Not Exactly Hero Material
Jul. 25th, 2013 10:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tristan_vamp in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
birthright_rpgHe’d been stalking the demon for several weeks now. Its favorite hangout seemed to be this Nevada diner, The Road Kill Grill. Tristan had been amused by the name and figured that was why the Sparkva Demon preferred it for a hunting ground. But then Tristan observed the owner and it all made sense.
Erika smelled sweet. Tristan’s own nostrils twitched in the wind from his perch on the diner’s roof as Erika, the owner, emerged from the closed diner to walk towards her parked Chevy Citation in the lot. The Sparkva was leaning against a light post smoking a cigarette. To any casual observer, he looked like a lost old man waiting for life to pass him by. Erika, recognizing him as one of her new regular bar customers, hesitated when she spotted him in the glow of the light. Tristan cocked his head and steadied himself, watching from his high position above them on the roof.
“Goodnight Frank,” Erika called out. Frank nodded at Erika as she waved and turned to walk towards her car in the seemingly deserted parking lot. He flicked out his cigarette and tossed it on the ground. In the blink of the eye that it took for Erika to turn and walk towards her car, Frank the Sparkva demon morphed into his true form and leapt upon Erika’s back.
Like most demons, ‘Frank,’ was not attractive. In his true form he sort of looked like Lou Ferrigno in the Incredible Hulk, only even uglier. His hair was long and stringy in a mud color that dripped with oil. His bulky body was also a mud, dull orange color. It was his fingernails that were the real danger. The tips were sharp points, and any scratch could prove lethal to it’s prey with an intense and almost spontaneous infection that quickly entered the bloodstream to infect the host, killing it in mere moments.
It was those fingernails that made Tristan move so quickly. With his long leather jacket flapping in the breeze, Tristan leapt from the roof to land upon the Sparkva’s back just as it reached Erika. She screamed and dove for her car, but she dropped her keys in the panic and fear. If Erika could have crawled under the car she would have. Instead, all she could do was scream and try to protect herself by pressing her body as close to the car as she could.
Tristan’s fists drove down into the demon’s shoulders. His surprise attack caught the demon just in time. Tristan was careful to avoid the fingernails. As the impact of Tristan’s cold body met the demon’s, they both collided with the hard gravel ground and rolled twice. The Sparkva grunted and then cried out, arching it’s back to try and free himself from Tristan’s weight. But Tristan expected that. He moved with his supernatural speed, his cold fists moving quickly from the demon’s shoulders to around his neck. Tristan’s fingers bit into the demon’s orange skin. He squeezed and then quickly twisted and pulled his grip upwards, severing the demon’s head from its neck. Just like that, the demon was dead.
Erika screamed again. Loudly. And then, she fainted.
Tristan shook himself and then turned to glance at the unconscious young woman. He sighed. He’d deal with her in a moment, but first he had to dispose of the demon’s remains. Thank goodness this was not a town that bustled with people at nearly three in the morning. It didn’t take him long to tear the demon’s corpse up and toss it into the dumpster. Then he simply lit a match and threw it in with the rest of the trash. He was careful enough to move the dumpster away from the building. He didn’t want the Road Kill Grill to be toast, after all.
Erika still had not stirred. He ran his fingers through his hair and again shook his head. It’s not that he ever expected thanks. Tristan knew he didn’t deserve it. Not after all the things he’d destroyed. Not after all the people he had destroyed. He knew he could never make amends and he never deserved anything else but the constant darkness and chill. Still, the night was long and lonely and silent, once the fighting was done.
Slowly he approached the fallen woman. As her warm scent filled his senses, his teeth elongated. His hunger for human blood was almost all consuming. He could hear it rushing and pumping and filling every part of her body. God, he ached for it.
Tristan gritted his teeth and tucked his fangs behind his lips. He bent down and picked up the fallen keys. Without thinking about what he was doing, he unlocked her Chevy car, roughly extracted her from the ground, and not so gently tossed her into the passenger seat. Then he crawled behind the steering wheel and slammed the driver’s door. “Bloody awful car,” he muttered, firing up the engine.
