Flint began to awake, the ground below him felt like it was shaking and his head was pounding. Oh wait, it was moving, he was in the back of the van, and his head was slamming every so often against the hard metal sides. Groggily, he began to rise from his slumped position. “That’s what you get for using your powers too much” He thought to himself as he began to piece together what had happened. He was bellowing flames, then he went to go help Tony. Then… he couldn’t remember after that.

He focused his eyes and noticed Parry, being hugged by Rikive, and remembered what had happened before he had entered the building. It was as if his tiredness had melted away, his mind cleared and he stood up. He felt refreshed and energised as he looked towards parry.

“Hey Parael”. He said cheerily, to get his attention. When he turned, Flint’s fist crunched hard into the celestials face. Parry would know that they were even now, and so Flint sat back down, removing his large jacket. Sweat stained his white shirt and the shoulder holster was visibly empty. He must have dropped his hand-cannon when he passed out and this made Flint even more infuriated. He unbuttoned his shirt to inspect the bruises and cuts covering his chest and sides. Nothing too damaging, but enough to sting when he inhaled. Flint patted for his whiskey bottle, but remembered he had smashed it onto the floor before unloading his tommy-gun into the club. This just wasn’t Flint’s day.

Of all the people in the van who could berate him for what he'd done, Parry found himself flinching more and more with every word Rikive shouted at him. Like a kicked puppy, his smoldering eyes were cast down to the floor of the vehicle, losing their ambient glow until they returned to Parry's natural baby blue color, and even then were positively dejected.

Parry was ready for Tony, Flint, Autumn, everyone to name him a liability and cast him out as a pariah for what he'd done, but losing Rikive's friendship would hurt him the absolute most of all.

So when Rikive squeezed Parry in an almost tackle-hug, he breathed in a sigh of relief and his own breath caught in his throat. So he just hugged her back as hard as he could, one hand patting her own shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Parry said, squeezing hard. "I'm really, really sorry hon. I found some stuff out but it wasn't worth putting you all in danger."

“Hey Parael”.

Parry released Rikive just long enough to turn toward Flint, his eyes brightening once again as he saw the perpetually well-dressed-for-a-bygone-era detective wizard.

"Hey Flint!"

CRUNCH!

-------------------------------------

Billy Rikker's feeding frenzy was interrupted by the loudest, shrillest, most ear splitting noise he had ever heard in his century of living.

It reminded him of the shrieking a spoiled toddler would make when denied the flashiest, prettiest, most expensive toy in the toy store and goddammit, she was gonna get that toy if it meant she would have to make a scene that would shame her parents for all eternity.

So while the noise successfully broke the trance the close circle of vampires had been in while lapping the blood from the carpet, their super senses were picking up the sound as nails-on-a-chalkboard centimeters from where they stood. Suddenly his whole surviving clan was on the floor, clawing at their ears to get the noise to stop while up and down the street, car alarms for Mercedes, Lincolns, Bugattis and other half-million dollar vehicles activated their anti-theft mechanisms.

-------------------------------------

Parry was knocked flat on his ass by Flint's punch, his nose once again collapsed. But he could absolutely feel that it was not where it was supposed to be, and Rikive, even if she were so inclined, wouldn't be able to heal him for a while after pulling both Parry and Flint back from the brink in such a short period of time.

Parry had seen toddlers melt down from having scraped knees and other boo-boos. So he was emulating the best as he cried like a baby over his precious nose, the tires of the van squeeling away as they shot off to find Gray and Beth, Parry the Angel, slayer of Demons, protector of the innocent, semi-immortal warrior and self-professed hedonist kicked and screamed, holding his face, and only barely resisted the urge to say 'MOMMY! HE HIT ME!'

"We're not in an asking mood..." She was enraged, and yet she almost had to laugh. Don't I feel like a lady.

She was completely engaged with the hunter. "Do you honestly believe I would willingly help you against Nemsemet?" She gave an unbelieving shake of her head. Even as she glared at him, her wine-colored eyes carried warm undertones. As if it were the only part of her being that might still be human. Her icy tone was a stark contrast. Each word felt like a bite at the air, "You're incredibly foolish, human. You assault my people, and then you invite me to my own death." She paused, her head tilting as her eyes dipped low for a brief moment, judging his profile. "You don't even know what you're asking," she dismissively stated.

And you didn't even say 'please.'

Vaguely, she was aware of the presence behind her. She wasn't quite sure the nature of being he was, but she had surprise on her side. This hunter - human - would never be able to match her speed quickly enough to defend himself in a significant way. It was unlikely that she was going to get out of here unscathed, but she might as well enjoy the fight. After all, she was a creature of violence, and she didn't like his attitude.

