Red Nightmares at Midnight

Dante heard the scream and nearly toppled over from his killing trance; what in fuck’s name! A roar left his throat as he yelled, slicing and killing in an even higher fury. Eviscerating those around him, he made his way down, killing indiscriminately. His body was littered with splatters of dark slick blood, it was matted in white locks. But all that mattered was for the spawn to die. Every so often he passed a dead human, not even a glance was spared for the unlucky fucker. He’d warned ‘em. But he recognized the insignia on the jackets and heard the big man from the other day barking orders though the dead soldier’s headset. But even those cut off in a gurgling choking scream. Bashing in another frothing demon’s head, he spared one quick glance over the stair rail and quirked a brow to see human movement. Hn, that damned girl. Shit, piss and goat titties. Growling under his breath, he gripped Alastor in one hand and the railing in the other, vaulting easily over the metal and falling to the floor below. Bouncing back up on the balls of his feet, he quickly shot the dazed tranquilized demon, hollering, “Hey! Wrong way, babe! Get back down here before you get gutted!!”



Douglass : His cry of warning was too late, a demon swooped down from the ceiling taking a swipe at her and catching her full in the chest. "Shit," it was a whisper, no more. The beast’s claws dug through the protective chest plate, leaving razor marks down her bosom. Kicking out, she dropped back first to the ground, pulling the tranq gun around to her front and firing off three quick shots, nailing the thing first in the jugular, second in the chest and last in the ass; a moment of dark humor. Rolling off to the left, she pushed herself forcefully, sliding back a good seven feet; cocking on leg beneath her, she pushed with it's power, sending herself into a back flip as the blade of her knife fell away from it's sheath once again. Boots catching the ground, she pivoted, pushing herself in the opposite direction, pulling the blade through demon abdomens as she worked her way across the room. She would not go unscathed, demon claws bit her flesh, each one leaving its mark on her. "I've had enough of your shit." Reaching down to the inside of her calf, there nested against the boot was a bomb, tiny and compact. Flicking it on, she used one hand to set it, and then hurling herself at a demon she pressed the device into it's chest, quickly sidestepping and diving away, pulling herself across the floor the bomb ignited, sending demon pieces flying in all directions. It was enough to catch the other demons attentions for just a moment, and she picked herself up, hurling her weight towards the only living thing still fighting on her side. She was about ten feet from Dante, when one of the Demons took her from behind, grabbing her around the neck and moving quickly to bite away the flesh of her neck. "Fuck you," her left leg moved around it's, pulling her head first forward than slamming it back, she caught the thing in the jaw, then using her right elbow she slammed it back into the Demons center, sending it toppling as it pulled her with it she rolled again, landing stomach first to the ground, she tried to slide away, but not before it caught hold of her ankle.



He was hardly idle and watching her fight her own battles; the remaining pack scented the fresh human blood and his own, tinged with a bit more spice. They howled and chattered, crawling down the stairs and whatever other surface they could find to get to the bottom floor. Dante swore, colorful curses laced with profanity and animal parts. Grunting in exasperation, he hefted both gun and blade, one in each hand, shooting precisely and quickly, taking out the newcomers before resorting back to the sword. Cleaning the last, he heard the altercation a bit away and rolled forward, crimson leather billowing with the movement of his passing. The last breathing demonic spawn seemed hell-bent to feast tonight, he thought wryly. But the woman was fighting it, he’d give her that Yet he advanced behind the demon holding her ankle, his long shadow covering the scaly beast. The Alastor flickered, anticipating a killing blow and he gave her the wish, impaling the thing in the spine, just as a jolt of electricity burst from the blade, disintegrating the beast from the inside out. Dante snorted in disgust and kicked away the lingering appendage that was even now fading away, clawed digits flaking from the woman’s skin. Human blood stung thick in his nostrils. He himself was covered in demon blood and worse. Not to mention several tears and rips in his coat, which caused a spark to flare deep in blue eyes. Damnit. But he bent and hefted her to her feet, shaking her a bit to bring her back from the killing stupor. “Wake up!” he said sharply. “You can’t afford shock, not right now.” As he spoke, sharp eyes scoured the nooks and crannies, making damned sure nothing else lurked, waiting.



