2541/Who's On First

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Who's On First
Date of Scene: 21 September 2017
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Vampirella, Mercy Thompson




Vampirella has posed:
    One of them doesn't smell right. One of them doesn't smell human.
    Otherwise, there wouldn't be much noticeable about the man and the woman. The woman is the more remarkable of the two, Caucasian but with remarkably black hair and foreign, vulpine features, in a leather skirt that's a bit too short for the weather but works with her boots. The man is handsome and strong, dressed a little more appropriately for the autumn weather, in an expensive jacket, expensive slacks, expensive shoes. They seem to be on a date: they're both laughing, they both have their hands all over each other as they walk down the sidewalk to whatever rendezvous they've chosen, they both smell of mingled excitement and desire... but one of them doesn't smell human. The greasy smell of fleshy oils and the pungent aromas of digestion are absent.
    But which one?
    After a passionate, stolen kiss, the pair are ducking into an alley, apparently overwhelmed by their desire. It might be important to figure out which is the predator and which is the prey.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
There are so many smells within the city that Mercy has grown almost nose-blind to them. She's used to ignoring the heavy hand of cologne and perfume, and other bodily smells.

So, when Mercy Thompson, mechanic, walks down that specific sidewalk with the two would-be lovebirds, that absence of familiar and normal scents stands out like a sore thumb. It's enough to pull the dark-haired woman from whatever internal thoughts held sway over her and back to the present. Her dark eyebrows cinch toward the midline of her face, as her gaze searches for the oddity that she smells.

It doesn't take her long to focus upon the two that walk ahead of her and while she doesn't necessarily quicken her pace, her eyes do keep track of them. So, the coyote is quite aware of just where the two go and while /normally/ Mercy Thompson wouldn't peek into the alleyway, tonight she does. Her steps and pace slow as she walks past the opening of the alleyway and keen coyote eyes will be turned towards the dimmed interior; to see what she can possibly see.

And maybe, just maybe, there's a silent prayer of 'please let it just a make-out session', but with that unnatural scent, Mercy has her doubts.

Vampirella has posed:
    It is. Of course it is. What else would it be? The man has the woman pinned against a brick wall, one hand holding both her wrists crossed high above her head; the other is drinking its fill of her through her blouse as they kiss. The little squeaks and grunts and undignified noises of passion are audible to Mercy's superior ears. All is well, so long as you ignore the fact that the woman, slight and small, couldn't be in a more vulnerable position right now.
    Their faces part, both flushed with lust, and make for each other's throats... and then the man dies.
    You hear it, even from the mouth of the alley. The tiny, popping crunches of flesh being pierced deep, fat parting and muscle tearing. His eyes go wide and he tries to push away, but the woman's arms break his grip effortlessly and encircle his shoulders, holding him to her. In two seconds, his face is blanched white from blood loss. He's already a goner.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
It looks so normal. That's enough to cause Mercy's expression to relax, turn rueful even. Perhaps the oddity of smell is from a mutation. There are powered individuals who don't always smell 'right'. It's that thought which allows her footfalls to speed up now. Sadly, however, she doesn't quite make it past that alleyway before the sound of death hits her ears.

That brings the coyote's gaze right back around and her steps nearly trip as she now stops.

It takes a moment for her brain to catch up, especially at the sight of the man's bloodless face, but after that moment of shock, Mercy Thompson steps forward, "HEY!" Shouts the coyote, stepping two to three paces into the alleyway, "Get away from him." And while Mercy has no good weapons upon her, that doesn't stop her from trying to stop the tragedy that's about to happen. Really, that /is/ happening.

And already, Mercy knows she's too late to help the man, but that won't stop her.

Vampirella has posed:
    Vampirella shoots a one-eyed glance at Mercy, mouth still firmly on her prey's neck. His face is now yellow for lack of blood, as are his hands. Long enough to be sure of his death now, she takes her mouth away even as she pivots, holding the dying body up with her hands as a shield between herself and Mercy. His neck wound spurts, but sluggishly, lazily, less a jet than an ooze at this point.
    From her place behind him, Vampirella warns, "I mean you no harm, little sister. This man was my legitimate prey; he was an assassin, sent to murder me in the name of his dark gods." (His head is flopped uselessly back now, and his thready heartbeast has stopped.) "I will show you." She reaches around him to lift the tail of his jacket, and strapped to the small of his back is a strange knife in a wide, leather sheath; its pommel is a round knob with uneven lines zig-zagging through it, a bit like brain tissue, and its hilt is a crescent moon, placed off-center of the blade itself. You can only imagine what it looks like.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The man's fading pulse is heard and it's enough to cause Mercy to fist a hand. Her expression is definitely grim and angry, as her gaze goes from the man's limp and yellowed body, to the woman who caused his death.

