Blood and Dust IC
When they saw the lone vampire in front of them, watching as they approached, they knew they'd fucked up. Roan pulled back on his reins, Orren following suit. The hunters and vampire stared each other down, sizing each other up. Somehow, the blood suckers had known they were coming. Orren glanced over at Roan, waiting for his lead. Would they retreat and rethink their strategy? Now that he looked back on it, he wished more than anything that they had. But the Carters boys were reckless that day.
Roan spurred his horse and galloped forward, gun raised. He didn't make it far before the ambush came running out from every direction. The blood suckers seemed to crawl from under every pebble and rock. Roan came to a screeching halt and turned his horse to run. Orren raised his gun and tried to shoot the vampires that were tearing towards his brother. In doing so, he allowed himself to be surrounded. Orren couldn't pick them off fast enough. Even when Roan rode up, taking shots where he could, they were hopelessly outnumbered.
Orren turned his horse around and lunged forward. He managed to break free of the coven. Roan followed him, but didn't catch up. Orren's horse raced across the hard, orange ground. The blood suckers weren't far behind him. All it took was for one to leap forward and grab the side of his reins. His horse spooked, rearing up and tossing the man off. The back of Orren's head hit the ground hard. No doubt he busted something. The searing pain was the last thing he felt as he was surrounded.
When Orren awoke, the first thing he heard was a muffle sob by his side. He let out a groan and cracked his eyes open just in time to see Roan's figure step in front of him. He felt a wave of relief knowing that his brother was alive. Then it fell. Roan had a gun aimed at him.
"Roan?" Orren croaked, opening his eyes wider, fearful. "What're you-"
"Stop," Roan said, his voice breaking. Orren could tell that he'd been crying. His heart sank even lower; his big brother never cried. "D-don't move."
Then it hit him. Orren was thirstier than he'd ever been in his life. It wasn't a regular thirst; he couldn't really describe it. But he could smell his brother, flesh and blood, and he smelled like food. Orren had the overwhelming desire to bite into his brother's neck and suck his blood, and there could only be one explanation. He slowly raised his hands to examine his own skin. Orren's skintone was usually a chestnut brown from the summer sun, but now it was as pale as the late months of winter. He skin was cold. Orren began to panic. His breath caught in throat as he turned back to his brother, who couldn't seem to pull the trigger.
"Roan, wait," He begged. "Please. I-I'm your brother."
"You're one of them," Roan croaked, trying hard to keep his voice even. It was to little avail.
"Please don't do this."
"I have to."
Orren sized up his option. It was either stay here and get his head blown off, or haul ass out of town. He moved faster than he ever thought possible. Orren jumped to his feet, knocked Roan over, and ran. Just before he could get out of range, he heard Roan fire a shot. Pain exploded in his back, burning like white hot metal that wouldn't cool down. He clenched his teeth and managed to keep going. From now on, him and his brother would be enemies. He tried not to think about it.
That had been about two weeks ago, as far as Orren could count. He hadn't seen Roan since. Orren already missed having him around. Being alone out in the desert certainly wasn't fun. He had come across one other lone travel, but that didn't really end well. Orren had lost complete control of himself, killing the man and sucking him dry. The man didn't turn, however. Orren's aim for the jugular was so bad that he'd ended up tearing the poor guy's throat out in a desperate attempt to reach blood. The satisfaction he'd felt afterward was sickening. Orren was disgusted with himself. He hadn't had a drop since. The hunger was back again, making him grow weaker by the second, but he just kept staggering on.
