((my first post since.... forever))

The door creaked loudly as it drifted closed behind Mark. He walked across the tired wooden floor with the swift grace of a prowling wild cat edging its way towards the opening in the wall across from him. Stepping through the doorway he entered the bathroom of his haven. His deep penetrating ice blue eyes cut deep into his own soul as he gazed upon the reflection cast in the mirror.

Blood slowly trickled free over the thick bruising that covered his swollen left eye. He grunted several times bringing up the blood from his throat that he quickly spat into the washbasin that rested below the mirror.

Watching as the water began to flow from the hot tap he reached for a hand towel and placed it inside the basin. After ringing out the excess water from the towel he used it to wipe away the blood from his face. Mark cringed slightly as he moved it over his sensitive eye and down the contours of his face following the route the blood had taken. After cleaning his split lip he left the blood stained towel in the sink and turned off the taps.

Mark pulled his black T-shirt over his head removing it and bringing his bruised ribs into view. Running his right hand slowly over the impressions on his body he sighed heavily. His torso muscles contracted in agony as he tensed up.

Walking back into the main room of his haven he scanned the room. Same old room. Same old unlife. Same old bloody everything. Nothing seemed to of changed recently and it was as if his life was stuck in a repeating loop. Well apart from a few encounters. His face broke into a smirk temporarily before he winced again as his split lip resented the movement.

Standing in front of his wardrobe he reached out taking a folded cloth from on top of the wardrobe. Holding the soft materiel in his hand he slowly unfolded it. Several shards of the blade slipped free and dropped to the floor. Taking the large hilt of the shattered sword in his right hand Mark allowed the material and blade fragments to fall to the floor, scattered.

He stood fascinated. His eyes enraptured, staring at the remaining nine inches of blade. Placing the roughly v shaped blade just below his collarbone he applied enough pressure to slice into the skin. Dragging the weapon down his chest and stopping just below his ribs the blood from the new wounds pursued.

With his left index and middle finger he traced the wounds back up his chest. The tingling sensation crossed with the stinging of the wound sent a strange shiver through his body. Closing his eyes he placed the blood covered fingers inside his mouth against his tongue.

His fingertips gracefully and slowly moved down his tongue. Teasingly edging its way along leaving a trail of blood as they danced down the smooth wet sensual organ. Curling his tongue upwards the tip brushed against his fingers. A soft moan escaped from his lips as the taste of his own blood filled him. The stark contrast of his hard teeth sent another shudder through him. The delicate sensitive finger tips grazing across it continuing their journey along the wet soft inside of his lips.

His lips wrapped around the fingers desperately trying to keep them inside his hot wet mouth. Suckling the blood from the tips of his fingers as they forced there way free from his mouth. The tingling electric sensation caused him to shudder as an orgasmic raspy groan was released.

Opening his eyes slowly he used his vampiric abilities to allow only the newly created cuts to be healed. Opening the doors to the wardrobe he removed the black leather jacket that had recently come into his possession. Sliding it onto his body he noticed the odd sensation of the material rubbing against his smooth chest.

Concealing the blade securely inside his jacket he left his haven and began to walk across the streets of Cascadia. Reaching into the pocket of his trousers he retrieved his cell phone. After holding down the power button it flickered back to life.

"Beep!"

The Seneschal of Cascadia stopped in mid stride, amid the busy streets of the Cascadian Rack. He reached into the depths of his coat pocket and retrieved his cell phone, the screen glowing brightly green.

"1 New Text Message"

Gabriel could hear the sounds of footsteps thickin the air and drown out whatever sounds of nature might try to permeate the urban jungle. The city streets had long ago set up dominance within the fertile valley of Cascadia, and now the one time Irish farmer lived an unlife of perpetual twilight, amid a jungle of of concrete. He slid his finger over the thick center button of the Nokia.

"O, the Malk is wondering the streets, first siting in a weeks -P"

Gabriel scoffed slightly at the mispelling of "wandering". Per usual, he quickly deleted the text message and responded with one of his own, his fingers flying over the keys with percission and a certain amount of grace. Behind him his bodyguards stirred, their beady red casting intimidating glances even through the crowd.

"P, where was the last sighting?"

He sent the message and turned around, sending a soothing gaze to the hired help. The two muscle bound Ventrue thrust their hands into their pockets respectively and leaned against the old brick wall of the theater. Their woolen coats shone under the harsh neon lights of the matinee (sp?). They were hired help, nothing more. The larger of the two had been flawed at embrace, his face was twisted into a never ending scowl. He cast off a feeling of hostility and hatred, even when he didn't mean to. Generally his mere glance was enough to keep most would be attackers at bay. The phone chimed once more in Gabriel's gloved hand.

