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bocadellogs2024-03-25 06:25 pm
bocadelmods) wrote in bocadellogs2024-03-25 06:25 pm
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Event 1 - Saving the Slayer
Prelude
In the eerie shadows of the Hellmouth, whispers of impending doom reverberate through the streets of Sunnydale. The Powers That Be control the narrative, leaving us mere mortals grasping at the fragments of truth they deign to bestow upon us. Among these fragments lies the unsettling absence of our fellow warrior, the formidable Slayer Yvonne, vanished without a trace.
In a town fraught with perils, where the malevolent Bringers skulk in the darkness, the disappearance of a Slayer is more than a cause for concern—it's a beacon of dread. We're left to grapple with the harrowing possibility of kidnapped comrades, snatched from our midst by forces unseen and unfathomable. Our directives are clear: brace ourselves for the worst while clutching onto hope like a lifeline in a tempest-tossed sea.
Intel filters through the ranks, a whispered warning of the Bringers' sinister machinations. They seek to rend the fabric of reality, to unseal the very essence of darkness that festers beneath the surface of Cleveland. And in their nefarious designs, they crave the lifeblood of a Slayer, a conduit to unleash their cataclysmic chaos upon the world.
Yet amidst the turmoil, glimmers of hope emerge like beacons in the night. Some among Team Good, blessed with prophetic dreams or visions that pierce the veil of uncertainty, receive cryptic messages that hint at Yvonne's whereabouts. Whether it's a celestial sign etched in the stars or a whisper on the wind, these omens offer a sliver of possibility in the face of overwhelming odds.
The response to these omens varies, a reflection of the diverse tapestry of personalities that compose our ragtag band of heroes. Some seize upon these clues with fervent determination, weaving them into the fabric of their strategy with unwavering resolve. Others, burdened by skepticism or haunted by the specter of past failures, cast these signs aside, clinging instead to the tangible realities of the present.
In the crucible of battle, where the line between victory and defeat blurs like smoke in the night, every decision carries weight. Whether guided by intuition, prophecy, or sheer desperation, each member of Team Good navigates the treacherous landscape of uncertainty, bound together by a common purpose: to defy the darkness and stand as a beacon of light in the gathering shadows of the night.
The Showdown
Destiny, in its quirky way, has led you to this quaint eatery nestled under the ominous moniker of The Haunted House. Despite its claim of serving up only spine-tinglingly delicious cuisine, the décor tells a different tale—one adorned with relics of horror, each piece a testament to the macabre fascination of its patrons. Among the eerie ambiance, weapon props from iconic slasher flicks adorn the walls, a chilling reminder that in Sunnydale, even a casual meal comes with a side of the supernatural.
Outside, Bringers lurk in the shadows like silent sentinels, their presence a stark warning of the dangers that lie within. Yet, fortune smiles upon you as the guard stationed at the entrance succumbs to a well-placed blow, opening a pathway into the heart of the restaurant. As you step over the threshold, a palpable shift in the atmosphere envelops you, a prelude to the looming confrontation that awaits.
Within the dimly lit interior, Bringers stand vigilant, their ominous silhouettes poised for battle. But for those who prefer to leave the heroics to the chosen Slayers and their otherworldly adversaries, a different mission beckons—an urgent quest to locate the missing Yvonne, a fellow warrior ensnared in the clutches of darkness.
Navigating through the labyrinthine corridors of The Haunted House, your senses attuned to the slightest whisper of danger, you heed the advice whispered among the ranks: follow the echoes of distress, the haunting symphony of Yvonne's cries. They lead you, like a siren's call, to the heart of the restaurant, where the pantry holds the secrets of her captivity.
Yet, this rescue mission is no mere snatch-and-grab affair. The stakes are higher, the peril more profound. For within the confines of this seemingly innocuous establishment, a sinister plot unfurls—a plan to breach the very fabric of reality itself. The Bringers, unwitting pawns in a larger game of darkness, seek to unleash chaos upon the world by unsealing a forbidden seal.
As you stand on the precipice of this unfolding nightmare, the weight of responsibility bears down upon your shoulders. Every step forward is a gamble, every decision a calculated risk. For in the battle against the forces of darkness, victory is not guaranteed, and the price of failure is too ghastly to contemplate. With determination set like flint in your gaze, you press onward, ready to confront the horrors that lurk within The Haunted House and emerge victorious, if fate permits.