He never saw nor passed another living or unliving soul as he drove out of the parking lot and out of Searchlight’s city limits.
Erika smelled sweet. Tristan’s own nostrils twitched in the wind from his perch on the diner’s roof as Erika, the owner, emerged from the closed diner to walk towards her parked Chevy Citation in the lot. The Sparkva was leaning against a light post smoking a cigarette. To any casual observer, he looked like a lost old man waiting for life to pass him by. Erika, recognizing him as one of her new regular bar customers, hesitated when she spotted him in the glow of the light. Tristan cocked his head and steadied himself, watching from his high position above them on the roof.
“Goodnight Frank,” Erika called out. Frank nodded at Erika as she waved and turned to walk towards her car in the seemingly deserted parking lot. He flicked out his cigarette and tossed it on the ground. In the blink of the eye that it took for Erika to turn and walk towards her car, Frank the Sparkva demon morphed into his true form and leapt upon Erika’s back.
Like most demons, ‘Frank,’ was not attractive. In his true form he sort of looked like Lou Ferrigno in the Incredible Hulk, only even uglier. His hair was long and stringy in a mud color that dripped with oil. His bulky body was also a mud, dull orange color. It was his fingernails that were the real danger. The tips were sharp points, and any scratch could prove lethal to it’s prey with an intense and almost spontaneous infection that quickly entered the bloodstream to infect the host, killing it in mere moments.
It was those fingernails that made Tristan move so quickly. With his long leather jacket flapping in the breeze, Tristan leapt from the roof to land upon the Sparkva’s back just as it reached Erika. She screamed and dove for her car, but she dropped her keys in the panic and fear. If Erika could have crawled under the car she would have. Instead, all she could do was scream and try to protect herself by pressing her body as close to the car as she could.
Tristan’s fists drove down into the demon’s shoulders. His surprise attack caught the demon just in time. Tristan was careful to avoid the fingernails. As the impact of Tristan’s cold body met the demon’s, they both collided with the hard gravel ground and rolled twice. The Sparkva grunted and then cried out, arching it’s back to try and free himself from Tristan’s weight. But Tristan expected that. He moved with his supernatural speed, his cold fists moving quickly from the demon’s shoulders to around his neck. Tristan’s fingers bit into the demon’s orange skin. He squeezed and then quickly twisted and pulled his grip upwards, severing the demon’s head from its neck. Just like that, the demon was dead.
Erika screamed again. Loudly. And then, she fainted.
Tristan shook himself and then turned to glance at the unconscious young woman. He sighed. He’d deal with her in a moment, but first he had to dispose of the demon’s remains. Thank goodness this was not a town that bustled with people at nearly three in the morning. It didn’t take him long to tear the demon’s corpse up and toss it into the dumpster. Then he simply lit a match and threw it in with the rest of the trash. He was careful enough to move the dumpster away from the building. He didn’t want the Road Kill Grill to be toast, after all.
Erika still had not stirred. He ran his fingers through his hair and again shook his head. It’s not that he ever expected thanks. Tristan knew he didn’t deserve it. Not after all the things he’d destroyed. Not after all the people he had destroyed. He knew he could never make amends and he never deserved anything else but the constant darkness and chill. Still, the night was long and lonely and silent, once the fighting was done.
Slowly he approached the fallen woman. As her warm scent filled his senses, his teeth elongated. His hunger for human blood was almost all consuming. He could hear it rushing and pumping and filling every part of her body. God, he ached for it.
Tristan gritted his teeth and tucked his fangs behind his lips. He bent down and picked up the fallen keys. Without thinking about what he was doing, he unlocked her Chevy car, roughly extracted her from the ground, and not so gently tossed her into the passenger seat. Then he crawled behind the steering wheel and slammed the driver’s door. “Bloody awful car,” he muttered, firing up the engine.
He never saw nor passed another living or unliving soul as he drove out of the parking lot and out of Searchlight’s city limits.