"O, am taling now. 14th and Merchant."

Gabriel smiled once more at the faulty spelling.

"P, will arrive shortly, stay in contact."

He erased the message once more and glanced up at the beaming moon. The Malkavian had been acting strange as of late, even for one of his clan. Somewhere, across the city, he could be up to something. Seneschal's duties he supposed. Gabriel nodded at the brightly lit orb as he started towards his waiting car.

((thanks for joining in gabe.))

After a few hours of walking the quiet streets of downtown Cascadia that were barely illuminated by street lamps he stumbled across a building that sparked up his interest.

The building was made from worn bricks and graffiti covered the worn walls. Shattered windows were spread evenly around this four story tall building. The roof was made from black slate and looked as though it had fallen victim to many storms. The main entrance to the building was a pair of wooden doors that looked like they belonged to a medieval castle. A grey stone set of steps led up from the street and to the entrance. Metal rails that were meant to offer support were bent and crushed from the relentless wearing this building had received.

Mark walked at a fast pace as he climbed up the steps and pushed the doors aside to the building with little effort. He was now standing in a room that appeared to be a reception. The walls were constructed from yellow bricks that crumbled to the touch. Chipped stone slabs lined the floor and the only form of furniture in the room was a small wooden desk in the centre of the room that had survived the desiccation.

Searching through some rubble around the desk Mark found a strange small gold ring. Looking around the rest of the reception he noticed there were several doors leading to other parts of the buildings. There was a small amount of light breaking through the gap of one of the doors.

The handle to the door was stiff but with an effortless twist the handle broke free and the door swung open as he stepped in. The door led to a long and thin straight corridor. Mark travelled carefully down the corridor as it was lined with broken bottles, boxes and other junk. The light was getting brighter and he could make out a door at the end of the corridor.

He stepped through the door and into a smaller room about three quarters the size of the reception. While still made from the same materials the harsh stone floor was covered in a soft purple rug. A pile of boxes, with a white cotton cloth covering them, formed the function of a table to the right side of the room. Upon this makeshift table were a brass lamp and two plasma bags that contained some old and warm blood.

Directly in front of Mark was the figure of a man with a very similar build to himself. He was wearing a long leather trench coat that draped down over his body and ended just above his knees. Underneath this he was wearing a surprisingly clean white shirt considering he was in the middle of a worn dusty room. He wore a pair of leather trousers that clung tightly to his legs. His hair was short and spiky with a few blond highlights at the front of his black hair. His skin was pale and an innocent look filled his face as he recited poetry. In one hand was the book that was the source of his poetry and in the other a pen that he was using to make adjustments to his work.

As Mark began to approach the man he stepped on a piece of scrap metal that made a loud crushing noise bellow his feet. Mark glanced down then raised his head and returned his gaze to the poet.

Startled by the noise the poet dropped his equipment and turned to face Mark. "What are you doing here?" spoke the poet who was trying to hide the fear from his voice.

When there was only about a feet of distance between them Mark stopped dead still and turned his head slowly to the right and examined the contents of the table before speaking in a steady and commanding voice " I need your money and your blood supply. Oh and that jacket your wearing looks pretty cool too."
The poet’s soft blue eyes narrowed; "and you expect me to give them to you?" his tone barely concealing his fear.
"No... but now you mention it would you mind?"
"When I’m through with you you’ll need more then my coat"
Mark smiled widely as he tried not to laugh.

The poet’s eyes flashed a dark red as he growled like a wild dog. The man lashed out with his left fist trying to make contact with Mark’s face. Without taking his eyes off the table mark took a step to the side causing the man to almost fall over, as his fist hit nothing but air.

He tried to steady himself. Mark chuckled then smirked as he turned to face the frustrated poet. "You should be careful with that thing. You could end up hurting someone"
The poets face filled with anger as he struck out again, this time with his right hand. His hand made contact with the palm of Mark’s left hand, which quickly clenched around the incoming fist.

Mark shook his head slowly while sighing, a look of regret filling his eyes. "You shouldn’t have done that." Mark spoke in a saddened tone of voice as he increased the pressure on the poets fist forcing him down onto his knees

A look of terror filled the face of the defenceless man on his knees and then a scream of agony left his mouth as he heard the cracking of his own hand bones. Slowly and elegantly retrieved the blade from under the inside of his jacket.. The light from the lamp reflected from the blade blinding the poet temporarily. He placed the blade against the left cheek of the poet and applied enough pressure to just break the skin. A small amount of blood trickled from the wound and ran down his cheek. He was frozen still in fear.

Looming over the poet Mark stared into his eyes with a curious and inquisitive gaze that was reflected in his tone of voice. “Lets play a new game. Its called… how much of your skin can I take off before you start to cry.”