The Sneak Attack
The night unfurls with a shattering symphony, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the lobby of the Doubletree Hotel. A jagged rock, propelled with malicious intent, cleaves through the air, punctuating the tranquility of the March evening with a violent intrusion. As the shards of glass rain down, a chilling gust of cold air sweeps through the breach, carrying with it the foreboding presence of the supernatural.
In the wake of the shattered entrance, a horde of vampires materializes, their grotesque visages twisted in sinister delight. With fangs bared and malevolent intent burning in their eyes, they surge into the hotel like a tide of darkness, their predatory instincts honed to a razor's edge. Eight, maybe ten of them, their forms a blur of motion as they lay siege to the unsuspecting sanctuary.
It's a scene straight out of a nightmare, and as chaos reigns supreme, the harsh reality of the situation dawns upon those caught in the fray. In the frantic rush to orchestrate tonight's daring rescue mission, the hierarchy of the Slayer ranks has been laid bare, exposing the fatal flaw in their strategy. The seasoned warriors, the vanguards of the battle against evil, have been deployed to the front lines, leaving the inexperienced and untested to guard the hotel—a tactical misstep with dire consequences.
As the skirmish unfolds with brutal swiftness, the harsh truth becomes painfully evident. In the blink of an eye, one of the fledgling Slayers, her courage outweighed by her inexperience, falls prey to the ravenous hunger of a vampire's embrace. The sickening sound of tearing flesh mingles with her anguished cries, a grim testament to the merciless brutality of the undead.
Yet, even in the face of overwhelming odds, hope flickers like a lone candle in the darkness. Amidst the chaos and carnage, a glimmer of opportunity presents itself—a chance to turn the tide of battle, to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat. With grim determination, you steel yourself for the harrowing task ahead, knowing full well that the fate of the hotel—and perhaps even the world—hangs in the balance.
For this is not merely a skirmish, but a full-blown fustercluck of epic proportions, a clash of forces beyond mortal comprehension. In the crucible of conflict, alliances will be tested, courage will be measured, and sacrifices will be made. But through it all, the indomitable spirit of good endures, a beacon of hope in the gathering darkness of the night.
The Aftermath
Wildcard - What can your character be found doing after the battle?
In the eerie shadows of the Hellmouth, whispers of impending doom reverberate through the streets of Sunnydale. The Powers That Be control the narrative, leaving us mere mortals grasping at the fragments of truth they deign to bestow upon us. Among these fragments lies the unsettling absence of our fellow warrior, the formidable Slayer Yvonne, vanished without a trace.
In a town fraught with perils, where the malevolent Bringers skulk in the darkness, the disappearance of a Slayer is more than a cause for concern—it's a beacon of dread. We're left to grapple with the harrowing possibility of kidnapped comrades, snatched from our midst by forces unseen and unfathomable. Our directives are clear: brace ourselves for the worst while clutching onto hope like a lifeline in a tempest-tossed sea.
Intel filters through the ranks, a whispered warning of the Bringers' sinister machinations. They seek to rend the fabric of reality, to unseal the very essence of darkness that festers beneath the surface of Cleveland. And in their nefarious designs, they crave the lifeblood of a Slayer, a conduit to unleash their cataclysmic chaos upon the world.
Yet amidst the turmoil, glimmers of hope emerge like beacons in the night. Some among Team Good, blessed with prophetic dreams or visions that pierce the veil of uncertainty, receive cryptic messages that hint at Yvonne's whereabouts. Whether it's a celestial sign etched in the stars or a whisper on the wind, these omens offer a sliver of possibility in the face of overwhelming odds.
The response to these omens varies, a reflection of the diverse tapestry of personalities that compose our ragtag band of heroes. Some seize upon these clues with fervent determination, weaving them into the fabric of their strategy with unwavering resolve. Others, burdened by skepticism or haunted by the specter of past failures, cast these signs aside, clinging instead to the tangible realities of the present.
In the crucible of battle, where the line between victory and defeat blurs like smoke in the night, every decision carries weight. Whether guided by intuition, prophecy, or sheer desperation, each member of Team Good navigates the treacherous landscape of uncertainty, bound together by a common purpose: to defy the darkness and stand as a beacon of light in the gathering shadows of the night.
