Humans Are Dangerous

[shinigami]

THE OOC NOTE: Okay, this is an introduction post for some Hunter NPCs. Their focus is witches, but they do vampires and shapeshifters too. ^_~ More info here: www.geocities.com/lyrelune/witchhunters.html

The Pretender: Isobel Vasquez

"You will find them."

The new teacher was slim and dark. Her skin was honey, her eyes were brown; her accent made it a little difficult to understand her sometimes, but hey. That was a bonus as far as the students of ------ High were concerned.

Ms. Vasquez became the subject of boyish fantasy between class periods, and the fact that she didn't seem to miss too much, that she was pretty strict, that sometimes some of her students would catch her watching them closely, just made the fantasies get a little more interesting.

"I am Ms. Vasquez," she wrote in chalk.

A girl who sat near the front raised her hand and said, "Are you married?"

Ms. Vasquez turned and arched her eyebrows, but then softened enough to smile. "No. Por que? Do you know any single teachers my age?"

"Not only the vipers 'neath the rocks."

There were two of them.

A sophomore with foxy eyes and an easy sashay to his hips, a member of the track team, something in the way he looked at people, something in the rune chalked on his skateboard. Oh, yes. Yes, he was one. She watched him laugh and chat with a freshman girl. Then he looked up and met her eyes. For a second, the boy (the creature) looked startled, then he grinned easily, too many teeth.

A senior with hair the color of smoke and eyes the color of granite, her mouth curled in a permanent sneer, always wearing necklaces with too many stones, and watched her look at another girl and will that girl away.

Sloppy, sloppy. But they couldn't be allowed to live.

"But those who'd wield the rocks as a weapon and crush the vipers in their filthy nests."

"You wanted to see me, Ms. Vasquez?"
"Yes, Brent. Sit down."

Brent was a large boy, but awkward. He filled up the doorframe and moved curiously lightly for a teen of his size. He was good at everything he did, but quick to cast stones. Right now, he looked as if he wasn't too sure about what was expected of him -- so she smiled to put him at ease.

"What's up?"
"Let me ask you a question about your classmates."

"Acceptable, Isobel?"

Isobel shook her head once. Her earrings were dainty, delicate, gold against her skin. "Of course, Gereint," she said. "Have I not done this before? I think that Brent Hardwood boy might survive a year as a hunter; he has already displayed a willingness to persecute the two targets. Should I ask him to take care of it?"

"No. No, for this, I think I'll send in Burgess."[/i]

[shinigami]

Bad Things To Such Good People: Burgess

"You did good, Burgess. The girl'll talk. Maybe. Maybe she'll even confess and we'll have saved a soul, not just lives."

Burgess slouched in a chair opposite Gereint. The office was pretty seedy, two-bit cop shows can only dream of something quite like it.

"Sir," Burgess replied.

Burgess folded his newspaper and tossed it in the trashcan. The trashcan was half-hidden by the busstop's shelter; so was Burgess. But half-hidden isn't actually hidden, and the foxy-eyed boy saw Burgess. The foxy-eyed boy had some instincts and Burgess watched the boy frown. Burgess took another sip of his coffee, but it tasted like shit and was cold as grave-mud, so he made a face and tossed it away. He'd been there for a while, waiting.

Just waiting.

The foxy-eyed boy stared at Burgess and Burgess stood up, weary, slow, Atlas was that slow. Then Burgess tossed the cuppa joe away. Two cars passed on the street and went away. The foxy-eyed boy started walking. He muttered something under his breath -- a spell of protection. Burgess stretched and followed.

"As for the other monster, Isobel tells me that his classmates really miss him, but there's hardly been any public uproar about their disappearances at all. Do you know what this tells me?"

"You're going to tell me, no doubt."

"Heh. Smart guy. It tells me that these pieces of shit had already been fucking with our people. So, Brent - what do you think of all this?"

Brent looked at Burgess, who didn't look at him, and then at Gereint. He licked his lips, nervously. "They was monsters?" he said. "Then they got what they deserved."

This went on for a street. The boy took a corner; Burgess did, too. The boy took another corner; Burgess did, too. The boy ducked underneath a hedge and into the cornfields. Burgess cracked his neck. And then -- then he did, too.

