streaks of dirt and rust colored blood. His head bobbed up and down more than it should have, his ears swiveling to catch the noises around it.
The horse's steps crunched lightly on the scattered sticks and pine cones. He left light indentations in the dry earth, from where his feet fell. He favored his right fore foot, not putting as much weight on this leg as the others. He hobbled towards the encampment, and anyone, horseman or not, could tell this horse was lame.
Several of the men stared at the horse. But no one approached the red beast. They were too intimidated at the present moment to even approach the animal. The creature halted, and let out a shriek, evidentially looking for comfort. His weight was shifted onto his back legs, and left front, his head was held high, hollowing out his back. The injured leg was swollen from the cornet band up to the knee, and a trickle of blood ran down from a cut along the inside of the cannon bone, staining the white ankle marking.
I watched the horse for a moment, knowing what would happen if I approached him. The wild eyed creature was begging for help, for relief from the agony. But there was only one way he was going to find it.
I was standing away from most of the men, cleaning the 58 Springfield Musket I used on the field. It was a handy weapon, one I had snagged off the pitch from a previous battle.
My eyes returned to my work. I needed to get ready for the next attack, and servicing my firearm and collecting more ammo were definitely high on the list. Helping some lame horse was not. The horse let out another cry, and began to stagger towards the camp. I felt a pang of sorrow for the animal.
He must have staggered towards our new post during the night after losing his master. He looked cold. The eyes were filled with sorrow, and horror, and agony. They held a dead look. An expression which many of the men held. Blood leaked from his flared nostrils, and from the corners of his maw, where the sides of the bit had tore at them. Cuts and scrapes tattooed his belly and legs.
“Grab the hoss,” I commanded one of the nearby soldiers, who happened to be a youthful looking young man. He looked nervous. His pale face was covered in dirt and dried blood. Sweat had matted his dirty blond hair, and his eyes held the same hollow look that the gelding had.
Silently, he obeyed. Walking over, he grabbed the gelding's reins, which drug on the ground. I was a bit surprised that the horse hadn't tangled himself up in them. The man began to lead him over to me, but I shook my head as loaded the rifle.
Seeing my actions, the man stripped the saddle from the beast's back, dropping it on the ground, before pulling the horse a short ways away from the camp. The animal hobbled obediently, but hesitantly behind him. It gently nuzzled his cheek, looking fearfully around. The man gave the animal a sad look, and reached up to stroke his muzzle, speaking softly to him.
Once loaded, I stepped over so I was broadside to the creature. The horse suddenly got jumpy. Prancing about, and snorting, as my eyes met his. The man held the creature tight as he stood out of the way. Raising the firearm, I took aim, and pulled the trigger.
The back street was bathed in moonlight, which cascaded down from the heavens. The air was cool and gentle, and smelled of fresh rain. Rain was common, especially in the fall months of the year. The gray cloud, black without the bit of daylight, had rolled away to the southeast. They looked like a giant, spectral, wraith, sweeping away by the light of the full moon.
I leaned against the brick building. It's walls were damp, and cold to the touch, but I didn't mind. It was actually relaxing, you could say. I enjoyed walking in the rain. Or for this case, I should say standing. I liked the feeling of water sliding down my body. The feeling of trails being left as it trickled down my skin.
My green eyes opened, blinking water out of my face, but I didn't move from my position. I let my gaze flit around, taking in my surroundings. The image of the horse had not yet faded from my mind, and I could still hear the ring of the bullet in my ears. In fact, I could hear more than that.
I let my eyes close again, and I could see General Lee's troops, advancing Cemetery Ridge. I could hear the Union's cannons, fire upon the oncoming soldiers. Screams of the men and horses rent the air. Fear, hate, and any other gruesome feature associated with war, was drawn across the advancing men's faces. Some, were struck by the artillery ammunition, and never got up. While others lay there, horror and pain on their expressions. Screaming, while blood and other things now marred their features.
And when a few, scant number of Lee's troops had actually managed to reach the ridge, I could remember their wide eyed expressions as we cut and shot them down. See the life flicker out of their eyes, as I'd see in everyone else's dying eyes.