Seconds after the last word left her lips, she kicked off of the rooftop. She sprung from her place so quickly, it was almost a blur. Her body collided with the hunter. All of the concentrated - and complicated - fury she felt towards him exploded from her as she tackled him to the ground with a animalistic snarl. Her attack wasn't coordinated or thought through like her actions of evasion had been. This was purely instinctual. Now that she was close, so close she feel his pulse through his flesh, his scent was intoxicating. It made her lightheaded, but it didn't matter, because she didn't plan to resist the urge to part her lips and bury her teeth into the flesh around his shoulder. With a final draw of his aroma, she did just that, piercing the skin in search of crimson heat.

The vampiress had lunged with such speed and ferocity that it was too fast for him to react. She grabbed hold of him and the two tumbled across the roof until she had him pinned. He had lost hold of the bag as they rolled, some of the contents spilling onto the roof. Visible was a long metal spike, a metal bat still half-concealed by the bag, and an aerosol can.

A set of fangs pricked his shoulder. It would have been more painful if he weren't already full of adrenaline. Gray moved his left hand quickly to draw the syringe from its place in his front pocket while drawing a Glock with his right, the same arm she was now drinking his lifeblood from. She in her fury smacked the syringe from his hand, pinned his arm and continued to draw from him. It clattered to the side. With his handgun he started to unload the magazine into her abdomen while using the painful opportunity to shove her off of him. Her teeth tore a chunk from his shoulder. She definitely looked more the monster now. He rolled to side to the closest equipment - the bag. What he grabbed was the metal spike. Sure, special wood could kill a vampire. He didn't want to kill her though. He wanted to paralyze her and if the syringe wouldn't work then filling her heart with some cold metal would. If this didn't work he may have to behead her and abandon the information before she leeched more of his life away.

Karram was surprised to see the vampire lunge for Gray, and even more so that the attempt succeeded in bringing him down. The syringe toppled from his hand along with the bag, but he was all too quick to act. Karram heard several shots fire from within the scuffle before he even had the chance to move. Then, as Karram ran closer grabbing up his dagger, he noticed Gray push her off and grab a metal spike from the bag. Karram rushed over, throwing his dagger accurately into her left thigh before rolling to swiftly pick up the syringe. Sheathing his blade, Karram switched his approach and simply attempted to kick their vampire friend square in the face, with the intention of allowing Gray the opportunity to strike in which Karram could deliver the decisive blow: the concoction contained in the syringe, whatever it may be. Seamless timing would be required, for the vampire's reflexes were definitely faster than theirs. And as usual with this group, the pair didn't really have a well-thought-out plan; but rather a stream of quick glances to signal the conjoined attack.

Kick. Metal spike. Syringe. Sleep magic. Detain.

And so, Karram and Gray executed their respective moves and hoped for the best. Karram used one hand to deliver the syringe to her arm and the other to gently touch her forehead while mouthing his faerie incantation of sleep. Then he quickly backed off and watched in anticipation for things to kick in, all the while placing a hand on the hilt of Oakbane. If the strange concoction wasn't enough to bring her down for the trip back to the bunker, then Karram's magical touch should act as the final component in finally knocking her out. His magic was not as powerful as some of his more experienced relatives, but it still packed a punch. This has got to work, he thought.

Damn them all. Damn every last one of their merry band of revolutionaries. If Parael wasn't already getting a piece of someone's mind, Beth would be sure to deliver it herself. Hell, she might still do it. If everyone had kept to the original plan, the plan they had spent time and energy working out in the midst of dealing with whoever the hell that Autumn woman was and her lapdog, they'd be interrogating this vampire chick. Perhaps even getting somewhere on the Nemsemet front.

What sort of threat did this pose to an ancient dread mummy?

Instead, Beth stood in a pile of garbage waiting for Karram and the fucking hunter to subdue the aforementioned vampire chick. At least they wouldn't be leaving empty-handed, so long as the boys did their jobs. Beth'd be damned too if she let them go back to the bunker with nothing to show for it.

She relied on the clatter of steel and empty thuds to tell her they were still fighting up on the roof. With what shreds remained of her faith in people -- and that came from little itself -- she entrusted them with the task and bolted out of the alley. She ran across the street to the nearest car, a second-hand sort of deal, no one would miss it. Should Gray and Karram succeed in abducting the vampire, the van would be far too crowded, and waiting for the others slowed them down further.

Beth sifted through the side of the car and resumed a solid state. Back when she had a body of her own, she wired enough cars to know exactly what she to do when she took apart the steering column. She considered jacking Flint's car once, shortly after she heard a cop started digging into her affairs, and only hours before all the dying nonsense.