He'd managed to dig the bullet out of his back, but a shard of silver remained embedded in his skin. The area around it turned black and skin began to peal. Luckily, with it being on his back, Orren didn't have to look at it. It only aided in making his weaker. The way he figured, if Orren died out in the middle of the desert, at least Roan wouldn't have to be the one to pull the trigger on him. The poor guy had been through enough without having to kill Orren's stupid ass. He understood now that Roan would have been doing him a favor. Becoming a vampire was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
The sun beat down on his heavily clothed form. Even though Orren had most of his face covered with a scarf and his hat, he could feel his skin burning ever so slightly. His boots grew heavier and heavier with each step. Finally, his legs could take no more. Orren hit the ground knees first, then the rest of him fell onto his face. He looked up to see a dust cloud on the arisen. Orren squinted his eyes to see what looked like a group of some kind of travelers. Either they'd find him and end his miserable existence, or Orren would croak before they even got there. Either way, he supposed there were still worse ways to die.
Walking into the saloon, it was mostly empty at this hour. Most of the men were at work, but that'll soon change in an hour. For now, the place only has the bartender as his child, drawing in a book. He was greeted but didn't make a responds, taking a seat at one of the tables. It smelled of booze and cigars, but this was likely the only place that'll serve him a drink. Taking a seat, he let out a breath of relief. It's been some time since he got the chance to relax. Too much walking. As he sat there, a blond person walked into the room. For some reason he came and asked if he could sit with him. He just waved his hand towards a seat, allowing him to take it. Once the two men sat down, a comely lass came over and asked what they wanted. "Water." Once she left, the other tried to chat with him. He didn't pay much attention to the stranger, at least until he pulled out his gun and pointed at the strangers head. The stranger just chuckled though, but he gave him a hard glare. Eventually the lass came back with the drinks, and he holster his gun to not alarm her. After a few rounds of drinks the stranger left. When asked for any more water, he simply paid his tab and sat there. For a while, it was nothing but a quietness. Eventually the child broke the silence when he asked what's he's doing here. "The live-stock vampire."
"Thank you kindly madam and I hope you don't forget about me" Noelle adjusted his pants after he left the chapel. He had a silly grin on his face as he pulled out a bible, a gift from his recent lover. He wasn't much of a reading or religious man, so this would likely just be sold off for some quick dollars. But none the less, Noelle was rather happy. He's been in this town for about three days, looking for jobs or morons to cap. He figured the local saloon ought to have someone dumb enough to pick a fight with a total stranger. But when Noelle got there, it was just one man sitting alone at a table. "Well, let's see what Mr.Shady Duster got to say about me." So Noelle walked over to the table the man was sitting as and asked if he could take a seat. The man made some sort of motion, so he was going to take a seat anyways. "Well, nice to meet ya stranger. The names Noelle Maverick. I fancy myself a bit of a unlicensed law man in this part of the frontier. And you?" Noelle waited and waited, but the stranger didn't say anything. Strange fellow. Soon the waitress came by and asked for what they wanted to drink. "I'll take a glass of milk." Surely this would invoke a responds, but nothing and from the stranger. But Noelle would get him to talk eventually. "Anyways, I just came to town hearing rumors of a little coven around these parts, led by a spicy vampire mistress. I figured I'd go and see what's that all about." Noticing the man's weapons, surely he was a bounty hunter of some sort. But once again no responds. *Noelle decided to try to throw a surprise at the man, see if what he thinks if that. "I was thinking of offering my services for her. Let her drink my blood." Nothing. It was like the stranger didn't even notice Noelle. He narrowed his eyes and drawer his gun. Or at least he tried to before there was a gun barrel pointed right at his eyes, before he could even get his hand in the grip. "So you ain't asleep, just ignoring me, huh? Aright, I can take a hint." Afterwards the waitress came back with their drinks. Noelle didn't talk much after that except to ask the waitress for a refill. Eventually Noelle paid his tab and just left the Tavern.
Outside, the sun was still burning bright. Too right for his tastes. He was covered pretty well, but being out in the sun like this sucked. "Humans need to be more nocturnal. Ain't no one to talk to at four in the morning when I'm actually awake." Getting pretty bored, Noelle settled to take a nap at the stables or something. He certainly didn't want to pay for a room just until nightfall, and he can deal with the smell of horse crap.