There was the scent of blood, mixed with the stench of gunpowder and men. I could almost taste the blood in my mouth; the sweet, but salty taste, thick and disgustingly warm. Could almost feel it flow over my tongue. Feel the beating pulse of the heart. My eyes opened again, and my mouth watered with hunger, watered with want.
My eyes opened once again, but the images had finally faded. I slowly licked my lips, tasting the water off of them. It was bland, almost, in a very hard to describe way, tasteless. I could hear cars rumbling down the road a few streets across from where I stood. I could hear the buzz of the lights, and insects, which had now come out. And in the distance, just right down the street from where I stood, I could hear the distinct chatter of three teenage girls.
A smirk curved my face. I could charm any girl, I knew that. I didn't even have to try. I straightened up, and flattened my dark brown hair in the front. It is a habit I always do when my hair is wet. My hair always wants to stick up when it's wet in the front, probably because it's so light. It's not thin, like a balding person's hair, it's thick, but, light weight, I suppose you could say.
The trio of girls looked like the smutty, popular type, pretty, petite, college girls. The ones that spent most of their time partying instead of studying their school work. From where they were, I could already smell the alcohol off of their breath.
All three young women had different shades of brunette hair. Two of them looked like twins. They were both slender, yet curvy. Their eyes looked like mirror images, the same hazelnut brown hue as their hair. The only distinguishable feature between these two, was when they stood next to each other. It was their height. The twin on the right was at least an inch shorter, and her face was rounder. Both wore similar, risqué outfits. Outfits that probably were banned from being worn on school campus.
The woman on the far left was a little stockier built. There was a little more fat on her stomach and hip regions, making her look less athletic. Her face was round, and her expression was childish. She was definitely shorter, by at least a head. She'd pulled her reddish-brown hair up in a high pony tail, one you see commonly on girls in the third and fourth grade. Her make up was choppier than the other two, and there was more of a teetering sway in her walk, which her companions lacked.
Another night of easy dinning. At least they'd ask few questions. The fewer the questions, the better off. The drunker they were, the less they'd remember. Or, that was the general idea. It's funny how sin can corrupt a soul. Make it easier to lead them further astray, to tempt them to bend to the manipulations of others. But what can I say? God didn't make us all angels.
I stepped away from the building, and sauntered towards them in a lazy fashion. My hands were in the pockets of my blue jeans as I walked nonchalantly in their direction. The women looked a little surprised, but rather pleased at my appearance. They began to mumble amongst themselves as they walked drunkenly down the back street.
The same smirk floated across my face.
“Evening ladies.”
Their already flushed faces, glinting with rain water in the dim glow of moonlight swathing us, seemed to deepen a shade. Foolish school girls. If they only knew the fate that was awaiting them. Their lazy eyes would be darting about looking for an escape, their faces sobered with fear. Either way, they were too drunk to get away, too human to get away. The thought made my smirk broaden a bit, but I quickly checked it, back to it's intriguing, coy twist.
The mumbling betwixt them morphed into a nervous giggling and then silence as I finally approached them.
They still hadn't uttered a single word, typical of most of my prey. Fatal beauty, fatal attraction. They'd probably finally had a whiff of me, their wide, childish eyes were drinking me in like the fruity margaritas they'd been downing earlier. I could smell them too. Delicious, aside from the sweat and alcohol; I'd learned to overlook that though.
Their inferior human brains seemed to be short circuiting; I could almost imagine the sparks, smoke, and the hissing. The only one that seemed mildly concerned was the rounder girl.
My emerald gaze swept over the three of them. That smirk still torqued my lips, holding perfectly. I never ceased to be amused at how easily I could sweep a human girl off her feet. I'd probably never meet a girl who didn't want to worship me and offer herself up as a sacrifice. I didn't need their permission, I took what I wanted, and right now it was their blood, their precious blood.
"Looks like you've been up to some partying," I commented, gaging how intoxicated each one was, not only with the strong drinks they'd consumed, but with me.
You could say we were not unlike a drug, or alcohol. Whatever suits your fancy. We impaired the human's thinking process, like any drug or drink. Only, the chances of your surviving to have a hang over was slim to none. You'd have to be the pet of another vampire to remain alive.. Us vampires, we didn't like keeping pets. We had our mates, or nothing at all, and that was just fine. Not exactly solitary, not exactly a pack animal. We co-existed, doing whatever was most convenient and logical for us. Selfish; dangerous; irresistible.