In a few minutes she had the beat up car running and pulled it into the alley. She shouted up to the roof, "Get a move on!"

Sinking her teeth into the soft tissue of the hunters shoulder was like extending a muscle after sitting still for too long. It was a natural movement, and immensely satisfying.

The taste of warm blood on her lips, fresh from the flesh, made her body quiver. Everything about it - the thickness of the fluid, the warmth, the rich flavor - filled her with euphoria. Her veins ached for it as the taste rolled down the back of her tongue and into her throat. It had been too long, and each time she fed felt that way. She was in constant need, and the brief moments of satisfaction were as electric as intimacy to mortals. Her fingers coiled around the fabric of the hunters shirt. She clung to him as if he were a being endeared to her. A potentially terrifying encounter for him was a strangely intimate and spiritual ritual for a vampire.

She was distracted from her bliss when he shifted beneath her. As a mortal, he was terribly slow in her eyes. With split focus, she half-heartedly swatted the needle from his hand as if it were nothing more than a pesky fly. She was too busy with the task at hand to give it much though, too preoccupied with-

BOOM.

The sound of thunder tore through her mind. The force of it hit her core like a battering ram. It wasn't the first time she had been shot, but it wasn't the sort of thing you ever got used to. She recoiled instinctively, finding herself shoved off of her meal. In her delirium, it took the pain a moment to overtake the ecstasy of the feed. When it did, it came sharply, cutting through her joy like a sharpened blade.

She gave a pained and furious cry, her lips and belly dripping with crimson. The gunshot seemed to pop-off a thousand different strikes, attacks suddenly coming from all sides. She sloppily jerked away from an oncoming dagger. It clattered uselessly across the ground. Shakily, she struggled to drag herself to her hands and feet, but abandoned the task to lift her hands to deflect the swift kick that nearly connected with her blood-stained face.

She wasn't fast enough to avoid the metal spike.

It pierced through her and into her heart, tearing a hole in her shirt and her body. She inhaled a harsh gasp. The pain was so sharp, she didn't notice the prick of her skin when the syringe was injected. She only distantly heard the mumble of strange words, and felt the weight of sleep descend upon her. Her tense, trembling limbs began to soften. Within moments, her bloodied body went limp as her eyes fell shut.

The vampire was drunken on blood and pain. Boot to the head. Ow! She didn't see that coming. Gray capitalized on her confused state by rushing her with the improvised stake. Using his full body weight and momentum he slammed it into her heart. It made a gory, "Shlick!", as he forced it in.

"Nighty night, sweetheart." Karram stuck her with the syringe and did some strange magic. Cheater. As if this wasn't enough. Oh well. At the least they wouldn't need to worry about her gaining any mobility an time soon. Gray held on to her as she went limp. She would have been very pretty and peaceful looking right now if she didn't have his blood all over her face. He cringed as her weight put pressure on his punctured shoulder but shrugged it off and lifted her up. It wasn't necessary to remove the stake right now, not until they had to 'question' her. He hefted her up on his uninjured shoulder and started towards the closest fire escape.

On street level a beat up car was running with a ghost in it. Since she was stealing anyways she may as well have taken a bigger or faster car. It'd have to do. Gray popped the trunk and lay their prize down. He took the seat behind the passenger side and inspected his shoulder. It was still bleeding, she had really torn into him. With his luck it'd close up on itself but he ripped up some old jacket left in the back seat anyways and used it for a makeshift bandage.

Gray pull out his cellphone which he thankfully kept in a protective sheathe. Can't have your primary source of communication be cut off because it fell out of your pocket when you were hit. He went to the speed dial for Autumn. "We got her. He leaned back in the seat and let out a sigh of relief. "We're on our way."

"Good, let's get the fuck out of here, this is a goddamn mess..."

That was Tony's summary of the action, and it felt appropriate -- there was a lot of mess left behind to clean up in the form of vampire bodies, ripped apart in various ways, reforming. It was a problem with fighting vampires that if you didn't bring lots of fire or cut off their heads, they'd be back, and while he'd tried to rip off heads for a reason, you could only do so much of it in one go when fighting vampires -- they were not as fast as a werecreature, or as strong, but far more durable in the long term and not nearly as vulnerable to something like silver. A lycanthrope's powers could be pulled like a plug, which was why Tony was always, prior to this anyway, very careful about not getting into jams in the supernatural world where he had to rely on the man-beast form. It was a thing from the old days, before silver was everywhere and before hunters discovered silver, like the guy their van driver had -- the dude was running around with a bunch of it like the Punisher meets Underworld or something.

