black as hate [vampire AU, Oriel, open]

[Erik Stewart]

Six rounds were taken from his belt and slapped into his revolver, all grade-A silver and guaranteed to make an undead’s sluggish black blood boil. The gun was a trusty thing, and sleek; it was made of black gunmetal and had his initials carved near the trigger, E.L.S., which he had done himself with a piece of wire. On his waist he carried a pouch full of rope and lockpicks and on the opposite a hunting knife, tucked within a short leather scabbard. The rounds of bullets he wore over his chest. A cross necklace hung over his neck, rested on the dark denim jacket he was always so fond of. It gleamed silver and iron.

Vampires hadn’t killed Erik’s family. He had not personally suffered at their hands. Hunting was just what he did; it was what he’d always done, he’d turned it into an art, had dozens of their heads under his proverbial belt…Erik had blazed a bloody trail from New Orleans to Montgomery and back again. Nineteen was very young for a hunter, and such an accomplished one at that. It made some of his peers hate him, though half that was due to his personality, which was just about as charming as a toad on a log, he was told.

None of that mattered to him. Erik was damn good at what he did and that was all that counted; not even vampires could do much in the face of his reckless hate.

It was a cold that autumn night. Erik had seen this vampire’s work. He’d torn out her throat, a strand of muscle left resting on the outside of her cold pale neck. Her eyes, left wide open, had glazed over in death. A fly had crawled from the corner of her lips, across her white teeth and into her stretched out lips, frozen in a scream; dried blood filled the white sheets, dripped off the side of the bed.

Erik was not so impressed. He had seen similar scenes before.

He knew just where to wait; it was the old stone girls’ boarding school, long since abandoned, and sitting in the depths of the southern wilds. Vampires always tended to come here, especially the ones that were new in town; they were nothing if not predictable. Erik had even camped out here before the sun fell and, sure enough, his target had come waltzing in as comfortable as could be…they always thought they were being novel in finding the place.

Erik leaned against one of the stone walls.

It wasn’t a game changer; just made it a little harder, that’s all, and he was sure the thing was around. Mandy’s snorting and snuffling, her low growls, indicated to him that it was present; the German shepherd picked up her head and snarled at the air, hackles raised.

Mandy was a professional, too. She latched onto their arms and their legs with her teeth, made them a stellar target.

“Come out.” Erik was smoking. The gray smoke curled up around his head. “I bet you thought no one would find ya here.” He snorted. “Every hunter in town knows this place, hell, I’m probably standin’ on one ‘uh your buddies’ graves right now.”

If you made ‘em mad enough they usually blew their cover. Erik finished loading; the revolver snapped shut with a smart click. “I got twenty thousand on your head,” he said. “Might get me a nice car this time. Or a semi.”

[Deleted]

Oriel had been around a long time. Longer than most vampires. Long enough for him to get fucking bored with the idiotic life of feeding, running, hiding, hunting, then feeding again. A stupid cycle for a stupid species that wasn't even technically alive. But he wasn't like that pair of so-called "parents" that were running around building up a clan of their own. Nope, Oriel'd at least been around longer than them and thus, liked to believe he was stronger. Yup, he liked to believe he was the strongest. He was the Great Evil Demon Overlord!!

………okay it was a work in progress, Oriel wasn't that far yet. He still had to achieve world domination. So why world domination.

Simple reason, he was bored. That can happen when you "live" century upon century doing nothing but all those annoying things that a vampire did, as I so explained in the third sentence of this post. So in his boredom, what does this creature of the godforsaken(because seriously that's what they were) night decide to do? Well, war sounded like a good idea. War against the humans. But that was just so cliche. Plus, Oriel was certain that his master had tried that before some thousand years ago…and lost. So world domination sounded like a good alternative.

It was similar to war, except in his case, he'd own both worlds. Which meant he'd have to take down the strongest vampires as well as the strongest humans. Yup, that sounded like the best plan! Take out the big-wigs, leave the weaklings.

Of course he wasn't going to make it too easy on himself. Humans died easily. Vampires died easier than one might think. So….why not have some fun while he was at it? Give himself a challenge? A rival?

That's why he liked this guy, Erik. He was a hunter among hunters, a real prodigy of his kind. Ruthless. Oriel had encountered him before. And fought with him before. He was fun. Which was why he held no resentment nor hate nor irritation at the southern hunter having tracked him down. Or did Oriel lure him there? Who knoooows?