Douglass : Her head spun, she heard his voice but not his words; she wasn't even sure if he was real or not. Everything seemed hazy, she'd lost blood, she could feel it all over her body; her tattoos now laced with lacerations, her body was working but not her mind. Perhaps it was grief, fatigue, blood loss, who really knew, all she knew was that she was still alive; but there was a pit, deep in her stomach there was a hollow, knowing away at her. She could feel it rising up, washing over her and taking control of her mind; that was her waking moment; nothing would ever take her over. As if she'd been slapped her eyes were suddenly wake, her gaze flashing over Dante's shoulder eyes narrowing at the slight movement; quickly she took his gun, dropping to one knee she pulled off a single round, planting the bullet directly in the center of the beast’s forehead; it was the demon that she had maimed. Pushing the gun into the holster at his side, she continued to stare at the beast beyond him, watching it turn to ash before her eyes. "A nest…" the words were dry, and they echoed of the emptiness she felt inside. She nodded to herself, it was time to go. Looking at him quickly, she clenched her teeth before searching the room, finally finding Conroy's body. Flying to it, she dropped to her knees, pushing the dead man over, smirking. She knew he would never leave home without it, there, strapped to his back was a much larger version of the bomb she had used. Fingers flying she set it, then began to ran. As she passed Dante, she grabbed his hand; still she wanted him dead, but not like this, no he had another purpose first. Pulling it just long enough to feel tension; "Hurry," and with that she was out the door.



“Yeah, a nest,” he echoed. “Seems your boss and boys over there came up against something they couldn’t handle.” He shook his head with a snort. “I warned the idiot,” he said, “but noooo, the stupid humans never listen. Never. Dumb asstards.” But he blinked as she stumbled back to the dead man, a brow quirking at hearing the tiny beeping from the timer. “Oh, a bomb!” he caroled mockingly, strapping his pistols in their holsters. “Lovely, let’s just get all the damned authorities up here, hm?” Rolling cerulean eyes, he snorted as she snatched his hand and yanked it back, damned if he wouldn’t go under his own fucking power outside. Brushing past her in a scarlet gleam, he shoved his way through blasted concrete and shrapnel, running at a quick pace for his bike, parked right where he’d skidded it. Throwing a leg over the monster, he kickstarted the engine quickly, and with another shake of his white head and a harrumphed snort, tore out of the parking lot. Let the chit bury her own damned head, or die right there with ‘em, he didn’t give a blasted goat fuck.



Douglass : A split second behind, that's all she was. Shedding the last of her gear besides her outfit, she picked up the fallen dirt bike, kicking it alive it spat dust as she fishtailed it and slammed down on the accelerator, tearing out into the forest, the bike swiveled between trees, dodged rocks and other cumbersome objects. She was well away before the bomb went off, the explosion was enough to destroy any evidence left inside, the bodies of her comrades would be unrecognizable now, you always think ahead Conroy. The pain of loss stabbed at her, the feeling overpowering the sting of her wind whipped wounds. Her lip curled into a snarl, the bastard had hot-tailed it. But she could hear the bike off to her right, out on the road. Her own motor hummed louder as she pushed it faster, slowly inching back to the road. Alarms and sirens blared, emergency crews were rushing to the scene, probably the local authorities also. Using her weight she bumped the bike back towards the road, hopping up onto the pavement just two feet off Dante's left shoulder. "Park it pops," her voice inaudible over the sirens and motors. You'll not get away, not this time.



A bit surprised, just a bit, mind, at hearing the chit catch up with him, Dante merely flicked his eyes over his shoulder, gave her a thoroughly gorgeous grin and a naughty wink, then flicked off his headlight and depressed the accelerator as far as it would go, shooting ahead of her, weaving through the oncoming traffic. He could see in the dark, after all. Tearing up the road, he gunned the finely tuned instrument to the ultimate limits, promising it a good cleaning and oiling…tomorrow maybe. Right now he really wanted a bath and about a gallon of beer, to shake off the chill of human death. Godlings, how it lingered. Finally approaching the city limits, he slowed his heart-attack speed out of necessity. Debating on heading home for the night, he snarled and realized the bike needed gas. Shit and damn. But he found an open gas station and pulled in, filling the tank quickly and heading inside to pay for it, determined to make it home before sunrise. He’d done his job, by damn, was it too much to ask for a bit of peace and quiet? He snorted, heading inside. Probably. The clerk gave him a wide-eyed glance, but the hard return look kept any and all comments behind the kid’s teeth, which was healthier. Dante slapped down a hundred dollar bill for the mere thirty he owed in gasoline and all was well. Figured, he thought sourly.