The blade travelled down the cheek of the poet slicing its way through the fragile flesh until it rested still against his throat. Mark grinned and spoke in a matter of fact tone, " I think probably not very much."

With that a single red tear ran down the corner of the poets face as he started to break down into wreck. His jaw was quivering and his body shaking. Murmuring sounds left his mouth. In one swift movement mark released his grip on the poets fist and planted a firm punch into his jaw knocking him unconscious and to the floor.

Walking over to the makeshift table Mark laid his weapon down perpendicular to the wall. He reached down and picked up both the plasma bags concealing them in his trouser pockets.
The echo of the loud bang from the revolver filled the silent room accompanied by the soft whistle of the bullet cutting through the still air. The small metal projectile pierced its way through Marks flesh and erupting on the other side of his shoulder before impacting against the wall in front of him.

Mark’s eyes quickly darted to the wound in his left shoulder. He frowned as another shot was fired. This time the bullet entered just below his heart finding a new home behind his ribcage. The pain was sharp and the bullet remaining inside was quite uncomfortable. Cringing he turned quickly knocking the gun out of the Poets hand.

Before the shocked and startled man could retaliate Mark grabbed a hold of both his shoulders throwing him against the make shift table. Crouching next to the poet Mark took a piece of wood in his hand. A dark mist filled his eyes as a darker appearance shot across his face. His tone of voice could be described as evil.

“Do you know how annoying it is to get those things out? Stupid whelp… I thought you Toreadors were meant to be smart. I mean its all In the wood. Next time go for the heart like this…”

A splattering noise filled the room as the stake burst its way through the poet’s ribcage and into his heart. His eyes went empty and his body lifeless as if his soul had been ripped from its cage.

Mark then began to remove the trench coat from him and getting frustrated at how awkward it was to get both arms out of the jacket, but finally it was free from the body. Mark dressed himself in the trench coat and discarded his own jacket.

Picking up the revolver he placed the small gun inside the trench coats pocket. He
then searched the pockets of the poet where he found some mint flavoured breath spray and about one-hundred dollars in loose change and notes.

The Malkavian gave his mouth a few short bursts of the spray before pocketing it along with the money. After retrieving the blade he left the building. Mark surveyed the street, a sudden empty feeling filled him. It had been a long time since he had something fresh to drink.

The blood in his pockets was boring. Old. Cold. Stale. He discarded the plasma bags and began his walk towards the more busy area of town.


[ This Message was edited by: Mark Archer on 2002-02-12 06:55 ]

The alleyway was dark. It was located between two larger buildings. Fire escapes to both buildings ran along either side of the alley. The far end was a dead end with large garbage containers pushed up against the wall. Empty cardboard boxes and other forms of junk lined the alley.

Crouching down directly underneath one of the fire escapes Mark was concealed behind a tower of empty boxes. He unfastened his leather trenchcoat laying it down in front of him. A trail of blood ran down from his shoulder wound. The small bullet had created a large wound where it had ripped free creating its exit. Rotating his shoulder he winced in agony.

He traced a line with his right index finger across his chest and down to over where the second bullet remained. Slowly building up pressure he narrowed his eyes took a deep breath and let out chilling agonised groan as his finger penetrated through his flesh sliding between two ribs.

His finger wiggled around inside him in search of its target. Fascinated he watched the movements. This was a new sensation that he would have to explore to its limit. A smirk crossed his face when he felt the cold icy metal of the bullet rub against the tip of his finger. He tried to push the bullet out but it was firm in place.

Lowering his gaze he scanned the surface of the ally. A large vicious looking shattered piece of glass caught his eye. Reaching for it he gripped it tightly in his hand. The sharp edges cut deep into the palm of his hand. Startled he dropped it to the floor and watched as it smashed across the floor. Raising his hand to his mouth he licked the blood clean from his hand as the wound began to heal almost as quickly as it had appeared.

It was then that he noticed the fire escape ladder above him. The cylindrical metal rung was easy to break free. Edging it slightly into the wound in his chest until it was pushing against the bullet. With one quick swift motion he impaled himself on the metal pole. The sound of the bullet ricocheting of the stonewalls echoed throughout the ally.

The Seneschal watched with mild interest as the Malkavian's slender form appeared in the doorway of the dilapidated building. Swiftly and silently he pulled a bag of his own blood from his inner pocket and handed it to Percy.

The portly ghoul's face exploded with rapture and he snatched the bag greedily from Gabriel's thick fingers and tore at the bag's plastic seal with his teeth. The Seneschal's deep emerald eyes however, never left the Malkavian, who strode down the sidewalk, casually tossing a few plasma bags into a trashcan.

