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It was a slow night in McKenna's and Mike had let the bartender and most of the waitstaff go early. There was no point in keeping them standing around when there wasn't any demand for them and they wouldn't make any tip money. He knew the business as well as anyone and he hadn't scheduled himself to work the Dive that night, so he put himself behind the bar instead.

Not that there was much to do there either, there were only three customers in the bar area and he had one waitress left to cover the tables. The prep work was all done and at this point unless there was a sudden flood of people all they'd need to do is put things away for the night. He looked up from his newspaper as the bell over the door rang, jostled by said door's movement as someone stepped in from the street.

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‘Stepped’ was putting it lightly.

Daniel’s shoes skidded on the clean floor. Just as suddenly as he entered the pub, he reversed direction and threw his weight against the door, his fingers blurring in a mad scramble to turn the locks. From the sidewalk came the ferocious sound of barking and nails scratching on the wood.

“Holy shit!”

Daniel peered out a pane of glass.

"What the hell?" Mike reached for the pistol he kept hidden under the bar and tucked it under his shirt as he came around to look at the cause of the disturbance. Whoever heard of wild dogs in urban Las Vegas? And attacking people at that!

"You all right kid?" The last thing he needed was someone bleeding all over his hardwood floors.

“Yeah, I’m fine I think.” Daniel put his back to the door. He wasn’t quite ready to step away from it yet, lest the guy get the bright idea to investigate. “Listen, you do not want to open this door.” He swiped his palms in the air. “Trust me.” The vampire looked down at his pant leg, where one of the dogs had torn the cuff.

In truth, those weren’t regular dogs. Daniel was no expert, but he would’ve put money on them being hell hounds: massive heads, scales instead of fur, bony protrusions that he mistook for spiked collars on first glance.

He stood up and straightened his shirt.

Mike stared at the torn pant leg for a minute then shook his head. "This is nuts. What'd you do to get them after you? Tie a steak to your leg or something?" He started back toward the bar to use the phone. "I'll call the cops and have them deal with this."

“Ahhh.” Daniel rubbed his face. “You might not want to do that. They’re...,” he swallowed, “Big.” Actually, he was better equipped to deal with hell hounds than the cops, if only because they’d have to behead a vampire to do any real damage. Some guy in a badge could unload a clip in one and still get shredded. He probably shouldn’t care so much, as long as it wasn’t him getting mauled.

He peeked out the window again.

“Oh look, I think they’re leav—”

Rargh! Snap! Rargh!

Daniel jerked.

"Look, I'm gonna level with you, that's not your everyday canine."

"No?" Mike turned and gave the younger man his full attention. "Then what is it?"

Gerald walked back into the bar from the restrooms, the calamitous racket at the door drawing his attention in the direction of the new arrival, the bar tender's body language telling him things were not as they were. The noise at the door confirmed it, and his brow creased at the sounds, a small hint of recognition on his face.

"I'd listen to him if I were you, Mike," he said to the man, staying back from the door until the man, one who was familiar to him, answered. "Go ahead, tell him what it is."

Edited 2014-01-07 05:43 (UTC)

Daniel looked flustered. This was the part where the guy told him he was nuts, maybe shot him on principle. “Well, it’s a breed of hound,” he said. “From hell.” Satisfied that the solid wood door would hold, he moved into the pub with a little head nod at Gerald, whom he remembered from New Year’s eve. “What’s happening?”

Mike nodded in understanding at the professor and returned his attention to the younger man. He listened to the explanation a bit skeptically but he was familiar enough with the supernatural to know that not everything always made sense.

"All right. Hell hounds." He stared at Daniel, then the door, then back at Daniel. "Why are they after you?" And why did you pick my pub to hide in?

Gerald nodded his acknowledgement of Daniel's recognition, and once he was assured that Mike wasn't going to do something particularly silly, such as open the door to check on Daniel's claim, Gerald moved back to the chair he'd previously been sitting at, the scotch Mike had poured sitting in front of it on the bar.

He was also curious; firstly as to why the hellhound had been released, and secondly why it had taken such an intense interest in the 'young man'. He had his suspicions, and was intrigued as to whether his summation of the situation was accurate.

"I was leaving the butcher shop. I guess they sniffed out the bag I was carrying." Daniel scrubbed his hands through his hair and made a royal mess of it. "I dropped it but they kept on coming." What did hell hounds want, anyway? If they were hungry, there were tastier morsels on the buffet than a skinny dead guy.

Outside, a woman screamed and a set of tires squealed as a car took off.

"Dammit." Mike ran a hand through his hair and stared at the door. There had to be something he could do to get this problem away from his business.

"So how do we get rid of the damn thing? It may be a slow night but I don't need customers turned into dog chow."

Gerald took a sip from his scotch and considered Mike's predicament. It was indeed a slow evening, and although he hadn't had much of a chance to chat with him, he ran an establishment that Gerald did feel was more his 'comfort level' than many of the establishments around the city.