The Showdown
Destiny, in its quirky way, has led you to this quaint eatery nestled under the ominous moniker of The Haunted House. Despite its claim of serving up only spine-tinglingly delicious cuisine, the décor tells a different tale—one adorned with relics of horror, each piece a testament to the macabre fascination of its patrons. Among the eerie ambiance, weapon props from iconic slasher flicks adorn the walls, a chilling reminder that in Sunnydale, even a casual meal comes with a side of the supernatural.
Outside, Bringers lurk in the shadows like silent sentinels, their presence a stark warning of the dangers that lie within. Yet, fortune smiles upon you as the guard stationed at the entrance succumbs to a well-placed blow, opening a pathway into the heart of the restaurant. As you step over the threshold, a palpable shift in the atmosphere envelops you, a prelude to the looming confrontation that awaits.
Within the dimly lit interior, Bringers stand vigilant, their ominous silhouettes poised for battle. But for those who prefer to leave the heroics to the chosen Slayers and their otherworldly adversaries, a different mission beckons—an urgent quest to locate the missing Yvonne, a fellow warrior ensnared in the clutches of darkness.
Navigating through the labyrinthine corridors of The Haunted House, your senses attuned to the slightest whisper of danger, you heed the advice whispered among the ranks: follow the echoes of distress, the haunting symphony of Yvonne's cries. They lead you, like a siren's call, to the heart of the restaurant, where the pantry holds the secrets of her captivity.
Yet, this rescue mission is no mere snatch-and-grab affair. The stakes are higher, the peril more profound. For within the confines of this seemingly innocuous establishment, a sinister plot unfurls—a plan to breach the very fabric of reality itself. The Bringers, unwitting pawns in a larger game of darkness, seek to unleash chaos upon the world by unsealing a forbidden seal.
As you stand on the precipice of this unfolding nightmare, the weight of responsibility bears down upon your shoulders. Every step forward is a gamble, every decision a calculated risk. For in the battle against the forces of darkness, victory is not guaranteed, and the price of failure is too ghastly to contemplate. With determination set like flint in your gaze, you press onward, ready to confront the horrors that lurk within The Haunted House and emerge victorious, if fate permits.
The Sneak Attack
The night unfurls with a shattering symphony, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the lobby of the Doubletree Hotel. A jagged rock, propelled with malicious intent, cleaves through the air, punctuating the tranquility of the March evening with a violent intrusion. As the shards of glass rain down, a chilling gust of cold air sweeps through the breach, carrying with it the foreboding presence of the supernatural.
In the wake of the shattered entrance, a horde of vampires materializes, their grotesque visages twisted in sinister delight. With fangs bared and malevolent intent burning in their eyes, they surge into the hotel like a tide of darkness, their predatory instincts honed to a razor's edge. Eight, maybe ten of them, their forms a blur of motion as they lay siege to the unsuspecting sanctuary.
It's a scene straight out of a nightmare, and as chaos reigns supreme, the harsh reality of the situation dawns upon those caught in the fray. In the frantic rush to orchestrate tonight's daring rescue mission, the hierarchy of the Slayer ranks has been laid bare, exposing the fatal flaw in their strategy. The seasoned warriors, the vanguards of the battle against evil, have been deployed to the front lines, leaving the inexperienced and untested to guard the hotel—a tactical misstep with dire consequences.
As the skirmish unfolds with brutal swiftness, the harsh truth becomes painfully evident. In the blink of an eye, one of the fledgling Slayers, her courage outweighed by her inexperience, falls prey to the ravenous hunger of a vampire's embrace. The sickening sound of tearing flesh mingles with her anguished cries, a grim testament to the merciless brutality of the undead.
Yet, even in the face of overwhelming odds, hope flickers like a lone candle in the darkness. Amidst the chaos and carnage, a glimmer of opportunity presents itself—a chance to turn the tide of battle, to wrest victory from the jaws of defeat. With grim determination, you steel yourself for the harrowing task ahead, knowing full well that the fate of the hotel—and perhaps even the world—hangs in the balance.