As with most Cainites, Mark still looked the same, his nearly child like face marred with tragedy and sorrow. A thick leather trench coat flared in the night's breeze and the Malkavian's hands quickly subdued the wild material, wrapping it around his thin frame once more. Gabriel tapped his bodyguards shoulders and motioned for them to follow the Malkavian as he disappeared around the corner.

The two henchmen nodded and pulled their own jackets close, then started across the damp moonlit street. Gabriel turned his attention back to Percy, who sat next to him squeezing the thin plastic bag dry, his lips covered in blood.

"How is it Percy?" The ghoul glanced up at Gabriel, his eyes filled with ecstacy. "How would you like to earn another bag?"

Percy quickly stood up, letting bag float wistfully to the ground. He nodded his balding head.

"Go check out that building, find out what the Malkavian was doing in there." Percy nearly burst into a sprint as he crossed the street towards the abandoned building. Gabriel smiled slightly and opened the Civic's back door, stepping in to wait.




Clyde's infinite scowl was particularly twisted tonight, the rough features of his face accentuated by the light mist which covered the downtown section. He large nose hovered over a twisted growl. His heavy brow shadowed his beady eyes which stay locked squarely on the Malkavian several feet in front of him.

Next to him Jim kept stride, his thick yet short frame working twice as hard to keep pace with Clyde's long steps. His face was considerably softer than Clyde's and he occasionally wiped the dewey moisture from his eyes.

Up ahead the Malkavian walked quickly through the city street's, fast approaching the long row of bars and clubs which made up the Prime Cascadian Feeding Grounds. They kept pace with the Malkavian for several minutes before Jim's phone chimed out from his pocket.

Jim slipped the small silver phone from his pocket, it's green glow bathing his gentle face. His brown eyes filled with concern as he read the text message, handing the phone over to Clyde he quickened his step. Clyde kept up but glanced at the phone's waiting message.

"Malkavian has attacked and Torpored a known Toreador. Approach and retrieve with caution to yourselves and the Masquerade. -O"

Clyde deleted the message and handed the phone back to Jim, whose gaze was now squarely on the Malkavian, the look of the hunt burning in his eyes. Ahead the Malkavian entered the relative safety of a crowd, Kine and otherwise.

The duo slipped into the crowd, Jim arching his neck to keep Mark in his view. Clyde watched as the Malkavian turned into an alleyway.

"He's slipped into an alley. Come on." Clyde whispered harshly as he began wading through the crowd. Their figures loomed in the alleyway entrance, Clyde's trained eyes scanning the soggy landscape of urine and trash.

The familiar clash of metal and concrete rang out in the far corner and Jim started towards it, eyes ablaze with dominate. The shadows crept over his stout frame and he made his way through the puddles and empty boxes towards the corner. Clyde followed closely behind, his face shining in the moonlight.

The lead Ventrue stopped as he reached the corner, kneeling and plunging his hand into the depths of the shadows. He produced a thin brown pipe, coated in rust and freshly drying blood.

"Hmmmm....where'd he go?" he said, turning around slowly to face Clyde. The large scowling Ventrue stood motionless, his face straight ahead, barely acknowledging Jim's presence. "Clyde...are you alright?"

With a burst of speed, Clyde's thick arm shot from his body towards the alley's grime covered brick wall. Jim watched as the fingers stopped mere inches from the wall, curled into a tight clawlike grip. The air behind Clyde's fingers shimmered slightly and then a form began to emerge from thin air.

The Malkavian's feet struggled to reach the ground as Clyde's iron grip held his neck tightly. Mark gasped and clawed at Clyde's fingers desperately trying to break free. The large scowling Ventrue brought his arm and subsequently Mark's own body back and hurled him towards the alley's dead end.

He landed with a splash amid the mud and grime, his body sending waves of filth through the air.

"Go ahead Jim." Clyde's rough voice rasped out. Jim nodded and moved towards the Malkavian, who slowly propped himself up on one arm. Jim's eyes burned an intense amber, cutting through the veil of night. Mark's worn face looked up slowly and caught his gaze.

Clyde watched in amusement as the Dread Gaze took effect. Mark let out a wailing moan and scrambled backwards, eventually pressing his huddled form against the back wall in sheer terror. Blood tears streamed from his face as he was immobilized.

CLANG!

The Ventrue enforcers whirled around, facing the entrance of the alleyway, where a cat emerged from between the toppled trashcans. Jim let out a mixture of a sigh and chuckle as he shot a look of relief to Clyde. He turned his attention to Mark, who had had enough time to recover from the broken spell and grab a handful of grime in between his slender fingers.