"Well, it depends on which beast it is, really. Do either of you happen to have a crossbow handy?"

Edited 2014-01-09 01:10 (UTC)

“Dude, are you serious?” Daniel gave him an incredulous look. Back home in England, did people just walk around with crossbows or something? Maybe they did. Maybe he should.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “I don’t have anything like that, and what I do have, I don’t think will help in this situation.” He looked at the bartender. “By the way, it’s hounds. Two of ‘em.”

Mike muttered a few choice words in Vietnamese and scowled at Daniel. "Give me a good reason I shouldn't just toss you out to them? You've got to have something they want or they wouldn't be keeping after you."

He glanced between the two men. "I've got to check on my other customers and the staff. Figure something out or I'll figure it out for you."

Watching the expression on Mike's face told Gerald the man meant what he said, and he looked at Daniel as the bar owner stalked off to see to the others.

"Well, this does leave us in a fine predicament," Gerald said, coming to stand beside the young man. "What did you do to draw their attention?" he asked, glancing at Daniel a little more closely than on New Year's eve. "Whatever it is, it's certainly raised their ire, as well as their hackles."

“What the fuck is his problem?” Daniel asked, his arm flailing in the loose direction of the bartender, who’d stomped off. He kept on talking to the older man with the cane. “Look, I already told you what drew their attention… the bag from the butcher shop. It had raw meat in it. I can’t help it if they decided I was more interesting than a rib eye. What’s he gonna do next, claim girls are asking for it because they wear short skirts?!”

Daniel couldn’t believe his bum luck.

“You know what? There’s gotta be a back door to this place. I’ll leave that way and this jerk-wad can grab whatever rifle he’s hiding behind the bar and play Rambo for the world to see. Heh. You know, there’s a problem when the nicest guy in the room has fangs.” He pointed at himself.

The vampire rolled up his sleeves and began his trek toward the back of the pub. "You're welcome to come with me, Gramps."

Gerald's eyebrows arched, both at the outburst from the man, and the revelation. "I'll pretend you were meaning to add 'Present company excepted' to that particular statement," Gerald mused, not quite sure what had happened and looking across at Mike, settling the other two patrons.

"And there's really no need to get yourself all bitter and twisted. I suspect he's a little concerned about those doors. He was telling me they are authentic, brought in from Ireland, along with this bar, after I had commented it felt quite 'homey'." Gerald indicated the impressive piece of carved timber that was lined with a brass footrail, and topped with the ever-present towels that adorn bars all around the world.

He wasn't sure whether it was such a good idea to try and stop the self-declared vampire from leaving, but he wasn't about to abandon his scotch, so he crossed back to the aforementioned bar and took a seat, picking up his glass. "You're welcome to join me, if you're not completely hellbent on rushing away."

Mike returned after making a quick tour of the establishment, letting staff and the few customers alike that there was a slight problem and they would need to just sit tight for a little bit.

He saw Daniel and Gearald talking as he returned and had the grace to look a bit abashed. "Look, I'm sorry about threatening to toss you out there. I don't need any customers or employees getting eaten by these things and they need to go, pronto." Before they did any more damage he'd have to get fixed, let alone eating someone.

"Any ideas for how to get rid of them with what I've got on hand." A pointed look went to Gerald at that last bit. Honestly, who had crossbows lying around in this day and age?

Daniel decided to get over it and rejoin the conversation. He definitely valued his skin more than a dead tree, but he couldn't force anybody else to share his opinion.

He approached the bar with arms folded over his chest.

"Outside of a spell to send them back where they came from?" Daniel stared at the ceiling and tried to think. "I'd say fire, but since they're actually from hell, that might not work. Silver's for werewolves. What about a giant poker? A butcher knife on the end of a stick?"

As the two men seemed to call a tentative truce Gerald thought to himself, where's a Slayer when you need one? Perhaps he should get one on speed-dial, just for instances such as this. As he sipped his scotch he also thought of Ragnarok, and the clientele there, and wondered if there were any who might have some reason to have loosed these beasts, and whether they'd be so kind as to call them off. But all these thoughts were quickly dismissed when Daniel's suggestions started to flow.

"I'm beginning to think firearms might be about our best bet, given there's two of them," he contributed. "A little noisier than a crossbow, but has the advantage of not requiring reloading. And also there's a greater chance there's one on the premises." He glanced across at the doors that were still being hammered by the hounds outside. "I guess the question then is, given, I'm guessing, that Mike would be the better at using said firearm, which door would you like, Daniel? Left or right? I could take one, you the other, and we open them, Mike shoots them. If we can find a gun, of course."

Edited 2014-01-11 02:10 (UTC)

The comment caused Mike to frown. Guns were something he definitely knew how to use, and he helped funnel weapons to the Army, but he didn't keep the guns in the pub. They could attract too much of the wrong kind of attention to his legit business.

