Birthright

The life of a slayer did not lend itself to regular employment. The hours were terrible and there were few transferrable skills that one could list on a resume or application for employment. However, Rhiannon had tended bar in the past, so when a temp agency mentioned an increased need for drink slingers on Halloween, she decided to take that opportunity. Perhaps it could lead to longer term employment, but if not, it was nice to have cash in the pocket.

She shadowed a regular bartender through his brief orientation to the station on the second floor, taking note of where certain supplies were stored and which beers were on tap. She nodded when he hurriedly asked if she was good to go, that hopeful look on his face predetermining her answer, even though most bars were pretty much the same.

The uniform for the evening was a tight black button-down shirt, white suspenders, and black shorts. She added a pair of fishnets and her boots and clipped her hair back. Dark lipstick, dramatic eye shadow, and false lashes completed a gothic look for the occasion.

"What can I get you?" she asked her first customer, towel-drying her hands and glancing over their head at the crowd amassing on the dance floor, who writhed in time to music selected by a disc jockey.

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"You got Guinness back there?"

The silver buttons on Echo's shirt caught the overhead lights, and she adjusted the prop guns where they resided in the holsters on her hips. Her parents had sent her a check the week before, and after reluctantly cashing it she decided to go to the costume event in Las Vegas. She'd been a little uncertain at first about the gender-bending outfit, but after she put the chaps on over her jeans she felt better about it, more at home.

She'd been practicing shifting now that the weather was cooling off. One night she'd actually fallen asleep as the Wolf out in the desert, dozing under the cold stars. She was getting used to taking her clothes off by the side of the road. It was terrifying and glorious all at once, letting the lycan part of herself out.

Tonight she was wearing the pendant Cian had given her on the outside of her shirt, the lights reflecting through the Tiger's Eye and casting tiny patterns on the black cloth. She needed at least one beer before she got up the nerve to try dancing.

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"Yeah," said Rhiannon, pulling a glass and filling it for the customer. As she passed it across the bar and quoted the price, she skimmed eyes over the chaps and thanked her work uniform for saving her the chore of coming up with a good costume. "Nice costume. Beats the parade of Princess Leia's coming in the door in various states of dress."

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Echo snorted as she accepted her drink. She'd thought about a Star Wars theme too, but while all the female flesh on display was nice, Han Solo was more her style. She just hadn't been able to find a gun that looked like a blaster.

"The security guy at the door asked if the pistols were real," she said with a discreet eyeroll. "I had to take them out of the holsters and inspect them before he'd let me in."

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Rhiannon stood on her toes and leaned over the counter, doing a visual inspection of the prop guns slung around the woman's hips. It was a decent costume and all, but on a scale of one to ten, with one being fake and ten being real, those ranked about a three. She straightened.

"So next time, say, 'Yeah but what are you gonna do about these?'"

She balled up her fists in a pugilist stance.

Most guys at the door were hired for how their biceps looked when they crossed their arms, and not much else. Visual intimidation went along way toward averting problems, which was why a slayer -- a true natural at providing security -- would be a questionable choice at the front door.

Her eyes alighted on the stone around the woman's neck. It struck her that the stone was cut so that it seemed to give light, rather than just reflect it. "Pretty," she said, pointing at it.

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"Thank you. A new friend gave it to me."

Did Cian count as a friend? Yes, his advice about the wards and telling her to get in touch with the Wolf rather than run away from it was helpful, but Echo wasn't sure if it could be called a friendship yet. She did appreciate that he wasn't likely to tease or make fun of her.

"I almost couldn't find a place to park," she told the other brunette, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the parking lot outside. "At least they didn't have valet service, though. Fifteen bucks to let someone else park for me? No thanks."

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"Hang on a sec... what can I get you?" she directed at a couple who approached at Echo's right hand. Rhiannon poured a Budweiser and mixed a gin and tonic. She placed the drinks on a pair of Shark Tank napkins and accepted the cash with tip. "Here you go."

She ran a wet rag over a splash on her workspace.

Returning to the customer, she said, "I'm just getting the hang of where to park around here. There are a couple of garages that are cheap, if you're willing to hike a few blocks."

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"That's what I did, walked a few blocks. Some old lady stopped me on the street and asked and asked if I could have the car that was blocking her in towed away. She was so near-sighted that she thought I was wearing some kind of uniform. I don't think she should have been behind the wheel of a car."

