city_limits_npc (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} city_limits_npc) wrote,@ 2009-06-07 21:29:00 |
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The Long Arm of Anger
San Francisco, California
Broad Rock Cemetery
Present Day
San Francisco had demon trouble. A lot of it. Nobody really knew why, but a few occult experts had a guess. If you closed a Hellmouth, the mystical pressure had to escape somewhere. Occasionally, it bubbled up near the Golden Gate bridge. Thanks to an amateur witch's spell in 2012, the bay was now home to a family of sea monsters, which eased out of the water on their bellies once per month like alligators and munched on toddlers and family pets.
Unfortunately, though vampires might be proven real, not all cities enacted body burning codes. Here, the legislation was wrapped up in yards of red tape, so hunting vampires had an old school flavor. Cemeteries still housed the undead.
Broad Rock was on a steep hillside. Paved paths wound about the monuments and graves, trees offering shade to statuary and plastic cups of fake flowers. People took their dogs for walks there during the daylight hours. At night, it belonged to the vampires. Peter was old, sired at age forty in 1933. Afterward, he made a coven out of his wife and children, and when they were dust, he spawned a new generation of family. In total, seventy-eight vampires could rightfully call Peter 'father', and he was good at it, considering himself a patriarch. Tonight, he crouched next to a freshly turned grave and waited for his newest son to rise.
The first bloodied fingers burst through the dry soil. They flexed and grabbed for the night air.
"That's it." Peter took the hand and began to pull.
The cemetery scene was, in the girl's opinion, retro. A time talked about with a certain awe from her Watcher, about how the 'one who stood against the darkness' would snake her way between the tombstones, check the earth for freshly turned soil and strike at the first sign of trouble. But this was the twenty-first century, and Jennie Parkinson, while firmly planted in the new world, was a bit of a throwback herself. Not much had changed since being Called, when she met the Whistler and Rhiannon and the duo put her on the path of being a Slayer. She still dressed exclusively from second-hand stores, her hair was now a mop of blonde with severe bangs, and her sapphire braces shone against the moonlight. (Though they'd be coming off in nine months, thank gawd!.
Most importantly, she'd gotten better on the skates (though she upgraded to heely's). She considered it her 'thing', something that set her apart from the other girls who patrolled San Francisco. It made her that much faster, gave Jennie an edge when it came to outrunning (or catching up to) vampires. Problem was, the wheels only worked on pavement.
She'd been silently gliding through one of the more densely-treed areas when she heard the rustling of leaves in the wind, and heightened senses caught the faintest words in the air. That's it. The populace knew about vampires and given the current political climate (her Watcher's words, why couldn't he just say "they're inviting these bastards to feed?") that meant someone was either digging up some bones for a stupid witchy ritual, or they were yanking up new recruits.
Either way. Jennie the Vampire Slayer time. She slipped out a wooden stake from the self-fashioned pocket on her metallic belt, and twirled it between her fingers.
Peter heard the shoes rolling along the pavement. They weren't exactly stealthy. His child was only head and shoulders above dirt, but he stopped and looked around. "Shh-shh-shhh." He put a finger to his mouth and made the vampire freeze. Any other city, and the sound of skates at night meant a child out well past bedtime. Easy dinner. In San Francisco, it meant yellow-haired Slayer.
His face remained human. He brushed the soil off his palms and picked a couple of silk flowers out of an arrangement. Perhaps she'd coast by, take him for a bereaved parent. His button-down shirt, trousers, and loafers were neat, conservative. He had the face of a kind man. Sometimes he pretended to be a youth minister.
Jennie spotted the shadow near a grave just off the paved path. She hard-braked by pushing her weight onto her forefront and jogged out to a stop. Dirt would gum up the axel so she lifted each heel and pushed in the back wheel and snapped in the hard cover.
It was possible that the figure standing above the grave was a mourner, but c'mon this was San Francisco and it was way past closing. Someone that distraught over losing a loved one, hopping a fence and finding their way in the dark? Yeah right. Plus, she was a damned Slayer. She could sense vampires. Rhiannon'd filled her in on all that stuff in the beginning. Oh! She owed the brunette a letter. Right, later. The blonde needed to get her head in the game.
She took a few steps up the grass, the buzz in the back of her brain growing stronger. "Kinda late ain't it?" she called out. "Or early. Depends on when you woke up, huh."