In any case, the protocol was the same -- dispose of the van, in this case just abandoning it somewhere and hike the rest of the way -- and eventually make it back to the damn bunker, while trying to avoid anything that might be trailing. Here, the acute senses of a werecreature were useful, because the sense of smell and the sight at night made him a good guy to bring up the rear, especially since he blended in. Black man in the ghetto? No problem. Vampires were still human minds with an inhuman thirst, they overlooked things that didn't stick out or move in unusual ways against the backdrop like any other predator on Earth...

--

Hours after the attack, Billy Rikker was still trying to figure out what he'd say when Neil Gordon, of all men, came into the Rusty Steak Knife; it was far closer to dawn than it was a few hours ago, but there was night enough left and a lot of work to do. The thralls started to raise their weapons, and Gordon, counting down as the thralls, to his perception, moved oh-so-sluggishly to raise their weapons, calculated when he'd actually have to draw his revolver and gun them, down.

"Hold!" came the command from Rikker to his thugs, recognizing the Major; he wouldn't have put good odds on two thralls surviving an encounter with an older vampire that had a very nasty reputation, even in the vampiric circles, for his accomplishments of duels. Duels were not necessarily fatal among vampires, but they were embarrassing, which was why good duelists were noted and giving insult to them was avoided.

"Mister Rikker," Gordon intoned in that Tennessee accent of his, "A good evening to you. I trust you've had a pleasant one?"

"Major Gordon, it's a pleasure to see you," Billy's best Italian Duke manners were on display as he managed a courtly gesture of apology, "My thralls are overzealous and no insult was intended. Might you overlook their lapse?" Rikker liked Gordon little and the disdain was very much mutual, but Billy was a political animal so he hid it quite well. His courtesy was a little more contrived than Gordon, who was raised to be a gentleman rather than affecting it in undeath.

"Certainly," Gordon replied, unperturbed; he still wore his hair long-ish in the style of his day, though it was combed and tied back in a concession to modern fashion, though he also wore a hat, a wider-brimmed Stetson that wouldn't draw notice for a man in a suit -- people assumed 'country gentleman' and while that concept was nebulous in the minds of people, Gordon managed to add the odd occasional stylistic touch of authenticity to any outfit he wore these days, "Though if it is not too much of an imposition, I would beg of you a moment of your time in private, as I bear a message from our lord."

"Of course, I have an office upstairs. It managed to survive most of the damage."

"I'm glad for that, and I am sorry to hear of the misfortunes of the night."

"If you will follow me, please, Major," Billy said as he gestured for Gordon to come with him alongside and explained, "I lost something on the order of fourteen of our own dead and a number of thralls and kine as well," though the mortals didn't really count.

"I see, well the Lord Nemsemet is quite interested in the affair, most particularly any information to be had on what attacked you."

Billy grimaced, "It's hard to say, but there are tales of at least one were-cat of some sort, and a couple different sword wielders -- one woman and the other with wings and a sword, both cutting a swath, and there was one that definitely matched the description of Flint White, who was an enforcer of the court. You were one yourself, did you ever run into him?"

Gordon shook his head, "I'm afraid not. We were in two very different lines of work for the court, you see, but I am familiar with the man's reputation -- he's a magic user."

"Those are the descriptions I have for now."

"And this comes not long after the strike on the daycare center," he noted, while managing not to imply just how bungled an attack that really was. As an experienced Indian-fighter, which was to say that he'd fought braves when he wasn't shooting the women and children, he knew to try to cover the escape routes. Billy clearly didn't.

"Of course," Billy said as he gestured Gordon into the office, which was plushly appointed in that Italian merchant-prince theme, complete with a number of expensive antiques and wood furniture, tastefully done and draped with a bit of silk here and there -- because it wasn't fancy Italian without silk. But what drew the eye was a sword sitting on the desk, no computer because Billy was like so many vampires in how old-fashioned he was, "There were a number of things in the place, but this sword was among them," Billy said, "Though I haven't had time to do anything with it, I was thinking to mount it up a plaque and send it along to our Lord as a trophy."

Fool, he thought of Billy, as he examined it, noting the writing all over the short blade, "It's quite interesting, but I'm not sure what to make of it. What of this man that was the target of the attack, Parael?"

