tampered | Log: Complete

Current Mood: restless

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Vincent was a little startled by the knock; he was still dressing up in what to Vincent passed for 'club clothes'; although fashion conscious, Vincent didn't really have a taste for the flamboyant. The flashiest thing he ever tended to wear was the jewelled collar Xuchilbara had given him, or the red sash that went with his priest's robes.

Vincent's 'club clothes' consisted of a black leisure suit with a tan vest, and a white silk button down shirt.

He hadn't put on his pants yet, as he had yet to press the seams.

Ergo he was surprised not only to be caught out like this by Henry, but by Henry's armed-to-the-teeth club "look".

"Henry," Vincent deadpanned, "sorry I'm not quite ready. Is the sword quite necessary? They might insist on taking it at the door.
I'm sure a few misericords would be easier to smuggle inside- do you want to borrow my cummerbund?"

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...

Agent Mulder was jumpy, and did startle when he felt the tap on his arm, but when he saw it was Vincent he relaxed the grip on his holster.
He certainly didn't like or trust the cult's sneaky priest, and liked even less that the man had come to know him in a vulnerable state and so assumed they were close enough that he had the right to just come up and tap him like this, but obviously anything flustering the guy might be of interest.
Mulder had harbored a secret hope of breaking the cult up by weakening the faith of the members, and the priest seemed at points ready to make a clean break from them.
If Xulchibara or the PyramidHead had done something that was bad enough to send the priest seeking him out here, then maybe it was something worth knowing...Mulder followed blithely into the trap. Vincent alone was hardly a threat, as he hadn't the physical prowess to harm Mulder. This being so, it didn't occur to the agent that Vincent might have had a trick up his sleeve.

Mulder has had run-ins with the cult. He knows things could prove useful to Sir Hellsing. But he has a tendency to get himself into trouble and he could pose a problem to our plans. she explained to Walter.

Rayne frowned at the latest developments but continued to watch Vincent carefully as Walter slinked toward Henry. She noticed that Vincent seemed to be leading Mulder toward Henry's location. She moved within the shadows blending keeping within striking distance.

It looks like Vincent and Henry are planning a party and Mulder is their guest.

Then Mr. Mulder may well owe us a very big favor, Walter noted, following Vincent and Mulder's progress with a small portion of his attention, the majority reserved for the man who had called his pain "beautiful."

There was a time when obtaining information for Arthur would have been his primary consideration. Now it was just a happy coincidence in his main goal of inflicting pain.

But we may wish to give him a reason to thank us first. It's hardly a rescue if there's nothing to be rescued from.

Scarab....The Dragon was not unaware of the positions of most of these particular players, but within a crowded club, it was difficult to walk up to someone not necesarily doing anything and start a fight.
Too many other people...too much potential panic.

She had been ordered to stay with Henry and Vincent when they lefet the manor, but hadn't made her presence known, since she was a little less than social just now.

Well...the truth was she was still upset over the entire notion that her mentor had changed her into somththing else. Not everyday one finds out they are capable of altering thier flesh and mind to become something both less and more human.

Her red-lenses eyes narrowed as she noticed Walter ( yes, that was the name others on the network used for the Fool ) work his way toward Henry.
WIthout comment, or drawing attention to her movements, she too started to work her way along the perimeter, and flicked the little strap that held the hilt of her sword ( which was hidden under the clothes on her back, and a long spill of her black hair) in it's sheath while traveling.

Best to have the weapon easily retrieved.

Scarab kept as far from the midst of the dancers as she could, and hoped Mulder wouldn't recognize her before she could get closer to Henry and let him know what was going on.
She contemplated speaking mentally, but she didn't want him kick-starting this little fight.

Rayne didn't like the sound of what Walter was suggesting but noted that Agent Mulder did have a knack for getting himself into trouble. Before she could further 'voice' her opinions she felt a twinge in the back of her mind. Alerting her to a possible danger to them.

Her glowing eyes moved out along the crowd looking at the shadows searching for whatever or whoever had set off her senses.

Walter...there is another presence here. I can feel it. We may have to work quickly on this one.

The last thing they needed was someone or something trying to stop them from their task at hand.

Although certain he could handle himself-certainly against Vincent, anyway- Mulder had a tendency to be too trusting. Naive, Scully had chided him from time to time, but with Scully not there to feed him a voice of reason when he went off blindly and bull-headedly on a case, he had been getting into all kinds of trouble, and the fact was this cult had gotten the better of him already.

Perhaps that was why he was so determined to break them. Mulder did not like losing anymore than he liked evil, secretive people.

Maybe this time the priest had had enough and wanted to call it quits, he figured. There wasn't much to like about the guy, and Mulder certainly had no access to anything even remotely like a witness protection program anymore, but if the guy was willing to spill the beans and disclose any information he might have on how to make PyramidHead fall, or to stop Alessa's pregnancy or even kill Xuchilbara, Mulder was all ears.

Vincent was ahead of him and pushing into the men's bathroom.
Mulder saw neither Henry nor Scarab as he followed.

The door pushed open at his touch, and altho the music still echoed off the porcelain, it was decidedly quieter in here.

He stared at the obviously nervous priest.
"Now what did you want to tell me, Vincent?"