For this is not merely a skirmish, but a full-blown fustercluck of epic proportions, a clash of forces beyond mortal comprehension. In the crucible of conflict, alliances will be tested, courage will be measured, and sacrifices will be made. But through it all, the indomitable spirit of good endures, a beacon of hope in the gathering darkness of the night.
The Aftermath
Wildcard - What can your character be found doing after the battle?
Joseph Kavinsky | The Raven Cycle | OTA
[Kavinsky wasn't a stranger to weird dreams, but this one had felt different. He couldn't pin down what, exactly, made it feel that way- it was just what his gut kept telling him. He tended to trust that sort of feeling, much more than he usually trusted anyone else. There was still a problem though-]
So I know shit's kind of fucked in general here, but uh- does that extend to weird ass dreams? I don't think I've ever even read that book about the little pigs, so I don't care about that shit. Wouldn't dream it.
[Yes, he knew what it was properly titled as, no he didn't care to be proper right now.]
Also, should we be hiding something? I don't know if any of this actually means something.
[Or if he was just sharing some normal boring ass shit. He was willing to share the rest of the details though, if someone thought it was worth it.]
ii. The Prelude - Planning - cw: brief mention of drugs
Kavinsky still wasn't entirely sure about how things were going or supposed to go or- It was a combination of trust issues and the fact he didn't have confidence in himself to be able to make a difference for the better. But that didn't mean he was going to just sit around and let everyone else figure shit out. He'd never been a passive participant in anything in his life. There were a lot of problems with trying to figure out how to approach the issue at hand, though, and he'd been alternating between pacing in the hotel lobby and flinging himself into one of the chairs to lounge there like he didn't have a care in the world--except his body language, the set of his shoulders, said differently.
"Not sure if this is a situation where going in guns blazing is a good idea, or if doing it quietly is better," he said, to anyone who also happened to be in the lobby. He was, surprisingly, good at doing things the quiet way, causing as few ripples as possible, in and out without a trace--but this wasn't a drug deal or something, this was something that could get people killed.
"Which also brings up the question of like, guns? Baseball bats?" Both could be non-lethal or deadly, and they each had pros and cons, which was what he was pondering. He wasn't sure what kind of danger to expect, and sure, he'd been reading up on shit, but reading and experiencing things were wildly different.
iii. The Showdown
He had, maybe, underestimated just how he'd feel about facing down a bunch of people who looked more human than not, until he'd actually arrived. He'd made it inside the building easy enough, though he'd also actively been trying to not push his luck for a change, and it probably wasn't something he could readily make a habit of. He'd also opted for a gun--more or less a replica of the silver pistol he'd dreamt in the field with Ronan, complete with the words dream killer engraved on the muzzle--and a spiked baseball bat. He had the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, keeping his hands free for the bat for now--mostly because if he started firing, the whole damn place would know he was there and he'd rather avoid that for now.
Especially since there seemed to be a lot of non-friendlies inside, all of which he was trying to keep away from--but it really wasn't easy. He was much more frustrated than he was worried about himself or anything like that. He wasn't in immediate danger, after all, not like some probably were, and not like the girl they were trying to save definitely was.
He managed to slip through a door to what he assumed was the kitchen, which he hoped wouldn't also be stocked full of bad guys, and instead nearly walked right into someone that he thought--hoped--was a friendly. Either way, he flinched back, raising his bat halfway before stopping.
"Jesus fuck," he hissed, keeping his voice down as he continued, "I guess I can't bitch about sneaking around, but- have you found anything useful?"
iv. The Aftermath - The Odeon - cw: underage drinking/drunkenness
It was a relief for everything to be done with--for now, anyway. This was starting to feel like a 'one step at a time' problem, which was like most of the problems he'd already been dealing with. Nothing was ever a fast or easy solve. Story of his life. But things were...okay right now.
Which was enough of an excuse as he ever needed to get drunk. He couldn't remember how many drinks he'd had at this point, but he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't still deftly shuffle and fidget with the deck of playing cards he'd gotten from somewhere. There was a chance they might have been dreamed, or else he'd found a very interesting deck with a design of a snarl of thorns and roses with a dragon nestled in the middle on the back of each card. They could absolutely be perfectly mundane.