"A fuckin' fag that runs a daycare, prances around in Prada and gave an amulet to Augustus before he was snuffed out. Not a serious player, just a small time magic user," Billy said contemptuously, "I wanted to send a message to anyone else thinking they can defy our Lord in such a way and I figured he wouldn't be missed. Why, Major, I thought you'd appreciate the method, after all..." Billy allowed the thought to trail off, as he tried to butter Gordon up. Gordon smiled tolerantly, though he found himself ever-so-amused that Rikker suddenly fancied himself any sort of expert in scorched earth strategy.

Rikker, to Gordon's mind, was an amateur at that sort of thing; after all. It was a nice thought, but so out of Billy's previous methodology that it occurred to Gordon that Billy was still playing the politician -- he knew Nemsemet was uncompromising, so he took a stab at that sort of thing to please the boss, and thought such a half-hearted effort that let the enemy escape would be laudable.

"Of course, Mr. Rikker, of course," Gordon said, while keeping the facade calm. What Billy did was turn the situation desperate, "How goes your work here, if I might presume to ask?"

"Quite well," Billy said smugly, "Until tonight. I think I have a number of the covens on our side now. It takes time to negotiate, you see." Negotiate, he meant, his cut of their action in the name of Nemsemet. The old Mummy didn't care about tribute, but Billy didn't see the reason to bother Nemsemet about trifles like that or to enlighten the other vampires to Nemsemet's lack of desire for worldly wealth.

"So, what is the message from Nemsemet?"

"This," Gordon told him, as one hand pulled back his coat on the left side, because he favored the cross-draw, and the other reached into it.

The thralls charged up the stairs when the gunshot rang out, and were met with the sight of the older vampire standing in Billy's office, bloody sword in hand and a smoking gun- two shots later, the weapon cycled as quickly as a vampire, fast even among his kind, could cock the hammer, line up the shot and squeeze, not yank, the trigger, and the two thralls sprouted .45 diameter holes in their heads. Gordon wasn't entirely a traditionalist -- they were hollowpoints that left a hell of a gaping hole on exit, in this case the back of the Thralls' heads. More vampires rushed upstairs to see what the uproar was and were met with the sight of the thralls crumpled on the floor and bleeding from messy headwounds onto Billy's wonderful Persian rug.

Major Charles Niall Gordon stood there without a care in the world despite the fact that he was a vampire and had three bodies on that prized Persian rug. That's how they knew Billy had to be dead -- he never allowed blood on that particular rug. It was worth your life to muddy it even.

"Good evening my colleagues," he drawled, "The Lord Nemsemet has placed me in charge of future operations for our little vampire community. I do not care about a percentage of your businesses and I am supremely unconcerned by the economics of the situation, unlike the late, unfortunate and hopefully unlamented Billy Rikker. This is no longer a crime syndicate. This is a war," he announced, "And I am in command. Thralls will be created, armed and housed at locations around the vicinity of Parael's former daycare and we will be combing the Dorset area for further intelligence. We will watch and we will wait. I will have more orders for you in the coming days. For your needs, feel free to use Billy Rikker's funds freely, for he shall not be needing them anymore. If any of you have thralls or are yourselves skilled in computers and surveillance, I will require someone who can tap into the city's camera system. That will be all for the evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said with a polite but dismissive tone, the sort of thing he'd adopt when dealing with fellow officers in a different era -- men you commanded militarily but who were your social equals.

The message was clear. New management.

"Oh, and make sure to burn this place. We won't need it any longer."

Billy Rikker had been Gordon's enemy for a long time. And he'd learned an even longer time ago that you won a war by breaking the enemy psychologically, which often meant burning his things. Rikker had allies and subordinates, ambitious little things that thought they'd take over the organization or intrigue against Gordon.

Burning Rikker's place down around Billy's corpse was meant to warn them of the consequences. And it invigorated him; to Gordon, a war simply wasn't won until you were burning down the enemy's home.

--

Meanwhile, in the Bunker, Tony was changed into another sweatsuit and disgruntled as the others brought in the vampire -- the idea was to subtly gather information, but now things were hot and he expected reprisals. That was his old neighborhood up there, the one he grew up in, and it made him queasy to think about what a bunch of coked up thralls were going to do to it.

But here was the loaded question, in that grimy old bunker, with its rusting chairs and dusty shelves, its slightly moldy smelling cots, "So, what now?"

What now indeed.

Parry had an unpleasant evening after getting back to the Bunker, not least of all because everyone took the time to berate him for bungling the plan and putting them all in danger. There were more than a few questioning glanes about the wings and the sword that decapitated vampires when it didn't look sharp enough to cut through a tomato.

To the city at large, from a street wizard to the highest circles of vampire power, Parael was considered an eccentric and flirtatious wizard.

de Lacy and Rikive were the only ones who knew what he was. That cat was out of that bag, but there were only looks- nothing asked out loud.