Peter moved around a headstone. It wasn't an offensive move, not yet. He was edging away from the new vampire, still buried up to his collar in pungent dirt. He clutched the bunch of flowers in one hand. "I don't think grief is confined to the daylight hours," he said. One would've thought him a Hollywood actor, the way he pulled off the rueful look, the beaten slump of his shoulders, a side of bitterness tinging his words. He knew how regret tasted. He could pretend it with ease.
Oh, he smelled this girl. Sweat. Adrenaline. Cotton candy lotion. Orange tic-tacs. If she persisted, he'd chew her neck into mincemeat. He would rather she turned around and rolled back downhill. A vampire didn't live for eighty years without picking his battles, and the fledgling was a liability in the backdrop.
"Ah... You're right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's dangerous. I shouldn't be out here alone." His supernatural ears picked up the sound of shifting soil. Be still.
Jennie gave a pause. One of her first lessons came into focus: assess the situation, don't strike until you're absolutely certain. Stories had been passed down of Slayers incarcerated for acting rashly and harming innocents. Especially that one girl... Fantasia? Whatever. The blonde held her step, all senses concentrating on the immediate area. A soft rustle that wasn't the wind in the trees caught her attention. Something was trying to break free. Right in front of the man.
She was about to warn him when another thought crossed her brain. He admitted to the possibility of danger, being alone. But he didn't seem concerned about her safety. A seventeen year-old girl, roaming alone in a cemetery at night.
Seriously. Jennie wasn't Called yesterday.
She pinned the stake against her thigh, fingers gripping the wood tightly. "This your son?" she asked.
"Nephew," he said, avoiding the most convenient answer, but careful not to get into a complicated story, which screamed 'lie' from a mile away. "My sister's boy." He toyed with the idea of telling her it was a car accident, but left it out. He kept leaning to the left, as if on the verge of leaving. He would, if he had to. Neglect the newborn struggling to get up from his grave. Peter felt the pull of paternal instincts and a sirely bond rejecting that, but when push came to shove, avoiding the Slayer mattered more.
The ground shifted again. Tiny clumps of sediment fell off the mound. It was quiet, but he heard it as clearly as if they were boulders tumbling down a hillside. Then the soft crunch of artificial flowers hitting the grass. The boy, Jonathan, had knocked them over. Ingrate!
A low growl carried on the air, like a diesel truck idling. Peter's face was unreadable. "Why don't you go on, now? Get inside?"
He was stalling. A vampire was actively avoiding a fight with her. Jennie was bemused, confused and a little disappointed. Sure she still weighed under one hundred but it was better than the eighty soaking wet when she first picked up a stake. It seemed her metabolism burned up more calories than actual Slaying. But what weight she had gained had become muscle. And excessive training by her Watcher ensured she knew how to use it. Right now, however, the pixie blonde needed her brain more. WWRD? she asked herself.
Then came the sound, clear as a bell. That's why the man was trying to shoo her away. Protecting his newborn. "Omigawd, did you hear that?" the vampire slayer's voice raised, with the slightest hint of apprehension. If he was going to play games, so would she. "I don't think it's safe here. Maybe we should both go."
Peter put his hands on his waist and looked around the hillside. "No... no, I didn't hear anything," he said, looking worried. He stuck a finger in his ear. "Hate to say it, but my hearing's not so good anymore. Tell you what. Why don't you get to the gate, just in case somebody's sneaking around. I'll take a look and make sure nobody follows you out."
It sounded like a reasonable suggestion. If she were a clueless girl, or lazy, she might take him up on it. Let a sleeping dog lie. The good smell of the blood under her freckled skin caused the problem. Jonathan pulled his legs out of the ground and leaped onto a headstone, where he watched the Slayer from a crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet. His lips pulled back from his fangs.
Peter made a clicking sound in his cheek. "Well. I guess the cat's out of the bag." Ridges surfaced on his forehead and nose. "Are you sure you don't want that head start?"
A smile formed on Jennie's face. The moonlight caught her braces. That was a terror larger than any fangs could provide. "I already have one," she spat, and launched herself towards the duo. Four steps in she jumped, the stake held against her chest, her right leg extended and aimed for the newly created vampire.