Another party goer in a very well-done devil costume bumped into Echo on her left side, and she moved so he wouldn't poke her with his pitchfork. "So you must have just moved to Vegas?" she asked the bartender as she took a casual drink of her Guinness. "I'm still getting used to the desert myself."

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Lucas had been enjoying himself at the Shark Tank, dancing with a group of girls who were all out for a good night. He went up to the bar, eyeing the bartenders and signalling to a hot one in fishnets he was ready to order.

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"Yeah, just this summer," Rhiannon said. "It's weird, I'm used to frost on the ground by this point." She got Lucifer a couple of shots of tequila and made change from her cash drawer. "How do you shop for Christmas when you're still sweating?"

She gave the newcomer a light smile. The hardest thing about tending bar, for Rhiannon at least, was being friendly and approachable to strangers, especially strangers who stared unabashedly at her thighs. She had been alerted to the fact that her legs were a big selling point and thus knew it was important to emphasize them for tips, but she never got used to making a spectacle of herself. "Hi," she said to him. "What can I get you to drink?"

Edited on 2013-11-06 02:25 pm (UTC)

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"A Jack and coke, and whatever you're having!" Lucas answered, giving the hot goth barmaid a grin. His fingers picked at the patch of paint on his thumb, trying to worry it off the skin it had been attached to all day, the house he'd been painting insisting on using the heavy duty pavement paint on the driveway and it taking so long for him to apply that he hadn't taken the time to make sure it was all off before heading out that night. It sort of blended in though, being red. Matched the red leather jacket and pants he was wearing as his costume, with the black shirt, homage to the Thriller album that had been making it big since 1982.

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A pick-up line. Wow. At the moment, Rhiannon was having revulsion, but she doubted he wanted that served up in a glass. "Cute," she said, keeping a smile on her face, although it had turned a bit bemused.

She mixed the Jack and Coke with a few cubes of ice and quoted the price. She placed a black stirrer in the tumbler, waiting for him to pass over the cash before she slid the drink to him on the napkin.

A glance was given to the cowgirl's beer.

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He gave her a 'Hey, can't blame a guy for trying!' grin before pulling out the small wad of cash he'd brought with him. He had known the prices were going to be steep, and quickly separated enough for the drink and a tip.

"Cheers!" he said, and pushed it across the bar to her.

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Echo couldn't decide if the guy's obvious attempt was hilarious or ridiculous. Her proclivities aside, she didn't have the guts just to make the approach like that, so maybe she was a little envious too. The Guinness was mostly gone.

The hybrid finished it off with a couple of gulps, passed the mug over the bar with an expression of carefully reserved commiseration. If she put an extra buck or two in the tip jar, would that be a good gesture of female solidarity?

"I'll just have a refill, minus the familiarity."

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As for the cowgirl’s comment, all Rhiannon allowed herself was a slight puckering at one corner of her mouth. She accepted the man’s payment and stuffed the tip in the community jar, which she raised in response to his toast with a, “Cheers.”

While she worked on the dwindling beer, Rhiannon scanned her surroundings. Two other staff members navigated the alley behind the bar to keep the patrons happy. Out on the dance floor, two bouncers kept an eager eye out for a drunken scuffle, something to break up the monotony, a story to later tell. If she strained her ears, Rhiannon could hear slot machine bells ringing on the first floor. Business was booming.

Just then, the DJ mixed the opening chords of ‘Beat It’ into his medley.

“Sounds like they’re playing your song,” she told the guy. Rhiannon handed the woman her second drink.

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He leaned against the bar and nodded in time to the music, looking over his shoulder at the barmaid. "Just the track I don't want to be up there for!" he laughed, "just because I dress like him doesn't mean I can dance like him!" he added, self-deprecating smile on his face. Plus he needed a bit of a rest, he'd been up there almost all night, and while the leather was comfortable, it did get bloody hot on the dance floor.

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Echo was strongly tempted to let just the tiniest bit of the Wolf show in her eyes, just to run this presumptuous asshole off, but he was probably harmless. She knew she tended to take things too seriously. Her fresh beer was room temperature, just the way it was supposed to be.

"When does the costume contest start?" she asked the bartender. These boots were going to have her pigeon-toed before the night was over, but she liked the way the spurs jingled. She wondered if they'd take pictures of the winner. "I'd hate to have to be the judge that needs to choose one Princess Leia over another."