And Parry had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing like eating a bad tuna sandwich, but his hands felt absolutely filthy. Like they were covered in slime and grease. Holding Cym's sword negated the feeling every now and then, but whenever it came back, he would catch a brief flash of something- a metal hatchet burying itself in the skull of a woman.

A bearded man screaming "FIRE!" to a line of blue-clothed soldiers.

A grey sky over an ash covered field, scalped bodies.

Well... this is new.

"Good news: We have a prisoner, and the chief coven on the East Side is blown to hell," Parry winced, holding his broken nose in proper position- he would be damned if it healed crooked. He had slunk low enough to pull a set of old green scrubs out of his enchanted bag to wear. Leftovers from a one-night-stand he'd enjoyed with a male witch. He'd never had binding hexes used on him in that way, and he wanted a memento. "I had a thought- and it's a long shot- but... what about the fairy court? de Lacy had loose control of the court to begin with. I wouldn't be surprised if the Spring Queen has just closed up the hall and decided to wait this whole thing out. Not that I get a say in this..."

Rikive was tired, she had nearly fallen asleep on the van ride returning to the bunker. After healing Parael's life threatening injuries, Tony's and her own; her magic needed to be replenished. It was a strange thing, she could fight in a battle for days without wavering, but she didn't have the same kind of endurance when it came to her magic.

Unfortunately, anyone that was injured would need to wait for her to replenish her magic before she could heal them.

She had washed and changed into a white tank top and a pair of black sweatpants. She put Winterthorn on her bed and then returned to the main room to participate in the discussion before she had to sleep. "I don't trust the fairy Queen." Rikive said in response to Parael, sitting herself down on the ground with her back leaning against a wall. "Also, if I ever make it back to Asgard, I will be telling the story of your folly, Parael, for centuries to come." She informed him with a small grin with a tad hint of bitterness to it.

She was starting to think she may never see home again.

"I think, what we are in desperate need of, before we do anything else," She spoke loudly and firmly. "Is an established chain of command. Because the way we are operating now is not working. It's chaotic and one of us is going to end up dead soon if we keep doing what we're doing." She brushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear, looking around the room at everyone present, trying to judge who would be a good leader.

Getting back to the bunker had not been easy, especially considering Beth and the boys had little to no idea how long the vampire would remain unconscious. On top of that, the only driving skills Beth possessed she learned joyriding. To say the trip was bumpy would be an understatement.

Nonetheless, she got them there, and once they stuffed the girl into the hands of everyone else, she joined the long line of folks waiting to give Parael a talking to.

With that passed, Beth paced languidly from one side of the room to the other closest to the door. Her sight pinned on the vampire while the others began recuperations. She bound the girl's hands with some rope she found in another room. It wasn't much to keep a vampire prisoner, but even she would have to think twice before trying to break out of the bunker with a group of very pissed off supernaturals.

"I agree with Rikive." Beth halted to speak, arms crossed over her ethereal chest. "The Queen will have to wait. If this is how badly we fuck up against a bunch of thralls and Rikker's buddies, we've no hope of getting closer to Nemsemet." She'd had doubts before, but following the monumental failure at the Rusty Steak Knife, her mind began playing out as many scenarios as possible to find some way of making it out of this mess alive -- or, well, unchanged.

She took a few steps closer to the rest of the group, her attention still split with the vampire. "It's obvious Parael should not be giving orders," she continued, shooting him a scolding look. It felt strange being on the other side of one. "I would elect Tony, for his background. Perhaps even Flint."

Gray had taken the opportunity to dress his wound properly. Despite tired eyes and a sore shoulder he was ready to carry on some business. A nap would have to wait because it was time to strike while the vampire was weak. He listened for a moment to the others in the main hall and threw in a comment as he lifted up their 'guest'. "Just make sure it's someone you guys can trust. I think we're all agreed that an event like that shouldn't happen again." His doubts were very high that they wouldn't care to have their new people be in charge of anything. He hefted up the vampire. She was still in dead-weight mode with an improvised stake in her heart.

Gray picked a room with a heavy lockable door and lay her against the wall. "Hey Autumn, I need to borrow you for a second." He requested into the hall. He set up a few chairs in the room and took a seat opposite of the prone figure. Drawing a deep breath he slipped his mask on. "She should start regaining her senses as soon as the stake is removed. She's still drugged so I should be fine but I want you to lock me in here with her. What do you think?"

Since everyone got back they were all pretty on edge. Perry got an ear full but somehow it didn't seem enough. Arachne was not always a forgiving creature and something as botched as their last venture would spell major punishment at her company. But this wasn't her company so she held off and left it to the others. Maybe later.