Douglass : True he had gotten ahead, but not far enough. She loomed back, keeping him in sight the whole time. Her body was weakening with blood loss, and she knew her time was drawing short. Perfect, as he pulled in for gas she gunned her engine a little harder, swinging the bike in and letting it fall to the pavement. She stood by his bike as he exited, peering through blood soaked locks and breathing unevenly. Daring hazel eyes locked on his peculiar orbs, what a scene the two made. Her hands were shaking as was the rest of her body. "Teach me…"



What the bloody fuck? Dante paused in mid-step as he left the station, a bit surprised again to see the chit all but falling to the pavement. But he regained his balance, professional habit that, and kept walking, striding to his bike just in time to hear her fevered plea. “Teach you what?” he asked with a snort. “To kill? I’d say you already know that. To hunt? No. It’s not a skill, it’s a talent and you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of the other world, babe.” Swinging a leg over his bike, he flipped coattails from beneath his body. “Do yourself smart; head to the emergency room and get that arm stitched up. You’re no good to the world dead, doll. Trust me on it.”



Douglass : A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, it even surprised her how steady it felt. "I'm already dead; and you… you know it." Her breathing remained uneven, and her body quivered from both rage and beating. "Teach me to hunt them. Teach me or kill me." Her words came from behind clenched teeth, each syllable being carefully annunciated. She drew in a sharp breath as she let go of his shoulder, pushing her shoulders back and tilting her chin to the sky, eyes squeezing shut. "It's empty inside, full of hollow. You," her head lowered again, peering out at him through long lashes and blood streaked hair, "You know… you know how to fill the hollow, how to feed it." She leaned in, teeth clenched again as she whispered low, "Teach me or finish me." It was no longer a request, if it ever had been, it was an ultimatum.



Muscles rippled under her hand as the hunter tensed, having to visibly force himself to tolerate touch. Fucking godlings, how many years? But he unclenched his teeth, standing as she let him go. “Why should I kill you if you’re already dead?” he asked, looking down at her. “There’s rest in death. Silence and serenity. Or so I’ve been told,” he added sourly with a grunt. A sigh left thinned lips as he shook his head a bit, staring out into the night. “The void within…there is no filling it. Once you start, it just grows and deepens.” Softly spoken words as the wind grazed platinum and golden locks, even heavy with matted blood. “It’s never sated. Trust me, I know. It’ll claim everything, everyone. You’re better off dead.” But the steel returned to his voice as he looked directly at her and negated once more. “I don’t resort to murder. Not a human. I haven’t lost myself that far…yet.”



Douglass : "Then lose yourself now," she hissed, eyes wild like a cornered animal; then soon her face cracked and lunatic laughter filled her, amazing how even now her laugh was like a tinkling bell, she loathed her own laugh. "What am I saying, it's heresy, you can't murder a corpse, because that's all I am! A fucking corpse!" By now the gas station attendant was standing in the doorway, watching the two blood-soaked people argue about death. He caught Douglass's attention, and she sneered in his direction, a cynical smirk on her face, "Does death fascinate you? If it doesn't, taste it someday." She turned back to Dante, nostrils flaring as she breathed deeper. "I have one purpose now, to survive. You say I don't want to be on the bad side of that other world, well honey it sure seems like I'm already there. I'd rather be on its bad side then its menu -over her shoulder to the attendant- yeah that's right fuck-weed, you're a damned entree. -back to Dante- Now cut the bull shit and make the choice, you have two." She would never let him rest, all the ATT's resources were at her fingertips, and she would shadow him until he killed her.