That warning from Vampirella earns a twist of a grimace from Mercy. "We are definitely not sisters." The coyote mutters sharply, her feet bringing her further into the alleyway. Already her light-brown eyes are roving around the alleyway looking for an impromptu weapon. That search for a weapon pauses, however, when the woman speaks of assassins. That brings Mercy's attention right back to the vampire.

Again, Mercy's eyebrows knit toward the midline of her face, as she considers the woman and then the man. When the woman reaches for the man's shirt, Mercy can't quite stop her tension from ratcheting upward. That stress doesn't resolve in any sort of violent reaction from the coyote, yet, but it's definitely close. Still, the proof is there before Mercy's eyes, as the knife and sheath are revealed.

Even with that proof that doesn't seem to stop the distrust that can be seen within Mercy's gaze, upon her expression. Nor does it stop her next words, which is stated in a flat voice, "You're a vampire, right? Some might consider him less assassin and more legitimate hunter."

Vampirella has posed:
    The corpse is no longer useful to her. Vampirella lets it drop and holds her hands out to her sides, bent at the elbows into L-shapes. "Were I a vampire and he a hunter of vampires, should he not have come forth with a wooden stake rather than a sacrificial dagger? With holy water, crucifix, a garland of wild roses or garlic, perhaps a crossbow?" She backs away from the corpse slowly, not to flee (can she even flee, in those boots?), but to give you space. "Examine his body for yourself, if it pleases your mind. Find the profane tattoos on his skin that promise his allegiance to his deities that dwell in the outer darkness."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
A look of disbelief washes across Mercy's features; disbelief that she's having this conversation with a possible vampire.

A /vampire/.

"Funny how you know everything that can possibly kill a vampire. And just so you know, I didn't miss the fact that you side-stepped answering my actual question there." Mercy says in a tone of voice that still shows her immense wariness with this particular situation, but slowly, she edges towards the body.

"And besides, a dagger could be used to kill a vampire. Cut the head off of most things and they die; including vampires." And while she keeps the majority of her attention upon Vampirella, Mercy does crouch down near the body.

The examination of the corpse is done quickly by the coyote - she's looking for any other hidden weapons, but also for those mentioned tattoos. Or anything else that points to who this man is, where he comes from, who he works for. She'll even go so far as to stretch out her other-worldly senses; to look for magic, or anything that might be god-touched, or deity-touched, anything that might flare brightly of magic.

Vampirella has posed:
    Hands still well out to the sides, away from any weapons that might be hidden in her clothes (though women's wear leaves much less room to hide weaponry than men's does), Vampirella's shoulders twitch in a shrug that doesn't move her back or hips at all. That's probably indicative of something. "A wolf is not a dog, yet they look alike, and they both hunt rabbits. I am not a vampire. Vampires too are my legitimate prey."
    She's content to leave it at that so Mercy can search. The knife, if you draw it from its sheath, has a sinous blade, etched in the shape of a scaled serpent... no, scratch that, a two-headed serpent whose mouth opens to reveal a tongue that is another serpent that forms the tip of the blade. To Mercy's divine senses, it's a dirty thing, cruel and vengeful, humming spiritually if not physically with a frustrated desire to twist in her hand and bite her. The tattoo over his belly is worse, a spiraling maze of lines so jagged they look like they were drawn by a claw rather than an artist's needle that, to a spirit-nose, has a stink best compared to the bland but upsetting aroma of a purulent infection.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The comparison of dog to a wolf brings Mercy's eyes upward. Along with that look Mercy's expression shifts to consideration, as the coyote tries to determine whether Vampirella purposely chose that particular comparison, or not. Then the reality of the other woman's words sinks in and the coyote's search of the corpse pauses.

"Wait, you're telling me you're not a vampire." Mercy repeats slowly, before continuing with, "Even though I saw you biting his neck." A singular brow ticks upward as Mercy speaks, "Does this me your preferred method of killing your would-be assassins is by tearing their throats out? With your own teeth?" A sardonic tone of voice can definitely be heard in the coyote's voice, even as her attention is dragged back to that sheathed knife upon the man's back.

What she can sense causes Mercy to pull the blade partially free, but that's it. When the desire of that knife is felt, to slice and stab, Mercy is quick to leave it alone. She'll even pull her hands smartly away from the weapon. Not that it seems to help. She can still sense its hunger.