With a mighty roar, Jonathan pounced off the gravestone, intent on colliding with the little blonde mid-air. "Raaaaaarrgghhh!... argh?" The stake poked into the breast of his cheap blue suit. Before his sire moved a muscle, he was a dust outline in the air.
Peter gaped at the cloud sifting to the ground.
"You little bitch!" he said, not believing his eyes. What a morbid waste of potential. In eighty years, he'd never failed to nurse a child through their first night. "All you had to do was turn around!" He stuck two fingers in his collar and loosened it up. Then he charged at the Slayer. He pulled back an arm and made to backhand her into next week.
"Mouth!" she bellowed. Jennie had a thing about swearing. Not that she was against saying a few curse words herself when the situation warranted, but swearing for the sake of it was just crude.
The blonde continued her forward motion after staking the newb, dodging at the last moment to only catch a glancing blow from the senior vamp. The ring on his finger caught her lip, causing a tiny gash. She'd had much worse.
The seventeen year old slayer pivoted on her left foot, spun about to face her adversary. "Any final words? 'Cuz I keep a scrapbook."
Peter was the picture of puffed up indignation. His arm muscles bulged in his dress shirt and his whole chest expanded. A stream of saliva oozed out of his mouth. No vampire under the night sky could squelch a mediocre, testosterone-powered retort. "You won't even live to regret this." A growl vibrated up from the center of his body. His arms darted out in quick succession, swinging punch after swinging punch, like an old boxer. At a break in the action, he bent down and picked up a big slap of marble. He hefted it overhead and spun around to look for the little girl.
Duck. Weave. Block. Block. Owwwww. The last of the rained blows connected with Jennie's ribcage. It'd forced her back, a chance to think. The vampire was old-school in his attack. He liked fighting up close.
She leaped up, fingers grabbing hold of a tree branch. She scuttled up to a healthy limb, and watched as he lifted up a flat headstone and brought it upwards.
Too perfect an opportunity, the blonde vampire slayer flew from the branch like that gnarly dude from the Wrestler movie her Watcher loved to watch, and put all her weight into connecting with the slab.
"Yaaaaah!" Jennie's momentum toppled Peter like a bowling pin. He fell back into half-open grave, feet flying up in the air. "Ooof!" The piece of marble landed on his face and cracked in half. Dirt spilled in over it. The vampire struggled to get out of the hole. The more he clutched at the earth, the more loose soil spilled in on top of him. His nose and forehead streamed blood, which ran into his eyes and blocked his view of the Slayer. He was in a world of trouble. All she had to do was take the shot.
Jennie jumped into the burial plot, stake raised. "Yahhhhh? That's the best you can do? Man, between you and Mister Rarrrrgh, my scrapbook's gonna look so lame."
With that, the blonde thrust the wooden arsenal confidently between the vampire's ribs, and (remembered) to close her mouth as the dust flew.
As per Jennie's past patrols, had there been witnesses aware of her Calling, they'd have been suitably impressed. From the gangly girl on runaway rollerskates three years ago, brought into attention by an Agent for the Powers That Be and his best friend, until now, the blonde Slayer had more than grown into her own. She had friends among her kind, her grades were decent (for once) and the wobbly knees on wheels had turned into a confident young woman who understood what Destiny meant and didn't shy away from it.
Tonight, there was indeed one such person. She walked up the path, the moonlight striking against her lithe frame, red hair shimmering like a dwarf star. The woman applauded.
Jennie climbed from the grave, brushing off the dirt and dust. She heard the clapping. The same buzz that warned her about the first two vampires kicked into overdrive. Something screamed at her to run like hell. She ignored it.
"I've got to say," the redhead spoke in sultry tones, "that last move was beautiful. Cracking the headstone was poetic. She was right to be friends with you."
"Do you know me?" Blood drained from her fingertips, as the blonde clutched the stake harder.
"I know Rhiannon." The woman moved closer. The gentle breeze became a stronger wind, as if willed by the new player in the cemetery. It billowed her silk blouse. "And I did some research on her not too long ago. Needed to know where she moved to. Your name came up in the report. Lucky me."
Jennie quickly popped the heels from her shoes, unleashing the Heely's. The buzz was static now, and it hurt.
"I'm being impolite. Let me introduce myself." The vampire was fully visible now. Yellow eyes contrasted the bright red hair and white fangs. "My name's Deanna."
