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September 16th, 2007
 | 07:22 pm - Pay It Forward
It was almost morning when Tristan got home. The first twinkles of sunlight were just peeking over the horizon. The vampire hurried through the shadows of his neighborhood and unlocked his door. He wasn't surprised to see Damas as he opened the door. The dark cat immediately began to purr and rub itself against his legs. Tristan had to smile a little. He reached down and picked up the cat in one of his large hands before settling down onto the sofa. He kicked off his boots and scratched Damas' ears while he clicked on the answering machine.
Three messages, but only two of note. Both from Rhiannon.
To say he was surprised was putting it mildly. "Well, Damas, looks like I have a favor to pay." He jotted down her number off his caller I.D. and dialed his phone.
When the voice mail came on, Tristan wasn't surprised.
"I'll be there." Tristan hung up the phone and sat in his sofa, scratching Damas' between his ears, lost in his dark thoughts once again. No, he wasn't a fan of the apocalypse. What fun was there in that?
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/charitycam/goth_boy/sad.gif) crappy
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July 28th, 2007
July 4th, 2007
 | 03:58 am - From Beneath
Lake Mead has over seven hundred miles of shoreline. It caters to boaters, hikers, swimmers, sunbathers, and fishermen alike. Photographers and hikers could have a hay day as well. Whatever floated your boat could be found on Lake Mead. Unfortunately for Tristan, none of those things were high on his list, nor were they what brought him out to the lake that night. It wasn't exactly a vampire's paradise, unless you counted the various campgrounds here or there.
Tonight's visit was strictly business, however. Tristan scowled and grunted as he pushed his row boat into the water. It was a dark night, without a moon in the sky. It was dead quiet as well. Normally it would be a night of entertainment for the vampire. But instead, he was cursing and swearing as he tried to follow his map, row his boat, and locate Bob.
The Lake was experiencing a time of low water. Eventually, given time and years, Bob probably would have had to relocate. Tristan thought perhaps he was doing the crustacean like demon a favor by extracting him from the watery depths of his home.
Finally his destination was beneath his wooden boat. Frowning, Tristan reluctantly stripped. He had no desire to get his clothes wet if he could help it. He tucked his clothes into a plastic garbage bag and then placed the bag under the bench seat. He gave his map one last look over, snatched the rope lying in the bow, and then dived into the water.
The water still held some warmth from the day's heat, but Tristan's cold skin felt nothing but the wetness. Having the advantage of not having to breathe, he swam at a sharp angle until he could see the bottom. There, appearing trapped, was an old sunken row boat, quite similar to Tristan's. Grimacing, Tristan reached it, scowling again as a sliver pierced into his thumb as he gripped the edge of the vessel. With a mighty heave, he flipped the boat over. And there, just as his employers had promised, slept Bob.
The demon started when his home was lifted. He felt the rush of water shifting around him and cracked open an eye. Then, seeing Tristan, both eyes opened wide. Before Bob could lift one lobster like claw, Tristan's fist came crashing down between Bob's eyes. Bob screamed and twisted, but he was lumbering and slow and caught by surprise.
Tristan could have easily killed the demon right then and there. But that was not the plan. That was not what he was being paid for. Instead, Tristan quickly wrapped the nylon rope around Bob's body, bonding his limbs and claws tightly. Another blow to Bob's head, and the demon fell unconscious.
With one arm around his victim, Tristan headed back up to the surface of the lake. His boat had drifted, but not terribly far.
Now he had a bit of a problem. He hadn't thought about how to get Bob into the boat without it capsizing. It took effort and patience, but finally Tristan managed to hurdle the demon into the boat. Then Tristan heaved himself up and shook himself dry.
He dressed, keeping one eye on Bob at all times. Being out of the water wouldn't kill it. Prolonged time away from the water would certainly cause his shell like layers to molt, and it would weaken him. That would give Bethany an advantage later. But for now, Tristan had a perfectly adequate bathtub at home to keep his prey in. Tied and bound, of course.
Tristan didn't crack a smile until he had Bob inside the truck that he'd also procured for this little adventure. Sometimes a Harley just wasn't the right vehicle. But when Tristan was on his way home with Bob still unconscious in the passenger seat, the vampire flipped open his cell phone. He dialed Bethany's number, reaching her voice mail.
( Voice Mail For Bethany )
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/charitycam/goth_boy/working.gif) busy
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June 23rd, 2007
 | 05:16 pm - What About Bob?
"Here you go, Damas." Tristan filled the cat's bowl with some canned food and then shrugged on his leather jacket.