Either way, Kavinsky was eyeing people from his table, ready to gesture someone to join him or, if no one seemed interested, he wasn't going to be shy about inviting himself to their table, or the seat next to them at the bar. All he needed was to catch someone's eye or have even a moment to speak, so he could say- "Hey. How do you feel about strip poker?" Or any kind of poker, really.
no subject
A faint, eerie chant echoed from beneath a nearby door, sending a shiver down Buffy's spine. With a determined expression, she slowly pushed the door open, motioning for Kavinsky to follow her into the unknown. If Yvonne wasn't behind that door, then trouble sure was, and they were both geared up for a brawl.
"Come on, partner in crime. I could definitely use your backup," Buffy urged, already stepping over the threshold into the darkness beyond. With a glance back, she nodded at Kavinsky, a silent promise that they'd face whatever awaited them together.
no subject
Kavinsky made a face when he registered the sound of the chanting, acting like it didn't make the back of his neck prickle. He said nothing when Buffy pushed the door open, though he watched, intent, like he was expecting some sort of ambush. When nothing happened, he didn't relax or lower his guard. He also didn't hesitate to follow after her, resting his bat on his shoulder.
"Sure, I've got you covered," he said, though he hoped things wouldn't get messy. This would be a different sort of mess than what he was used to. "You do this sort of thing often? Swooping in heroically?"
no subject
With a protective instinct kicking in, Buffy raised a hand to signal Kavinsky to hold back. Two Bringers, two demons—clearly, they were outnumbered. "Wait for me to thin out their numbers before you charge in, alright?" she instructed, her tone carrying a hint of authority laced with genuine concern. She might come off as cocky, but Buffy's primary goal was to ensure nobody got hurt under her watch.
True to form, she strode into the heart of the makeshift gathering beneath where Yvonne hung suspended. "A party? And I didn't even get an invite? If I actually belonged in this world, I might be offended," Buffy quipped, her words intended to throw the Bringers off balance for just a moment. It was all she needed. But before she could focus fully on the threat at hand, she spared a quick glance at the tearful Yvonne. "Are you okay?" she asked, receiving a nod in response before the chaos erupted.
In a blur of motion fueled by righteous fury, Buffy unleashed her pent-up anger upon the Bringers. With a swift movement, she snapped the neck of one, sending his lifeless body tumbling aside. The other lunged at her, wrapping a sinewy arm around her neck while its free hand groped blindly, aiming for her eyes.
no subject
Kavinsky stopped immediately when Buffy raised a hand, despite having been mid-step. Anyone could say he was an absolute fucking gremlin with authority issues, but no one could say he didn't follow instructions in a dangerous situation. He would listen if someone seemed like they knew what they were doing, and Buffy was confident enough. "You got it." He even managed to hold back from tacking on a reflexive sweetheart to the end of that.
He stayed back while she interrupted the...whatever it was that was going on- spell? Ritual? He liked her attitude, though maybe he was biased because it was the sort of thing he would've said, if he'd been the one strolling in to interrupt some nefarious shit. If things were less serious, less tense, he would've commented that she'd always be invited to his parties.
It wasn't his first time witnessing death, or even his second, but he'd never heard the sound of a bone breaking, a neck snapping. It wasn't pleasant. There wasn't time to dwell on it or become distracted. He knew she'd said to wait until she'd thinned the numbers, but there were only four of them, now three, and he didn't feel good about just standing around and waiting to see if she got blinded or not.
He still didn't want to start shooting, though it probably would have made things easier. It also would have brought the whole place to them and he wasn't sure just how many Bringers were in the rest of the building. It was an emergency option right now. So, he left his gun tucked into his waistband, shifted his grip on his bat, and strode over. He didn't give a warning, he didn't announce himself, he just swung, careful enough where he wouldn't hit Buffy, but with enough force to drive the nails on the end of the bat into the Bringer's side.
The Aftermath
One of his special skills is letting shit go and moving on.
Needing a new drink he slid up to the bar. Then immediately laughed when he heard what Kavinsky said. "Are you trying to get me undressed, K?" He teased back before taking a gulp of his drink.
no subject
"Maybe," he replied, prompt and carefree, like he was absolutely not still thinking about everything that had happened just a little while ago. Like he wasn't bothered, wasn't remembering the violence with awful detail. He'd done the right thing, he thought, but he knew that 'the right thing' didn't always feel like it. It was complicated.