[NPC Jennie Parkinson by Paul. NPC Peter by Kate.]
San Francisco, California
Broad Rock Cemetery
Present Day
San Francisco had demon trouble. A lot of it. Nobody really knew why, but a few occult experts had a guess. If you closed a Hellmouth, the mystical pressure had to escape somewhere. Occasionally, it bubbled up near the Golden Gate bridge. Thanks to an amateur witch's spell in 2012, the bay was now home to a family of sea monsters, which eased out of the water on their bellies once per month like alligators and munched on toddlers and family pets.
Unfortunately, though vampires might be proven real, not all cities enacted body burning codes. Here, the legislation was wrapped up in yards of red tape, so hunting vampires had an old school flavor. Cemeteries still housed the undead.
Broad Rock was on a steep hillside. Paved paths wound about the monuments and graves, trees offering shade to statuary and plastic cups of fake flowers. People took their dogs for walks there during the daylight hours. At night, it belonged to the vampires. Peter was old, sired at age forty in 1933. Afterward, he made a coven out of his wife and children, and when they were dust, he spawned a new generation of family. In total, seventy-eight vampires could rightfully call Peter 'father', and he was good at it, considering himself a patriarch. Tonight, he crouched next to a freshly turned grave and waited for his newest son to rise.
The first bloodied fingers burst through the dry soil. They flexed and grabbed for the night air.
"That's it." Peter took the hand and began to pull.
The cemetery scene was, in the girl's opinion, retro. A time talked about with a certain awe from her Watcher, about how the 'one who stood against the darkness' would snake her way between the tombstones, check the earth for freshly turned soil and strike at the first sign of trouble. But this was the twenty-first century, and Jennie Parkinson, while firmly planted in the new world, was a bit of a throwback herself. Not much had changed since being Called, when she met the Whistler and Rhiannon and the duo put her on the path of being a Slayer. She still dressed exclusively from second-hand stores, her hair was now a mop of blonde with severe bangs, and her sapphire braces shone against the moonlight. (Though they'd be coming off in nine months, thank gawd!.
Most importantly, she'd gotten better on the skates (though she upgraded to heely's). She considered it her 'thing', something that set her apart from the other girls who patrolled San Francisco. It made her that much faster, gave Jennie an edge when it came to outrunning (or catching up to) vampires. Problem was, the wheels only worked on pavement.
She'd been silently gliding through one of the more densely-treed areas when she heard the rustling of leaves in the wind, and heightened senses caught the faintest words in the air. That's it. The populace knew about vampires and given the current political climate (her Watcher's words, why couldn't he just say "they're inviting these bastards to feed?") that meant someone was either digging up some bones for a stupid witchy ritual, or they were yanking up new recruits.
Either way. Jennie the Vampire Slayer time. She slipped out a wooden stake from the self-fashioned pocket on her metallic belt, and twirled it between her fingers.
Peter heard the shoes rolling along the pavement. They weren't exactly stealthy. His child was only head and shoulders above dirt, but he stopped and looked around. "Shh-shh-shhh." He put a finger to his mouth and made the vampire freeze. Any other city, and the sound of skates at night meant a child out well past bedtime. Easy dinner. In San Francisco, it meant yellow-haired Slayer.
His face remained human. He brushed the soil off his palms and picked a couple of silk flowers out of an arrangement. Perhaps she'd coast by, take him for a bereaved parent. His button-down shirt, trousers, and loafers were neat, conservative. He had the face of a kind man. Sometimes he pretended to be a youth minister.
Jennie spotted the shadow near a grave just off the paved path. She hard-braked by pushing her weight onto her forefront and jogged out to a stop. Dirt would gum up the axel so she lifted each heel and pushed in the back wheel and snapped in the hard cover.
It was possible that the figure standing above the grave was a mourner, but c'mon this was San Francisco and it was way past closing. Someone that distraught over losing a loved one, hopping a fence and finding their way in the dark? Yeah right. Plus, she was a damned Slayer. She could sense vampires. Rhiannon'd filled her in on all that stuff in the beginning. Oh! She owed the brunette a letter. Right, later. The blonde needed to get her head in the game.
She took a few steps up the grass, the buzz in the back of her brain growing stronger. "Kinda late ain't it?" she called out. "Or early. Depends on when you woke up, huh."