Since the cat's arrival, he hadn't left Tristan's side. He'd thought about a few names before deciding on "Damas," an ambassador from Hell. The black cat insisted on being Tristan's companion, so it had to have come from somewhere evil. And damn if Tristan wasn't liking having the company either.
He snagged his keys and left the apartment to get on his bike. It was business tonight. Tristan had been stuck in a rut where his profession had been concerned, so when the phone call and subsequent meeting had occurred, he'd tried not to be to anxious. Now, knowing what was to come, he was also excited. It could be lucrative in many ways.
Before too long, he was knocking on the Club's door and asking to see Bethany. In the past he could have just entered, but these days were different. Tristan wasn't happy about that, but he didn't want to make things worse either.
Bethany had been splitting her time between her club and the ring, building a reputation and claiming back some of the power that had been hers before her disappearance.
She was currently perusing her books with a keen eye, looking for discrepancies because someone was stealing from her. Cocky son of a bitch whoever it was, doing it right under her nose, but she'd catch them. Eventually.
"Bethany?"
Bethany looked up through a veil of blonde hair as her work was disturbed. "Yes?"
"There's someone called Tristan to see you?"
( It's Just Business )
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June 20th, 2007
 | 09:26 pm - No More Solo?
Tristan groaned as he stretched, his arms way above his head, his feet tilted so he stood on his tippy toes. It felt nice to stretch out that lower back, even if he was a vampire. He wasn't cold or hot, but the muscles still felt better after a languid stretch.
He cracked a smile as he looked across the street. Tristan was standing on his front porch wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms, a mug of blood on the railing near his hand. Now, across the street, he noticed the stray cat. It was black, and its eyes were glowing in the moonlight. What caused Tristan to smile was the fact that the cat had been stretching just as he had been.
After a moment, Tristan turned back into his place and got an empty bowl down from the cupboard. He was lucky enough to have some milk in his fridge. Tristan didn't need to eat, but he liked to once in awhile. He liked pizza, and beer, and Jack Daniels, and raisin bran. One needed milk with raisin bran. So he poured some of the milk into the bowl and carried it back out to the front porch.
He chuckled as he saw the cat. It had crossed the street and was now sitting on the railing next to his mug of blood. Tristan set the bowl down onto the ground by his feet and the cat leaped down, made a quick meow, and then quickly moved to lap up the milk. Tristan bent down on one knee and gently moved his strong fingers through the hairs on the back of the cat's neck. Then he stroked the cat from ears to tail. As he reached the rear of the cat, it raised his backside up, as if trying to get closer to the touch.
"Hey fella," Tristan said softly. The cat seemed pretty skinny. Obviously he had been a stray for quite some time. No collar. Tristan wondered if this cat ever had a name.
Once the bowl was empty, the cat sat back on his haunches and licked at his feet. Tristan picked up his mug and drained his blood. His eyes widened in surprise, however, when the cat darted inside his apartment. He'd left the door open. Tristan bent down, picked up the bowl, and followed the cat inside.
Glancing around, he saw the cat hop up onto the sofa, curl itself onto a pillow, and close its eyes.
Tristan blinked. He shut his front door and put the empty mug and bowl into the sink. Then he crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter and stared at his cat.
His cat. Maybe Tristan didn't have to be so alone anymore. "Well, now I just need to find your name," he whispered.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/charitycam/goth_boy/confused.gif) curious
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June 10th, 2007
 | 10:51 am - The Ride Of No Return
Tristan often brought a prop or two with him when visiting his new toy. The hat had been the first, but it certainly wasn't the last. Tonight he had a knife. There was nothing like a little blood sport to get the vampire turned on. He had yet to go that far with the woman he held prisoner in the abandoned warehouse, but tonight he'd decided to scale it up a notch.
Imagine Tristan's surprise…
As soon as he parked his bike and took off his helmet, he felt wary. His nose twitched. Her scent was weak. Worse still, there was another scent in the air that did not belong there. Tristan almost growled as he stalked over to the warehouse door. Upon entering, the other scent lingered still and stale amongst the abandoned concrete floor. Another vampire. Female. It was vaguely familiar to Tristan.
He knew what he would find even before he went down the stairs and unlocked the door.
Emptiness. The broken chains lay on the ground, along with a cup. Tristan screamed in a rage and kicked the cup across the room. He turned around wildly, pulling at his own hair. Then he went completely still as his vision turned inside himself.
"Fuck," he muttered. His shoulders deflated for a moment. She was gone. They were gone.
He'd have to find another way to release his bloodlust tonight.