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She smiled at the guy’s answer. “You just need to master one of his moves and toss it in sporadically,” she said. “Spin in a circle and grab your crotch or something.”

As for the contest question, Rhiannon had no idea, so she made something up. “Eleven.” It sounded reasonable to her. In her whirlwind of an employee training, it hadn’t come up. She opened a fresh jar of maraschino cherries to provide one for another bartender’s whisky sour. Then she turned and poured herself a glass of ice water, which she prayed would somehow trans-mutate into vodka on its way down her esophagus.

As she turned back to the counter, Rhiannon wondered where the evening might find Cian. It was a full moon, so she suspected he was out running rather than hosting a flock of trick-or-treaters at his front door. Possibly even running just to avoid a flock of trick-or-treaters.

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Lucas laughed and nodded at Rhiannon's suggestion, then when the track finished and Madonna's Like a Virgin started he downed the rest of his drink, the group of girls all beckoning him to come and join them. "Duty calls!" he grinned over his shoulder and he sauntered back to the floor, joining in with the ladies as they were all singing at the tops of their voices.

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Abby was desperate for some water, the last drink she'd been given had tasted something like rocket fuel, and she was pretty sure it hadn't been out of a bottle from the bar. She managed to get through to the bar and apologised to the cowgirl she bumped into. "Sorry, just need some water," she said, getting her elbows onto the bar. Her pirate outfit was pretty much still intact, the bandana around her head only slightly askance.

"Can I just get some water?" she asked the barmaid, "mouth tastes like shit," she added, though no explanation was needed. "Fuckin' asshole gave me some shit that tasted like homebrew," she said, her head spinning a little and her elbows spreading out a little to stop her from swaying.

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Biker chick? Joan Jett-alike? Whatever people assumed, it felt good to have an excuse to walk around with fangs out; the undead spin of stretching your legs after a long car ride. Just flash your teeth and twinkle those yellow eyes - that was your costume.

"Places, people... Exits and windows - both floors."

"Wait... That mean one of us gets bathroom duty?"

"Yeah, Steve, someone gets to stand out by the enchanted grotto. Ding-ding-ding, you're our lucky winner."

Giving the other vampire a knee-kick in the rear to hurry him on, the fanged brunette watched her entourage fan out through the crowd. Heading on up a level to where the costumed masses were holed up. One of her lackeys remaining by the entrance, making sure no-one would be making it out.

Mystics... Getting an accurate premonition was always a little hit-or-miss with psychics. Some put it down to free will being an unpredictable element, but after catching wind of someone who ticked all the right boxes turning up at a place like this? Well, even if no Slayer showed up, doing something like this felt like a fun way to spend an evening her kind would normally take a rain-check on.

"Hey, nice mask!"

The contest wasn't due to get judged for a little while, but forcing head back and slicing fangs into the MC's neck only elicited a small round of applause from those nearest. People who assumed it was just all part of the festivities, even when she dumped his corpse to the floor; microphone taken from his hand as she did so. Wiping gore from mouth with forearm and stepping up on a table to gain some height.

"Ladies and gentleman!" She began, hearing the music go silent. An underling taking care of the DJ on her cue. "Tonight's entertainment is brought to you by random acts of violence...! Excuse me? Sir? Are you here for the contest?"

Door security hadn't seen to what she carried on her. Their unconscious figures still laying on the ground downstairs. Switchblade flashing out as one of Katherine's own shoved the man forward, gutting him in front of the crowd. A couple of screams being made soon after, upon guests realising the MC's death had been just as real.

"Now...! I can let you good folks go or, uh..." More commotion over by an exit, as someone attempted to leave, only to find themselves confronted by a vampire every bit as real as the brunette, herself. The encounter leaving them silenced - permanently. "I could just let this place live up to its name. Have ourselves a real fun feeding frenzy and all... So, what we got here is a choice."

The crimson-slick blade was tapped against chin in consideration. A pause for dramatic effect.

"See, I'm looking for a young lady - maybe more. Got a thing for holy water, stakes, beheading... Sounds real swell. I meant to have a date with her in a little town named Searchlight, but dang it - bitch didn't show. So, y'all catch wind of a girl like that? you send her right on up here. 'Cause otherwise, I'm thinking this place could do with a touch of art. Some human crucifixion here, lynch-by-intestine from the ceiling, amputations and kneecap removal for a little extra sparkle... I go with my heart, y'know? Might rip a few of those out for good measure, while I'm at it."