She Who Harvests
"Waaargh!" Was the warcry of She Who Harvests and her hunters. They had successfully managed to draw out some vampires out of their cave after causing a cave in with some power kegs, and we're now finish them off. The vampires tried to shoot her hunters, but the sun blinded them, as did their weapons. Silver edged knives, spears, axes, and even swords, with shiny steel flashing the suns rays into their faces. They fired blindly, barely landing a hit as Harvest and her hunters closed in and finished them off. They cut the vampires to ribbons, hacking of their limbs and heads with blades, and impaling them on spears or large wooden stakes. Once the job was done, they cut off the heads of the vampires they killed, nailed their corpses to the rocks, and headed back to the tribe. They were going to collect a bounty on the vampires, seventy-five dollars a head. The money could be used by the tribe to trade with towns. And of course everyone would get a cut; they were accustomed to American economical practices, though with a community twist. "Let us hurry home before the sun bakes their bodies and the vultures dine on their flesh."
Cody Maverick & Barnaby Kain
"Well, what do ya say about the next town? I'm sure they'll be needing these skins." Cody asked Barnaby, who was occupied making sure the horses don't go and chance a lizard or something. "I already told you Cody, we're just stopping by the next town to resupply. The furs are for the east, we're we can sell them for a higher price. Everyone out here already got the skins they need, else they wouldn't be here in the first place." Barnaby was just trying to focus on the road. Truth be told the horses were trained well enough to be able to head to town without Barnaby guiding them. But someone needed to watch out for bandits hiding up ahead. Cody was just bored, constantly loading and removing a bullet from his shotgun. He was thinking of picking up a pistol, but he just finds them too unstable. Sure they good when your target is ten yards away, but if they're that close to you and you got a gun already maybe you ought to work on your aim or pick up knife fighting. That's what Cody thought, though he's actually gotten pretty handy with a whip. Not really the deadliest weapons, but they still hurt like hell. "Hey Cody, you see that?" looking up from his gun he looked towards the road. He looked for what Barnaby was talking about, aiming his shotgun invade he needs to shoot it. Eventually Cody saw what looked like a man on the ground. "Should I take a shot?" Cody was already about to squeeze the trigger before Barnaby made him point his gun up. "We're going to get a closer look first. Tell the others there someone is up the road." Cody nodded and got off the wagon to tell the others that someone was up ahead.
Roxanne Wilcox could feel every bump in the dirt as the wagons travelled, causing her to bounce around in the back and growl. Her one eye narrowed at the human driver but he didn’t notice. The caravan was pulling up through the dessert and Roxanne had no idea if they would ever stop. The caravan liked to stop near towns to slake their thirst if they were running low on donors such as her but getting into territory with other humans risked hunters. Not to mention the extra shades created over the driver seats of the covered wagons looked different than most, but kept the sun off any vampires that drove the wagons during the day. Most rode however like she was doing, sleeping during the day since they would be up all night. Sometimes Fox would drive but she was taking a break at the moment, staying out of the dust but still watching to make sure the driver knew what he was doing. She hated screw ups. As she was looking out, she could see a figure looking like he was burning in the sun up ahead where one of the other caravan wagons was stopped. “Hey, look where you’re going!” she yelled at the driver and pointing to what she thought was a man by his figure shape. The driver spat on the ground but slowed the wagon, causing the others in the caravan to slow down too. Roxanne crawled out of the wagon, hand on her holster and jumping out to see some of the other humans were getting closer already. She stayed back a bit, letting them check it out while leaning against the wagon with her arms crossed instead.
She chuckled idly at the fidgeting vampire next to her. He was a relatively new member to the Coven, eager, ambitious, and creative. Certainly, he would be invaluable in the years to come. Which only made it a bigger shame that she had to kill him. The bastard had been plotting against her. Whispering insurrectionist things in the ears of her trusted followers, luring them away from her. Of course, the majority of those trusted followers had immediately come to her, reporting his actions. What worried Ava was the ones that didn't come forth. Who knows if all that came and reported his treason were the only ones he had talked too? So, he had to be made an example of. Well, she would have made an example out of him anyways, just out of spite and hate for trying to usurp her throne. But, making an example to other traitors just had a nicer ring to it.