He flung the mudball through the air, hitting his mark with percission. Jim clawed at his eyes, the mixture of mud and excrament threatening to make his stomach turn. Clyde had little time to react as Mark bolted forward, thrusting his thin shoulder into Clyde's chest. His ribs groaned as he stumbled backwards slightly.

He recovered just in time to see the leather trenchcoat disappear outside the alleyway, into the crowd beyond.

"Shit, LETS GO!" he barked, breaking into a sprint towards the alleyway entrance.

((sorry if it seems a bit rushed but hey i was rushed hehe. Now its over to gabe and ill be back on friday... i hope))

The leather trenchcoat drafted behind Mark. His pace was brisk and fast as he sprinted down the street away from his surprisingly well-dressed attackers. The small one had some powerful disciplines behind him but even so it was not him that he feared.

It was the large bulk of a man with a scowl that could cut through steel. That scowl was the new improved version of dread gaze. But to Mark’s unfortunate luck he also packed quite a powerful punch.

He however had one advantage. His speed and athletic ability. He could run circles around Mr Stumpy until the poor man went dizzy and fainted. The butt ugly guy’s strides were large and fast but his frame made him not the most manovarable person.

Even so Mark was finding it hard to keep the distance. He would probably run out of city before he evades his pursuers. Another factor working against him was his ever-growing need for blood. Now would be a very inappropriate time for him to succumb to the beast. Things would escalate to beyond messy.

As he continued his evasion through the city he saw a window of opportunity. Taking the chance he burst passed the bouncer and entered into the unknown nightclub. Finding Mark in here would be like finding a needle in a haystack but he didn’t want to underestimate the abilities of his hunters.

He slowed down his pace to avoid drawing attention as he weaved his way through the crowded dance floor. Glancing over his shoulder he noticed the two well dressed men in the crowd. Quickly turning to move in the other direction he continued his journey through the sea of people.

A set of steps against the back wall provided access to the upper floors of the building. Mark walked up the stairs. The loud music that had been resonating through the club got fainter as he climbed the stairs.

The door to the bathroom opened effortlessly. The inside was well illuminated compared to the dance floor and the walls kept out all but the faintest signs of the music. As he entered he passed a man on his way out. The room was surprisingly empty currently with only a single guy occupying the urinal.

Stepping up behind the man Mark swiftly in a quick motion grabbed him by the back of his collar and rammed his head into the wall. The blow knocked him out and would leave a nasty bump but there would be no serious damage.

Marks currently heightened senses enabled him to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Running along the left hand wall from the entrance was 4 cubicles mirrored on the opposite side of the room with a wash area. Next to this were several urinals running along the wall and around the corner with a window opposite the door.

Quickly dragging the body into one of the cubicles Mark pulled the shirt down from around the warm soft skin of the young males neck as his fangs penetrated deep into his neck tasting and feeding on his life force. The door to the bathroom opened and Mark broke of his feeding prematurely leaving the still alive human resting in the corner.

The sound of footsteps could be heard as they echoed throughout the room. Using his auspex to his advantage Mark waited until the source of these new foot steps was outside his cubicle. Ramming into the door he thrust it open and slamming into the new arrival.

She looked up as she slowly walked through the crowds. She was knocked over by a flurry of black leather and blue eyes. She knew that face... but...

"Mark!! Markie!!! MARK!"

She shook her head as she went back to walking over to Kilrand's haven. She needed a word with her close Toreador friend. She sighed and held a small peice of paper with a poem on it.

Jim reeled backwards as the stall door swung open, his slight hands shooting to his face. It swung with such force that it's hinges snapped and the door came flying free. Clyde stepped aside as his partner and the door fell to the floor, followed by a crimson mist of blood.

The formidable Ventrue stepped over Jim's meager body and into the stall. The Malkavian and his latest victim sat huddled within, eyes red with the freshness of feeding. Clyde smiled, his lips drawing back into a cynical grin, and arched a large fist towards Mark's face.

Precious vitae raced through Mark's slender body as he ducked the blow and shot towards Clyde's torso. The Malkavian's eyes stung with dust as tile exploded above him and showered the meager stall, a clear result of the behemoth's shot to the wall.

He brought his own fists to bear however, delivering several rapid punches to the Ventrue's midsection. Clyde groaned as his already bruised ribs cracked under the assault. He stumbled backwards out of the stall and braced himself against the cool blue tile wall.

Clyde's spine and rips crackled as he straightened himself out, standing at his full height and removing his heavy overcoat. He dropped the coat to floor, where Jim still lay writhing in agony. As he approached the diminutive Malkavian he cracked his knuckles ominously.

He launched another swing at Mark's face, clearly meant to snap his neck. Mark could feel the breath of the blow whiz past his face as he barely managed to dodge it. The wide hook had left the Ventrue open however, and Mark took full advantage.