Making a show of it, the vampiress then announced, "Can we have our next unwilling volunteer, please?"

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The smell of blood carried when the MC died, and Echo felt a cold shiver wander up her spine as she watched the brunette wipe crimson fluid from her mouth. The beer mug slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor. The sound of shattering glass was very loud in the sudden silence caused by the lack of music.

Vampires. A whole fucking shitload of them.

Her immediate reaction was somewhere between fear and revulsion. Holy water, stakes, beheading. Searchlight. What? She could still smell blood and dead flesh. Inside her skull, the Wolf growled uncertainly.

Stop. If they find out you're a were, they'll split you open first on principle. Whatever she's looking for, it's probably not here.

Someone else foolishly tried to make a run for it, and there was a gurgling scream as more blood sprayed into the air. Echo touched the stone around her neck. Her face was a stoic mask. Just breathe

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“Ah, shit.” Rhiannon put the rag down in slow motion.

Though the MC was dead, a strange back beat of music kept playing. Thump-thump-thump-thump, over and over again. Light canisters continued to spin overhead, bathing the dance hall in alternating orange and blue, purple and green. The slick of blood on the stage was so dark that it looked more like ink than what coursed through human veins. As the second death unfolded, a stench of panicked sweat rose on the warm air.

Crash. A glass broke to her left as it slipped through a stunned customer’s fingers. The cowgirl.

Was this message for her? For Valerie, hidden somewhere in the crowd?

There were risks everywhere here. No win/win options. If she announced herself as a Slayer to save a string of hapless victims, then there was no guarantee the carnage would stop. Rhiannon would likely find herself bogged down in an unfair fight while the fanged muscle swept through the building, reigning terror and carnage. She could slip through the crowd and pick off as many lieutenants as possible, but that might draw the brunette’s attention. She could pull the fire alarm, which summoned the men with fire axes, who could hack through a barricaded door. Doing nothing was obviously not an option. At times like this, she wished she carried a handgun. It wouldn’t dust a vamp, but it could do a ton of cerebral damage. Usually if she did in the ring leader, the rest of the party fell apart.

She needed a compromise. This was the second floor, which meant there was a fire escape through the small kitchen behind the bar, an exit that the ring leader might not have considered. Even if she had, it was unlikely that one vamp in the alley could halt a stampeding herd of people on the stairs. The slayer grabbed the arm of the nearest bartender and stuck a phone receiver in her hand. “Duck under the counter and call the cops. Be quiet about it.” The girl nodded and happily tucked herself out of sight.

She’d need more help than that. Rhiannon looked at the frozen cowgirl. Would she step up if Rhiannon asked? As covertly as possible, the slayer opened a little swinging gate and signaled at the cowgirl. “Hey… psst. C’mere. There’s a door back there,” she mouthed and pointed over her shoulder. “Get as many people through the back as you can!” What she did with the command was up to the girl.

Rhiannon wiped her hand and looked around. Was there a way to announce herself without showing her face just yet? Strike some kind of bargain with the vampire who craved an audience? She spotted the electronic control booth in the back of the room and began to edge in that direction, weaving between the shoulders of people too confused or freaked out to take a step. Rhiannon winced as a neck snapped near the back exit. That snap reverberated in her own spine.

She crept into the door. She closed and locked it behind her, cut off the dim overhead light, and then snapped her fingers at the guy manning the controls, whose fingers lay trembling uselessly on the switchboard. “Hey. Get me a mic. Do you have a mic back here?”

He didn’t answer, just weakly pointed at a fuzzy microphone mounted on the panel, which was used to communicate during sound checks. His headphones were on crooked.

Rhiannon flipped a couple of buttons.

Scre-e-e-e-ch.

Bingo.

“Y’know, I’ve gotta hand it to you. This is pretty clever,” she said. “And you’re in luck, because I am more than willing to kick your ass tonight. Mind if we let the civilians go first? I’m not crazy about an audience.”

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In the process of seeing if someone really would turn blue if deprived of oxygen, Katherine was in head-tilt when she heard the challenge. Her prey struggling in futility as she held them aloft with a hand clamped firmly around neck.

