fatespoken | ∞ [ action post ]

[ His teeth puncture the skin, Freddy's warm flesh, in a single motion. Amory doesn't know what he's doing, clumsy like a child with a cup of juice, spilling thin rivulets down his lips as he draws red. He was smart enough to hit the jugular.

As he drinks, his knee presses harder against his lower body, harder against the wall with a force that could have crushed bone if he'd been rougher. For now, it'll leave dark marks against his back. ]

--Fuck.

[ He's not quiet about that at all because well it motherfucking hurts. Not as bad as a bullet to the belly though, he'll give it that. The heat he feels pouring out is his own, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Fucking vampires. Crushing the nerves at the crook of Amory's neck probably won't work like it does on normal people but he tries it anyway. As for the wrist he's captured, he's going to break it if this kid doesn't move now. ]

Get the fuck--[ Holy shit there's a shot of pleasure to the pain. ] Fucker get off me!!

[He's small for a guy his age and background but the kick he delivers is a strong one. And let it be known Freddy Newendyke is not above kicking another guy in the balls. Amory could count his blessings it's not a taser.]

[ He doesn't feel it when Freddy crushes his nerves; it's like a hand slapped against his neck, easy to be dismissed. The second retaliation is a harder sting, for even a vampire can feel a stronger sensation in his balls, given that that said vampire is alive. The warmth of Amory's lips against Freddy's neck should tell Freddy that, even if its buried under the heat of his own blood.

The kick makes him shift and it makes him angry. What guy isn't angry when someone kicks him in the balls? The flash of emotion drives him to dig his fangs in deeper. ]

Christ!

[ The deeper they go the sickeningly better it feels. What the ever loving fuck? Freddy's going to blame it on vampire magic bullshit when all this is over. And it's going to be over soon if he has anything to say about it. Still there's a mild lull from the way Amory sucks on him, providing a window of opportunity. He braces his heel on the other guy, just enough within reach to pull his Beretta Jetfire. The safety's off with a click.

Even quicker is how he squeezes off a single round aimed for his lower body. The pelvis, the thigh, somewhere not in this guy's chest half because there are too many tangled limbs involved up here. Half because he doesn't want to run the risk of killing a civilian. Again. ]

What the fuck?

[Playing the hero isn't really Frankie's usual role, though it's one he kinda likes to take on when he can. It's kind of a matter of balance. Playing the bouncer is another thing he doesn't do often, but it's one he's good at-- and the commotion outside is near enough to catch his attention.

So, Freddy, your deliverance comes suddenly, armed with a hastily grabbed bar chair and a lack of hesitation. It's not that he doesn't recognize Amory, it's that he doesn't care who's who in this situation. Bar fights-- well, fights outside the bar-- are not okay, and biting is pretty much never okay. He throws the door open, the motion flowing into the swinging arc of his makeshift bludgeon, aimed squarely at Amory's head.]

Fuck!

[ Really, Frankie? Really? This is what it's come down to? A chair in the head? The chair leaves pieces of fractured chair in his hair. Between the bullet and the chair, it's all enough to render Amory momentarily nonplussed. He pulls away from Freddy with an audible curse (or maybe a snarl), giving the other man space to flee, while he hastily pries the bullet from his leg. It hurts, not as much as it should hurt, but his mind isn't registering the pain-- nor even the weight of what's just happened. ]

Holy shit!

[ One. Where the fuck did that guy come from!? Two. How the fuck is this kid not down for the count yet?! Freddy doesn't know who the hell Frankie is but the chair shattering's a single clue that he's got to be friend, not foe. He'll take his chances with that. This other guy on the other hand, he's not gonna take a chance at all now.

Freddy places his palm firmly over his own neckwound--not that it's going to stop it much--while striding forward to press the barrel right into Amory's shoulder. He doesn't look to Frankie or wait for that guy to say or do anything before shooting again. Everything happens quickly even though to Freddy it feels like it's taking forever. ]

[Guns don't trouble him in general-- well, look at where he lives-- but it's impossible not to jump at sudden fire that nearby.]

No! [There's a little worry for Amory, here, but considering how well he's taken a chair to the head, chances are he'll survive this.] Just get the fuck outta here. Get to the hospital. Go!

[He turns back to Amory, shifting his grip on the remains of the chair. These are big, heavy seats, so half a back and leg is still a pretty formidable bludgeon.]

You dumb shit, what are you doing?

[ A vampire, with more knowledge, age and control, wold probably have killed Freddy for that move. Busted shoulder and all. But Amory doesn't really know what the fuck he's doing, and with enough human sensibility left to realize the meaning of a busted shoulder, he does the human thing and freaks the hell out. ]

Shit! Fuck--- Fuck! [He clenches his teeth, slicing his own fangs into the meat of his cheeks. ] I- I don't know!

[ Amory can feel the slick sheen of Freddy's blood coating his tongue, his own blood intermingling, and he finds himself trying fruitlessly, desperately, to suck a drop from the remnants. He's still starving. Even more so, now that Freddy's blow a bullet in his shoulder. At that close range, it's left shattered bone and mangled flesh exposed to the night. Instinct forces him to reach into the flesh and draw out bloody fingers, trembling as it hovers over the wound, before its brought to meet his lips.

