tampered | Log: Complete

When; The evening of January 8th
Rating; ~~PG? Unless things happen, then it'll move up from there.~~ R for gore, whoops.
Characters; Henry Townshend, Vincent, Fox Mulder, Scarab, Pyramid Head, Walter, and Rayne.
Summary; Vincent takes Henry out of the house. Henry is confused by the whole 'out of the house' concept, but appreciates the opportunity to take care of a thorn in his side. But they aren't the only ones at the club...
Log;

Henry wasn't sure why Vincent called him out to go to a club- they had plenty of room in their house, and it was nice and quiet. He had much to learn from Vincent, how things worked and how they should work. He was responsible for knowing it, too. This...this was not the night for Vincent to delve into it.

However, Henry was going to explode if he didn't move around soon. He felt twitchy and irritated, and he wanted to learn from the Executioner and the Dragon. He almost didn't care about learning, wanting to just destroy as much as he could (and all the better if that vampire Walter and Rayne were in the path). He held onto the control he had left with as much willpower as he could manage.

So maybe going out would get some of that energy out.

He sighed as he knocked on the door to Vincent's room. He was carrying his sword- he wouldn't leave without that- and had somehow procured a small handgun and holster as well. He waited as patiently as he could, staring at the door with dead eyes.

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The expression on Henry's face was somewhere in between a glare and a pout- he wouldn't get rid of the sword easily. It was necessary.

He was about to say as much when Vincent offered to help somehow. But the word wasn't completely familiar- "...Misericords?" He shook his head and got back to the point he was making in his head. "It's dangerous for us, Vincent....you know that. Especially on our own. ....you really think they'd take the sword? I can't let them have it."

Henry was dressed the way he almost always was- a grey dress shirt, black pants and shoes. That was about as close to 'clubbing clothes' as he got.

"Well...sure. You know about misericords, don't you? Hold on..." Vincent wandered off into the expanse of his room, which he had continued to furnish as time had gone on.

It was like something out of a catalogue, his tastes in furniture were so basic and bland. The only things that made it clear this room was lived in were the books scattered willy nilly on almost every available surface, and the few bits of weird and disturbing art.

Vincent came back, and spread out a cloth on the ironing board. As an afterthought, he noticed his pants on the board, and began to shove his foot through one of the legs so as he could get the damn things on already.

On the cloth were 5 or 6 longish thin knives, triangular shaped blades. They were of a black metal, like iron, but if Henry chose to heft one, he'd find them fairly light and easy to handle. The pommels were wrapped, a thin silver wire forming an interesting pattern.

Vincent was in another room, spritzing himself with cologne. His voice was still audible though, as he spoke louder so as to be heard.
"The name means 'mercygiver', or so I heard," he called out, "in times of war, these were used on those of your own side who were too injured to carry back. Slips inbetween the ribs easily, nice clean stab to the heart. I got this set in an antique shop near Brahams. Used to use them on high ritual days."

Vincent wandered back into sight.
He stood in the doorway, hand on one hip, looking Henry over.
"Well, I suppose you are already accounted for, so you've no need to attract anyone," he observed, taking in Henry's ordinary clothes, "and considering how at the moment our kind are about as popular as limburgher cheese enemas, maybe it's just as well you don't look too flashy."

It was time to head out to Automatica.
Vincent had taken to going here when he was feeling bold enough to leave the house. So far he hadn't had too much trouble, either, as the club policy was pretty much about keeping the violence to a minimum.

Vincent spotted an empty table in one dark corner and, along the way towards it, a bowl of peanuts and pretzels no one seemed to be eating. He claimed both, and watched the talent on the dancefloor for a few before speaking to Henry again. "You're feeling it, aren't you? I didn't know him, but I read enough about his exploits in the papers.
I assume it no longer frightens you, but how well are you doing keeping it in check?"