Brows lowered in consternation and annoyance at the damnable chit’s tirade. Grinding teeth in effort not to bite her head off, he actually considered calling her outrageous bluff and blowing her damned head off, but something stopped him. Stopped him cold. The visage slammed into his brain so hard he nearly lost his footing and crashed to his collective ass. Two gleaming jade eyes staring from pale skin, surrounded by thick flame-ridden locks. The memory nearly made him shake as he recalled it. Hadn’t it been this before? Guns out, no holes barred, blood, dust and death until they’d choked on it? Jayden…he could’ve slapped himself. But as quickly as it came, it vanished, leaving him cold and empty once more. Fucktards. A snarl rippled his lips as he growled. “…bloody hellacious shit,” he snarled, raking black-gloved digits through matted white locks. “Damn it to hell. All right. First lesson,” he said abruptly, swinging a leg over his bike once more. “Keep up.” If she was gonna hunt, she damned sure better get her ass in gear. “I ain’t got all night.” Kickstarting the massive beast, he gave her ten seconds before he tore out of the station, headed north out of the city.



Douglass : It took her less than five to retrieve her bike, pulling it up was another story. Pain shot up her arm and down the rest of her body as she heaved the machine to an upright position. The kick-start was nothing, and she tore out of the parking lot right on his ass. As the wind whipped at her face, causing the blood soaked locks to dance and snap all around her, her vision grew hazy, her mind clouded over she shook her head vigorously, Dante pulling away. Fuck. She forced her mind to work, dodging cars and other objects chasing him down; he stayed a good ten feet in front of her the whole time, but she never permitted him to fade off, everything surrounding him was a blur, a gray fuzz with darker objects flying at her from time to time, but somehow she managed to keep up.



He could hear the motor behind him, hn, seemed the chit had guts after all. But he kept going; if she was going to learn, she’d by damn do it right. The first step was to be as stubborn as a stoat and never let one’s ass get beaten. To keep going beyond all human means. It was easy for him; he wasn’t human. But he’d only known one other with the same determination, the same drive and she kept him going every day of his life, whether he knew it or not. Turning off the main road, he kicked sand up in the desert trail, never losing momentum as he sped along the deserted road, the dirt not hampering his progress in the least. Rocky crags, boulders and cacti decorated the dark landscape and eventually flashing lights came into view. Warning saw-horses sat in the middle of the road, signaling the end of the trail. A massive cliff face, stark rock, sat behind them, imposing and impassable. Dante only smirked and gunned the bike faster, zipping expertly between the staggered blockades and disappeared straight into the cliff face…



Douglass : Skill with a bike, it was an inborn talent for her. As he whipped onto the deserted road, she followed with ease, her head bobbing slightly with her hazey vision. The saw-horses and blockades were nothing, she didn't even need to slow for them, but when he disappeared into the cliff, she thought her brain had lost it. Slowing slight, she focused everything she had left on clearing her eyesight, the bike still moving. For a brief moment it finally did clear, and could see the impending cliff in front of her. Well I didn't see him turn, time to dance with the devil. She gunned the bike, sending it flying into the cliff face.



“Warning. Outer perimeter breach, Dante. Warning.” A massive female computerized voice blared through the empty hangar. Dante grinned a bit as the chit followed. “Relax, Lucille,” he instructed the computer, hearing the defense mechanisms already powering up. At his negation, they whined down once more, falling silent. Turning around, Dante waved a hand, standing with his own bike in the middle of the room. “Over here,” he instructed shortly. After she complied, he ordered, “Descend, Lucille, sub-level one, if you please.” A few clicks and whirrs. “Of course, Dante,” the invisible voice said once more. A soft buzzing alarm and yellow lights flashed in warning as the automobile lift began to move, lowering the passengers down into the earth. In the second chamber, the lights flicked on at Lucille’s instruction, illuminating Dante’s garage and workshop. Several cars and bikes were lined on the left side; his tinkering and other weapons littered the other. As the locks clicked into place, the lift finally stilling, he purred the bike to the right side, knowing he was going to have to spend about four hours working on his baby. Dismounting, he stretched and sighed, cracking his neck with an audible sound. “Goat fucks, I’m tired…” But there was the little matter who’d rode down with him to attend to…lovely.



Douglass : Her vision never changed, a stupor fog filling her. Her eyes stared unseeing as the lift descended, her bike staying erect upon it's kickstand for the first time that evening. She used it to keep herself up, a prop if nothing more. She didn't like the situation, but for the moment she was stuck. Her head nodding up and down slightly, Dante was still the only thing she could see, and even he was becoming foggy. God how she wanted to plant a bullet right in the center of his brain, right here in his very own pad; but not yet; no not yet. He was a godless mother fucker who'd she would watch die someday, but not before she learned from him. It wouldn't come from behind either, no, she'd stand full in his face, give him the opportunity to fight back; but it wouldn't help him, or so she had herself convinced. Pushing herself erect, she swayed on her own legs; "Now what's step two?" As the final word exasperated from her body, her legs gave way, and she fell to her knees, "Shit."



The hunter shrugged. “Stay conscious.” So saying, he strode to the end of the garage, where waited a cage elevator. “C’mon, let’s stitch up that arm.” Lucille opened the doors and he slipped inside, catching her as she nearly tripped over the small step. Swearing hotly, he propped her against the wall as the cage closed and the lift descended to his living area. Grumbling sourly, he just picked her up and slung the chit over a broad shoulder as they came to a halt. Striding down the carpeted hallway, he made a sharp left a few doors down and entered the former galley, which he’d remade into a massive kitchen, complete with stocked fridge and cabinets. Plopping her down on the island in the middle of the floor, he cocked a hip, a brow arched. “Don’t have any anesthetic, don’t use the stuff. You wanna stitch, or shall I? If it’s not done, you’ll just bleed all over Lucille’s clean floors and I’ll hear about it for the rest of the damned year.” Taking off his messy coat, he draped it across a barstool and stripped his gloves, proceeding to roll up his sleeves after divesting of guns and sword.



Douglass : "Lucille needs a new job," she couldn't even hear herself. Reaching down into the top of her boot she pulled out a hypodermic needle. Pulling the cork she plunged the needle deep into her arm, squeezing the plunger until all the liquid had been drained from the tube. Pulling it out she snapped the end, breaking away the pointed tip and setting them aside. "Give me a needle." The shot wasn't antiseptic, she didn't believe in antibiotics. Her body had an immune system, and by god it was going to work for her. The shot was simply a pain killer, dulling the senses of her arm nearly as soon as she was stuck. As he handed her a washcloth, she cleaned the wound thoroughly, making sure no dust or insect parts remained. Taking the needle and thread, she made small, surgeon quality stitches. "I can't tie it off, the thread is too short." The needle hung dangling from her arm. "I'll go in tomorrow, have the doc fix me, then I'll give the order; ATT is officially on hold." Her rambling was almost mindless, or so it would seem to anyone who knew nothing of her experience.



“Bullshit,” he snorted, pushing off from his lounge against the bar, watching as she stitched her arm. “You won’t be going anywhere for about twelve hours, babe. I’ve seen exhaustion like that before, trust me. You’ll sleep and replenish the blood you’ve lost.” Striding to the fridge, he pulled out a carton of orange juice, handing it to her. “Drink it,” he ordered, “unless you want me to force it down your throat.” Not waiting to see if she’d comply, he gathered his armaments and strode from the kitchen, turning left and heading down the hall, slinging the coat into the laundry, kicking open his bedroom door. Depositing the weapons on the unmade bed, he pulled off the vest and shirt, fingers catching tiredly on the buckles and snaps. Bleary blue eyes registered the clock at bloody six am. Shit. Throwing the other clothes into the laundry as well, he managed to make it back to the kitchen, not caring if she drank the shit or not. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “Extra rooms that-a-way. Feel free.” Thus said, he turned and backtracked, Lucille closing his bedroom door behind him with hard finality.



Douglass : Her upper lip curled into the snarl, watching his back as he went; the door slamming made her blood boil. Taking a firm grasp on the needle she pulled it forcefully, the string snapping somewhere in the last three stitches. Didn't matter. She looked at the orange juice, then glanced away. Dreary eyes searched the area, finally finding the sink she pushed herself up, and stumbled to it. Turning on the cold water she splashed it upon her face, instantly feeling its affects. Using the ice cold water she washed her face, and rinsed as much of the blood from her hair as possible. She also tended to her other wounds, dabbing them clean with the same cloth. When she was finished she mopped up any mess she might have made, and folded the towel, leaving it on the kitchen table, needle and syringe propped nicely atop of it. Looking at the orange juice once more, she bit her tongue, knowing she really should. Lifting the carton she took a long drink, the citric acid burning down her esophagus. There wasn't much left, but still she couldn't finish it. Slipping it back into the fridge, she then fumbled down the hall, finding a doorway she turned. It was a simple room, with an army like barracks. Collapsing onto the bed, unconsciousness had pulled her before she even felt the prickling sheets.



Dante managed sleep for about five hours; he’d’ve really liked ten or twelve, but duty called. In the form of one Captain Harris of the Los Angeles Police Department. Lucille woke Dante with the phone call, to which he mumbled, “Take a message,” and promptly went back to sleep. That proved insufficient, as Harris didn’t want to talk to a damned machine. Lucille imparted this information exactly, making Dante snarl and swear foully, colorful cursing for one half-awake. Staggering to the phone, he listened with half a brain to Harris’s report of the bombing last night, the man wanting to know just what the fuck went down. Dante snarled a belligerent reply, along the lines of, “If the damned cops were any good at their jobs, they’d know,” and hung up the phone. But he was up now, might as well find the kitchen and get food. He’d just rummaged for chips and beer when he remembered he had company. Fuck. He’d better get dressed then, or pants at least. Although he was sorely tempted to just remain exactly as he was; it was his house, by God. But for the nonce…Dante managed to get back to his room and haul on a pair of mangled jeans, zipping the denim, but not bothering to button ‘em. Returning down the hall, food in hand, he meandered to his study, plopping down in his comfy worn office chair, pulling up the news headlines as he did every morning, or whenever he decided to grace the land of the living. Of course, the bombing was plastered all over the news. Lovely. Good thing it’d been blown up, he figured. Wouldn’t do to have the feddies getting’ their claws on demon DNA. Although the other bastards’d managed, he recalled with a sour grunt. Finishing one beer and starting on another, he automatically double checked all perimeter and interior systems, munching chips as he did so. He’d long decided to just let the chit wake up on her own, healthier that way. But he lounged comfortably; Lucille keeping his study and bedroom, at least, quite cool. Due to his high metabolism and inherent demon blood, Dante liked dark and cold. Suited him right down to the ground. Under it even, he thought with a smirk.



Douglass : Six hours; no more, no less. She couldn't undo it, it'd been burned into her; six hours of sleep at any time. She did not wake in the normal way, no; she woke slowly. For years now, the sixth hour passed and she darted up in bed, well aware of everything around her; now though, she woke slowly, eyelids peeling back uneasily. Her body ached, and as she tried to move pain speared down her arm. Damnit. With effort she forced herself into a sitting position, this place was cold; gooseflesh formed all over her body, the tiny bumps giving way to shivers which made the pain intensify. Her vision had cleared much from the night before, however there was still a ring of fog around everything she looked at; hazel eyes moved slowly about the room; it was well furnished, simple but effective. A wooden bureau stood against the adjacent wall, and the very bed she had passed out on was richly carved. Well he has good taste. With great care she examined the wound upon her right arm; the stitches were good ones, but the alignment was poor; it would need to be torn open and redone. Shit. She knew what she must do; what the day held for her, but she didn't want it to start. Part of her had hopped to die in the night, to slowly bleed to death and slip into the oblivion of death; she had not yet been graced. Heavy eyes moved to the linens about her, not a splotch of blood on them; she must have stopped bleeding on the ride over here. Desperately she tried to remember the ride, and all she could see was a red figure moving about ahead of her; nothing more. Hoisting herself off the bed, she fumbled about the room like a drunken sailor, woozy and disoriented she opted for a slow approach. Taking her sweet time she made her way to a washroom, there above the basin was a mirror. She dreaded looking into it, but still forced herself inside. Gazing into the looking glass she was revolted by what she saw; blond locks were still pink from the night before, and her left eye was slightly swollen and starting to show signs of echimosis; Nice shiner. Turning the cold water on, she splashed her face, shivers running down her spine; but it woke her up more. She washed away the reddish hue as best she could, and when it was only a slight pink she nodded, good enough. Using a towel that hung just off to her left she dabbed her hair dry and mopped up any water that might have spilt over the basin, the process slow and painful. Peering down she examined the rips and tears in her uniform, it was well beyond repair. That done, she turned to the doorway once more, it seemed to linger about on its hinges, daring her to open it further or to slam it shut; and her eyes narrowed at it. This was his place, he taunted her so whether he knew it or not, and even his house taunted her. I'll see him dead some day, just not yet. Her legs felt heavy as she began to walk towards that door, making it across the room much more quickly than the moment before. Taking hold of the doorknob she thrust it open; she wanted to slam it but thought better against it. Peering down the hall a slight glow emanated from the only open door, the question now was, did she dare?