The sight of the tattoo doesn't seem to help Mercy either. It causes a grimace to twist up the woman's expression, as she gets that mystical scent of stink. With all of that seen and nothing more to be found by her quick search, Mercy rises to her feet. Her gaze transfers from the corpose to Vampirella now. "Say I believe that this man wasn't the best sort of person. If you're not a vampire then why are they hunting you?"

Vampirella has posed:
    It would be pointless to deny that she drank the man's blood. After all, her lips are the only part of her face that's red, as opposed to... well, every part of Vampirella should have been red from the death she gave by those two neat puncture wounds in his throat, only barely made ragged at all by his initial struggle. "Blood sings, if you know how to hear the tune. This man's blood sings dirges for his victims, and in its nocturnes I hear hints of his hunting grounds and the nest his cult made." She pauses, considers, and admits, "So yes, I suppose it is my favored way of killing. They hunt me because I am aligned against their incomplete masters, that slumber and cozen and plot in the cracks of the earth where the sun has never shone."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
If Mercy wasn't so wary about the woman across from her, she'd likely rub her hands over her face, as it is all that happens is the vaguest twitch to her hands.

That'd gesture would be a tired thing, but with that movement stalled, Mercy can only give a look that possibly shows some of that exhaustion she's currently feeling.

"I don't even know what to say to everything you just said there." Begins the coyote and while there is a slight pause, eventually she does say something more, "Who are their masters? And will you tell me your name?"

And while Mercy still keeps some distance between the two, the tension and distrust within Mercy lessens to a small degree. Clearly the answers Vampirella has given garners a tiny amount of something from Mercy; not trust, but something.

Vampirella has posed:
    "I am called Vampirella, daughter of Lilith," Vampirella agrees easily enough in her strange, precise accent, hands still to the sides, posture relaxed as if she could stand this way all night. "What is your name, little sister? Once I know it, I may answer more of your interrogations."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Vampirella, daughter of Lilith.

That's enough to cause a faint flare of astonishment within Mercy's eyes. Because, really, does anyone ever expect someone to claim kinship with Lilith? That's a definite no.

The softest of mutters might be heard by those with sensitive ears, "First angels, now this." Raising her voice, Mercy adds, "Vampirella - of course." She says, possibly the weight of her astonishment heard within her voice now. There's also a note of irony weaved within that astonishment.

Finally, however, Mercy offers her own name in return. "Mercy." Though she doesn't necessarily add her last name, because names can hold power over a person. "I work at the garage down the street." And saying that causes Mercy's gaze to drop to the corpse again, "You're not thinking of leaving the body here, are you?"

Vampirella has posed:
    "Is this your territory, Mercy?" Vampirella inquires politely. "Would it create difficulty for you, were I to leave it within the boundaries of your places?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The question about territory earns a slight shift from Mercedes Thompson; skinwalker, coyote, but not wolf.

"It's not my territory precisely." Begins the dark-haired woman, voice hedging slightly with those words of hers. "But -" She continues onward, sounding more confident with her next words, "It would still cause problems." Mercy gestures towards the entrance of the alleyway, "Sure, Harlem has a lot of violence at times, but someone with a neck wound like that? It could bring out the uncomfortable sort of questions."

"So, I think it'd be appreciated if the body went elsewhere." And while Mercy Thompson could leave it at that, she doesn't. What Mercy will truly end with is a question of her own, "What will you do with the dagger? I, personally, don't think it should stay on the body. It could cause problems in the wrong hands." And it's not lost on Mercy the irony of those last words of hers.

Vampirella has posed:
    "As you like," Vampirella agrees. "I shall accept responsibility for both." No one has looked into the alley, or if they have they've chosen not to comment on it (and to be fair, it is night in a city full of basically blind mammals), but even so Vampirella exercises some caution, hunkering down to grab the corpse's ankle and drag it deeper back into the shadows. In the darkness, she works with the body, rifling through pockets, taking the wallet, and unsheathing the dagger with a pained, inward hiss before--and this is at least audible, even if Mercy doesn't follow Vampirella into the shadows to watch--stabbing the man hard in the neck with the knife, then drawing it in a circle like a girl trying to cut a watermelon with a knife whose blade is too long. Muscles slice and split; tendons snap as they're severed; the bones and nerve cords in the spine crunch and tear. After about five seconds of noises too gruesome to go in a Halloween haunted house soundtrack, the man is decapitated below the bite.
    You can't say anyone will find the wound.
    Vampirella opens a nearby dumpster and, one-handed, tosses the now headless corpse into it. Her nose wrinkles with disgust at the rainbow of filthy smells coming out of it, but then, she's used to stench in this town. She rearranges a few garbage bags to cover the body, humming absently as she works.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
A hint of relief might be seen on Mercy's face when Vampirella takes responsibility for both. Truly, Mercy didn't want responsibility for either the corpse or the knife, even if she doesn't necessarily think the other woman should have possession of the knife.