Henry was behind Mulder in an instant. One arm reached around Mulder's neck, hand over the shoulder in an effort to keep the man from going anywhere. The other hand held one of the small knives, which cut into the skin just below the kidney. It was pushed in just enough to threaten.

"He's not happy with our family anymore," Henry said in a low, mocking tone, speaking directly into Mulder's ear. "We're mean to him. He's had a crisis of faith. He wants to help you destroy us."

He could feel the Dragon in the area, and it set him at ease. She could see that he's doing this right, that he's protecting them. And he'd been waiting for this ever since the ritual. He grinned. The knife pushed in just a fraction of an inch more. "Sorry, Mr. Mulder. Not tonight."

Mulder cried out, as much from surprise as from pain when he felt the stab. A shallow stab often feels worse than a deep one, and the pain and panic set in at the same time.

Still, this was hardly the first time the man had been ambushed, and breaking out of a hold like this was something you learned pretty early in the self defense courses he'd learned in the academy.
He stepped down, hard, on Henry's foot and at the same time grabbed hold of the arm around his neck, slipping himself out from under it. His hold would both stop Henry from using all of his strngth and give him a head's up if the man intended to tighten, so he could drop his jaw to his chin, giving the man less access to his throat.

As he slipped out, he turned around, still holding Henry's arm, and tried to elbow Henry in the face with the elbow of the arm he was holding Henry's in.

If this worked, he might be able to put Henry's own force behind the blow as well as Henry finally moved to stop him.

Henry had no training at all, and was very new to this whole 'murderous intent' thing. So when Mulder stomped on his foot, he loosened his grip, surprised. And he let the elbow connect with his face in what probably was a satisfying crunch for Mulder.

What Henry didn't do was immediately let go of the knife. Instead, he held onto it tighter, and the turn pushed it in another inch or so deeper. He only let go in order to push the elbow away.

He grabbed onto Mulder's shoulder, where it connected to the neck. He was making sure the man didn't run away. Henry's grip was like steel, inhumanly strong. "Talking to you didn't help. Threatening you didn't help." Shadows gathered around him until he seemed to be made of them- they jumped and curled and writhed so much that they almost seemed tangible. "Even though we were keeping to ourselves, you kept threatening to hurt the people I love. Calling us crazy monsters." In his mind, they had done nothing at all wrong. "Let's give you a reason for that, shall we?"

Henry's nose was bleeding and possibly broken, but he barely seemed to notice it. He waited for Mulder's reaction...waited for the struggling. The struggle was important somehow.

Mulder felt the knife push in deeper- he would need to see a medic about that, a stab to the kidney was no laughing matter- but Henry had a firm grip on him, and it felt inhumanly strong.
"Let GO," Mulder grunted, and started to draw his gun.
He didn't want to shoot Henry, but a bash with the barrel was looking more and more in order...
he glanced at Vincent, and glared, but the priest was over by the washbasins, grinning like a hyena, plainly amused by the situation.
There's be no help from him.

Mulder struggled to pull his arm free, while bringing his other up with intent to hit Henry with the butt of his gun.

Shit...

Henry and Vincent had taken Mulder into the bathroom before she could get to them, and Scarab cursed to herself.

Jig is up, and she couldn't shadow-step like Henry could, so with one hand closed around the hilt of her sword, Scarab pushed, and squirmed her way through the rest of the crowd between her and the door to the bathroom.

Henry, Vincent!, she 'spoke' mentally, not bothering to focus her thoughts on one or the other.

Head's up. One of the Judged is here with a friend. They have been following you for some time.

She was to the door now, and stepped into the bathroom, then turned quickly to draw her sword, now that she wasn;t so visible.
Back to the bathroom itself, she glanced behind her to see Henry with blood running from his nose.

We need to get out of this bathroom. We're pretty effectively cornered in here.

Walter, already focused on the bathroom, having seen Henry, Vincent, and Mulder enter, didn't miss the woman following them. Rayne's warning was unneeded, but not unheeded. Her arrival couldn't be accidental. He supposed she could be there for the same reason they were, but that just seemed too damned easy.

In fact, he rather hoped she was there to get in the way.

There was no need to sneak at this point; he moved fast, pushing into the bathroom and slamming the door fully open to ensure there was no one thinking to attempt a foolish ambush from behind it. He smiled, fangs glinting in the harsher bathroom light. This was more like it.

Scarab had backed up enough to keep out of the doorway ( she wasn't that stupid) and tightened her grip on the blade in her hand.

Red implanted lenses started taking readings on Walter; body temperature, respiration, and such.
It didn't take electronice, however, to know this one wasn't anything human.

~~Scarab~~ The Dragon smiled...The old familiar coldness spread through her, and she couldn't help anticipating actually getting to put these skills she had been honing for so long to good use.

"Oh shit!" Before Vincent could say something snide about this being the men's bathroom, thanks, Scarab, he saw that they had enemies- enemies he'd never met in person but had certainly seen on the network.

Vincent swallowed hard. All he had was his pistol, and he still had no idea how to fire it; he drew it, but his hand was shaking so badly any shot he might have fired would go awry anyway...

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 3

Log: Complete

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject