nolongerhollow: (manic)
[personal profile] nolongerhollow
Who: Dracula and Donald
What: Donald runs across Dracula in mid hunt, only to discover that San Francisco has grown a cultist problem.
Where: San Francisco, near Pier 39
When: 11:30 pm, late October 2014
Warnings: Violence, creepy stuff, shenanigans

Dracula was getting thirsty. Normally, he could go almost a month without feeding, but he couldn't do that and stay around humans. After a while, the thirst would start to take over his thoughts, to the point where he couldn't hold a conversation without fixating on the other person's pulse and scent. Eventually he would get so desperate that he would stop being picky about what prey he took--and drinking shallowly from a partner would become impossible. That was unacceptable. So when the first pricklings of thirst hit the back of his throat, he deliberately took a night off from his businesses and parties and went on the hunt.

San Francisco was never short on appropriate prey. The crime rate was extreme, pushed up further by the proximity of Oakland, and violent crimes were particularly prevalent in this area. There was always some sonofabitch out there of the right type, plying his bloody, vicious, scream-inducing trade among local innocents. He was optimistic as he flew above the docklands, ears open for the right signals, eyes sweeping the streets below him. "Dinner, dinner. Where is my dinner?" he muttered under his breath as he glided over the rooftops.

An anguished shriek outside one of the hotels caught his attention and he glanced over. A woman in a pale suit was running from someone as best she could in heels. He brightened. "Ah! There you are, my dinner!" He headed that direction. The woman, desperate, turned into an alleyway with an open door to the back of a restaurant. He heard her calling for help--but the guy taking out the garbage took one look at the rather large figure chasing her and immediately ducked inside, slamming the door behind him. Trapping her.

He got a basic impression of her attacker: big, bulky, nondescript dark clothes, hood pulled up to obscure his face. Something shiny in his hand as he advanced on her. Knife? No--a syringe. For some reason the choice of weapon made his skin crawl a little. He growled and angled into a dive.

Unfortunately he was a bit overenthusiastic, and slammed into the man with enough force to send them both flying into a rank of trash cans. The resulting crash and clatter was loud enough to wake half the neighborhood.

Date: 2014-11-15 06:50 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 05)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
Why is he in San Francisco, halfway across the country, and how did he get there? Money. Lots of it. As a consolation prize for being brutally taken apart and put together different, his own kind set him up with enough money that he never needs to work again, even if he's not perfectly frugal. So he's traveling a little, seeing American cities...

And what a thing to see right outside the hotel he's staying in. Someone clearly in trouble, and Donald O'Connor with a gun that shouldn't exist for three more centuries. He'll be able to knock out that poor woman's attacker with a shot from his gun that doesn't shoot bullets, call 911, and let someone else handle the rest. He'd like to have a positive impact on society.

So he turns the corner into the alleyway and sees someone's beaten him to it.

Date: 2014-11-15 07:06 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 44)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
"Please." says the new man, uncommonly calm considering... "You should go, and call the police."

As he's saying that, he's pointing that special gun at the pair of men, wary, but not afraid. Fear would be a stronger emotion.

Date: 2014-11-15 07:21 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 44)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
The thing is, he isn't sure which of the two men were after her, and he doesn't have time to ask her. So, he doesn't lower his weapon.

"Put him down." No please this time.

Date: 2014-11-15 07:49 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 34)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
Now he knows who to fire at. Hoodie-man, who is blasted back with what seems to be pressurized air, and hopefully, out for a few seconds. No longer than that, he wouldn't want anyone seriously injured.

Next, he's looking back to see if she's actually calling 911. That'd be nice.

Date: 2014-11-15 08:09 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 44)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
No blood.

"Do you need medical attention?" Something about the way he asks that question doesn't seem right. As if English is still foreign.

Date: 2014-11-15 10:43 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 44)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
"I was not sure which of you were after her."

He's still not entirely sure. Both of them are suspicious. And why isn't there any blood?

Date: 2014-11-16 03:55 am (UTC)
tookhishand: (Default)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
Highly unusual, even if being bald looks right. Bald people aren't the norm anymore, Mr. O'Connor.

"If you will not call the police, I will." Kindly assuming the bloodless man might not want to keep on being involved, and want a chance to get away. Donald can take the blame. He's done nothing wrong and his identity will check out.

Date: 2014-11-16 04:15 am (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 44)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
So, logically, he shoots the electric man again. That's twice the poor guy's been blasted against the wall and three times he's hit the trash cans. When they're done, hopefully he'll make it to a hospital.

Date: 2014-11-16 05:19 am (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 48)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
What he's seeing doesn't mesh with what he knows. An immortal man... nope, can't be happening.

"That is not your decision to make."

It's sort of his, knowing the people he knows.

Date: 2014-11-16 06:00 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 44)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
He knows better people... but that's beside the point.

"Why are you not mortal?"

Date: 2014-11-16 07:57 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (Default)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
He nods, believing it. Assume they are on the same side. He sees no reason to think otherwise, and he's afraid of some things, but nothing confronting him now.

"What is a 'cultist'? This is more than what I would call a 'cult'." You know, the normal creepy not-actually-magical sort.

Date: 2014-11-16 09:42 pm (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 45)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
Too strange. He doesn't know what to do. His foggy stupid little human brain can't decide, really, except to say that calling his friends would probably end with them hurt. And that's bad.

"Would you like me to leave you to..." Do. Something. With no witnesses, so that he lives another day.

Date: 2014-11-17 03:12 am (UTC)
tookhishand: (♥ 44)
From: [personal profile] tookhishand
"I am not as capable as you are." He can tell that, blindfolded. He bleeds. He'll die, and he does need a good reason to risk death.

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Count Vladislaus Dracula

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