Ryan sat in a dive bar off the strip, an amaretto sour slowly turning watered down in front of him as he gazed blank and absent at the TV playing silently above the patrons scattered around the dingy room.
There weren't really any thoughts floating through his mind, no considerations of a fairly empty life, a meaningless job, few friends. It wasn't important tonight. He sipped from the glass once and then again, set it back down on the coaster with a muted thump.
Hands rubbed down faded denim, the condensation from the glass putting dark streaks across the light blue of the fabric before sliding off his knees and rising to fall back on the bar, lightly clasped together in an apparently thoughtful gesture.
Tristan slammed his helmet back on his head and fired up the Harley. Without thought, he pulled out onto the road, not even paying attention to where he was really going. His eyes focused on a cat in the middle of the road. It sat picking at it's claws next to a dead crow on the center line. Tristan sped up and angled his bike towards the cat, but it jumped to all fours and streaked away so that his front wheel only scattered more of the dead bird's remains.
He gunned the engine again and turned the bike left, heading towards a bit livelier part of town. He avoided the strip. At times he liked to get lost there, hunt and play with the tourists, but he was in no mood for that tonight. The knife was cold hard steel against his side as it rested in the inside jacket pocket of his leather coat.
Slowing the bike, Tristan turned again and parked it next to a dumpster in a back alley. A dark, foreboding tavern was across the street. Tristan settled his helmet on the bike and strode across the empty street. He glanced through the dirty windows of the place and paused. He noticed a familiar face.
His hands clenched to fists at his sides as he entered the bar. Two older gentlemen were leaving, and he almost knocked them over as he entered. He slid up to Ryan's barstool and nodded. "Sorry I missed your call. Oh, wait, there was no call. How stupid of me."
( Violence In The Desert... Warning for Graphic Violence )
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March 18th, 2007
| 07:52 pm - Remembrance
The sound of the low rider Harley engine echoed through the canyon. Then, abruptly, it was silenced. What was odd, Tristan realized, was the silence itself. There were no sounds whatsoever. No crickets. No wind. It was as if this part of the desert was…dead.
Being that Tristan was dead, one might think he’d feel at home here. That he would feel one with the darkness, the deathly calm, and the quiet. But he didn’t.
His hands were actually shaking a bit as he pulled off his riding gloves and pushed them into the pockets of his jacket. He lifted one leg over the bike and slid off. Swallowing, he straightened up and slowly took a step towards the hollowed ground.
It had been months since he emerged from this very cave. Frowning, he kicked at a pebble. Lost was his memory. Still. Lost was the vampire he had been. He was now just an empty shell of the Tristan that had first wandered into Searchlight. Would he ever find the answers to what had happened to him, and why? Was it an accident, or had he been chosen on purpose? And if he had been chosen…then why? For what? And why could he only remember the pain of the light and the sharpness of the ground cutting into his skin when he again awoke, so unlike a butterfly emerging from its cocoon?
He had never felt more alone.
He wanted help to figure this out. He needed it. But he had no one to turn to.
Was he a wimp? A coward? What happened to the laughter and the fun and the danger of just…being…a vampire? No cares, no worries, except for the sunlight and the occasionally inconvenient fight of a Slayer or two?
His mind churned with the memory of a recent fight in an alley. The bleach blonde vampire…Spike. Tristan had practically begged to be killed. To end it. To join the silence forever.
Tristan rubbed at his eyes. He blinked wearily and sighed. His final thought as he turned back towards his black bike, would he ever find Tristan again?
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February 10th, 2007
 | 04:38 pm - Infamous More Like It
Tristan could only take so much alone time. After awhile, the walls closed in, the silence became oppressive, and the refrigerated blood was just too stale.
He still hadn't heard if Rhiannon had received his 'apology.' Yet it had only been a day or so. Plus…he had a feeling he'd never know. He could just hear her 'funny hat' saying that his existence being tolerated and allowed was answer enough.
That made him sneer. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, leaving his flat and walking down the street. He didn't know where he was going or what he was looking for. He just needed to be out.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at the expanse of desert displayed before the small town of Searchlight. Out of his view was the cave. He stopped, pausing almost in mid step and turned his profile closer to that direction. Did the cave call to him? Would he find what he was looking for there? Or would it just be another adventure in futility and oblivion?
Sand. Snow. Muddy sand. Gravel. Connor tightened his jacket around him, his breath escaping on little puffs of white air as he walked. Just a short patrol before heading in, because even he doubted that anything was moving with all this awful weather going on.
