Daniel Stacy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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birthright_rpg2014-05-18 10:48 am
daniel_stacy) wrote in birthright_rpg2014-05-18 10:48 am
The Sound and the Furry
As he headed in the direction of his apartment, Daniel felt alright.
He’d done a deed that would net him social capital. Rhiannon, Jazz, and even Melody could be enemies under the right circumstances, but they weren’t, at least for tonight. And that was okay. He jumped over the outstretched legs of a pair of drunks and hummed an Aerosmith song. Daniel wondered for the millionth time why he was on better terms with the white hats than his own kind, and in this well-worn train of thought he stumbled over a realization about himself that made him stop where he stood, teetering over the edge of a street curb.
Being liked was more important to him than anything else.
His brow furrowed.
Could that be it? The answer to why he hadn’t become a violence-crazed monster had nothing to do with his demon at all, but was instead a desire for popularity? And when his sire hadn’t provided it, he had cashed in his chips and sided with the good guys?
Daniel retraced his steps and turned into a narrow street used primarily for loading and unloading into restaurants and shops. He needed a minute alone with his thoughts. As he walked faster, he squeezed the back of his neck and mulled it over. If this new thing was true, that meant he’d rip out throats if he was surrounded by a nest of vampires, which wasn’t a bad thought except that meant he was a fucking sheep.
And here he’d come to think of himself as a trailblazer.
“No way.”
He was too deep in his self-effacing thoughts to notice the demon until he was on top of it. It was hairy and muscular. Its teeth gnashed as it chewed on the still-warm corpse of a stock boy. As it turned to assess the interruption, its eyes glowed red. A hell-hound. Daniel had heard of them, but never seen one in the flesh, probably because this particular breed had come through the portal sometime before it was guarded. The hound growled and dropped its meal.
He’d done a deed that would net him social capital. Rhiannon, Jazz, and even Melody could be enemies under the right circumstances, but they weren’t, at least for tonight. And that was okay. He jumped over the outstretched legs of a pair of drunks and hummed an Aerosmith song. Daniel wondered for the millionth time why he was on better terms with the white hats than his own kind, and in this well-worn train of thought he stumbled over a realization about himself that made him stop where he stood, teetering over the edge of a street curb.
Being liked was more important to him than anything else.
His brow furrowed.
Could that be it? The answer to why he hadn’t become a violence-crazed monster had nothing to do with his demon at all, but was instead a desire for popularity? And when his sire hadn’t provided it, he had cashed in his chips and sided with the good guys?
Daniel retraced his steps and turned into a narrow street used primarily for loading and unloading into restaurants and shops. He needed a minute alone with his thoughts. As he walked faster, he squeezed the back of his neck and mulled it over. If this new thing was true, that meant he’d rip out throats if he was surrounded by a nest of vampires, which wasn’t a bad thought except that meant he was a fucking sheep.
And here he’d come to think of himself as a trailblazer.
“No way.”
He was too deep in his self-effacing thoughts to notice the demon until he was on top of it. It was hairy and muscular. Its teeth gnashed as it chewed on the still-warm corpse of a stock boy. As it turned to assess the interruption, its eyes glowed red. A hell-hound. Daniel had heard of them, but never seen one in the flesh, probably because this particular breed had come through the portal sometime before it was guarded. The hound growled and dropped its meal.
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He was scratching his stomach idly when he heard footsteps come to a halt nearby, and the warning growl echoed eerily as the monstrosity abandoned its dinner. One of the vampire's long arms reached out, and a hand plucked lightly at the back of the other vamp's shirt. He was close enough to tell that there was no heartbeat within the dark-haired man's chest. The guy was an inch or two taller. As someone who was used to having to look down to make eye contact, Ruben was mildly pleased with that.
"Yer disturbin' him, son."
The beast took a surprisingly delicate step towards them, paws tracking blood as it left the mess behind. Hounds were supposed to be agile fuckers, despite their size. Together, they could probably kill it if they had to, but there was no real loyalty among the undead except between sire and childe. Ruben's other hand closed into a fist.
""Leastaways, it ain't got two heads."
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