They were in the dark cave that served as one of the many hideouts for the vampires of the Coven. The hated and blinding sunlight could be seen peeking through the entrance a short distance away. The fool had been lured here thinking that she had wanted to have intercourse with him. Ava snorted mentally. Please. I've got better things to do with my time. Besides, he was going to be such a short-lived member of the Coven, a romance would be unthinkable. Speaking of his short-livedness....
Ava broke the silence that had been hanging over the cave for better part of an hour, letting the man stew and fidget. Raising her sword, "Do you like my blade? It's made out of silver, useful for both killing those meddlesome hunters, and any vampires that disapprove of our methods." She gave him a predatory smile, showing her fangs and making him even more uncomfortable. He cleared his throat to speak, but Ava wasn't going to let him. Springing to her feet and whirling on him, she lashed out with two strokes of the blade. Vampire strength is a wonderful tool to have when one is punishing those that would seek to do harm to her. Screaming, his stumps of arms blackened and sizzling, the would be usurper fell to the floor. "You didn't think I would find out, thief?" She hissed, her eyes blazing as she sank her blade into his knee, pinning him there as he thrashed like a fish upon a hook.
He was too busy screaming in pain to comment. Disgusted, and more than a little bit disappointed, by his lack of fight, Ava let out a sharp whistle. Two humans walked from outside of the cave, looking like Hunters for all intents and purposes. They were similarly armed as well, silver bullets and knives on them. But, their loyalties lied with the Coven, as evidenced by the mark carved into their skin. A circle with a jagged line through it. Given to them when the humans had proved worthy enough not to be eaten, to be considered for entering the ranks of the Coven. "Drag this fool out into the sun, and let it cleanse him from this earth. And do not disturb me until night time, unless matters of grave importance suddenly appear." She commanded. Nodding, the duo did as she bid. The last things Ava heard as she lay down for sleep in the cool darkness of the cave was the screaming, sizzling, and popping as the sun burned the usurper from this world.
She smiled. Another problem dealt with, further securing her position of power. No one would take this from her, and all would bow to the Coven before the West was conquered.
Hot sunlight was still beating down outside the covered sanctuary of the wagon, the small space currently being occupied by a girl with fiery hair. The sole occupant was propped up against a wooden barrel that was used to hold the caravan’s water, her eyes closed tightly as she slept through the day. It seemed as if she was dead, unmoving and not a single breath being ushered from her lungs as she sat there. Outside the little canvas protected hide-a-way there were some shouts, probably from one of the other wagons this one was traveling with, followed by the feeling of the wagon stopping.
With the sudden halt of movement Lucinda’s eyes fluttered open, the amber orbs quickly scanning the small and lonely space to see if she could determine the cause of the sudden change. It was clearly still daylight, meaning she was pretty much useless unless she wanted to be a pile of ash on the dusty road. She let out an unnecessary sigh before shifting closer to the front of the wagon bed, stopping just short of the thin sliver of sunlight that had made its way from the crack in the canvas behind the driver’s seat. “What’s going on?” She asked.
Her voice got the attention of Bill, the current driver of the wagon. Bill turned his body as much in her direction as possible, remaining seated on the simple wooden bench. “There’s someone up ahead in the dust.” He replies, catching her interest.
Lucinda stiffened, wondering just who this mysterious figure in the desert was. The girl quickly retrieved her discarded denim jacket and black hat, pulling the thin jacket on over the blackened scars that laced her skin. She silently set the hat atop her bright red hair. “Let’s see who this mysterious stranger is then.” She said mostly to herself before taking a seat beside Bill. Luckily her current apparel kept the sun off her skin, but even so she didn’t want to sit out here for long. All she wanted to know was that this figure was no threat to the people of this caravan.