He paused, tipped his face up into the frigid air. Sniffed, but couldn't really detect anything. Probably the temperature. Nevada wasn't meant to be cold like this.
The Destroyer crunched on his way, picked out a figure ahead, gradually stopped walking. Let out a tiny growl, a sound of controlled aggression. Started walking again, his steps measured.
"How're you doin', Tristan?"
( Throwing Wood Around )
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February 6th, 2007
| 06:04 pm - A Boxed Up Amends
Tristan had not been at all surprised by Rhiannon’s voice mail.
She just didn’t understand. Of all the things he’d said to ‘funny hat,’ deep down, Tristan was just jealous, and hurting, and…missing her.
What did that guy have that he didn’t?
Oh yeah…a soul for one. And a funny hat.
The last thing he truly wanted was for Rhiannon to hurt. He would watch her back, if given the chance. Or her front or side for that matter. He hadn’t meant for the fight to happen. Was it his fault he couldn’t even have a drink in this town? Funny hat had approached him first, after all, asking for a drink. It had escalated from there. He hadn’t premeditated it after all. The last person on Earth he wanted to see would be the man in Rhiannon’s heart.
He sighed heavily. It may sound strange, but Tristan wanted to make things right. But how could he ever make amends with Rhiannon?
It sort of grated on him that he cared so much. She obviously hated him. She just…couldn’t understand.
Tristan blinked and a small smile escaped his lips. Maybe…just maybe…
Several hours later, Tristan boxed up the brand new ‘funny hat.’ Inside he inserted a note with only two words inscribed in black permanent ink. I’m sorry.
He addressed it to Rhiannon, c/o The Basement.
Current Mood: uncomfortable
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February 4th, 2007
| 04:56 pm - The Man In The Funny Hat
What good was being Agent for the Power, Whistler grumbled as he pushed his way inside the Lighthouse Bar, if you couldn't even get a weather update? Or at least a vague suggestion that you should invest in all-weather tires? Or a fucking shovel for that matter?
He'd woken from a late nap, alone and cold. Not the first time in his long life, but he missed Rhiannon's warmth, the curve of her back pressed against his abdomen. He'd stumbled from bed, threw on a housecoat and slippers (he was never gonna live that down, the way she made fun of his 'old man shoes') and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. And his feet in several inches of the white stuff.
He'd considered driving into Las Vegas but gave up that hope when he realized it would require clearing his car with bare hands. Instead he grabbed a shower, bundled his small frame in several layers, and texted Rhiannon that he was headed to the bar, and would appreciate her company when she was done patrol.
The cold didn't bother Tristan. He was a little annoyed because the weather of ice and snow kept him off his Harley, however. Riding his bike had become one of his only pleasures these days. Or nights.
( Five By Five )
( Not Exactly A Love Triangle )
( Crossing The Line )
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February 1st, 2007
 | 06:23 pm - Enemy Mine
He could smell the sun. It was coming soon. The dark alley was dank and damp, and the stench of garbage and rotting corpses from the Solstice was thick in the air. Yet...the smell of the sun was more powerful to Tristan's senses then anything else.
He groaned and tried to sit up. Tristan settled with leaning against a building, still half kneeling and half lying on the cold floor.
He wasn't sure he wanted to get up. Maybe...maybe the morning sun was what he needed...what he deserved. "Just like his father..."
Muttering to herself, Grace stalked along the late-night sidewalk, hands jammed deep into her pockets. Stupid fucking cop, who the hell did he think he was? She hoped his dick really did fall off. That'd be a big laugh.
"Useless asshole," she grumbled. Maybe she'd go get a drink or something, calm her nerves. She kicked a beer bottle out of her way as she rounded the corner, then saw a familiar shape half-crouched, half huddled against the side of a building.
Squinting against the sudden obnoxious glare of a streetlight, Grace recognized Tristan looking like it was the end of the world. Again? Already? "What the hell happened to you, man?"
Tristan rubbed at his face and glanced up. Grace. Great, just what he needed right now. He wiped the blood off of his face with his hand and then moaned a little, getting slowly to his feet. He waved off any offer she had to help him, not that she did.
( For some reason, I seem to attract crazies! )
( Drinks on me... )
( Boy? What Boy? )
( Givin' our sort a bad name. )
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January 20th, 2007
 | 07:59 pm - Goodbye Jessica
Sometimes you have to make opportunities in this life for yourself, and other times, opportunities present themselves. I suppose it's what one does when the time arises that truly matters.
Tristan wasn't thinking of any of this, however, as he drove his Harley towards the ruins of the Strip.