It was also easier to smirk, gaze flickering over Ash, head to toe. "I already like what I see; there's no way things wouldn't be even better."
no subject
"Poker later. I promise. Right now," He gulps down his drink. Then takes hold of K's hand. "Right now I think we should dance...I think you should dance with me. DJ isn't half bad."
no subject
"I can't dance for shit," he admitted. He might have thrown parties with a frequency that said his life depended on it, but he'd never bothered to learn any sort of dancing that wasn't mostly keeping his feet in the same place. "But if you don't mind, I'm game."
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no subject
"Fuck, man. Don't think I ever danced with anyone in middle school." That didn't stop him from resting his hands on Ash's shoulders, leaning in a little closer. "So, you dance a lot?"
no subject
Ash smirks at K's hands finding his shoulders. One lifts in a light shrug. "Love going to a packed club or a rave," he cleared his throat. "or what you youngins' call festivals. Music and dancing were a family thing, I guess. I just like to move. Always been a really physical person."
Tilting his chin down so he could look at K he sighed. "Speaking of physical...how'd your first hero mission go?"
no subject
But then he laughed; he couldn't help it. "Yeah, like you're ancient. I've been to raves, but there aren't any clubs in the town I'm from." Or festivals, really, but the idea of them sounded nice.
The thought of making an innuendo didn't even cross his mind- well, not really. "Me too, though." Though maybe in a different way, or maybe not. Actions were easier than words most of the time. It was easier to show someone he cared with casual touches, or rough housing, or with a gentleness he usually didn't know how to express verbally--but also breaking someone's nose for crossing a line, to protect a friend. He might not have talked about how much the people close to him actually meant to him, as much as he should have, but he was comforted by the knowledge they would all bloody their knuckles for him.
He tensed at the question before he could stop himself, before he could school his expression into something unbothered instead of uneasy. Shrugging, he looked away for a moment. "I dunno. It was fine, I guess. Don't think I'm actually a hero, but-" but he wasn't sure how to bring it up, or even if he should, that he'd doubted everything the moment things had gotten real.
no subject
And he does, frequently. His body is a map of all the trouble he has gotten himself into over the years. He snorts out a laugh of his own. "At least twice your age. Fuck, I could be your dad." Which wasn't actually the truth of just how old he is. Ash laughs again, a little harder this time. "Then again, Edward was what a hundred and Bella seventeen?"
His eyes go wide and he looks absolutely shocked. "Dude. There is so much we have to do. Finding a festival is going on my list. Tomorrowland would blow your mind."
Ash is drawn to what he sees behind the tone of his voice and the smiles K puts on. There is something in his eyes that he has seen in his own too many times. The look in his eyes, the way he tensed up, Ash stops the slow, swaying circle they were making on the dance floor.
"But what?" Even though they had stopped moving he didn't pull his hands away. One thumb was idly brushing back and forth against his hip. Like he had said, he's a physical person. Like Kavinsky that goes beyond just moving his body. Ash is very affectionate and playful. He likes to make sure people know they have his attention, that he is invested, with casual touches and eye contact.
no subject
In a similar vein, he was absolutely going to ignore the idea and not think about if Ash could be his father. Instead- "There's no fucking way you're like, forty or something." But then, for a moment, he didn't know whether he should play dumb and pretend he didn't get that reference or just say fuck it and weigh in. Sighing, he said, "That's different. And also lame."
His bewilderment wasn't subtle. "The fuck's tomorrowland?" Besides sounding like some sort of sci-fi attraction. He was dubious about anything being capable of blowing his mind- well, aside from a few very specific things.
He didn't answer right away, mulling over what he wanted to say, what he should say. It might have been easier to brush it off, assuming he could, and it wouldn't be the first time he didn't talk about shit that was bothering him, but... He was quietly grateful for Ash's hands on him though, the repetitive motion of his thumb helping to keep Kavinsky grounded. "I'm fine with violence, you know? I love breaking some asshole's nose." But no one had ever died because he'd punched them in the face a few times. "This was-...they looked human, like people. Mostly. I don't think I was ready to be a part of killing them." Even though he knew the Bringers would have done really fucked up shit, hurt more people.
no subject
Sure, he's not a vampire who looks seventeen but is really a hundred. Ash ages, just very, very slowly. Even more so now. Still, he doesn't look his age at all and he's not human.