Lucian, the gunsmith of the traveling group of humans and vampires know as the Caravan, walked ahead of the group. He needed some cooling off time, still wasn't used to some fucking fangers and humans working together, and it wasn't literal cooling off time since walking in the heat made sweat
immediately found its way onto his body. He rubbed the back of his neck where the two pinprick scars had healed over from his traumatic youth as he strode a few paces ahead of the galloping horses carrying carriages that held the vamps while they slept. A small pissed off noise escaped Lucian's lips. He grabbed onto the grips of his custom made pistols, his fingers twitching against the cold metal. He had always enjoyed the feel of metal against his hands; be it ore or finished product. It was the feeling of safety that metal would give him, especially silver.
Lucian looked around the wastes they were traveling, the town they had set their eyes on could barely be seen in amongst the heat haze and desert scrub. But it was there, a few hours more pressing hard into the distance. He heard people talking. The only people close enough were that pair...Barnaby and something. Lucian didn't care really, until he heard one of them say "person ahead." He looked up and saw someone laying in the dust. Lucian let out another small sound and ran to the prone figure.
Sliding down a dune bank, he arrived at the side of the man. He grabbed him and listed him up "you awake?" He looked into the mans face, pale and his body was cold "don't worry...we will help you..." He starting the trudging effort of taking the vamp up to the caravan.
Orren's consciousness had been all but lost. He barely registered that he was being lifted. He knew it had to have been a human, because he could smell the sweet scent of blood. The craving hit him full force, almost making him lose control of himself again. Luckily, he was too weak to attempt to attack his savior. The man carried him towards the travelers and put him down in one of the wagons. Did this guy not know a vampire when he saw one? Surely he had to have noticed that Orren wasn't human.
Once out of the sun, a little bit of strength returned to him. Orren cracked open his eyes and managed to get a glimpse around him. He was laying in a covered wagon, which was mostly empty save for the bedding he was on. A woman's face appeared above him. She spoke, Orren assumed to him, but he couldn't be bothered to focus on his words. The woman pushed his hair out of his face and peered into his eyes, saying something about how hungry he was.
As she did so, the smell of flesh and blood caught in Orren's nose. It was waving a juicy steak in front of starving dog. He waited until she reached towards him again, then made a grab for her arm. He brought her hand up to his face and sunk his sharp fangs into it. Hit bite missed almost every vein and was embarrassingly sloppy. It was clear that he was a new vampire; he'd yet to figure out how to actually suck blood. Instead, he lapped hungrily at the few pitiful drops he'd managed to drew before the woman pulled her hand back. His grip was so weak that it certainly wasn't hard to break. She didn't seem mad. She just tutted as she looked at the minor wound.
"He's just a baby," She said as she went to get some cloth to wrap around her hand. Bleeding any amount of blood around a hungry vampire, no matter how inexperienced, wasn't a good idea. "Lucian, can you be a dear and hold him down? I think I saw a wound on his back." The hole from Roan's bullet had yet to heal due to the small silver shard still embedded in Orren's skin. It didn't bleed; he didn't have enough blood in him. Instead, it leaked a clear ooze that almost had the same consistency as blood. The stuff had managed to seep through his shirt and even his coat over time.
As the guy, Lucian or whatever his name was, held him down, the woman worked his coat off and began to unbutton his shirt. Orren tried his best to fight the urge to bite her again, but it would occasionally win out over him. When it did, his meager struggles were easily thwarted.