He slowed the motor down when he saw a figure standing by the side of the road. At first, he thought maybe it was Rhiannon. The figure was definitely female, and her dark hair lay evenly down to her shoulders. Upon closer inspection, however, it was obvious she was much younger. Perhaps a runaway?
Tristan had driven past her slowly at first, peering at her from behind the dark visor of his helmet. When she held her thumb up indicating she wanted a ride, he turned the bike around on the empty road, making a U turn, and pulled up next to her.
As if sensing something dark and evil, the girl at first took a few steps backward away from Tristan. He turned off the bike and set one booted foot down on the dusty side of the road. Slowly he pulled his helmet off and gave her a little smile. "Need a ride?"
The girl was in desperate straights. Now he could see the dark bruise on her face, cheek, and eye. He could make out the wrinkles of the attacker's knuckles as it made contact with the girl's skin. She had on no wedding ring, and Tristan figured she was too young for that institution anyways. Boyfriend, or father?
"Yes, mister," the girl said softly. "Are you going to Vegas?"
( Hitcher )
( Back At His Place )
( Adult Content Starts Here! )
( Dark Thoughts, Dark Ending )
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December 6th, 2006
 | 01:40 pm - A Date Full Of Canyons
Ryan looked at the exterior of Heaven's Peak and shook his head slightly, shrugging inside his jacket against the chill night air. It was quite a bit colder than he would have expected for a place that resided in the center of the desert. He shook his head and stepped through the door of the club into a hot, dark, loud atmosphere.
He kept his jacket on and approached the bar, claiming a stool for himself and looking amazed that there was one free. He ordered a drink when the bar tender deigned to look at him and half smiled to himself.
He paid, tipped and took the first sip from a well made 7&7 and settled in to wait for Tristan.
Tristan had to laugh at himself. He had found himself standing in his closet for a very long time, trying to figure out what to wear. "God, I'm a sissy," he muttered, and then had to laugh. Finally he settled on his current color of choice. His always current of choice, a black silk shirt tucked into black leather pants. His riding boots and leather duster complimented the outfit.
The vampire didn't feel the chill in the air as he motored his Harley towards Bethany's old club. After parking it and threatening the attendant with bodily harm if even one speck of dust hit the shiny chrome, Tristan ran his fingers through his hair and entered the club.
The bass of the music reverberated up through his feet, all the way to his cold dead heart. He smiled slightly when he saw Ryan at the bar. "Save me a seat?" Tristan asked, leaning over Ryan's shoulder and almost whispering in his ear. Then he ordered a shot of Jack from the bartender.
( Dance With Me? )
( Wanna Go For A Ride? )
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November 11th, 2006
| 04:29 pm - A Nickel For Your Thoughts
One last stop before she had to be at her appointment. She stepped into the phone booth, pulled the door closed behind her, then fumbled through her pockets for change. One last phone call here at the edge, and then she'd be on her own.
Clink, clink, clink, went the quarters as they disappear into the slot, and then there was beeping as a number was punched in. Watch check. Just enough time to do this, and then she had to split.
A voice on the other end, then, "Tristan? Hey. Its Grace."
"Grace," Tristan said with a friendly tone. He put his feet up onto his coffee table and leaned back in against the sofa cushions. "How's it going? Staying safe out there? Keeping into trouble?" he chuckled softly and picked up one of Ryan's empty beer bottles. Idly he stroked it with his fingers.
"Heh. Yeah, you know me, wall to wall trouble." Grace looked out at the street traffic, gathering her thoughts. "Couldn't unlive any other way."
There was a nickel on the little counter beneath the phone. The vampire picked it up, began to toss it into the air. Heads. Heads again. Tails. "Look, I gotta be somewhere pretty soon, so I'm gonna make this short."
There was a small clatter as the coin hit the floor of the phone booth. Grace looked down at it. Tails. "This thing I'm in? If you want, I'll cut you loose."
"Why would I want to be cut loose?" Tristan asked her. He put the bottle down and uncrossed his legs, sitting forward in his seat. "Besides, that bitch is on my list, after her little display. I have my own paybacks with her too."
Tristan rubbed at his temples. "What's wrong? Are you worried I won't perform to your abilities? Or are you...scared? I'm on your side, Grace."
"Its not you, man, its me." Outside, a truck horn blared, and Grace put a finger in her opposite ear to block out the excess noise.
"I know what she did to you, and I'm confident enough in you to know that you'll get your own back on her. And I know you're on my side. If I didn't know it, I wouldn't have called."