The nightwalker hid in the shadows of the abandoned building, his black garb only aiding in his cover. Oriel didn't bother with the fancies, the clothes didn't make the man, or in this case monster. The man existed on his own merits alone, without prizes. The only material possessions Oriel kept with him were his pair of glock 17s, each with 33 round capacity magazines.

What? A vampire couldn't use guns? Just because he was an ancient didn't mean he had to fight like one. Only an idiot went for close combat in an age where you could be dead before taking three steps. And that whole slinking in the shadows and descending like Dracula on your helpless victim? Sorry, this ain't hollywood, honey.

It was clear that Erik had found the remains of Oriel's last "meal". A disgustingly, uncharacteristically messy one, he might add, it made Oriel sick to see such an unclean kill. He could smell the smoke of Erik's cigarette from down the halls. He could hear the growls of the hunter's trusty mutt. And as if he had a deathwish, or maybe it was his damn arrogance getting in the way, Oriel engaged with the hunter in a friendly "chat" from his hiding place.

"Trying to provoke me, Erik? You ought to know already that a 'man' such as myself doesn't have 'buddies'." He released a low, haughty chuckle. "But still…only twenty thousand? Honestly, I'm insulted. It should be at least 100k." Oriel dared to step out, glaring his mad eyes of red out toward his "friend", a hint of fang glinting in the faint light. "You'll let me know when it gets to a million, right?"

[Erik Stewart]

(erik’s dog is now a girl dog bcus I changed my mind. DEAL with it B))

Mandy let out a succession of loud, teeth-flashing barks. It was likely that she knew just where the vampire was, but she stayed at her master’s side, ears back, hackles raised, her black mouth pulled back to show her wolf like teeth, the gleam stuttering once in a while as she flipped her tongue across them. She knew what to do; she wouldn’t attack until the time was right. Her timing, too, was impeccable. She often knew before he did where a vampire was hiding or, in regular society, if it was trying to pass as a normal human; Erik relied on her more than he ever would have with any other partner.

Neither could she be turned, which was another plus. Erik himself had made it a point never to be bitten, but he couldn’t expect other hunters to keep up the same vigilance.

He recognized that voice. At once he was exasperated. “Ah, shit,” he said to himself, holding the handgun up; this one had a flair for the dramatic and he would have dearly liked to shut him up whenever he got on one of his tirades, if he could only get a decent shot on him. Erik never followed Oriel past the Mason Dixon line (he tended to stick to his territory) but the vampire had a peculiar habit of coming back, despite knowing what waited for him. Their last encounter had left Erik’s left arm out of commission for a good long while and his bounty forfeit, which was enough to make resentment boil in his chest, if nothing else. In a sense he was glad the thing had come back. In another sense he wasn’t; if their previous meetings were any indication he was in for a longer night than expected.

“You’ll be the first t’know, I promise,” he called back. “But I’d put a bullet in your blood suckin’ head and watch your tiny brain drip out fer a lot less n’ that.”

As if she agreed, Mandy let out a complementary snarl.

If Erik remembered correctly, this one had a gun, too, which was actually quite the rarity as far as vampires were concerned. They were traditional things, and far too confident in their abilities to touch a firearm, which, thankfully, made them much easier to deal with. Some of them figured it out though, like Oriel had. He blamed that little fact on his failure the last time.

This time there would be no repeat. Erik moved over to an empty room overlooking the overgrown yard, where he leaned just past the doorframe. There was only two ways in and he was in full view of both of them. There was only one direction Oriel could go if he wished to escape and he would catch onto that, too, and if he didn’t, his dog surely would. If this was to be a war of attrition, then so be it. He clucked his tongue at her; she moved over to his side and sat there, her growls quiet, ears attentive.

He listened. “Come mornin’ this whole place’ll be filled with sunlight and I can wait here all night. Why don’t ya come down here and say hello? Get it over with.”

[Deleted]

"Oh, Erik, you wound me. And here I thought we were friends. Buddies. Pa~ls. Don't tell me you don't love me anymore?" Oriel sneered, dropping into a faux accent to mock his counterpart's. "You know, Erik…if I thought you weren't my friend... I just don't think I could bear it..!" Oriel held himself for a few seconds before releasing his cackles which echoed madly throughout the halls. As much as the vampire liked to spout out the dramatic speeches, he really loved the sound of his own voice, Oriel was still a cautious one, keeping himself at the ready to draw his guns should this hunter decide to make a sudden move.

Truth be told, Oriel enjoyed getting up close and personal in his fights as much as the next person. For a long time, his weapon of choice had been a sword. Not that japanese katana shit that everyone liked to rave about, you know, going all Kill-Bill style. But a broadsword. Highlander style. Fitting, considering it's wielder was an immortal being. Killable only by direct sunlight, fire, silver bullets, wooden stake, and, of course, slicing his head clean off.