There was the feeling of movement under her…the barest sounds of a horse’s hooves beating against sand, no, many horses’ hooves beating on and spraying sand into the air. There was yelling not far in the distance, and-BANG BANG-With the sound of loud gunfire, she opened up her eyes, everything becoming louder when her awareness awoken...and it was bright, a good-ish mornin’. A horse, she was riding on a saddleless horse, and…there was something heavy tied on either wrist. Sitting up and stretching out her back, she took note of the two gunmen on her tail as she adjusted her balance on the horse, before holding her heavier arm up to see what was attached. A half-empty bottle of Whisky…well, this explained most of the situation. Seeing a glint of metal through the clear-ish glass, she turned her wrist and…‘Ah, ey-yup, that explains the new boys on my heel…’ A sack that felt -CLINK CLINK-and sounded heavy with money.
With this men hot on her heels, getting a bit closer with their guns, she got up—actually stood up on the back of her horse, taking a swig of the whiskey as she demonstrated amazing balance like a pro caravan performer. As they hesitated in their surprise at her boldness, she pulled the scimitar off her waist, and dug a spur in the back of the horse, cause it to slow and—before it could rear back, the slowdown was enough to bring her back down and side by side with one of the gunmen, where she easily lopped off his head in the confusion and took over his horse. Of course, this was enough to snap the other guy out of his surprise, and he began to start shooting again. Dodging some high shots, she took a clean shot through the upper leg, the blue blood sprayed along her clothing. Grinding her teeth and groaning through them, she pressed a hand on the gunshot wound, steering her new horse around and away from more shots. ‘Damn…this is a whole lot of blood…’
When the man took a moment to reload, she struck again…but with much less force behind it, since she was getting weaker from blood loss. Half her scimitar through the man’s neck as she pounced at him, she took a tumble over his body and into the sand, the sound of the horses’ hooves beating against the sand grew more faint in her ears. Rolling onto her back, she panted and pulled the sack of her wrist, untying it and pulling a few mismatched coins out. A couple of silver dollars, some old Greek and Roman coins…how precious…this would be all fine and dandy, so long as she didn’t bleed to death. Getting up, and holding her hands against her wound, she began a long trudge over the sand.
When Roan saw the body on the ground, he could feel everything crashing around him. "Nonononoohgodno." He ran up to his brother and fell to his knees beside him. Roan scooped the younger man up and put an ear to his face to listen for breathing. Nothing. He set Orren back down, his own breath coming in shallow pants. His sorrow was then drowned in anger. Roan stood and looked up at the sky.
"What else can you take from me?!" He shouted at God. He glared towards the cloudless blue, as if waiting for an answer. When none came, a sob emanated from his throat. He laid his face in one hand and just let the tears run down his cheeks. He'd heard once that real men didn't cry, but that was all bullshit. Maybe those 'real' men had never known the true feeling of loss.
Roan felt alone now. The last of his family had finally been ripped away from him. His baby brother, whom he had raised singled handedly since the boy was five years old, was dead. He sat back down by Orren and straightened his hat on his head. He didn't look right without it. Roan's fingers happened to brush again his brother's forehead, feeling the coldness of his skin. Roan froze. Orren had not been dead long enough to grow cold, and he certainly wouldn't have done so in this heat. Roan could feel his stomach turn as he pulled his brother's collar down. Sure enough, there on his neck, was a bite. The anger returned.
How dare they put their filthy, blood sucking mouths on his brother? How dare turn him into one of them?! A new set of tears came down his face at the realization that he couldn't just let Orren get up and walk away. He would have to kill him before he became a monster. Roan drew his gun and tried to built up his courage to stand, but he couldn't find it. He brother looked so helpless laying in front of him. What kind of son of a bitch could just shoot him while he slept? Deep down, Roan knew it would be easier. Once Orren woke up, he'd be forced to look his little brother in the eyes and do it.
Before Roan could get the guts to do it, Orren let out a soft moan. His throat tightened, and he stood up quickly. Roan stood in front of the younger man, his gun aimed straight at his head. When Orren's eyes opened to look at him, Roan saw fear. It tore his heart in ways Orren would never know. Then his brother began to plead with him. Roan knew that it had to be the vampire now. A vampire would say anything to get it's miserable life spared. The creature in front of him was no longer his brother.