The cold, neutral slap of flesh against flesh THUMPed out as Mark layed a hook of his own onto Clyde's jaw. Clyde staggered backwards once more, offset by the blow. Mark followed with another hook on the same side. This time the shot sounded out a sickening CRACK as Clyde's square jaw buckled under the force.

Blood leaked from Clyde's mouth as he spun around and fell forward, his head smashing into the wall-long mirror over the sinks. The mirror spiderwebbed as the Ventrue's thick skull smashed against it, traces of blood and sweat pouring down onto the snow white porcelian of the sink.

Mark approached the hunched over figure with caution, his fists still clenched tightly. He felt a tug at his pant leg and looked down. Sprawled out on the floor, Jim lay with a firm grip on Mark's leather pants, a knife gleaming in his other hand. His nose was still busted wide open, and blood ran in criss-cross patterns across his pale face.

Mark snarled and delivered a swift kicks to the Ventrue's already mangled nose. The would be attacker wailed in agony as white hot pain flashed through his face. Mark bent down and snatched the knife from Jim's hand.

The Malkavian looked up just in time to receive the full brunt of a backhand from Clyde, who now stood beneath the neon lights of the bathroom, bloodied and battered. His hulk was shadowed by the lighting, his undead muscles rippling with anger and vindictive energy. Mere gravity pulled the blood from his face to the floor, where it pooled into a thick puddle.

Mark distantly felt the sensation of his feet leaving the ground as the bathroom scene ran in fast forward and the lights flashed blindingly. The knife clattered to the ground as he was brought to cruel reality. His battered body came to a halt as it bore into the wall, his head snapping back and shattering a frosted glass window.

He reflected how surreal it seemed that amid the shower of glass and dust that surrounded him, tiny sparkles of light caught his eye. Beyond the dust and broken glass however, Clyde stormed forward, his gigantic fists covered in Mark's blood.

Finally the Malkavian's natural reflexes for survival kicked in and he whirled around, facing the shattered window. Outside he could see the dingy brick wall of another building blocking the moonlit sky. Mark grasped the windowsill, the remaining slivers of glass burying themselves into his skin. Using his remaining blood strength, he pulled his body out.

He felt the resistance as Clyde grabbed onto him from inside. Far below, Mark could see the dingy alleyway and it's escape route.

Clyde roared as his blood soaked hands slipped off Mark's leather jacket, and Mark tumbled forward out the window. Clyde stuck his head out the window and watched as Mark crashed amid a heap of boxes and trashcans. His fists clenched tighter as he watched the wounded Malkavian stand up and limp off towards the crowded streets.

"What happened? Did he get away?" Clyde turned around to see Jim standing up, his face red with blood. The larger Ventrue walked over to the sinks and slowly washed the blood from his face, willing the deep gashes to heal as he did so.

"Shit...the boss isn't gonna like that he escaped Clyde!" Clyde grumbled once more at Jim's remark. The Ventrue pair shot their glances towards the door as it swung open and a club goer stood in shock. Clyde grabbed him by the collar and swung him into Jim harshly, then stood guard at the door.

"Shut up Jim, feed yourself and heal your f*ckin nose, we've got work to do."

_________________
Some of us are destined for higher purposes. Things not of this plane, missions you cannot fathom. My purpose is clear, and no one will stand in my way.

[ This Message was edited by: Gabriel on 2002-02-14 12:56 ]

Pure agony filled Mark’s body as he landed hard on the floor of the dark and damp alley. The shards of glass embedded deep in the palms of his hand were just a mere annoyance compared to the shattering pain his aching body felt as his bones smashed heavily against the solid surface.

Moving his head slowly from side to side he groaned softly, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to focus. It was as if for a moment he had lost his memories. How ever this was short lived as he remembered why he was in his current situation.

Mustering all his remaining energy he pulled himself up from the floor. Leaning against the wall and clinging to it like a blind man trying to find his way out of unfamiliar place he slowly pulled himself along the wall.

Pain, uncertainty and confusion were swirling around his concussed head. One thing for certain was that he was in no fit shape to endure another round of fisticuffs with the walking Marshmallow man.

Even though he had no idea he was being chased and hunted he didn’t like the idea of being found. In an attempt to confuse his attackers he headed back in the direction he had come from.

Still hugging to the walls for support he began to use his recently gained blood to begin the slow healing process. The wounds were harsh. Like an ape picking fleas from its partners head he began to remove shards of glass that were stinging in the back of his head. The blood-covered glass was embedded deep and removing it was as painful as he remembered it going in.

The streets were poorly illuminated and scarcely populated but even so he was getting odd looks from the younger generations that inhabited the city at this time. He continued his journey until he arrived back outside the entrance to the dilapidated building.