Lucille alerted Dante to movement down the hall; he figured the chit’d be waking soon. She didn’t seem the type to lounge around abed all day. But, eh, whatever. No business of his, not just yet anyway. She might not even know the world she was in, or what had transpired last night. Probably be better for all involved if not. But by shit, he wasn’t her damned keeper. He just happened to be loaning room space, was all. He’d see about that little training issue later, when she finally ‘woke up’ and not from sleep, either. A snort. He watched idly through the monitors as she peeked out of the room she’d landed in; he wanted to chuckle but his mouth was full at the moment. Swallowing ranch chips, he chased them with a shot of Killians, nectar of the gods, that. He kinda figured she didn’t like him all that much, but he didn’t honestly give a witch’s tit at present. She wasn’t the only one sore, tired and cranky. And by gods, if she’d of listened, she might’ve not gotten so damned beaten up! He shook his white head, sending locks tumbling over his forehead. An irritable growl and a rake of fingers. Damned females, they never listened…so it was moot in any case.



Douglass : Glancing left and right, she peered down the hall, caution baited her steps. The mechanical noise of gears tinkled and whirled about her head, and at that moment she knew she was being watched. Her nose twitched slightly, a snarl like gesture typical of her irritation. She need not be too cautious now, he'd see her long before she'd get there. Putting her head up she strode the best she could down the hall, following the dim glow. Her gait was tainted, slowed by her weakened condition; God she hoped he didn't want to fight, maybe a little later, but not right now. She stopped in the doorway, and turned as if to enter; but the image on the screen caused her to stop dead. The newspaper headline screamed about a bomb, local authorities were calling it an act of terrorism; TERRORISM! She could feel her blood growing hot, and she bit the inside of her lower lip to keep herself from loosing it. With difficulty she forced her eyes away from the screen and down to the figure lounging in the chair. He hadn't yet turned around, and for some reason she doubted that he would; not just yet anyway.



He heard her; heightened senses counted for something anyway. But he didn’t turn around, merely kept his eyes on the television, mounted high on the wall behind his desk. Bad habit, sitting with his profile to a door, but what the hell, it was his own damned house. Lucille kept all intruders out and with extreme prejudice she guarded the compound. The accelerating of blood pressure sifted into his hearing and he slewed around, kicking a bare foot on the desktop. “Mornin’,” he drawled, quirking a brow at her disheveled state. “Sleep good? Ya look like you been drug through the trenches, which isn’t far from the truth,” he conceded. But he gave her another speculative look, saying, “Calm down, fuckers in the news don’t know shit. They gotta cover their asses somehow. Might as well spout something believable to sate the masses.” Cerulean eyes rolled in consternation at that thought. “Stupid idiots, every one of ‘em. Braying donkeys.” He retrieved his chips and leaned back in his chair. “So,” he asked nonchalantly, “plans for the day? If any at all?”