Foolish young things, freshman most likely. The seniors were a superstitious group, they'd heard stories about friends disappearing for years now; still, they tended to overlook their suspicions, blaming it on the ghastly crime rate, and continued to party late into the night, getting drunk, wandering around, falling prey to us.
All the girls could manage was a nod. Glancing at the less athletic woman, I found that she was finally quite taken with me. A charming smile crept onto my lips ever so slyly. I shook my head, a cunning, alluring chuckle rumbling in my scalded throat. With the tilt of my skull, I looked up at the moon, letting the rain slide down my face, reveling in the feel, but ever so cognizant of my congregation. This gave them a chance to breathe and think, rather flustered, but at least their thoughts weren't frozen. I found it much more thrilling when your prey had a chance to squirm a bit, to feel their guts churn, to condone that little voice in their head screaming at the top of it's imaginary lungs, warning them, warning deaf ears. When you held them captivated so, it got boring. Why not have a little fun? I deserved it, right? Sometimes they'd listen to this voice; they'd get away...sometimes, because I let them, but they never got far.
I could hear their wet hair brushing against their ever dampening clothes, the erratic beating of their hearts, their breathing becoming labored. Their doughy, wide eyes cast about. Now the envy would set in. Did I belong to someone else? Who was I? Could they have me? Funny how I was thought of as an object, when it was really they who were the object to me. Food, actually. They would remain that way. Humans weren't worth much else than that. Sure, I was human before, but that life offered nothing but regret. Being human, you couldn't run away from your problems. Being a vampire, as close to invincibility as it comes, you could run and at least hide for awhile.
Finally, looking back, I noticed the plumper girl still looking away. For an escape? Not a social butterfly dear? Not a problem. The twins were eying each other, a competitive tension filled the air, like their scents, quite heavily. The jealousy within their eyes was like a bright scarlet torch, so easy to see.
Shifting my weight onto one leg and sticking my hands into my front pockets, I tried to ease the situation. One mistake commonly made was being so caught up in everything else you forgot yourself. We didn't feel cold, we didn't feel most pain, we didn't feel uncomfortable, we didn't feel a lot of things. We could look like a marble figure for centuries and never become weary. However fascinating as it seems, it scared humans and fear was a repellent, so we try to avoid appearing frightening.
I shrugged and took in a deep breath, allowing my lids to cover my green eyes momentarily. Trying to regain control of my composure. I noticed the rain had abated.
"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" I breathed.
"Certainly is Gabriel..." I heard a female voice return. It wasn't rough and pitchy like I'd expected. In fact, my quarry were still quite pitifully clueless. Only the brunette was vaguely aware of the danger. Feeling very stupid now, I let a growl tickle the insatiable flame that was scalding my throat and tongue. I should have been watching the brunette more carefully. She'd been distracted, looking for an escape, yes, but she was the first to notice company, company I should have noticed a mile away..
Within seconds, three males formed from the shadows, leaping upon the twins and the other girl with perfect agility and speed. Before the they had hit the ground, they were dead; their necks twisted into an awkward position. Two neat puncture wounds right at the pulsing artery beneath their jaws. Not a drop of blood leaked onto the wet, dirty asphalt. They had some kind of black trench coat on, baggy cargo pants, and boots, lace-ups. It reminded me of the modern military garb with an urban twist.
Following them was the rest of their gang, similarly dressed, still, the female had not appeared in front of me. I could sense her directly behind me. Her delicate, icy scent drifting over me, the smell of wet leather mingling with it. My jaws tightened, I could feel the powerful bulging at the corners, hear the grinding of my teeth as I stood, arrogantly, refusing to move. Cursing under my breath, I flinched as I felt her petite, icy fingers lace across my neck, her hot breath right at my ear. She was toying with me. Ticked, I still remained stiff. Like a boulder under her mocking caress.
"Now, now, be a big boy and don't be a sore loser.." she said in a pleading voice, softened, like she was coddling me. It took a lot to keep my self under control. My fists were clenched tight in my pockets.