She paused, dragging a hand through her hair. "It feels like pride's all I got left, y'know? I've let this go on too long already. I gotta close it out, maybe on my own."
Tristan shifted. Then he got up off the sofa and walked over to the one window in his apartment. He peeled back the thick black curtain and looked out onto the night. "I suppose I can understand that," he muttered. "But you're wrong about only having pride left. You have my friendship, if you want it."
He dropped the curtain back into place and picked up his lighter. Slowly he began to light the candles that littered his apartment. "If you get into trouble, call me."
"Listen to me," Grace said, head bowed, still looking at the shiny nickel that glinted up at her. "You...you're better than you think. Better than her, even if she'll try to make you think otherwise." She wasn't talking about Katherine this time. "And I want you to know, if you need someone at your back later, if I'm still in one piece, I'll be there."
There was another silence, during which the vampire realized that she'd smoked her last cigarette an hour ago and that she could really use one right now. Or maybe just a good kill, which would relax her nerves just as much.
"There is one small thing you can do for me, though, all right?"
"Anything, just name it," Tristan whispered. She sounded like she was speaking her very last words. Tristan had faith in her though. She was strong. She had grit. He liked that about her. In the end, he thought Grace would be okay.
He finished lighting his candles and then started to gather up the empty beer bottles with his free hand. The remaining pizza went into the garbage can, however.
"I gotta go meet somebody, and then I'm gonna be doing some stuff. It'll probably make the papers, so if you see it, you'll know it was me. Once those first few things are done, I'll try and get in touch with you again, let you know what's what."
A pause, one filled with traffic noise and light static from the phone. "If you don't hear from me, if I don't speak to you in a timely manner, go back to Fang Noir and ask for a redhead named Deanna. Herself doesn't like the boys much, but she'll probably talk to you if you say you've got news."
A second watch check. Time to go. "If you don't hear from me in a suitable amount of time, go talk to Deanna and tell her I went down swingin'."
"I may go see Deanna, but it will be to say howdy," Tristan insisted. "You're going to do fine." He didn't really know what else to say. "If you change your mind about wanting company, call me. Anytime."
"Thank you, Tristan," Grace said with a half-smile. She was just trying to cover all her bases, that was all. "You're a pal, seriously. When this is done, we'll go back to Fang Noir on our own. If you're nice to me, I'll throw in an informal tour of Hell's Bouquet. I seem to recall there was a mention of you liking to give up control?"
She let that hang in the air between them for a few solid beats, a more familiar smirk creeping across her face. "You wouldn't mind that, would you? We could push the envelope a little."
Tristan smirked. "Anytime, baby." He moved back to the sofa and sat back down, staring blankly at the wall. "It's been a long time since I've lost control like that. To share that with you would be a real pleasure." And Tristan meant it. "I've lost a lot, Grace. I don't want to lose you." He just left that hanging out there for her to interpret as she would.
And okay, so she twitched away from that a little bit, because there was still the specter of Rhiannon and that was just 'ew' as far as she was concerned, but it was only the slightest twitch. She'd lost a lot too.
"You'll hear from me soon enough. Watch the papers. Its gonna be a show-stopper." Grace chuckled quietly, then said, "Be careful, Tristan. I'll catch you on the downstroke."
And then she hung up and stepped out of the phone booth onto the sidewalk. She had an appointment, and she couldn't be late. It was time for her to show Las Vegas how she rolled.
Current Mood: crappy
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November 2nd, 2006
| 04:04 pm - It's Just One Thing After Another
There had been six vampires when the fight got started, but Connor had managed to whittle the number down to three before too long. He grabbed one of them by the jacket and hefted him bodily into one of his companions, knocking both of them to the ground, then caught the third with a sweeping kick that took the creature's legs out from under it. The young man dodged a blow from interlocked hands as he darted closer, and then there was an explosion of ashes as a stake found its way into an unbeating heart.
Four down, two to go.
Connor rolled to his feet just as cold fingers snagged his shirt, and he jammed an elbow backwards into the next vamp's solar plexus before reaching before spinning around in a lethally graceful motion to grab the thing with both hands and snap its neck. More dust, followed by a rapidly fading scream.
One left.
"Run. Away." It was the first time he'd spoken since the brawl had started, and these were the times when he was neither Connor nor Steven, but someone altogether different.
Right that second, he was the Destroyer.
( Read More )
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October 30th, 2006
| 10:55 am - Minding His Own Business
"That's the guy, huh?"
The bigger a vampire's reputation would get, the more recognition they got from others like them. It went as much for Katherine as those she had a reason to track down, which was why she took care to hide her tracks. She had safe dwellings all over the city and generally shifted between them, just in case.