Douglass : It shocked her, it really did. He actually managed to seem half-ass decent. "I know." Her voice was quiet, possibly mistaken for meek. Her windpipes were dry; she couldn't manage much more than a hollow whisper. Her eyes flicked to the monitors again; if only they had chosen something else, anything other than terrorism. Really it didn't even make sense, the building had been abandoned, and it was outside of the city, how much terror could it cause? She shook her head, leaning against the door frame for a bit of support. "I need to go; I have things to take care of first." Her eyes moved from the screen back to his person, brow slightly furrowed. A cold breeze seemed to pass down the hallway, and it caused her to shiver again, pain rippling up her back. The sensation reminded her of a small stone being tossed into a calm pool, how the ripples radiated from one spot, growing larger as they went. Although she ached, and the pain was discomforting, it really seemed like nothing; she'd endured worse. "If I go, will you let me come back?"



A brow quirked. “Where you planning on going? And why in hell would you want to come back?” Those brows lowered over hard blue eyes. “You didn’t seem to be singing my praises last time we crossed paths, doll. You and your snarky little organization. Good riddance.” But he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. Finally leaning back once more, he threw a hand. “Fine. The fuck. Sure, you can get back in, that is, if you’re not averse to sharing living space with the spawn of the devil. That’s what I am, after all. No matter how you sugarcoat it.” He got to his feet, ordering sharply, “Lucille, release lockdown, open elevator and lift mechanics to allow departure.” Lucille clicked and whirred a moment, then confirmed his order. Striding around his desk, he hooked a thumb to the right. “That way. Get lost, ask Lucille.” Pushing by her, he left the study and headed back down the hall, muttering to himself. “No matter how many times ya save ‘em, Dante, always treated like a sack of dogshit. Should be used to it by now, ol’ boy.” A dry snort. “I wonder why I even do this job anymore. Let ‘em all rot and be damned.”



Douglass : Her eyes bore into his back as he pushed past her and worked his way down the hall. Doll, how she loathed that word; just wait till I feel better, then try and call me doll you sack of monkey spunk. There was truth in his words, no matter what angle she took them, guys like him; people who did the jobs that others had nightmares about; they were always under rated. Half rolling her eyes as she turned away from him, she moved in the opposite direction in which he had departed. Stammering a bit, she followed the floor as it had played out the night before; funny, if she imagined the fog it was almost familiar. Bitterness began to brew in the pit of her stomach; she began to remember him carrying her. God fuck it all to hell I do owe him a thank you. That could be taken care of later. Finding the door to the elevator she stepped inside, glancing about skeptically for a moment at the lack of controls; not even a damned up button. First moistening her lips she glanced from side to side, "Excuse me Lucille, could you please take me up to the exit?" A brow arched as she looked upward, waiting idly for the machines reply. A few clicks and whirling noises sounded Lucille's response, "Enter lift, ascension to second level confirmed." Douglass half smiled, "Thanks Lucy." Leaning against the wall of the elevator, she watched the crack in the door as it moved, her weight shifting with the movement caused the pebble effect once again. When the desired floor was reached, the doors slid apart, and the scene before her made her gasp aloud. Her bike had not been moved off the lift, and the state it was in was almost enough to sadden her. She moved towards her bike, eyeing the contraption with intense interest. "Holy fucking hell," a quick once-over revealed stripped gears and damaged parts, it was going to take a bit to fix it up again. Douglass shook her head slowly, "shit, I hope it starts." Glancing upward, she peered into the seemingly never ending darkness. The lift began to move, ascending upward into that impeding darkness. At first it seemed to throw her, she stammered a bit and almost lost her balance; gaining it quickly she watched as the area around her past by; it was almost hypnotic. When finally it reached the top, she could just see the daylight outside, the sun would be setting soon, perfect. Straddling the bike, she kicked it to a start, dead after the first go. "Shit," a second attempt proved a little more helpful, the bike purred to life, though it seemed labored. "Hush baby, I'll get you a new pair of shoes." And with that, it tore off through the camouflaged gate, darting in and out around the blockades; she found the dirt road with ease. The bike spit up gravel behind her, and she leaned forward a bit to find an easier center of gravity. The wind nipped at her face and wounds, the sensation of a thousand knives biting at her flesh. How long could this take her; three hours, seven? One thing was for sure, she wanted a shower and a change of clothes, first stop would be her pad.




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