Unaware of his surroundings he pushed on at an increased pace into the building. Every step and movement he took seemed like a battle and it took him a while until he arrived back in the room with his old “friend” the poet.

Mark feel to his knees supporting himself on one arm as he scanned over the poet who had given him the top quality trenchcoat. His eyes stopped over the stake.

“I guess were roommates now huh?” his voice was raspy and weak. Reaching over he took the stake tightly in his hands as he smirked a weak smile. “ Guess there not much harm in taking this out”

He began to pull on the wooden object. His effort was cut short before he was unable to dislodge it as an odd sensation filled the back of his skull. Taking a few moments for the blow to register he spoke in a annoyed and soft tone of voice

“Oww”

His arm buckled and his head made contact with the floor as he was knocked out cold….

The miniscule grin that had been on Percy's chubby face slowly broadened in to a beaming smile as the Malkavian's head bobbed limply for a moment and then fell to the floor. The Ventrue Ghoul felt like singing. AT LAST! At last he had done something that would ensure his benefactor's embrace. He would be ONE of them, no longer a mere servant.

Percy dropped the metal pole with a clang and ran out into the cool night air, eager to tell Mr. O'Brien the news...

((unnnngg....sleepy....think it's nappy times.......have to post later....

Coleman shifted slightly,swopping the weight from his left leg onto his right,the fire escape that he crouched on was not the most welcoming in the world.As the wind whipped around him, he pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt and stared back down into the alley, watching the blonde haired muscular looking guy.
"It sure looks like the guy in the pic" he muttered. he reached into his backpack and pulled out his mobile,his eyes staring intently at the guy and what looked like one of his hired help.
"yeah....I have him, im positive its him, I have the pic you gave me and if its not him its his fucking double"
coleman listened carefully to the voice at the other end of the cellphone.
" yeah I got that, I'll keep you informed" his hands snapped the cellphone shut and he dropped it back into his backpack, a menacing smile spreading across his face.
He stood up and rubbed his legs, watching as the kindred walked down the street.
"lets see what we have here shall we " coleman uttered as he scrambled down the fire escape.
"hey there hunny, you fancy a good time?"
Coleman turned around to face the prostitute,
Her small petite body dwarfed by her large tits.
"depends what you mean by a good time baby" he smirked.
Her eyes looked at him taking in his tall, slim frame and his eyes that seemed so black they looked bottomless, her fingers trailed down to the crotch of his jeans.
She whinced in pain as he grabbed her wrist.
"I dont think so" he scowled pushing her away,and watching as she fell to the floor .
" I get my kicks elsewhere, slut" he hissed
" well fuck you then" she swore as she picked herself up and tottered away on her high heels.
"stupid bitch doesnt she realise she will probably end up on the menu as long as the leeches are still alive" coleman muttered to himself as he strode over to where the two kine had been standing.
" well what have we here?" he crouched down and picked up the empty blood pouch and grinned to himself.

The mat of blue light slimmed to a sliver and disappeared from sight as the large sheet door was closed, blocking all moonlight from the large vacant room. Several clicks sounded out and suddenly the room was lit with artificial flourescent light.

In the center of the room the Malkavian sat in a chair, surrounded by his Ventrue captors. Jim stood behind him, securing the lock on the heavy chains, yanking hard and causing Mark's head to jolt forward.

Clyde, his wounds now healed but his suit still bloodies, loomed over him. He watched as the Malkavian's eyes flickered lightly. His thick, harsh features were pulled into a vicious scowl as usual.

He laid a heavy slap across Mark's face. Mark groaned and his chair threatened to tumble over, but Jim held it firm. His eyes slowly opened, the world around him pulling into focus.

"Enough." a voice called out as Gabriel stepped into the small halo of light. Clyde stepped back obediently.

((okies, sorry, i can't seem to write at the moment so i'll leave you with a relatively short post :P

((the best things come in large err i mean small packages..))

Marks head jolted to the side with the impact of the blow across his face . The light was blinding to his soar eyes, a sharp pain filled his head as his eyes tried to adapt to the new environment. He was disorientated and stunned. The voice that shouted had a commanding tone to it.

It took him a moment to realize whom the voice belonged too. He smirked and slowly brought his head round to look straight in front of him, towards the entrance and the voice of Gabriel.

His sight was still blurred and he could mostly make out the outlines of objects and people and distinguish between light and dark. He ran his tongue along the outside of his mouth licking up the blood that was slowly leaking its way out of the corner of his lips.

Marks voice was weak as he spoke from his raw and sore throat “I would never of expected it to of been you who was holding Stumpy and Mr Marshmallow man’s leash” The smirk was knocked off of his face as he felt a sharp yanking on the chains and the pain shot through his body.