And it went for Tristan, too; the blonde who Rhiannon had asked her to take care of, in return for neutralizing a problem of Katherine's own.
"Alright," she thanked, handing dollar bills over to the informer and slapping them on the shoulder. "Guess it's time to say 'hello'..."
The bars in Las Vegas were not all that different from those anywhere else. A few were themed, but there were others, like this, perfectly casual in their environment. A sort of shielded retreat from the neon playground outside.
Approaching the figure, Katherine didn't come to this one for reasons of pleasure. She came to hunt bear.
Bear with fangs.
"Hey," she greeted. "Tristan, right?"
Tristan took a sip from his glass and raised his eyebrows, looking at his visitor from above the rim of the glass. "Depends who's asking," he said, then took another gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, a black leather jacket he had recently acquired. Other then drinking, he didn't move. He didn't invite the stranger to join him. He wasn't all that surprised to be greeted by name. After all, he did have a reputation. One didn't kill a Slayer without other vampires catching wind.
"Someone who knows Rhiannon."
( What is it with these Vegas ladies? )
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October 25th, 2006
 | 03:35 pm - It's A Tough Job...
Rusty awoke to a loud pounding against the door. He was slumped on the floor in the dingy shack. He opened his eyes and blinked in the darkness.
The room had a hard wooden floor. The room was bare. It appeared to have at one time been a storage room, but now it was empty, unless you counted the dust and cobwebs. Rusty was in some kind of abandoned building. In the corner of the room sat a single sink, with a dripping faucet. The sink was dingy and rusted. It had been leaking for a long time, and had little use.
The pounding noises finally ceased. Rusty stood up with a groan and tried the door. Locked. That's when he noticed the nails. There was a final loud hammering sound and Rusty realized what was happening. He was being nailed shut into the room. "Great. Bloody new coffin I've got here," he muttered under his breath. That's when he remembered. He glanced around. He was alone. "Tristan?" His eyes narrowed at the door. "TRISTAN!" he bellowed.
( All in a night's work. )
Current Mood: accomplished
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October 15th, 2006
 | 08:28 pm - Back To Work
Keys jangling from his fingers, Tristan emerged from his apartment dressed for work in leather pants, jacket, and riding boots. He was whistling softly as he walked out to the lot where his Harley was parked.
He had to chuckle slightly when he saw it. Maybe it was the way the street light was shining, or maybe he still had sleepy eyes, but Tristan could swear that his bike had suddenly changed from black to green in color. He rubbed his eyes a few times and shook his head with a small laugh, and then dropped his leg over the comforting seat. In no time at all, he was enjoying the cool night breeze in his hair and against his skin as he sped his way to Vegas.
He was right on time, as he always was when business was involved. Parking the motorcycle at a valet spot, Tristan warmed them that there better not be a scratch when he returned for it. The young men nodded gravely and promised to take good care of his prized possession. They saw all kinds in their line of work, a lot of assholes and freaks, but something about Tristan made them a bit wary, and took any smart ass comments right out of their mouths.
The bar wasn't your typical tourist hang out. Invited guests only, and Tristan was more then invited. He was on the list. The important list.
When he approached, the guard opened the heavy wooden door and Tristan entered. He walked down the long flight of wooden stairs and his senses were immediately flooded. The noises of the loud patrons, the juke box, and cue balls ricocheting off of billiard balls. The smells were not as nice, nor was the feeling of his boots sticking to the floor. He hated to think what the fluids were that stained the old wood. Beer? Blood? Piss? Probably a combination of things. Yet, it was the perfect setting for Tristan's meeting. It threw his clients off balance, and kept him in charge. And it was safe.
When he arrived at a corner table, there was already a bottle of Jack Daniels resting in the center, along with one glass. Tristan sat down and poured himself a shot, all the while surveying his surroundings.
This bar was a place for the darkness that walked in the world. Children feared and had nightmares about the customers that frequented the tables, pool tables, and counter. That was why Tristan liked it. It was secure. It was safe from the light. It was his domain. Not just anyone could get in here, and only those that knew of the underworld.
He looked up as two men approached his table. They looked nervous. One was younger, possibly a son to the older man, only with blonde hair and shorter. The older man was big with bright red hair and a face covered in freckles. His hand clenched a black business card. "Tristan?"
Tristan merely nodded at the men, and they sat across from him. Without a word the elder man pushed a file to him from across the table.