But with the announcement coming over speakers, it was anyone's guess where her primary target was located. Still, it provoked quite the grin of satisfaction across the brunette's features. Her reckoning had been on the money. There was a Slayer here. Just had to lure it out to her.

"Oh, honey," she responded with sardonic emphasis. The latest would-be added notch to her bed-post of kills being hurled away like yesterday's trash, crashing into the surrounding audience. Hurt, gasping for air, but at least alive. "And here I was thinking blind dates were going outta' fashion..."

Blood was in the air, literally, but a summons like that had Katherine on edge in the good way. A quiet before the storm. Excitement and anticipation.

"How about no, nuh-uh, no way and, hmm, lemme' think... Yeah... Pretty sure that's not on my to-do list, Stakesworth."

Her next gesture might have seemed odd, at first glance. Katherine reaching for her belt, unhooking the clasp and snaking it out of the loops in a swift, practised motion. The ideal behind it, however, soon became clear as she sounded a viciously loud crack in the air: A belt by way of disguise only. In truth, a long, flexible metal cord she could use like a bullwhip.

"So, here's a better idea: You show yourself or I start flaying me a space whore..."

Again, switchblade in one hand and whip in the other, Katherine cracked it just inches away from one of the scantily-clad Princess Leias, who was likely heavily regretting tonight's decision to go in metal bikini.

In truth, though, Rhiannon held the upper hand. Outnumbered, yes and the fanged brunette was certainly armed, but the Slayer could strike from any direction and there was a wealth of improvised weaponry to be had in a place like that. More to the point, the vampiress seemed the type to give up other considerations in favour of a show-down.

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It had taken Abby a while to comprehend what was going on, but when she finally realised that the muddled mess in her head was not just in her head, but actually happening, she did what most people do in those instances, and ducked down, pressing herself up against the edge of the bar, and ignoring the noises all around her. Maybe if she just shut her eyes really really tight, and hid her face they wouldn't see her.

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Get people out. As many as she could. Echo could feel herself calming now that someone has taken charge. The Tiger's Eye swung on its gold chain. She might not be able to shift here, but she could summon the Wolf's sense of command. Her shoulders squared with purpose.

She slipped into a patch of shadows, out of range of the strobing lights. She knew this was dangerous, but she couldn't afford to let fear take over. Lives were at stake. That mattered more than how she felt.

The first people she rounded up were huddled in a far corner, possibly a family. When Echo got close enough, she smelled piss. The stench of fresh blood wasn't as strong this far away from the stage. The hybrid put on her best calm expression.

"Come on, I can get you out," she whispered, reaching for the man's lanky shoulder. He inched towards her, clutching the arm of the woman he was with. In turn, she grabbed for the shoulders of the teenaged boys and towed them along.

The door was a darker shadow. Echo shuffled the civilians along, herding them towards safety. If she kept her cool, she'd save lives tonight.

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What.
The
Fuck?

Lucas wasn't a hero and right at that moment in time he was desperately wishing he wasn't there. He'd been on the other side of the dance floor when the commotion had started, and had ducked behind the staircase that led up to the sound booth when realisation had struck that this wasn't just a fancy show they were all going to be able to talk about tomorrow. He stood there, cowering, paralysed with fear. Even the fishnet-clad legs of the hot goth barmaid hadn't caught his eye, even though they'd passed just a foot in front of him as she had silently climbed the stairs. It was only when the voice filed the room that he began to think.

OK, dude, someone's in charge, this could all still just be a show, really good one, but with the special effects in the movies and how crazy good that's all looking these days...

That thought path was cut dead with the ear-splitting crack, and again Lucas' stomach plummeted.

Nope, we're all gonna die!

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Rhiannon sighed and switched off the microphone. She looked down at sound guy, still seated in his cushy chair. Already, a gallon of sweat had poured down his face and soaked through his cotton shirt, and from the furtive look in his eyes and slight twitching of his hand in the direction of a button, the slayer correctly guessed he was about to give up their location.

“Hey. No need to sell me down the river.” Rhiannon turned his seat to face her and punched him at that sweet spot on the jaw that was guaranteed to slosh things around the brain pan. He slumped, not quite unconscious but no longer in any shape to impede progress. “Fucking dick,” she muttered.