Turning his head to the side he noticed the chains were now in Clyde’s hand. A small laugh escaped marks lips before he spoke to Clyde “ Easy tiger, you don’t want to hurt yourself.” His eyes opened wide he saw Clyde’s movement and anticipated the pain wrenching feeling of the next yank on the chains. To his luck however Gabriel cut of the Marshmallow man with a simple hand movement.

Marks face filled with confusion and his eyes glanced down at himself then back up at Gabriel.

“So what’s with the chains?”


[ This Message was edited by: Mark Archer on 2002-02-15 14:48 ]

The chains chimed out as Clyde let them drop to the cement floor. The Seneschal's gaze fell upon Mark. He didn't like this, not at all. The Malkavian had been of service many times to Gabriel, not much of a way to pay him back.

"Clyde, the chains." Gabriel said, his eyes never leaving Mark's. Clyde did as he was told and within moments Mark was rubbing his jaw with his free hands. "Forgive me Mr. Archer, it was a necessary precaution."

Mark nodded and scanned the room once more, possibly sizing up the competition. Stacked boxes lined the walls of the old warehouse, as well as slowly rusting machinary, long forgotten and unused. The windows were blacked out with paint, undoubtably the work of ghouls. Several panes were broken but were covered with boards and such material.

"Alright, so what's the problem?" Mark asked cautiously but not without a firmness.

"The problem Mr. Archer," Gabriel responded, "is that you've managed to attack and torpor another." Mark nodded slowly, keeping his gaze locked on Gabriel.

"And what do you plan to do with me?" he asked, his usual demeanor of merriment far away now.

Behind him, Clyde and Jim circled like vultures, their looming figures casting shadows over the floor and occasionally blanketing Mark's battered face.

"I am not without heart Mr. Archer. I realize you have lended your services to the Camarilla before." Gabriel said, finally breaking the gaze between Mark and himself. "And so I have decided to bring you before a council of Elders to decide your fate, rather than just dish out justice myself."

"How merciful of you." Mark sneered. Gabriel stopped his pacing, looking Mark directly in the face.

"It's not me you'll be needing mercy from now Mark."

((sorry for the lag in the reply, i've had a busy week.

Kathy held him up against the wall,moaning as his blood filled her mouth and coursed its way through her veins, filling her with new energy and life. The moonlight shone down on the necklace that she wore,making the diamonds glitter and sparkle like stars as is rested between her soft white breasts.The youth moaned and kathy lifted her slender white neck up and smiled at him , before licking her lips , shuddering as she tasted the drops of blood on her mouth.
“thankyou my sweetie” she whispered in his ear as she licked his wound closed.
The blonde haired 16 year old opened his eyes slowly.
Kathy smiled at him” are you ok now, you felt ill so I brought you out of the club”
He nodded to her vaguely and looked around the empty alleyway.
“yes..ummm im ok I think that was weird I haven’t had much to drink” he replied confused.
Kathy grinned and felt the small vial of sedative in her pocket that she had slipped into his drink.
“must have eaten something funny , you never know” she replied still smiling her soft lilting voice washing over him.
“yes I must have ..I umm... better get back inside now” he said brushing his blonde hair from his face.
“I’ll see you around”
“oh yes you will no doubt” kathy smiled as she watched him walk away, his jeans clinging to his near perfect tight bum.

Kathy leaned against the graffitti covered wall and smiled happily, it had been a long time she had fed and now her body felt renewed with his blood.
Her head turned quickly as she heard a noise come from further down the alley, her eyes narrowed and she walked cautiously to where the noise had come from, stepping over the rubbish gingerly.
The walls either side of her loomed up to the sky letting little moonlight in to light the dark area.
Her senses sharpened and her eyes seemed to glow in the dark as she looked around .
Reaching down to her thigh high boots her slender fingers gripped the hilt of the dagger that she had concealed there.
She kicked a box with her foot and jumped as a cat leapt from behind it, a chicken carcass in its mouth.

“damn animal “ she uttered as she turned to walk back down the alley towards the hussle and bustle of the crowded streets. Her eyes picked something up laid on the floor and she crouched down to look closer.
Her eyes widened as she recognised the buffy fone case cover with the pineapple sticker on it.
“you’d lose your head mark if it was loose” she sighed softly as she reached for the fone. As her slender fingers gripped it her body was racked with pain and her eyes shut tightly as
her arms felt like they where been clamped to her side .Kathy let out a soft moan and a blood tear ran down her white cheek as something invisible made contact with her cheek, making her head reel sideways.
“mark ...oh god..not again please..” her fingers dropped the fone and kathy opened her eyes suddenly.