Still, while others might follow Vampirella deeper into the alleyway Mercy doesn't. Instead she stays right where she is, turning slightly so she can keep the entrance to the alley within her sight. It seems Mercy is playing lookout for this particular night-of-crime.

Her coyote hearing can't help but pick up the sounds of the pocket rifling, or that pained hiss, or the sudden sounds of flesh being cut into. Those noises bring the mechanic's gaze right back around. Her sensitive eyes easily pierce through the darkness within the alleyway in time to see Vampirella complete the decapitation.

Mercy continues to watch, in an almost dumbfounded way, Vampirella hoist that now headless body into a dumpster. The humming that's heard from the woman is an odd juxtaposition of lightness within this figuratively and physical dark scene. Shaking herself out of her stupor, Mercy drags her gaze away from the dumpster and back to Vampirella, "Decapitating somehow doesn't make it better in my book." Mutters the coyote, before she says in a more normal voice, "So, why were they hunting you again?"

Vampirella has posed:
    "Did I not say?" Vampirella asks, mostly of herself. Maybe she didn't. It's been a long night. She begins popping open the buttons on her eggshell blouse, tired of it even if the entire outfit wasn't ruined by the activities of the last sixty seconds, and answers, "They worship evil things from outside of creation, which I am sworn to hunt. These humans seek to curry favor with the formless ones by destroying me, never comprehending that their masters are incapable of gratitude." She shrugs out of the blouse, revealing the scarlet slingshot outfit beneath, and makes of the shirt a makeshift sack to toss her prey's head and serpentine knife into. She's visibly relieved to be shed of the weapon. "Or at least, this one is foolish enough to seek to kill for the reward of their accolades. Perhaps the next will be a simple mercenary. Who can know such things?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"You said they hunted you in their dark god's name, but not precisely why." Clarifies Mercy Thompson upon hearing that mostly rhetorical question from Vampirella. And while the coyote could say more, she doesn't. Not when the other woman begins to explain more of the why they hunt her.

All of what Vampirella says is listens to by Mercy. Whereas others might look uncomfortable with the fact that Vampirella just removed her shirt (revealing the costume beneath) Mercy seems to take it in stride. Werewolf packs, nudity isn't so taboo within them. Not when everyone is destroying outfits like they're going out of style.

What does cause the coyote to blink is when Vampirella turns that shirt into an impromptu carry-sack. "That's going to stain." The coyote states, heavy sardonic humor heard within those words of hers, but that doesn't stop her from returning her attention back to the conversation at hand.

Mercy's gaze studies the woman silently for a handful of seconds. With that silence Mercy Thompson automatically scents the air between the two; smelling the garbage, the generalized stink of the alleyway, the blood and death and finally Vampirella as well. The previous revelation of her being a daughter of Lilith finally prompts a real question from Mercy, though a note of hesitation might be heard with the coyote's next words, "Are you considered a demigod then?"

Vampirella has posed:
    Vampirella unzips her leather skirt and lets it drop, considers it there around her ankles, and seems to come to the conclusion that she'd feel better with the leather skirt wrapped around the knife blade. That accomplished, she ties the arms of her shirt together; if she had a stick to hang it from, it would be a passable hobo's bindle. "I know that word, but I don't understand its implications," she explains/admits as she works. "I am Vampirella. My people called ourselves the Vampiri." She straightens up from her work to regard Mercy, her hands flipping through the air as she tries to conjure the words to explain something she doesn't know how to explain. "Among my people, I would be no subject of worship. I am a better hunter than some and a worse hunter than others; I possess no insights or gifts that make me greater than my people, just a certain amount of strange training to be able to survive in this strange world." She realizes she's making very little sense, and asks abruptly, "Are you a demigod?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
This strange world. Mercy takes that to mean Vampirella isn't from this world and while surprise can clearly be seen written across Mercedes Thompson's features, that's all her expression holds. There's no shock, or astonishment, or incomprehension at the thought of other worlds. Or perhaps other species.

Now, if Mercy had met Vampirell some six months ago, perhaps then, the coyote would have had those emotions upon her face, but with everyone Mercy has learned and been through of late, that shock is left to the wayside.