"Huge EDM festival. Disneyland on molly. With the most incredible stages." That is where he had been headed last summer when he suddenly appeared on a ship. The thought made him pause. For the first time he remembered the ship. With that memory came a sharp, sudden sense of losing something important and he shoved it away as quickly as he could.
Focusing on Kavinsky helped him to further push away those intruding thoughts. "They were human at some point." He added. "Most of them didn't have a choice in becoming what they are." Not words one would ever expect to hear from a Garou. "Can't tell you that ever gets easier either. Or that you ever really feel ready."
no subject
EDM made him think of Ronan and- he sucked in a breath. He refused to do that right now, he refused to tumble down that rabbit hole when shit already felt fucked without reminding himself of Lynch. "Sounds pretty cool. I love music, and EDM's good for parties." A lot was good for parties, really.
He didn't know how he could be ready, really. Maybe if he'd been raised as a hitman or something, or forced into the family business like his father had tried to do. "That doesn't make me feel better." His tone wasn't accusatory, just...tired. "Is that better or worse? Would they have hated what they became, so it's like- some sort of fuckin' mercy to kill them? Or-" Or could there have been any chance to help, to make things better? He knew he had helped; he'd saved someone's life. But other lives had been ended, and he didn't think they'd 'deserved' it--there just hadn't been any other options.
no subject
Ash slid a hand to find one of Kavinsky's and gave a squeeze. He wasn't going to push him into talking about it but that little inhale of breath, his eyes...there was more going on then what K was saying out loud. Benefits of living a long, colorful life, it's much easier to get a read on people. "We need a drink. Then you'll teach me poker?"
As they walk back to the bar he glances at K and sighs. "How you feel is pretty normal. That's what I was trying to make you feel better about. No one gets thrown into shit like this and isn't fucked up about it. Well...maybe a legit psychopath would be fine with it." He shrugged. "You still helped to save someone."
no subject
It was a small gesture of comfort, the way Ash touched his hand, but it meant more to Kavinsky than he would admit right now. He wasn't sure he'd know how to talk about it while keeping his barbs sheathed. "Hold on- have you never played poker?"
Kavinsky was fucked up about a lot of things; this was just fuel for the fire. But- of all things, he did take some comfort from the idea that if he was messed up about things like this, he wasn't a completely awful person. Contrary, apparently, to popular belief. "Yeah, there's that. That part feels..." He shrugged. "Well, it isn't awful."
no subject
Not that he can turn anyone into what he is with a bite. They are born not made.
Ash belts out a loud laugh. "No. Never played. I've watched. I'm more of a first person shooter or RPG kind of game guy. I do own a small boutique hotel in Vegas...I should probably know how to play poker." He never really thought about that before, that he's never played a game of poker. "Well, that's not completely honest. I have tried to play poker but once people started taking clothes off? I get distracted."
Ash ordered them both a drink. He was usually pretty good about remembering things about people so he ordered what he saw Kavinsky drinking the first time they had met here. "It's not awful. Pretty kick ass, in my opinion. The rest? I don't want to say you get use to it...not everyone does. But, you can do something different. Maybe help in a way that doesn't force you to have to hurt people you don't want to hurt."
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Nodding, slow and thoughtful, he said, "Sounds sorta like Swan. He's one of my friends, fucking loves any kind of shooter games. He can get competitive sometimes, but you know- not in a massive bag of dicks kind of way." RPGs were a little more...fuzzy to Kavinsky. He couldn't say he was sure what games, specifically, fell into that genre besides really obvious ones, but he wasn't feeling inclined to admit that.
But then his thoughts backtracked a bit, snagging on another particular thing. "You own a whole ass hotel in Vegas? I bet that was pricey." He was interested and curious- and then he laughed again. "Yeah, that's kind of the whole point about strip poker." Probably.
It didn't escape his notice that Ash remembered what he'd had to drink before. It was thoughtful in the sort of way Kavinsky wasn't used to, but he didn't dwell on how most people didn't give enough of a single fuck about him. "I dunno- I'm not exactly the nerdy research type." And what other options were there? At least, according to every piece of media he'd ever seen about heroic teams.