Still, Roan couldn't make himself pull the trigger. Eventually, Orren got and knocked him down. Roan felt dread as he saw the creature running off, probably to find a victim. He took a shot, but it was too late now. His brother was gone.
Two weeks later, Roan found himself in a saloon, drinking the hardest bottle of whiskey he'd ever tasted. Roan was never much of a drinker, but at times like these, he needed a little help forgetting. There was no one else there but the bartender's kid. It was 4 in the afternoon for God's sake! Roan set his bottle down after taking a swig and laid his chin in one hand. He'd been following his brother's trail, but had yet to actually catch up to him. Roan wasn't sure he really wanted to; but he couldn't let a monster walk around wearing Orren's face.
After a few minutes, Roan sat back in his chair and pulled out his bible. Sure, this was a strange place to do some soul searching, but these were strange days. Roan had been scouring the good book for answers as to what he should do. Usually, it gave him something to set him on the right path. Today? Nothing. There were no verses on what one should do once their family was dead and one turned into a vampire. Go figure.
Roan gave up after about half an hour and put the book away. He took another drink and looked up to see that two more men had entered the tavern. They talked, got into a little skirmish, and then one left. The one in the red coat sat in silence until the child asked him what he was doing. Roan's attention was caught when the man said something about a vampire. He looked back up. It probably wasn't smart to approach complete strangers and grill them on their business in these parts, but Roan was just a tad drunk and he needed to know more.
He got up and made his way over. The brown haired man helped himself to a seat at the table, taking another drink of his whisky before speaking.
"So you're hunting, are ya'?" Roan had heard about a female blood sucker in these parts that used humans like cows. He had a sneaking, and horrible, suspicion was Orren had come all this way to join her. "It must be a small world, stranger, because that's what I'm here for, too." He speech was slightly slurred. The bottle of strong whisky he'd ordered about an hour ago was almost empty, and Roan wasn't known for his tolerance to alcohol. He'd certainly be embarrassed of himself later, that is if he even remembered this conversation. Or lived to see the end of it.
Lucinda watched this new figure as he was lugged in by Lucian, a gunsmith with strange white hair and a slight distrust towards her kind, the new figure barely conscious. The smell of dried blood lingered on the new form, the smell catching in the vampire’s throat as she watched from the shade of her black hat. As they approached she noticed something else, a missing heartbeat or at least one that wasn’t strong enough to be human and keep living, the revelation bringing only one explanation to her aged mind. ‘A newborn?’ she questioned, her eyes flashing a dangerous sunset red color as she watched the man be heaved up into the bed of a nearby wagon. If this was true then he could mean trouble for the people she protected, a newborn’s thirst being uncontrollable and unpredictable.
With a huff Lucinda jumped down, one gloved hand holding her hat on her head to spare her skin from the sun, her feet landing softly on the dusty road. “Lucy, where’re you going?” Bill questioned, looking down from the wagon seat with a curious and confused look in his gruff face. She didn’t answer, the redhead having already started to stroll over to the wagon that held this mystery man. As she approached she caught a new smell, the fresh smell of blood reaching her nostrils with a sweet burning sensation. Worry gnawed hungrily at the pit of her stomach, pushing her forward at a faster pace than before. Her fiery hair trailed behind her, lifting enough to expose the faintest sliver of pale skin to the burning effect of the sunlight. Her boots moved even faster now, only stopping momentarily in the shade that harbored at the back of the wagon she had been approaching. The smell of blood was even fainter now and the sound of voices inside made her relax with a bit of relief.
Curiosity still nagged at her brain as she stood there; glad to be out of the sun for even a short period of time. The vampire wondered just who this newborn was and why he had dared brave the scorching death-ray that was the sun. Deciding it would be best to remain polite she just settled for leaning against the back of the wagon, a part of her wanting to peek inside and find out what was going on with her own eyes.