Terry paused just as his hand touched the door of the hotel lobby. Backing up slightly he glanced in the large mirror that stretched across the expanse of the side wall of the lavish lobby. He took several steps towards the mirror, maticulously adjusting his thin hair as he did so.
Combing his fingers through it, the four inch fell limply to his jaw, framing his face perfectly. It's dusty color was just dark enough to catch the dim lights of the Tower Hotel. Smiling at his image in the mirror, he straightened out his white silk shirt, his pale chest exposed due to his leaving three buttons undone.
His slacks were fitted to his particular tastes, baggy and khaki, brown boots protruding from the bottoms. He groaned at his clothes, unhappy to be wearing such formal attire. He untucked his shirt and let it hang loosely, the bottom wrinkled and stretched out.
He shot another glance at his hair and then left the lobby, stepping out into the busy streets. He took a moment to breath in the city air, and for a split second his lungs seemed to function. The feeling was only temporary however and soon the numb feeling of unlife crept back upon him.
It had been several years since he had been embraced into Clan Ventrue, and only now was he beginning to get the recognition he deserved.
He had been embraced during a Clan War, merely as a foot soldier. His mortal life had been relatively uneventful, but now he found unlife even more tedious. Night after night, tending to the Elders every beckoning wish. First Sorenti, who had never even taken notice of his during his entire time as Gerousia, and now Gabriel O'Brien.
It seemed as if the Ventrue Cast system was simply designed to keep the Elders in power. Terry had spent many nights killing and extorting for the Ventrue. They acted so haughty in their business suits and high rise buildings, but they hardly even glanced at the trench fighters. It was vampires like him who kept the clan where it was.
Terry grumbled slightly and thrust his hands into his pockets, making his way down the sidewalk. Overhead the moon shone brightly from behind a thin sheet of clouds. Terry could see his breath shoot out in bursts and gradually fade into the night air.
"Fucking O'Brien..." he muttered to himself, "thinks he's so great. I've been in the slums and gutters for THREE years now while he inherits everything from Sorenti."
Terry sighed and shrugged, things would change someday, hell he had eternity. The sidewalk was wet with a freshly fallen rain and his shoes plodded quiety over it. He stopped in front of an old poolhall and glanced through the tarnished window.
Inside two of his associates laughed casually over a game of pool. They were no better than he, merely embraced to do the dirty work. Hanz Draco was a dark haired fellow, tall and rather thin, known for his cruelty. His thick black hair framed an angular European face, but his most striking feature was his eyes. Those cold grey eyes were last thing many people saw.
The other, Joey Vinetti, was an old mafioso. He was in his mid fifties when embraced, streaks of silver lining his rapidly thinning hair at the time. His face was battle hardened, years of killing had removed all traces of humanity from it. As Vampires, the two were mere shadows of their former selves...now reduced to pawns in a masters game.
Terry opened the door and thrust his head inside, whistling.
"Hey you two," he called, "we have a job to do tonight." Terry stepped out into the street, lighting a cigarette and puffing on it momentarily. He turned around and shouted, "AND BRING THOSE POOL STICKS..."
The three Ventrue walked through downtown Cascadia, until they reached the borderline strip, nearly entering the slums near the docks. They stopped at the door of a bar just as the last patron stepped out.
4 AM, last call.
Terry glanced up as the flickering neon "OPEN" sign shut off and inside the dim lights flickered away as well. The bartender and owner stood up from behind the bar, spinning the dial on the wall safe once more for good measure.
Terry grinned and opened the door, stepping inside with Joey and Hanz close behind. There was a clicking sound as Hanz shut the door behind them, standing guard in front of it poolstick in hand.
"Sorry buddy we're closed..." the bartender said loudly, not bothering to look up at the new arrivals.
"Hey fuck you Richie." Terry said, stepping forward. The bartenders fat face shot up and the color quickly drained away.
"O..oh shit....hey....TERRY! You thirsty man??" he stammered. He grabbed a bottle of Vodka, his hands shaking badly. The shmirnov toppled over on the bar, the smell of alcohol spreading across the dark room. Terry approached the bar, producing a small butterfly knife from his pocket.
"Fuck you Richie, we ain't thirsty."
"Maybe I can get you a...."
"Shut up you shitbag....where's our money?" Terry said,reaching over the bar to grab Richard by his beer stained apron.
"I...I don't have it just yet....o..one more day! I SWEAR!" Richie cried out through a barrage of sobs. Terry let go of his apron and stepped back, glancing at his reflection in the barroom mirror and fixing his hair once more. He turned away from Richie.
"He don't have it Joey...how's that make you feel?" Joey lept forward, arching the pool stick through the air. There was a duo of cracks as the poolstick splintered in two and Richie's cheek bone caved in. Blood splattered across the bar as the bartender lurched sideways falling to the floor.
Joey laughed heartily and climbed onto the bar, throwing the end on the poolstick down at Richie, who lay bleeding.
A crash rang out, followed by a shriek. Terry shot his view towards the doorway. The door stood open and a large figure loomed, beedy red eyes piercing the darkness. Hanz lay on the floor, his neck snapped. Joey glanced up from behind the bar, where hey stood delivering a series of rib cracking kicks to Richie.
"Who the FUCK is that?" he yelled to Terry.
"I don't know, but the son of a bitch is about to die..." Terry shouted back, allowing his muscles to expend blood. He shot towards the figure, slashing wildly with his knife. The figure disappeared and Terry stood above Hanz's dead body, darting his eyes around the room. "WHERE'D THAT MOTHERLESS FUCK GO?!!"
"TERRY LOOK OUT!!!" was the last thing Terry heard before he felt the searing pain in his neck. The odd sensation of weightlessness crept over him as he fell towards the floor. He couldn't feel his body...but it didn't matter. Within seconds he entered oblivion, his rapidly dying mind screaming with outrage. Fucking Elders and their fucking jobs....

((sorry for the craptastic post...just an intro into a new villian

((actually it's not bad Gabe...rather liked it :smile:

((i dunno man...it didn't really flow like some of my writing does. it took me a long time....must be tired...btw get your arse in game

((Gabe shut it, it was great :grin:

((Tanos and Sor are right man :smile: i liked it too , damn cool to read from the beginning til the end :smile: ))

((yea unfourtanatly im goanna have to agree with those wierdos.... :: sighs :: great post :smile: ))