Peter moved around a headstone. It wasn't an offensive move, not yet. He was edging away from the new vampire, still buried up to his collar in pungent dirt. He clutched the bunch of flowers in one hand. "I don't think grief is confined to the daylight hours," he said. One would've thought him a Hollywood actor, the way he pulled off the rueful look, the beaten slump of his shoulders, a side of bitterness tinging his words. He knew how regret tasted. He could pretend it with ease.
Oh, he smelled this girl. Sweat. Adrenaline. Cotton candy lotion. Orange tic-tacs. If she persisted, he'd chew her neck into mincemeat. He would rather she turned around and rolled back downhill. A vampire didn't live for eighty years without picking his battles, and the fledgling was a liability in the backdrop.
"Ah... You're right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's dangerous. I shouldn't be out here alone." His supernatural ears picked up the sound of shifting soil. Be still.
Jennie gave a pause. One of her first lessons came into focus: assess the situation, don't strike until you're absolutely certain. Stories had been passed down of Slayers incarcerated for acting rashly and harming innocents. Especially that one girl... Fantasia? Whatever. The blonde held her step, all senses concentrating on the immediate area. A soft rustle that wasn't the wind in the trees caught her attention. Something was trying to break free. Right in front of the man.
She was about to warn him when another thought crossed her brain. He admitted to the possibility of danger, being alone. But he didn't seem concerned about her safety. A seventeen year-old girl, roaming alone in a cemetery at night.
Seriously. Jennie wasn't Called yesterday.
She pinned the stake against her thigh, fingers gripping the wood tightly. "This your son?" she asked.
"Nephew," he said, avoiding the most convenient answer, but careful not to get into a complicated story, which screamed 'lie' from a mile away. "My sister's boy." He toyed with the idea of telling her it was a car accident, but left it out. He kept leaning to the left, as if on the verge of leaving. He would, if he had to. Neglect the newborn struggling to get up from his grave. Peter felt the pull of paternal instincts and a sirely bond rejecting that, but when push came to shove, avoiding the Slayer mattered more.
The ground shifted again. Tiny clumps of sediment fell off the mound. It was quiet, but he heard it as clearly as if they were boulders tumbling down a hillside. Then the soft crunch of artificial flowers hitting the grass. The boy, Jonathan, had knocked them over. Ingrate!
A low growl carried on the air, like a diesel truck idling. Peter's face was unreadable. "Why don't you go on, now? Get inside?"
He was stalling. A vampire was actively avoiding a fight with her. Jennie was bemused, confused and a little disappointed. Sure she still weighed under one hundred but it was better than the eighty soaking wet when she first picked up a stake. It seemed her metabolism burned up more calories than actual Slaying. But what weight she had gained had become muscle. And excessive training by her Watcher ensured she knew how to use it. Right now, however, the pixie blonde needed her brain more. WWRD? she asked herself.
Then came the sound, clear as a bell. That's why the man was trying to shoo her away. Protecting his newborn. "Omigawd, did you hear that?" the vampire slayer's voice raised, with the slightest hint of apprehension. If he was going to play games, so would she. "I don't think it's safe here. Maybe we should both go."
Peter put his hands on his waist and looked around the hillside. "No... no, I didn't hear anything," he said, looking worried. He stuck a finger in his ear. "Hate to say it, but my hearing's not so good anymore. Tell you what. Why don't you get to the gate, just in case somebody's sneaking around. I'll take a look and make sure nobody follows you out."
It sounded like a reasonable suggestion. If she were a clueless girl, or lazy, she might take him up on it. Let a sleeping dog lie. The good smell of the blood under her freckled skin caused the problem. Jonathan pulled his legs out of the ground and leaped onto a headstone, where he watched the Slayer from a crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet. His lips pulled back from his fangs.
Peter made a clicking sound in his cheek. "Well. I guess the cat's out of the bag." Ridges surfaced on his forehead and nose. "Are you sure you don't want that head start?"
A smile formed on Jennie's face. The moonlight caught her braces. That was a terror larger than any fangs could provide. "I already have one," she spat, and launched herself towards the duo. Four steps in she jumped, the stake held against her chest, her right leg extended and aimed for the newly created vampire.
With a mighty roar, Jonathan pounced off the gravestone, intent on colliding with the little blonde mid-air. "Raaaaaarrgghhh!... argh?" The stake poked into the breast of his cheap blue suit. Before his sire moved a muscle, he was a dust outline in the air.