"I've got a pistol. And a shotgun hidden in my office."

“Alright, but… you stay a little behind me,” Daniel said to the older man. He had no inkling of connections to the Council and, besides mild bewilderment over the man’s knowledge on the subject at hand (which he had no time to scrutinize), no reason to believe he wasn’t an ordinary person. “I’m stronger than I look.” Plus, he wouldn’t bleed to death if bitten.

He looked to Mike. “You got any towels? Something to wrap around our forearms in case we have to defend ourselves?”

"I appreciate your concern," Gerald said to Daniel, a little amused that a predicament had presented itself that not only caused a vampire to reveal himself, but that it was to a Watcher. It did cause him to take pause, that the said vampire was willing to put himself between Gerald and harms way, a piece of information he stored away for later consideration. The matters immediately to hand were deserving of his focus right at that moment.

"Bar towels might suffice?" he suggested to Mike, indicating the runners along the bartop.

"Yeah, go ahead and grab towels from behind the bar." Mike waved them in the direction of the bar. "I'm gonna go get the shotgun." Somehow the pistol just didn't feel like it would have enough firepower to do the trick.

It was a good thing he'd never gotten around to taking the box of solid slugs home, they'd come in handy tonight. "I'll be right back."

Daniel went behind the counter. He grabbed a handful of towels and tossed them at Gerald before parsing out a few for himself. There was a roll of tape under the counter in a box of miscellany. First, he wrapped his left forearm in terrycloth. Then he looped tape around it and tore it with his teeth. "This should hold it in place."

The next arm wrap was clumsy, but he managed to make a decently thick sleeve for himself.

"Here." He offered his assistance, just because four hands were easier than two.

"Ready?"

Gerald nodded at Daniel, only bothering to secure a towel to his left arm, and wondering what the other patrons thought of this unlikely trio. "I will take the door on the right, and use it to protect my right side," Gerald stated, explaining his deference to the offer of a 'sleeve' for his other arm. He collected his cane from the bar where he'd left it before going to the restroom. The ornate top was twisted and placed back in his hand, fingers positioned so if necessary, he could activate a button that would convert the lower half into a weapon concealed inside.

He looked around for Mike as he crossed to the door, pushing a couple of chairs to different positions, creating a makeshift barrier that would aid in protecting him once the doors were opened.

Mike shooed the few patrons and staff into the back of the dining area before quickly retrieving his shotgun from the office. Less than five minutes after leaving the other two men he was back, loading the last of the shells into the magazine as he approached.

"I've got everyone in the back, are we ready to do this?" He saw the makeshift barrier and the towels wrapped around their arms and nodded in understanding. Good thinking, that.

He tried to control his own nerves. He'd faced death before, but never in his own country and from something supernatural. There really was no way to know if this was going to work, but the beasts didn't seem to want to go away and he had to think of his employees and customers.

Daniel got into position. It was difficult – nah, it was actual work – to keep his face from vamping out. The last thing he needed was to freak anyone out, but the growls and barks outside the door set his teeth on edge. The hairs on his arms and neck stood up. It was a matter of time. “Ah, sorry if my face,” he gestured vaguely at it, “Yeah.”

He shook his head.

“Alright, Let’s open up on three. One… two… three!”

Daniel pulled. A blast of cool air hit him in the face first, followed by a grotesque stream of saliva and foam as a hound threw itself against the wooden door. He recoiled. His brow rippled and changed. “Yaaargguuuuug!”

As Daniel yelled 'three', Gerald pressed the button on the cane that drew back the sheath on the lower half of the cane. Just a precaution. He also stepped back, opening the door and shielding his body with the large, heavy wooden 'shield'. He knew his limitations, and Mike with his gun, and Daniel with his 'undead' status were both far better equipped to deal with the beasts.

From behind the door he could hear the snarling beast, the pungent odour also heralding the beasts' arrival. With a well-exposed sense of self-preservation he awaited the sound of the shots from Mike, hoping the man wouldn't wait too long, or be overwhelmed by the sight.

Mike nearly froze a at the sight of the beasts, but self preservation was a wonderful motivator. One of the hounds lunged and he snapped out of his brief instant of shock and fear to shove the muzzle of the shotgun into the snarling beast. Here goes nothing. He squeezed the trigger and felt the weapon kick back against his shoulder.

The bullet tore into the hound. It barked and whined as it fell to the floor just inside the pub. It twitched on Daniel's foot, but he didn't notice.

"Nice shot!"

The other hound threw its weight against the gap in the doors.

Gerald felt the weight of the second beast as it shouldered through the door, squeezing him back against the wall and forcing the older gentleman to turn his head so as to prevent his nose being injured. He could smell the beast on the floor but his attention was completely on the one which was now lurching up, it's snarling growl echoing around the empty bar.

"Shooting now, would be good!" he called, hoping Mike hadn't been too overwhelmed by the sight of the beasts.

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Mongrels at McKennas

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