The moon was hidden by clouds; the night was dark. Burgess had a simple golden band on his left ringfinger. He didn't wear any other jewelry. He didn't wear any other adornments. He was dressed very plainly, in dark clothes. The foxy-eyed boy had run as fast and far as he could through the cornfield and then, with his heart hammering, he'd reached into his pocket for a stone he kept there, a focussing stone.

Burgess came from behind him. "Hey, witch," he said. The foxy-eyed boy hit him in the face with the hand that had the stone. Burgess barely blinked. The foxy-eyed boy hit him again, and this time, hit him with more than just his fist -- hit him with power, contained, forceful. This time, Burgess flinched. The boy did it again -- and this time, Burgess dropped. The foxy-eyed boy kicked him and then he ran, ran, ran.

"Good answer," Gereint said. "Why don't you go into the other room?"

Brent did without a question. Gereint watched him go. Burgess said: "These new hunters are so damned young."

"So are the victims of our enemy, Anthony," Gereint replied.

Burgess shrugged.

Burgess ran his hands over his face when he stood up. Magic. He hated it when they used magic on him. He really, really, really HATED it. But it did make him stop playing nice -- when the foxy-eyed boy stopped, at the edge of the cornfield, and looked back over his shoulder, he saw Burgess running down the cornrow. This time, Burgess gained. This time, there was another struggle. Burgess wrapped a length of rope around the foxy-eyed boy's neck and pulled, tight. "You fucking monster," Burgess hissed. It was hard to tell who he was talking about.

Himself or the kid.

Gereint looked at Burgess for a good long minute. Then he said: "That time of the month soon. You get enough meat from this little adventure?"

Burgess looked down. "Yeah."

The foxy-eyed boy wasn't in school the next day.

[shinigami]

Zombie: Christopher Saint


The four of them are in a study. Gereint, who looks like anybody's handsome dad: so likable, so trustworthy, but with an edge if you're perceptive enough -- an uncomfortable edge. That's when you notice that his eyes are too blue. It's a blue that scrapes against your heart like a matchhead against sandpaper. There's Isobel, calm and serene but oozing sex appeal, hair pulled up and clothing modest, a gold cross at her throat. Burgess, standing while the other two sit -- Isobel on the couch by the bookshelf, Gereint on the chair behind the desk. Burgess, looking out the window with his arms folded across his chest while Gereint conducts his little meeting.

"Here's the address," Isobel said. "They've got all three of the new recruits. They sent a present. I didn't open it. Negotiation, they say."

"You were good not to, Miss Vasquez. Christopher?"

The fourth looks up blinking, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looks adorable, a bit tousled. Rake-roustabout hair falling in his eyes, stubble because he needs to remember to shave. Maybe a bit hungover. His coat is black leather, and he wears it well.

"Do we deal with the devil?"

"We deal death to the devil," Chris replied, with a faint smile. He lifted his hand as if he were toasting with a wine glass, although it was empty.

"Well, then. You're going in. Burgess, you're back up -- and clean up."

Chris and Burgess stand outside a house. The house is large. Mansion. Private. Burgess's jaw is clenched. The time is daylight -- daylight blazes around them. Late afternoon. They know it won't be an advantage, necessarily, but every little bit helps. There are two security guards slumped in the bushes. Chris walks to the front door. Tries it. Locked. They look at each other. Burgess kicks the door in. This doesn't destroy the door, but the lock is shot. The door swiiiiings open. And inside? Darkness.

Chris walks in, utterly human, utterly monstrous, a gun in one hand and an unbelievably long -- and wicked and sharp -- knife in the other. He walks the few steps inside and they think they're going to get to play with him. The door shuts behind.

The first vampire is glimpsed on the stairs. But then? Then the vampire's behind him. Fast. You know how they're fast. Unbelievably fast. But Chris, Chris is just too good. He gauges it somehow, by sound by taste by luck by skill, and his knife bites deeply into the vampire's chest, catches on its collar bone. He brings up the gun and the first bullet punches through the vampire's throat. The vampire is young, and it hits the door. The door's lock doesn't work, remember, so the door swings open and the vampire hits the porchboards. Burgess is smoking a cigarette, leaning against the wall, and he looks down in mild surprise. The vampire's throat is -- trying to heal. The sound it makes as it heals is -- disturbing.

Chris walks through the door, aims, and the next bullet goes through the vampire's head. It doesn't move again. It dies just like a person. From the house, Burgess can hear: "He was a baby. Try your hand at rocking me to sleep, fucker."

And Chris stalks back inside, slamming the door closed.