A soft, amused chuckle pealed quietly, fading as she moved away. She strutted around me. Her stilettos clanking loudly, purposefully ringing in my ears. I should have known, should have heard. Ah, stupid dang college girls! They weren't even that good looking. Her silvery blond hair, perfectly curled and slightly wet around her heart-shaped face, her cold gray eyes peeking beneath straight bangs that graced her thick black eyelashes, her tight fitting leather jacket, tied at the waist, her hands were deep within the pockets. She wore worn black skinny jeans and jet black stilettos. Her skin was practically glowing white in contrast to the black she wore. A grim smirk tweaked her full lips. Finally, she stopped directly in front of me, her eyes boring into me mercilessly. The rest of the gang semi-circled evenly around me, flanking her just barely behind. Apparently she was their gang leader. I could've laughed. However, I remained stony, unreadable, even to her.
She immediately dropped the coy pretense. Ice. That's what came to mind. Her chilled demeanor seemed slightly defeated that it could not penetrate me, still, she didn't let on.
"You've been hunting on our grounds Gabriel," she spat. Her shrewd, intense, almond shaped eyes, lined perfectly with black eyeliner, locked onto mine.
I shrugged, hands still in my pockets, but I was much more relaxed now.. I couldn't appear weak. I'd be eaten alive. This was the city, not suburbia.
"Yeah, so?"
Her eyes snapped. When I thought she'd lose it, that strange grim smirk pulled at her glossy lips.
"So you better run kid," she remarked softly.
Added more. My friend wrote part of this next bit.
The smell of acrid gunpowder still lingered on the morning air, which was already humid and sticky. Even though the sun had just risen, the temperature was already rising steadily, signaling another hot day on the Gettysburg area. A light morning mist still clung to the battlefield, blurring the fields below. Scattered sunlight broke through the canopy of trees, adding an eerie light to the mist.
The scent of blood was heavy on the atmosphere as well. It was sickly sweet and strong. It hung over the moorland like a demon, lurking, waiting for the prime opportunity to commit another crime. It created an unseen shadow, and was aided by the moans and shrieks of pain coming from the dead and dying. Not just men, but horses and mules, and any other creature that was forced into working.
Even though it was still early in the morning, General Meade's troops were already being roused awake, if not up already.
A lone horse staggered towards the encampment, which had been moved to Cemetery Ridge. It's eyes were wide with fear, nostrils flared. The gelding's breathing was heavy and pained. It wheezed and grunted in certain discomfort. The chestnut coat gleamed with sweat in the morning light. It rolled down the horse's neck, onto it's shoulders, off it's chest, down it's flanks, as well as the muscled haunches. In certain areas, mainly the crease between muscles, the sweat had almost become foam-like. Like the bubbles off of the ocean or lake surf, when it caught extra oxygen running violently over rocks. A trail of dirt and grime slid from underneath the far corners of the thin blue and yellow saddle pad. No rider sat proudly upon the horse. His saddle was empty.
It's socks were stained with streaks of dirt and rust colored blood. His head bobbed up and down more than it should have, his ears swiveling to catch the noises around it.
The horse's steps crunched lightly on the scattered sticks and pine cones. He left light indentations in the dry earth, from where his feet fell. He favored his right fore foot, not putting as much weight on this leg as the others. He hobbled towards the encampment, and anyone, horseman or not, could tell this horse was lame.
Several of the men stared at the horse. But no one approached the red beast. They were too intimidated at the present moment to even approach the animal. The creature halted, and let out a shriek, evidentially looking for comfort. His weight was shifted onto his back legs, and left front, his head was held high, hollowing out his back. The injured leg was swollen from the cornet band up to the knee, and a trickle of blood ran down from a cut along the inside of the cannon bone, staining the white ankle marking.
I watched the horse for a moment, knowing what would happen if I approached him. The wild eyed creature was begging for help, for relief from the agony. But there was only one way he was going to find it.
I was standing away from most of the men, cleaning the 58 Springfield Musket I used on the field. It was a handy weapon, one I had snagged off the pitch from a previous battle.
My eyes returned to my work. I needed to get ready for the next attack, and servicing my firearm and collecting more ammo were definitely high on the list. Helping some lame horse was not. The horse let out another cry, and began to stagger towards the camp. I felt a pang of sorrow for the animal.