Rayne had not been lying when she said spying was one of talents. She had been watching the comings and goings of the Priest and dear Henry will much interest. The executioner wasn't the only one who could use the shadows to conceal. Dressed in al all black version of her usual uniform she seamlessly blended into her dark surroundings. She and Walter both wanted to do such heinous things to Henry and if they happened to get the priest as well all the better.

It had been too perfect when the unwitting pair had went down into the Underground toward Automatica...too perfect indeed. She spared a glance toward her partner in this endeavor. What do you think? Should we go blend in among the crowd? she mentally projected her thoughts toward Walter. Such a useful talent in their current situation.

Walter nodded to Rayne. This club could not provide better cover. Dark, erratically lit by the lights from the dancefloor.

This was the what he needed. A chance to exact some payment in pain. He'd serve Arthur through this act of vengeance, which made it all the more satisfying.

We can't just take them from the middle of the club, after all.

The club was busy tonight, and ironically agent Mulder had picked this particular evening to wander out and get a drink or two as well.

He hadn't noticed the two cult members at the back table, or that would have had his full attention.

He did notice Rayne however but, not knowing much about her other than the way her body looked poured into that outfit, only glanced at her occasionally when he thought she wasn't looking.

Eventually, he went to the dance floor.
At least he wasn't scared to strut his stuff.

Oh, irony of ironies. Vincent hadn't noticed Rayne and Walter, or he'd have been more wary, but he sure had noticed Mulder.
Recently the agent had been more vocal about his disapproval of the Order's workings, and he had even managed to piss off Henry in doing so.

Vincent nudged Henry, nodding towards Mulder.
"Fox is here," he said, "perfect time for an ambush. What say you? I'll go over and convince him I wanted to talk. I'll meet you in the bathroom, and we'll rough him up a bit. I'm not much of a fighter, but I can certainly hold him for you..."
so saying, Vincent too went towards the dance floor.

Henry had seeemed to almost melt into the dark corner, barely there. When Vincent asked him about feeling 'it', he replied easily. No, I'm not scared anymore. But control is...difficult. Especially waiting on things, like our Lord wants me to. He talked that way more than not now- it was more comfortable for him. But he was frustrated, and that leaked into his mental voice. He hadn't seen Rayne or Walter yet, but part of the reason he'd come to this place was because he was hoping to. He wanted an excuse.

He hadn't liked hearing about Mulder, but a slow smile began to spread across his face as Vincent voiced his idea. "Sounds perfect." That would take care of some of this need, and he'd been wanting a go at Fox for awhile.

He waited at the corner while Vincent walked off, and then suddenly he wasn't there anymore, transplanted to the dark hallway next to the bathroom.

Having been watching Vincent and Henry closely, observing every detail. Waiting for just the opportunity to come down on them both. Rayne was readily surprised when Henry seemed to melt into the shadows, the glow of her eyes caught sight of Henry when he reappeared near the restrooms. It wasn't until she turned her attention to Vincent that she noticed Fox out on the dance floor. Quickly she made contact with Walter.

We'll have to play this even more sneaky, it seems dear Henry can use the shadows. That could be a problem as well as the appearance of Agent Mulder." she informed him through their mental channel.

Walter had also been watching the men, particularly Henry, very carefully. It didn't do to take your eye off the target.

His eyebrow climbed sharply when Henry pulled a disappearing act he'd seen countless times, but typically performed by a certain vampire. How very interesting.

How very fun.

He spotted Henry at last, lurking near the lavatories and began to work his way in that direction, keeping to the darker edges of the club. He had both decades of practice and a vampire's skills to make that an easy task.

Who is this Mulder and why is he a problem? Walter asked, not familiar with the man or his connection to Vincent or Henry.

Vincent managed before he got near the dance floor to settle a look of delicate worry about his features, and he pitched his voice to just the right edge of desperation before tapping Mulder's arm.

The agent was the sort who could be awfully jumpy, and Vincent took a step or two back even before he'd turned around. "Agent Mulder! I need to talk to you! It's urgent!" he said, and without looking to see if the man had risen to the bait, he began back across the room towards the bathrooms.

This was going to be entertaining...

Log: Complete

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