She reassessed the situation. Yes, there was a girl onstage who was about to get slashed to a bloody pulp. Yes, those lashings would cause agony, scarring, and emotional distress, but they wouldn’t kill her. At least, not for a couple of minutes. Any casualty gave Rhiannon a knot in her stomach, and yet numbers counted here. Numbers and time. If the head bitch in charge got distracted by one girl and a display of torture meant to weaken Rhiannon’s resolve, well…

So be it. It wasn’t mass murder. And Rhiannon wasn’t Mother Theresa.

“Let’s hope she’s had a tetanus shot.” The slayer unlocked the door and slipped out of the booth. For what she planned, she needed to clear another exit. That meant taking out a sentry efficiently and silently. She eased along the dark wall and crept into position behind a platinum vampire with mall bangs, who had slacked on door-watching duty and was fully engaged in sucking a slouching Tinkerbell dry. That was the downside to hiring dumb shits to do your dirty work; they got distracted by shiny objects. Rhiannon pulled a slender piece of wood from her boot and drove it up through the vamp’s back. Dust exploded. Tinkerbell fell.

Hunkering as low as possible, the slayer ran back to the bar. Time for an improvised incendiary weapon…

…One that exploded in a ball of broken glass and flame just moments later, right at the feet of a brunette vampire.

So tonight, it was a good thing that most clubs had been retrofitted with fire suppression equipment after the deadly fire at the MGM grand. It would take a few moments for heat to burst a red trigger in a sprinkler head, but it undoubtedly would do so before any major structural damage.

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For a few moments, it seemed Katherine had taken up line-dancing. Vampires were possessed of superhuman reflexes, senses, speed and strength. Getting in a fight with one was hardly recommended for ordinary human beings. But go up against one with, say, magic and they were as vulnerable as anyone else.

And fire, more so. Something humans could painfully endure, but which wouldn't turn them to ashes like it would the undead.

"Fucking shitburgers!"

Flail-flail-flail! Then cue the gush of sprinklers and a veritable stampede of Princess Leias, assorted ghouls, goblins and zombies. being a big, tough vampire was one thing, but getting rushed by the living was quite another and Katherine's plan to herd her victims into one place, like cattle, was swiftly going to pot.

Damn it! Things were not meant to go down like this! Katherine quietly fuming with switchblade and metal whip in hands, getting deluged and soggy under a veritable thundercloud of water from ceiling.

"Just kill fucking everybody!" She yelled in frustration, whirling in a fruitless attempt to catch sight of her still-unseen nemesis.

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"Go, go, go!"

When the sprinklers came on and there was a rush towards the doors, Echo picked up the pace and hustled her latest batch of civilians to the exit. If she slowed down, she might get knocked down and trampled. She pushed the woman in the Catwoman costume out the door, then hauled ass out of the way to round up some stragglers. Even the vamps who'd been set to stand guard could be overwhelmed by numbers.

The hybrid's costume got soaked from above, but she felt oddly calm. This was kind of someone else's crisis, not just hers. Whatever that psycho wanted, she'd gotten more than she bargained for.

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The vampire had not gone up in a plume of ash and smoke. However, she was exceedingly pissed and still armed to the teeth. With a switchblade in one hand and a metal whip in the other, it would be difficult for Rhiannon to get near her, unless she managed to wrap her fingers around the snaking end of the slashing tool. Rhiannon knew she could lose a finger or two in the process.

‘Fuck…’

So, although it pissed her off to do so, the slayer drank in a nice, long look at the brunette’s pissed off visage and then got herself lost in the mix of scurrying people, who were spinning like tops as they plowed into one another’s shoulders. Rhiannon grabbed the first person whose face was within arm’s reach and squared up with him, eye to eye. As luck would have it, it was Michael Jackson’s white doppelganger.

“Hey, hey! Right here, look at me.” Water poured down the slayer’s forehead. The false lashes stayed glued in place, but her mascara wasn’t living up to its waterproof promise. She probably looked like Alice Cooper with breasts. “The back door’s open. Grab people by the shirttail and drag them out.”

As soon as a hole opened up in the back, people would be drawn to it. She needed him to show the way.

She let go of him and wiped her face as she looked around.

Just another girl in the melee.

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"The back door’s open. Grab people by the shirttail and drag them out.”