The killer vampire was quiet as he read. Nothing surprised him anymore. He'd seen and done it all, and now, he was going to get well paid for it. That thought made him smile despite himself.
After reading the file front to back he looked up at the red haired man. The man seemed a bit more relaxed now, enthralled even. He glanced around the bar in awe and wonder. His companion elbowed him, causing him to jump a little and then turn back to see Tristan looking at him. "Well?"
Tristan took a gulp of his bourbon and then refilled his glass. "Saturday night is doable. You've been told about payment?"
The man nodded. "Yes. It's already been deposited. You can check if you'd like."
"Oh, do be sure, Mr. Weisch, I will. I will." Tristan smirked, enjoying the surprised look on the man's face.
"How did you know my name?" Mr. Weisch asked.
Tristan merely smiled. "It was in the file."
The man blushed. "Oh, yeah…I guess it was." Mr. Weisch laughed nervously. Tristan had to wonder about him. This job was more vicious then most. Even nastier then the one he'd completed on that very first night. No matter, Tristan thought, as long as he was paid.
"Jackson will show you out now," Tristan said. He nodded towards the bartender and he came over, nodding at Mr. Weisch.
The son of the client stood up first and stammered. "Y-yes, well…you'll…let us know when it's d-done?"
Tristan nodded curtly and waved the men away. He sat and finished his bottle, almost wishing for once he could feel its effects. Then he stood up and laughed. It was wonderful to have work!
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/charitycam/goth_boy/happy.gif) excited
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September 20th, 2006
| 06:27 pm - A Little Fun?
Tristan smiled as he dropped off the thick envelope at Heaven's Peak. He'd paid his debt to Bethany in full. For the moment he'd decided to stay at the apartment she'd provided, and he'd included two months rent in his payment. Eventually he'd find something else, but for the moment it suited his needs.
The night was young, and full of potential. He made his way down the street to the seedy bar where he was to meet Grace. He ordered himself a bottle of Jack and told the bar keep to put whatever Grace wanted on his tab. His curiosity was more then peaked where the other vampire was concerned. He was hoping to get to know her better, and perhaps they could have a little evil fun together. Anything to take his mind off the holes in his mind, and his missing time. It was easier to not think about the past, and concentrate on the present instead.
With the passing of a few days, Grace had become calmer about everything, but she knew that there were still things to be dealt with. It seemed like a little extra curricular work might be in order, just to keep her occupied.
She pulled the Plymouth into the bar's parking lot, glanced around for Tristan's motorcycle. If Katherine was going to give her grief, if only by proxy, it might be a good idea to keep the other vampire close for a while. She pushed the door open with one hand, picked him out of the crowd.
"Yo," she said, clapping a half-friendly hand onto his shoulder. The bottle of Jack was taken note of, and a second glass was requested. "You find the place okay?"
( A Test? )
( Fate is the name of the game. )
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September 13th, 2006
| 09:35 am - A Career For Tristan?
It began by accident. Perhaps it was luck. This was Vegas, after all.
Tristan was just looking for a nice meal. One with money so he could repay Bethany for her help in clothing him and giving him a place to stay, and he'd need gas for the Harley very soon. So he went into Vegas to do some hunting. Stalking his prey was always part of the fun.
He followed one of the high rollers into a dark alley. He had thought the man was a gambler anyway. That had been a miscalculation on Tristan's part.
Tristan was stalking him, lying low in the shadows of an abandoned business, when he heard other voices. He turned to leave. Tristan didn't need a crowd. There were plenty of drunks with money pouring out of their pockets. But something gave him pause. Then he smiled and leaned closer to listen.
Once he'd heard enough he changed prey. The vampire moved down the alley and quietly climbed up one of the old rickety fire escapes. He could see more from above.
That's when things started to go wrong for the first man he'd been watching. The other man, dressed in black, pulled a gun. Their negotiations were not going well. The first man put up his hands, his face angry. "I don't need this. My boss doesn't need this!"
Tristan jumped. He landed on the man with the gun. His movements were so fast, it was all a blur. Tristan kicked the gun away, morphed into his vampire visage, and tore out the second man's throat. The hot, sticky blood was sustenance for Tristan, and he didn't waste it, yet he didn't have time to savor it either. Quickly he wiped his mouth with a sleeve and dropped the body.
The first man was frozen in fear. Tristan smiled and came back to human form. He took a step backward and held up his own hands to show he was no threat to the first man. "I'll take that job," he said softly. Then he chuckled. "Trust me, there would be no witnesses, and no evidence. Dead men tell no lies, isn't that what they say?"
( The start of something new... )
Current Mood: working
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