Oriel liked his head. So he preferred keeping it. Which was why he dumped the sword, which could potentially be stolen by his opponent, and traded it for a nice pair of firearms. Oriel didn't keep many silver bullets though, those were reserved for the vamps he fought that didn't keel over so easily. But normal bullets were a dime a dozen, and if not, he could steal as many as he needed. But he had to admit, them bullets hurt like a weed-whacking bitch.

They hurt more than the ankle bites from little Mandy out there.

He remembered having kicked her once, though it looked like she'd more than recovered. Which was both good and a shame. Good because Oriel didn't have any beef with the fucking dog. A shame because this mutt had once again been roped into her owner's battles where she didn't belong. Mandy should be eating kibble out of the hand of an old granny.

"I'm in no rush," he replied. At least not yet. The closer it got to dawn, the less time he had to get to safety. That proved to be a nice challenge. This was bound to be a fun night at this rate. "But…you gotta piss sometime. Maybe I'll just wait you out until then. Or we can play cards." Oriel stepped out a little further, making his way down the main hall, the cadence of his slow footsteps tapping against the hard floor.

[Erik Stewart]

Erik grunted, unwilling to dignify that with a response. He certainly hoped he couldn’t bear it.

“Talk talk talk,” he mumbled to himself, the gun clicking in his hand.

He wasn’t looking to have a conversation. It was generally good practice not to engage a target in small talk at all; the oldest ones had a habit of charming you, making your mind all fuzzy, he’d heard…Erik had yet to experience this himself but he had heard tales of it. It was why some of them had herds of human cattle at their disposal. At least, he assumed that was it. He couldn’t imagine the thought of going along with them at will, letting them sink their teeth in you whenever they damn well pleased, practically resigning yourself to some sort of perverse servitude. Still, Erik was not so worried. He had been born strong-willed, and he’d taken steps to bolster his mental fortitude…and in this case, he figured keeping up the prattle was a necessity. As long as he could keep Oriel talking he’d always know generally where he was. And, if he knew anything about this verbose, irritating little boil, it was that he couldn’t resist a chat.

“If you consider us friends you don’t wanna know what I do to the people I don’t like,” he replied, finally.

Erik could hear his footsteps and it sounded like he was coming closer. He preferred having his marks come to him. Less legwork, that way, and he was at his best on the counter.

He sounded amused at that. “Well, let’s see. Worst case scenario for me, I piss my pants. Worst case scenario for you, you turn into a fine pile ‘uh dust. Now I’d hate for that t’happen,” he said. “Sometimes I like t’take out their teeth when they’re dead. And there’s no better pair of blood-suckin’ pointy fangs for my collection than yours right now – it’d sure make my day.”

The thought of prying their fangs out was actually disgusting to him. He wouldn’t have touched their mouths, ever, unless his employer demanded evidence and a simple token wouldn’t suffice. It was mostly his pop who did that, who had their teeth bottled up in a little jar on top of the fireplace; Erik just liked to use the tale to get them pissed.

“There’s only one way outta here and it’s through me, so c’mon.”

[Deleted]

Oriel just liked to talk. Yes, he was that guy. The devious villain who liked to boast over tales of his villainy to the so-called "heros" who tried to act against him and then failed. But unlike the majority of those pompous boasts that usually ended in a failed diabolical plan, Oriel kept his eyes and ears open during his speeches in case of any funny business on their part. They always thought he wasn't paying attention while he chatted. It was anything but, Oriel used his incessant jabbering as part of his technique. Because there were just some people out there who hated guys like him. And if he talked enough, he was bound to hit a sore spot somewhere.

Oriel chuckled at his response. "You underestimate me Erik. You'd be surprised at what I enjoy hearing about." Because Oriel was a special kind of twisted fuck. "I think…we might actually have a lot of the same enemies." Oriel wasn't well liked among his own kind either. It was amazing he'd survived this long.

Oriel stopped about halfway down the hallway and slowly pulled one of his guns, releasing the safety on it with a loud click. "If you do managed to get your hands on one of my fangs….make sure you turn it into a nice necklace. Wear me around your neck. It'd be my pleasure." Especially if it was the only tooth on it. As morbid as it seemed, Oriel wouldn't mind becoming one of this guy's trophies.

"If you say so," he said with a laugh in his voice. Oriel pointed the gun. "Coming through." He fired the first shot.