First Encounter
Bounce, bounce, bounce…
Movement to the side, to his left. He turns to look. Nothing. His mind is playing tricks. His heart beat is slow, measured- almost matching the ball’s bounce.
Bounce, bounce…
Shadows follow him, creep in where he steps, recede where he looks back. Looking for that chance, waiting, watching…
A scatter of footsteps behind. The youngling turns quickly, his face white. A pool of darkness around the corners of his eyes, an heavy breathing just audible.
A loud click and the boy’s neck breaks. The well dressed man drops the broken bundle to the ground, its life’s blood dripping down the murderous hands. A swift kick to the ribs, educated by years of casual cruelty, breaks his ribs. The boy lies gutted on the ground looking up, mouth agape. But not dead yet. Years of practice ensure that the child still lives, even though it cannot move.
The monster bends down, seizing a tuft of hair. A tug, a wrench, a splatter of blood; the boy moans, unable to do more, as this creature presses cold teeth to his neck.
A clap of the fangs, click of the tongue, and two small intense points of pain. A dying spasm and the boy half rises, eyes wide, then collapses, corpse grey and empty.
This was his town, his people, and his place. It was a shame they were so… tasty.
Unnamed Village, approx ~ 200 kms from the Russian border
“There is no other way to describe them. Vultures, filthy dirty vultures, the lot of them. Sharks might be appropriate too, as a metaphor. Drawn to the death and the scent of blood, stalking in darkness, willing to do anything for the kill.” a tall wiry man remarked to his fellow kind, straightening his greatcoat to keep out the chilling Russian cold blowing south.
The other man, similarly coddled in leather and warm gear, nodded once, frosty breath fanning out before him. “Vampires!” he spat, a slow wracking cough filling his lungs. (Clearly a smoker at some stage in life). “Bastards, the lot of them!”
There was a slight grin from the taller man. “I was talking about the hunters,” he smirked.
The second man frowned, but stopped when he saw a longsword being casually sharpened by the first; the sound cutting through the air. “That’s right. You’ve got professionals here now. Go spread the news. He’ll be gone by tomorrow.” the first one said dismissively, kneeling on a single knee, eyes level with the second man. “Worth more than your while.”
The second man frowned, and strode off to find his companions, with backwards glances over his shoulder at the ‘professional’. The man chuckled, and sheathing his sword, strode towards the pub.
***
“It seems odd to me that a single vampire attracts a number of hunters almost equal to the population of the town.” came a whisper from behind him, from the niche leading into a small house.
The man swung around, a well worn yet polished pistol flicking out in his hands, pointed at the shadows. A man like figure crouched there, teeth gleaming out at him. No fangs. A pistol was in the shadow’s hands, pointed low at him.
“What do you want?” the ambushed male asked.
“Put that gun down. It won’t help either of us.” the darkness replied, moving slightly. It looked nearly as tall as the first one. He cocked his gun dramatically, and shook his head.
A flicker, and a second pistol appeared in the mercenary’s other hand. “Oh, I think it will help.” he informed the mysterious voice. The stranger took a small, slow step forward, the light revealing his admittedly plain features. A second pistol had somehow appeared in his hand as well. “Trust me… it won’t.”
“…Fine.”
They both glared, then as one held up their hands, slowly, carefully holstering their weapons. The stranger smiled. “That’s better. Now…-”
A second later, the longsword and a wicked stiletto clanged against a metal pole, deftly used by the slightly shorter stranger. They held there, the blades pushing down on the pole, wielded like a quarter staff.
“There’s something you should know…” the mercenary grunted.
“Oh, what? You’re left handed?” asked the other, slowly being pushed down.
“Ambidextrous, actually, but no… I have a boot blade.” the reply came, the dull gleam of a blade springing from the thick boots.
The stranger heaved, and jumped back, dropping the pole, watching his attacker stagger and try to keep his balance as he almost fell forward. He reached behind his back, hands searching frantically – the man was recovering, and looked up to him- and as he leapt, a large gun was produced, aimed squarely at the other’s head. Imagine a pair of a rhinoceroses, caged, enraged, frightened: ready to crush the first thing they see in an effort to escape, and all compressed down to something the size of your hand. Now turn that into a gun.
The leaping man came to a dead stop before this new weapon, blades still raised high. “Well played.” he noted, smiling, slowly lowering the blades, and sheathing them.
“Callsign?” the gun toting man asked.
“Sable.” came the reply, the mercenary staring intently at the gun.
“And your real name?”
“It’s ah… wait. Wait. Is that gun loaded?” he challenged, brows furrowed. A sheepish smile from the other man. “Aaah… that’s a difficult question, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it a yes or no question? Surely you’d know.” Sable smirked.
“How about I simply put this weapon aside, and we have a nice discussion? We might even be able to arrange tea. And biscuits.” the other offered, slowly putting his gun away. “They call me Mr Candle.”
“Candle, hey? That’s certainly… interesting.
“Not Candle, Mr Candle.”