It was brought up that there was no kind of command at all and that they were just going about things all wrong. No kidding, she could tell that at the beginning. She had been lightly directing things before it all went South. However she doubted any of them trusted her enough to even bother bringing it up. Turning to Gray she looked at the room. "Probably best if one other person joins you, just in case."

She moves her attention to to the group again. Oddly enough the only other person she'd seen that has a head on straight was the one that pointed out the problem. Nodding to herself she spoke up. "What about you? When things were falling apart you took it upon yourself to get everyone out. You didn't panic or lose it in a fight. So I think you would be a good candidate."

Tony shook his head, "No way on me. As soon as it gets intense, there's not much more than instinct to work off of. I can talk about things and plan things here, in a controlled and safe environment, but I am not someone you can look to for good judgment in the middle of a fight. That's not how it works."

Sure, Tony had a background, but it was a day to day thing, an office and dealing with people within the confines of civilization. In a fight, when the blood was up, lycanthropes were as fast, strong and resilient as anything, just about, but their instincts took over, their primal nature brought to the fore, muting the intelligence of the human. It was a form in flux and enraged, and not even able to properly speak more than a couple words -- and he'd never bothered to try.

But he knew his own limitations; he'd learned them a while ago in deciding how to stay fundamentally out of the society of the Courts and the parallel city of the supernatural and preferred to stay in the mortal world, doing mortal work and forking over a tithe to de Lacy so he could be left alone and in peace. Nemsemet put an end to it and dragged him into this world against his will, forcing him to face things he didn't want to face. He didn't like shaving in the mirror and thinking of the thing inside him that cut loose in some swampy jungle, killing, perhaps eating, people indiscriminately, operating off pure instinct. He already wasn't liking the idea that he might harm someone he knew or didn't want to harm in this situation, and it's why he advocated not going anywhere near the Steak Knife, but picking off a lone vampire instead.

Flint sat on a fold out chair, he had changed a few moments before into a white shirt and pants, as the others had been resting. He listened to the conversation but preferred to stay out of it, cradling a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He took turns with each, breathing in the smoke then taking a swig of whiskey. He eventually spoke up

“I don’t care who is the leader, as long as I don’t have to call them sir and do a pirouette every time they ask, like those bastards in command in 1917. Im telling ya, give a man a badge and he thinks he owns the place, why I ought to hae given him a thing or two. Course I couldn’t or I would have been reprimanded and at that point I didn’t even know I could shoot fireballs or whatever. Anyway in that trench my buddies used to…” Flint began to ramble on about some story of taking a German trench, a few racial slurs where mixed in here and there and most people would find it best to ignore him. A hundred years of information does a lot on the human brain.

Tony was Rikive's first choice as well, but he pointed out why he wouldn't make a great leader in the thick of a fight. Unfortunately she had to agree, berserkers were great for breaking enemy lines but for leadership roles? Not so much. Beth mentioned Flint and she supposed he would make-and he was drunkenly rambling about some war in 1917.

Right, he was out as well.

Rikive was mulling over the other's and what she knew of them, when she realized Autumn was talking to her. "What, me?" She asked, blinking in surprise that someone was considering her for the position. Because she had kept calm in the throws of a battle? Many of the other's had kept level heads as well. She suppose, she did come from a culture the prizes fighting above all else. She did use to spend some time in her grandfather's hall, filled with all the great fallen warriors.

But...Did that qualify her to actually lead anyone?

She frowned in thought, comparing herself to other viable candidates. "I...suppose?" She responded with a small shrug, not sure what to say. She had never been put in this position before. "The final say falls to the group though." She said, making a small motion with her hand to everyone else in the room. "If they agree then, I will step forward to lead."

Karram had enjoyed the ride to the bunker. It was the first peaceful experience he'd had since joining this band of supernaturals. But it ended prematurely once they arrived. He and Gray dragged their vampire prisoner inside and Beth tied her to a chair. Then she was stored away for safe keeping, with Gray hungrily wanting to stand guard. However, as Karram returned to the main room, he noted the uncomfortable tension in the air and heard talk of needed leadership. And of course he agreed, but the question was more so who it should be to lead them. Mention of the fairy court made Karram's elongated ears perk up. And before he could speak on the matter, the fairy queen was dismissed as distrustful... this made Karram grit his teeth a bit, but he quelled his desire to shout down her throat. Despite his personal history and the misconception towards faerie loyalty, Karram and his people were a very tightly knit group and this went doubly for the Faerie Queen. A couple subtle breaths and Karram was able to return to a state of diplomacy. It was at this time that several name were thrown into the pot, so to speak.