He must have staggered towards our new post during the night after losing his master. He looked cold. The eyes were filled with sorrow, and horror, and agony. They held a dead look. An expression which many of the men held. Blood leaked from his flared nostrils, and from the corners of his maw, where the sides of the bit had tore at them. Cuts and scrapes tattooed his belly and legs.
“Grab the hoss,” I commanded one of the nearby soldiers, who happened to be a youthful looking young man. He looked nervous. His pale face was covered in dirt and dried blood. Sweat had matted his dirty blond hair, and his eyes held the same hollow look that the gelding had.
Silently, he obeyed. Walking over, he grabbed the gelding's reins, which drug on the ground. I was a bit surprised that the horse hadn't tangled himself up in them. The man began to lead him over to me, but I shook my head as loaded the rifle.
Seeing my actions, the man stripped the saddle from the beast's back, dropping it on the ground, before pulling the horse a short ways away from the camp. The animal hobbled obediently, but hesitantly behind him. It gently nuzzled his cheek, looking fearfully around. The man gave the animal a sad look, and reached up to stroke his muzzle, speaking softly to him.
Once loaded, I stepped over so I was broadside to the creature. The horse suddenly got jumpy. Prancing about, and snorting, as my eyes met his. The man held the creature tight as he stood out of the way. Raising the firearm, I took aim, and pulled the trigger.
The back street was bathed in moonlight, which cascaded down from the heavens. The air was cool and gentle, and smelled of fresh rain. Rain was common, especially in the fall months of the year. The gray cloud, black without the bit of daylight, had rolled away to the southeast. They looked like a giant, spectral, wraith, sweeping away by the light of the full moon.
I leaned against the brick building. It's walls were damp, and cold to the touch, but I didn't mind. It was actually relaxing, you could say. I enjoyed walking in the rain. Or for this case, I should say standing. I liked the feeling of water sliding down my body. The feeling of trails being left as it trickled down my skin.
My green eyes opened, blinking water out of my face, but I didn't move from my position. I let my gaze flit around, taking in my surroundings. The image of the horse had not yet faded from my mind, and I could still hear the ring of the bullet in my ears. In fact, I could hear more than that.
I let my eyes close again, and I could see General Lee's troops, advancing Cemetery Ridge. I could hear the Union's cannons, fire upon the oncoming soldiers. Screams of the men and horses rent the air. Fear, hate, and any other gruesome feature associated with war, was drawn across the advancing men's faces. Some, were struck by the artillery ammunition, and never got up. While others lay there, horror and pain on their expressions. Screaming, while blood and other things now marred their features.
And when a few, scant number of Lee's troops had actually managed to reach the ridge, I could remember their wide eyed expressions as we cut and shot them down. See the life flicker out of their eyes, as I'd see in everyone else's dying eyes.
There was the scent of blood, mixed with the stench of gunpowder and men. I could almost taste the blood in my mouth; the sweet, but salty taste, thick and disgustingly warm. Could almost feel it flow over my tongue. Feel the beating pulse of the heart. My eyes opened again, and my mouth watered with hunger, watered with want.
My eyes opened once again, but the images had finally faded. I slowly licked my lips, tasting the water off of them. It was bland, almost, in a very hard to describe way, tasteless. I could hear cars rumbling down the road a few streets across from where I stood. I could hear the buzz of the lights, and insects, which had now come out. And in the distance, just right down the street from where I stood, I could hear the distinct chatter of three teenage girls.
A smirk curved my face. I could charm any girl, I knew that. I didn't even have to try. I straightened up, and flattened my dark brown hair in the front. It is a habit I always do when my hair is wet. My hair always wants to stick up when it's wet in the front, probably because it's so light. It's not thin, like a balding person's hair, it's thick, but, light weight, I suppose you could say.
The trio of girls looked like the smutty, popular type, pretty, petite, college girls. The ones that spent most of their time partying instead of studying their school work. From where they were, I could already smell the alcohol off of their breath.
All three young women had different shades of brunette hair. Two of them looked like twins. They were both slender, yet curvy. Their eyes looked like mirror images, the same hazelnut brown hue as their hair. The only distinguishable feature between these two, was when they stood next to each other. It was their height. The twin on the right was at least an inch shorter, and her face was rounder. Both wore similar, risqué outfits. Outfits that probably were banned from being worn on school campus.