Peter gaped at the cloud sifting to the ground.
"You little bitch!" he said, not believing his eyes. What a morbid waste of potential. In eighty years, he'd never failed to nurse a child through their first night. "All you had to do was turn around!" He stuck two fingers in his collar and loosened it up. Then he charged at the Slayer. He pulled back an arm and made to backhand her into next week.
"Mouth!" she bellowed. Jennie had a thing about swearing. Not that she was against saying a few curse words herself when the situation warranted, but swearing for the sake of it was just crude.
The blonde continued her forward motion after staking the newb, dodging at the last moment to only catch a glancing blow from the senior vamp. The ring on his finger caught her lip, causing a tiny gash. She'd had much worse.
The seventeen year old slayer pivoted on her left foot, spun about to face her adversary. "Any final words? 'Cuz I keep a scrapbook."
Peter was the picture of puffed up indignation. His arm muscles bulged in his dress shirt and his whole chest expanded. A stream of saliva oozed out of his mouth. No vampire under the night sky could squelch a mediocre, testosterone-powered retort. "You won't even live to regret this." A growl vibrated up from the center of his body. His arms darted out in quick succession, swinging punch after swinging punch, like an old boxer. At a break in the action, he bent down and picked up a big slap of marble. He hefted it overhead and spun around to look for the little girl.
Duck. Weave. Block. Block. Owwwww. The last of the rained blows connected with Jennie's ribcage. It'd forced her back, a chance to think. The vampire was old-school in his attack. He liked fighting up close.
She leaped up, fingers grabbing hold of a tree branch. She scuttled up to a healthy limb, and watched as he lifted up a flat headstone and brought it upwards.
Too perfect an opportunity, the blonde vampire slayer flew from the branch like that gnarly dude from the Wrestler movie her Watcher loved to watch, and put all her weight into connecting with the slab.
"Yaaaaah!" Jennie's momentum toppled Peter like a bowling pin. He fell back into half-open grave, feet flying up in the air. "Ooof!" The piece of marble landed on his face and cracked in half. Dirt spilled in over it. The vampire struggled to get out of the hole. The more he clutched at the earth, the more loose soil spilled in on top of him. His nose and forehead streamed blood, which ran into his eyes and blocked his view of the Slayer. He was in a world of trouble. All she had to do was take the shot.
Jennie jumped into the burial plot, stake raised. "Yahhhhh? That's the best you can do? Man, between you and Mister Rarrrrgh, my scrapbook's gonna look so lame."
With that, the blonde thrust the wooden arsenal confidently between the vampire's ribs, and (remembered) to close her mouth as the dust flew.
As per Jennie's past patrols, had there been witnesses aware of her Calling, they'd have been suitably impressed. From the gangly girl on runaway rollerskates three years ago, brought into attention by an Agent for the Powers That Be and his best friend, until now, the blonde Slayer had more than grown into her own. She had friends among her kind, her grades were decent (for once) and the wobbly knees on wheels had turned into a confident young woman who understood what Destiny meant and didn't shy away from it.
Tonight, there was indeed one such person. She walked up the path, the moonlight striking against her lithe frame, red hair shimmering like a dwarf star. The woman applauded.
Jennie climbed from the grave, brushing off the dirt and dust. She heard the clapping. The same buzz that warned her about the first two vampires kicked into overdrive. Something screamed at her to run like hell. She ignored it.
"I've got to say," the redhead spoke in sultry tones, "that last move was beautiful. Cracking the headstone was poetic. She was right to be friends with you."
"Do you know me?" Blood drained from her fingertips, as the blonde clutched the stake harder.
"I know Rhiannon." The woman moved closer. The gentle breeze became a stronger wind, as if willed by the new player in the cemetery. It billowed her silk blouse. "And I did some research on her not too long ago. Needed to know where she moved to. Your name came up in the report. Lucky me."
Jennie quickly popped the heels from her shoes, unleashing the Heely's. The buzz was static now, and it hurt.
"I'm being impolite. Let me introduce myself." The vampire was fully visible now. Yellow eyes contrasted the bright red hair and white fangs. "My name's Deanna."
[NPC Jennie Parkinson by Paul. NPC Peter by Kate.]
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