Karram pondered the options carefully. Tony was the initial person to gather them all up, and he was a born leader. But like he said, he had moments in which his mental state could be easily compromised. And Flint... well, Flint was an intelligent sorcerer but his general laze and attitude would make for an unfit leader overall. And his near-drunken monologue just proved the point further. But then Rikive was nominated by Autumn. Karram's brow lifted slightly at the thought; she had just dissed his Queen, but her battle prowess, experience and courage were definitely qualities that fit the bill.

"I vote Rikive. She has a good balance of qualities that make her as perfect a candidate as we're going to get in this team. And obviously she doesn't have to go it alone; she can make the decisions and organize and command our 'ranks', but delegate duties she cannot fulfill to those in the group who better fit the scenario. And for the record," he darted a stern look at Rikive, "My Queen is not untrustworthy."

Karram felt better getting that last part off his chest. It may have been an awkward summation to make after his more than diplomatic speech on behalf of the very person that mentioned his queen, but he shrugged off the thought and turned to check on the vampire once more. His demeanor had once again changed back to carefree. He waved back at the group as he headed for the vamp, "But obviously I'm not the only vote that counts."

Gray didn't take his gaze off of the prone figure. "Alright August. We'll do it that way." He leaned forward to look at her closer. To an untrained personage this vampire looked quite dead but if a vampire never moved they would be mistaken for a corpse because they were.

The hunter took a steady grip on the spike and on their captive's left shoulder and began tugging. The puckering wound issued out globs of dark blood as the spike was carefully removed. The air was permeated by the sick sound of a pressurized wound letting air in. Discarding the stained piece of metal into the hallway he noted Karram was coming. "Hey. If you're joining us I'd suggest staying at the door. We don't need everyone in here but we just might need your help in a moment." Gray turned back to their guest and addressed both August and Karram. "She'll be stirring soon." Finally he took a seat, rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly.

In her sleep, Kaori didn't exactly dream, but rather reflected.

The vision that came to her took her back to the modest home of her human life. Through those eyes, the world had been so much dimmer, and so unclear. She couldn't focus on more than one sight at a time. It felt like she had cotton in her ears when she couldn't discern the sounds from the next room, or count the number of heartbeats in the small building. She felt horribly weak.

Slowly - so slowly - she rotated where she stood in the small, plain kitchen that had belonged to her mortal family. The little room, with its sad implications of poverty, felt as if it had a chokehold around her throat, suffocating her. It was strange, the feeling of suffocation after not needing air for so many years.

Through her muffled ears, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her, and the kind, affectionate calling of her name, "Kaori?" Her frail body softened at the tone, reacting from a place of emotion. Why? She turned towards the voice that sung out from the doorway only a few feet from where she stood. In the voice's body, she recognized pieces of herself. Like a puzzle of a self-portriat that had been put together slightly inaccurately. The body was too short, and a little more wrinkled than she. But somewhere in those pieces, she recognized the smooth slope of her own cheeks, and the dark, comfortable depth of her eyes that had never quite gone away. "Mom," she breathed, shattering the cold resolve of her new life to experience, for a rare moment, the painful warmth of human longing.

----

Her dark lashes trembled, and then slowly blinked apart. It was the first movement she made, and the only other sign of life was the enrichment of her pale skin tone when her blood began to pump. She didn't gasp for the air the way they did in the movies. She didn't need air.

The vampire's keen eyes opened to a dank space. She could feel the dust particles on her skin, and as she took her first breath, she could smell it in the air. She rolled her head from where it had been resting against the wall to look ahead, finding the room littered with random chairs, one of which held the hunter.

Her eyes narrowed a bit. It was partially a look of distaste for him, but mostly an expression of confusion. The room was unfamiliar, and the last she could remember of the hunter was draining his blood on the rooftop. She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip where the blood had since dried. How long had it been?

When she tried to sit up, she winced at the still-closing chest wound. Her stomach had healed since taking a gut-full of lead. Between the two injuries, her shirt had been torn to near-rags, and was covered in dried and fresh pools of blood. She took a glance at the decorative robe that hung from her shoulders. It had survived the encounter in one piece with only a few bloodspots.

She shifted a bit in her bounds, looking around the room warily, like a wounded animal. For a vampire, she was weakened. She might still be capable of holding her own against an inexperienced mortal, but it was unlikely that she would be breaking out of this room full of supernatural beings in her current state. Finally, she closed back in on the hunter, "Where...am I?" she weakly managed. Out of the heat of battle, her voice was surprisingly and distinctly feminine.