"I've never heard of the Vampiri." Mercy admits, voicing the first thought that filters through her mind and then, "What world do you come from?"

And while that question of Mercy's hangs there between the two, that doesn't stop the coyote from answering Vampirella's two questions. "A demigod is someone who's half mortal and half god, and to that questions of whether I am or not, I suppose, yes, I am. Though, like you say, I'm also not someone who would be worshiped or revered."

Vampirella has posed:
    At the question of where she comes from, Vampirella shakes her head gently. "It doesn't matter. I will not return: I will stay on this world, reducing the numbers of the chaos beasts until one of them kills me." Her tone is full of fatalism. Maybe that's impossible to avoid developing, when you drink blood. She looks around the alley, and decides, "I do not wish to hide in the oily stink of this alley any longer, Mercy. I have this man's wallet, which has several dollars in it. Would you like to go somewhere, perhaps the room of a hotel in which a shower can be used?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The fatalism is heard in the other woman's voice and that earns another look from Mercy. Neither is the mention of reducing the chaos beasts missed. That almost causes the woman to offer a faint sound of her own sardonic fatalism.

It's only at the mention of where they still stand, within the alleyway, that Mercy pulls herself out of whatever internal thoughts are rolling around her head. This mention of the dead man's money is heard and it immediately causes Mercy to shake her head. "No. I'm not going to use his money." She states resolutely, even as she tilts her head toward the sidewalk that can be seen, "Get rid of the man's head -" And yes, there's a definite pause there by the coyote, as she struggles with those particular words.

"And you can meet me back at my garage. You can clean up there if you like."

And while Mercy has a strong sense that she might regret offering the garage as a resting stop for the odd woman nearby, the big-hearted coyote still offers.

Vampirella has posed:
    Vampirella nods. "Thank you, little sister," she offers, and with that takes the hint that the head is going to be a sticky issue for Mercy. She turns her back on the coyote and Mercy can hear Vampirella's skin splitting, her muscles parting, her bones popping. It sounds a lot like the decapitation she just overheard, actually, except for the quiet hisses of discomfort escaping Vampirella's lips, and the creaky stretching of the sinews forming as a wide pair of chiropteran wings sprout from her back, growing to full size in the span of about two seconds. Maybe that's why she dresses in basically nothing.
    In the alley, there's absolutely no room to use them for flight, but they are capable of beats against the air that help her leap up, and up, and up the buildings, bouncing against their walls in a strange kind of parkour until she's above the rooftops, above the streetlights, lit only dimly by the glows from windows. Just another shadow in the night, with a bag of head in one hand.
    Most people don't have to put up with this kind of crap.
    Oh well. Twenty minutes pass before there's a knock on the garage door. Vampirella is there, wingless, scented strangely of ammonia; maybe a remnant of her wings retracting. She's smiling politely. She hadn't asked where you live, before she left. Maybe she followed Mercy by scent.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Skin splitting, bones popping, all of that is (ironically) familiar to Mercy Thompson. The wolves that she once lived with never had an easy time of shifting. It often sounded like the human body was being destroyed to be remade into the wolf.

Vampirella's own shifting is enough to keep the coyote's eye upon her. Or rather, the woman's back.

When the wings appear Mercy is once again surprised. She wasn't necessarily expecting that and then when Vampirella leaps upward, Mercy's gaze will follow her for a few seconds, before the mechanic finally turns around. "Of course she has wings." Mutters the dark-haired woman, even as she continues with, "Why wouldn't she."

Stepping out of the alleyway Mercy casts a quick and furtive look around herself, before she turns and walks in the general direction of her shop. It's only when she gets to the front door that she stops and almost curses. Mercy just realized she never gave the other woman the address. Sighing, the coyote slips inside, though before she disappears inside she will momentarily look over her shoulder to the rooftops above.

The garage itself is a simple brick and cement one-story building. It sits at the end of the street within a corner of the parking lot that surrounds it. For the moment the sign in the door reads 'CLOSED', but at the knock upon the door Mercy readily appears. She quickly opens the door, holding it for Vampirella, even as that scent of ammonia hits Mercy's sensitive nose. That harsh scent, however, isn't yet remarked upon. Not when the mechanic says, "I was worried you wouldn't find the garage. I didn't exactly get a chance to give you the address."

Vampirella has posed:
    "The address is the markings on the outside of the building, yes?" Vampirella asks as she steps into the garage, looking about curiously at all the alien artifacts of technosorcery that comprise the demigod's church of self. "I would not have been able to use it. I hear your words much better than I see them. Thank you for having me over."