Lucas nodded, no questions asked, and started to grab shirttails, sleeves, belts, robes, sodden wigs (as he learnt with one suddenly ending up in his fingers) and started pushing them toward the back. It wasn't too difficult he realised, the fear of being gutted appearing to be quenched by the dousing from the ceiling, at least long enough to start showing sheep a direction to run.

He didn't know, or care, what had happened to the vamps he figured must have been there originally, but then not even the undead can hold back the flood of soggy, scared patrons that were being herded and shoved towards those doors.

Lucas threw a look over his shoulder as the crowd around him started to catch on, a crush looking imminent. He was trying to see where Goth had gone and tripped, going down hard on his elbow and receiving a kick in the head from a dirty gold stiletto.

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In all truth, the head vampiress was more used to being in Rhiannon's position than leading frontal assaults. Except not so much with the sympathy for civilians getting caught in the middle. Had their roles been reversed, she would have turned up a small table, smashed a bottle, used another of those incendiaries or... Well, just look around. The place was full of potential weapons - lethal or not.

Which made the stampede just downright annoying. Katherine was seeing what should have been a decent plan getting flushed down the toilet before her eyes. A couple of the vampires yelling out her name as they were over-run, clearly in no shape to carry out her orders.

"Ugh! Want something done right, you gotta' do it yourself..."

With that, no-one trying to stop her, the now-named fanged brunette made a hellish CRACK of metal whip, throwing the switchblade into the running masses, not even caring who it hit or how.

Just because everyone was escaping didn't mean she couldn't do an awful lot of damage.

Edited on 2013-11-10 06:19 pm (UTC)

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Screams. Shattering glass. Running feet. As water from overhead puddled on the floor, full-on panic still reigned as drenched party goers overwhelmed the vampires at the exits and stampeded into the night beyond. Echo heard one of them squawk the name 'Katherine' before he was slammed backwards and then disappeared from sight in the crush. If a vamp got trampled, how long would that incapacitate them?

"Come on!"

The hybrid yelled the words over the racket, trying to snap a guy in a Clark Kent costume out of numb resignation. He even looked the perfect image of his mild-mannered idol; suit rumpled, glasses askew, a dazed look in his blue eyes. Echo lost patience with trying to pry him away from his inadvertent post near the stage, so she hauled him bodily towards the dwindling mass of bodies running for the doors.

She'd just succeeded in getting him out when someone struck her broadside and knocked her down. She didn't see who it was, just felt the impact. Torn between turtling to protect her head and trying to get to her feet, Echo opted for putting herself in motion. She'd had the wind knocked out of her, but she managed to get her boots beneath her. If the sprinkler system kept running, would the fire department be called?

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The sound of sirens came through the opening and closing back doors -- crescendo, decrescendo, loud and then muted. Police, fire and rescue all approached, having been called automatically by the company that monitored the electronic panel.

"Damn it." The brunette wiped water out of her eyes. After the vampire jumped offstage, she had lost track of her whereabouts, but she did see Michael Jackson on the ground. It looked like he was unconscious, and there was a trickle of blood near his ear. She couldn't just leave him there, not after he actually stepped up to the plate and tried to get people out of the door.

She started making her way closer, keeping an eye on the red leather jacket. "Hey!" she called and realized she didn't know his name. Steve? He looked like a Steve. "Get up!" Of course, to yell in this din was pointless, but she was desperate to get him off the concrete floor before he took another boot to the head. The puddles all around her shoes looked pinkish and she couldn't tell if it was an effect from the lighting or if there was that much blood being spilled in the room.

Two steps more...

Katherine did not know it, but as her knife blade slashed arms, shoulders, necks, in a variety of life-threatening and non-life-threatening wounds, it was about to dig into the very person she'd gone to the club in search of.

Rhiannon felt flesh rending in her lower back, near the left kidney. She sucked air between her clenched teeth and turned, just in time to see the brown tail of the vampire's hair disappearing between Cleopatra and Charlie Brown.

Thump... Crack... Thump...

A fire axe in a locked door.

A bark over a mounted speaker on a car: "Put your hands in the air!"

The cavalry had arrived.

Rhiannon bent down and grabbed the guy under his arm pits. She dragged him across the club floor and propped his unconscious -- alive? -- body up against the bar, next to the drunk woman from earlier. "Look out for him, okay?" She didn't wait to hear confirmation, just took off.

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