Amory looks up at Frankie with eyes illuminated by the moonlight. They are rendered sharper, the green of his hazel predominant, as if chiseled to a point. It's not enough. Not enough. Not enough. The mark of fresh blood's unmistakable on his lips. ]

Edited 2010-11-13 19:19 (UTC)

[Depends on the kind of vampire. The Lost Boys? He's seen that several times, he knows what it takes to bring David down. Oh but first thing's first.]

Who the fuck are you?? [Back atcha, Frankie. He's not gonna put that gun away either but the blood from his punctured artery is seriously calling for some attention.] Shit man, fucking shit.

[Freddy's backing away after all. Hospital, right. But he takes another look at Amory, then Frankie, committing their faces to memory.]

[He doesn't say anything, just watches long enough to make sure Freddy's making an escape. Trying to explain right now? Possibly too complicated, too tangential, to make it worth while.]

Fuck.

[It's a flat and surprisingly matter-of-fact profanity, and he lowers his weapon. Slightly. Somewhere in the back of his mind Frankie thinks, if he had never been other than he is now, this would turn his stomach. But Amory's bloody mouth suggests an answer to his question which makes a certain amount of sense. He doesn't come any closer-- in part because he knows the temptation of a beating heart on an empty stomach, but also because he remembers that there's something wrong with Amory's blood, so he'd rather not have it literally on his hands.]

Runs in the family, right? [he mutters, almost absently, moving the remains of the chair entirely to one hand and digging in his pocket for keys. Taking Amory back into the Blue Light right now seems like a shit idea, the best he can manage is to let one of the other servers know what's going on and have them call someone else to cover as long as they're down two employees. First priority has to be blood, always; there is no rational thought without it.]

Stepping back in for a minute. Swear to God, Amory, you move and I'll chase you down, you're lucky if I ram this through your heart.

[ Blood is all he sees when Freddy backs away, vision twisting out of focus, only to highlight the red in lurid emblems. And it takes all his control no to dart after him, not to force himself on top of him and bury his teeth into his neck and suck out whatever's left. One moment it's his, the next moment robbed: he can still taste Freddy on his lips.

His stomach- something in his body gives a lurch at the thought; as if mind and body have suddenly slipped out of sync. There's something disgusting going on here; a grotesque specter within his thoughts. He doesn't know what haunts him, though. He doesn't anything, really. Where he is, who these people are— his memories are somewhere off in the distance.

Amory's attention shifts anew, now that Freddy makes his departure. His restraint, while enough to hold him from pursuing the other, slowly comes apart upon successive seconds. Hunger, the only distinct thought, prevails; and Amory rushes forward to make a grab at Frankie, mangled shoulder and all. ]

[This is not something he's totally unprepared for, and he brings the chair leg back up, swinging remorselessly at Amory's head. If he's still going after the punishment he's taken so far, one more isn't going to hurt him. And this time Frankie puts all his weight into it, following through the motion and arcing back to land a second blow right after. He may not be as strong as he once was, but regaining his life hasn't diminished his training, so it's a solid and well-placed hit. Which... may not be enough, but damn he hopes it is.]

What'd I just say, Amory?

[ The truth is that becoming a vampire hasn't gutted out his human capability to be more than a savage. He is like starving man, who would eat dirt and weeds and fight for that privilege, if for the desperate want of food.

In his weakened state, the blow is enough to send him stumbling backwards and onto his knees. He's a pathetic example of a vampire, but events prior to his "arrival" have weakened him, including a voluntary and forced hunger strike. By the time Amory gathers his senses, Frankie will have a enough time to do what he needs to do. ]

[Frankie doesn't waste his opportunity, once Amory stumbles, and he darts in and out of the bar, his hastily shouted directions muffled beyond hearing. And then he's back, still holding his club.]

Up and get marching. Underground. Remember?

[Since of course, there's no guarantee that Amory knows who or where he is. Frankie sure didn't.]

Underground?

[ At least it's a response. A rare instance of lucidity as he scrambles up to his feet, examining Frankie from neck (and lingering on said neck) to the club in his hand. ]

I don't.

Fine. Doesn't matter. Move.

[He gestures directionally with the chair leg, looking every bit the soldier. It's an air of authority he desperately needs right now.]

Don't even fucking think about biting me, either. Won't go well for either of us.

Don't speak to me that way.

[ He hisses out the words, nevertheless, heading in the pointed direction. If anything, he'll find another source of food-- one that's nearly not as much trouble as Frankie. ]

[As disobedient targets go he's had much worse, and there's not much Amory could say that would really hurt.]

Going to the Raven. Keep it together and you get fed, yeah?

Ordering me around like chattel. Do you think you're Nikolaus? [ Lucidity may be taking on a stronger character, but that doesn't mean he's any less hungry. Amory's only just settling in with his mind's chaos. ]

Don't know who that is. Don't give a fuck, either. Think I'm the one who knows where we are, though. [He falls silent for few steps.] Definitely the one who's gonna beat your head in if you keep giving me shit.

∞ [ action post ]

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