The woman on the far left was a little stockier built. There was a little more fat on her stomach and hip regions, making her look less athletic. Her face was round, and her expression was childish. She was definitely shorter, by at least a head. She'd pulled her reddish-brown hair up in a high pony tail, one you see commonly on girls in the third and fourth grade. Her make up was choppier than the other two, and there was more of a teetering sway in her walk, which her companions lacked.
Another night of easy dinning. At least they'd ask few questions. The fewer the questions, the better off. The drunker they were, the less they'd remember. Or, that was the general idea. It's funny how sin can corrupt a soul. Make it easier to lead them further astray, to tempt them to bend to the manipulations of others. But what can I say? God didn't make us all angels.
I stepped away from the building, and sauntered towards them in a lazy fashion. My hands were in the pockets of my blue jeans as I walked nonchalantly in their direction. The women looked a little surprised, but rather pleased at my appearance. They began to mumble amongst themselves as they walked drunkenly down the back street.
The same smirk floated across my face.
“Evening ladies.”
Their already flushed faces, glinting with rain water in the dim glow of moonlight swathing us, seemed to deepen a shade. Foolish school girls. If they only knew the fate that was awaiting them. Their lazy eyes would be darting about looking for an escape, their faces sobered with fear. Either way, they were too drunk to get away, too human to get away. The thought made my smirk broaden a bit, but I quickly checked it, back to it's intriguing, coy twist.
The mumbling betwixt them morphed into a nervous giggling and then silence as I finally approached them.
They still hadn't uttered a single word, typical of most of my prey. Fatal beauty, fatal attraction. They'd probably finally had a whiff of me, their wide, childish eyes were drinking me in like the fruity margaritas they'd been downing earlier. I could smell them too. Delicious, aside from the sweat and alcohol; I'd learned to overlook that though.
Their inferior human brains seemed to be short circuiting; I could almost imagine the sparks, smoke, and the hissing. The only one that seemed mildly concerned was the rounder girl.
My emerald gaze swept over the three of them. That smirk still torqued my lips, holding perfectly. I never ceased to be amused at how easily I could sweep a human girl off her feet. I'd probably never meet a girl who didn't want to worship me and offer herself up as a sacrifice. I didn't need their permission, I took what I wanted, and right now it was their blood, their precious blood.
"Looks like you've been up to some partying," I commented, gaging how intoxicated each one was, not only with the strong drinks they'd consumed, but with me.
You could say we were not unlike a drug, or alcohol. Whatever suits your fancy. We impaired the human's thinking process, like any drug or drink. Only, the chances of your surviving to have a hang over was slim to none. You'd have to be the pet of another vampire to remain alive.. Us vampires, we didn't like keeping pets. We had our mates, or nothing at all, and that was just fine. Not exactly solitary, not exactly a pack animal. We co-existed, doing whatever was most convenient and logical for us. Selfish; dangerous; irresistible.
Foolish young things, freshman most likely. The seniors were a superstitious group, they'd heard stories about friends disappearing for years now; still, they tended to overlook their suspicions, blaming it on the ghastly crime rate, and continued to party late into the night, getting drunk, wandering around, falling prey to us.
All the girls could manage was a nod. Glancing at the less athletic woman, I found that she was finally quite taken with me. A charming smile crept onto my lips ever so slyly. I shook my head, a cunning, alluring chuckle rumbling in my scalded throat. With the tilt of my skull, I looked up at the moon, letting the rain slide down my face, reveling in the feel, but ever so cognizant of my congregation. This gave them a chance to breathe and think, rather flustered, but at least their thoughts weren't frozen. I found it much more thrilling when your prey had a chance to squirm a bit, to feel their guts churn, to condone that little voice in their head screaming at the top of it's imaginary lungs, warning them, warning deaf ears. When you held them captivated so, it got boring. Why not have a little fun? I deserved it, right? Sometimes they'd listen to this voice; they'd get away...sometimes, because I let them, but they never got far.