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Ash snorts out a laugh. "Not going to lie, I can absolutely be a dick when I get too competitive. But, sometimes, a twelve year old really is being a cunt and needs to know it." He is hardly a good, mature grown up by societies or most adults standards. Sure he plays the part of heroic warrior for his kinds cause but there is a list of red flags that would send most people running. He likes three kids and has no issues with mouthing off to the rest.
"It's not a big hotel, doesn't have a casino. Under two hundred rooms." Usually he would brag. Yet another charming personality trait. He doesn't feel that need with Kavinsky, which doesn't happen often. "Again, with me being honest, for who the fuck knows why...I like talking to you...anyway. Family comes from old money. I've made a lot more on my own. Do a lot of investing and buying property. But, the truth is I did it to impress a chick and because the hotel literally had my name on it. The Cromwell."
There were other reasons he made the move and bought the property. The hotel sits on a piece of land still ripe with the energy his kind protect. That is a secret he has to guard. Throwing money at a whole hotel for a girl fits with his eccentric, silicon valley billionaire persona he hides his real secrets behind.
"If that is the point then maybe I really did win and am actually a great poker player."
For all of the ways he is flawed there are some things he tries to get right. Like how he treats the people in his life. Ash spent years showing he cared by buying things and shoving money at people. Then he lost someone and learned that what mattered was everything else and he started to pay attention. Ash bumps his shoulder into Kavinsky with a soft laugh. "Hey, sometimes the nerds are gorgeous, six foot four men with tattoos and blue eyes. Maybe you are the nerdy research type and you just don't know it yet." He batts his blue eyes playfully at K as he hands him the drink. "You said you have power when we talked before. What could you do with that power that isn't nerdy or hurting people you don't want to hurt?"
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And then he laughed. "I mean, yeah. If someone's out of line, no matter how old they are, no one should be obligated to be nice to them. I guess I should amend that and say he's not a bag of dicks to me or the other guys." And he'd never witnessed Swan play games with strangers, so he couldn't comment on that. He knew Swan could be a dick though, no video games involved, but it was generally because some asshole had been running their mouth.
"Still. I mean-" What did he mean? It wasn't really about the money, only partially about it being in Vegas. "It sounds nice. Probably nicer that it doesn't have a casino, you know? Cozier that way." Because, while he'd never been, he figured casinos were everywhere in Vegas. At this point, he also wasn't surprised to hear that Ash had money--or that he'd done something so extravagant to impress a woman. "The Cromwell's got a nice ring to it. I've done some shit to impress people, too."
He grinned. "I don't think anyone really loses with strip poker, anyway." Unless they were self-conscious, but he hoped someone would be kind enough to themselves to not decide to play if they didn't want to potentially end up in their underwear.
Snorting, amused, he took the drink Ash handed him. "Anyone can be a nerd, and you are gorgeous. I just..." He didn't know if he'd have the patience for research, or feel like he was being as helpful if all he did was dig around in books or the internet. He sighed. "I don't know, there might not be anything I could use it for to help." And he doubted he'd be able to get away with lurking in shady parts of town and eavesdrop or coax information out of anyone who might have it.
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Glancing at Kavinsky he smirks. "Oh yeah? Tell me. Most over the top thing you've done to impress someone."
Tilting his head toward a booth he motions for Kavinsky to follow. If they were playing cards they need a table after all. When his hand bumps against the others Ash finds himself, yet again, curling his hand around K's. "Nerds get out from behind the desk to research, you know. We call that recon. Spy shit. Hacking. Interrogation." He slides into the booth. "Like dealing drugs but with information." Ash snorts out a laugh. "That's a bad analogy."
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"Mmm." Did saving Ronan's life count as an over the top thing to impress him? Maybe the exact method of it, but the actual event...he couldn't have just done nothing, he couldn't have not gone back to check on him. "I dunno. Gave someone a car. Wish I could say he'd been impressed, but-" But he apparently hadn't figured out yet what it took to impress Ronan.
There was something nice about Ash holding his hand, and Kavinsky hadn't fully realized before that such simple physical contact could make him feel so warm. "That's not a bad analogy, actually," he said, after he'd settled into the booth. "And I guess interrogation doesn't always have to be as intense as TV makes it out to be." Someone didn't have to be strapped to a chair and threatened. People could be pumped for information without them even realizing they were giving up shit they shouldn't.
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