I could hear their wet hair brushing against their ever dampening clothes, the erratic beating of their hearts, their breathing becoming labored. Their doughy, wide eyes cast about. Now the envy would set in. Did I belong to someone else? Who was I? Could they have me? Funny how I was thought of as an object, when it was really they who were the object to me. Food, actually. They would remain that way. Humans weren't worth much else than that. Sure, I was human before, but that life offered nothing but regret. Being human, you couldn't run away from your problems. Being a vampire, as close to invincibility as it comes, you could run and at least hide for awhile.
Finally, looking back, I noticed the plumper girl still looking away. For an escape? Not a social butterfly dear? Not a problem. The twins were eying each other, a competitive tension filled the air, like their scents, quite heavily. The jealousy within their eyes was like a bright scarlet torch, so easy to see.
Shifting my weight onto one leg and sticking my hands into my front pockets, I tried to ease the situation. One mistake commonly made was being so caught up in everything else you forgot yourself. We didn't feel cold, we didn't feel most pain, we didn't feel uncomfortable, we didn't feel a lot of things. We could look like a marble figure for centuries and never become weary. However fascinating as it seems, it scared humans and fear was a repellent, so we try to avoid appearing frightening.
I shrugged and took in a deep breath, allowing my lids to cover my green eyes momentarily. Trying to regain control of my composure. I noticed the rain had abated.
"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" I breathed.
"Certainly is Gabriel..." I heard a female voice return. It wasn't rough and pitchy like I'd expected. In fact, my quarry were still quite pitifully clueless. Only the brunette was vaguely aware of the danger. Feeling very stupid now, I let a growl tickle the insatiable flame that was scalding my throat and tongue. I should have been watching the brunette more carefully. She'd been distracted, looking for an escape, yes, but she was the first to notice company, company I should have noticed a mile away..
Within seconds, three males formed from the shadows, leaping upon the twins and the other girl with perfect agility and speed. Before the they had hit the ground, they were dead; their necks twisted into an awkward position. Two neat puncture wounds right at the pulsing artery beneath their jaws. Not a drop of blood leaked onto the wet, dirty asphalt. They had some kind of black trench coat on, baggy cargo pants, and boots, lace-ups. It reminded me of the modern military garb with an urban twist.
Following them was the rest of their gang, similarly dressed, still, the female had not appeared in front of me. I could sense her directly behind me. Her delicate, icy scent drifting over me, the smell of wet leather mingling with it. My jaws tightened, I could feel the powerful bulging at the corners, hear the grinding of my teeth as I stood, arrogantly, refusing to move. Cursing under my breath, I flinched as I felt her petite, icy fingers lace across my neck, her hot breath right at my ear. She was toying with me. Ticked, I still remained stiff. Like a boulder under her mocking caress.
"Now, now, be a big boy and don't be a sore loser.." she said in a pleading voice, softened, like she was coddling me. It took a lot to keep my self under control. My fists were clenched tight in my pockets.
A soft, amused chuckle pealed quietly, fading as she moved away. She strutted around me. Her stilettos clanking loudly, purposefully ringing in my ears. I should have known, should have heard. Ah, stupid dang college girls! They weren't even that good looking. Her silvery blond hair, perfectly curled and slightly wet around her heart-shaped face, her cold gray eyes peeking beneath straight bangs that graced her thick black eyelashes, her tight fitting leather jacket, tied at the waist, her hands were deep within the pockets. She wore worn black skinny jeans and jet black stilettos. Her skin was practically glowing white in contrast to the black she wore. A grim smirk tweaked her full lips. Finally, she stopped directly in front of me, her eyes boring into me mercilessly. The rest of the gang semi-circled evenly around me, flanking her just barely behind. Apparently she was their gang leader. I could've laughed. However, I remained stony, unreadable, even to her.
She immediately dropped the coy pretense. Ice. That's what came to mind. Her chilled demeanor seemed slightly defeated that it could not penetrate me, still, she didn't let on.
"You've been hunting on our grounds Gabriel," she spat. Her shrewd, intense, almond shaped eyes, lined perfectly with black eyeliner, locked onto mine.
I shrugged, hands still in my pockets, but I was much more relaxed now.. I couldn't appear weak. I'd be eaten alive. This was the city, not suburbia.
"Yeah, so?"
Her eyes snapped. When I thought she'd lose it, that strange grim smirk pulled at her glossy lips.
"So you better run kid," she remarked softly.