20335/Kinds of Bloodsuckers

Kinds of Bloodsuckers
Date of Scene:	29 March 2025
Location:	Alleyways - Hell's Kitchen
Synopsis:	Jessica Jones and Blade cross fists over a misunderstanding. Walls suffered for it.
Cast of Characters:	Jessica Jones, Eric Brooks

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Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones is on yet another fire escape on yet another evening, a camera in her hand, peeking in the windows of a dingy apartment and trying to catch people doing something they shouldn't be doing. This was supposed to be a simple affair job but something felt off about it. The girl didn't seem that into this guy she was visiting - they hadn't even kissed and everybody had their clothes on. Whatever her husband thought was going on, this seemed different.

Instead, they're talking over a big cooler full of some sort of medical supplies, Jessica hasn't gotten a good look at what. Stealing drugs, maybe? Honestly, she didn't give a fuck, she wasn't a cop. Not good to steal drugs from sick people though. Fuck. She hated having a conscience. Better to just wait for now and see how it plays out.

Her camera whirs away and she zooms in, which means she's a bit startled when the door to that apartment she's watching gets kicked in...

Eric Brooks has posed:
For the last four days, Blade has been engaged in a rapidly escalating guerilla war against a hive of vampires who open pop-up clubs that double as buffet style restaurants for any vamp who can pay the price per "plate". It's turned out to be an incredibly profitable venture, not to mention being much harder to track than a traditional hive. So far, the best he's been able to do is torch one of their locations. Twice. Not two locations. Two days, two fires, one thoroughly roasted vampire nest.

Unfortunately, this seemed to piss them off more than anything else. While he'd never admit it out loud, Blade had grossly underestimated their numbers when he made his initial assault. His guerilla war, such as it is, has involved as much running as it has fighting. That doesn't sit well with him. Not one bit. So he tracked the supply chain; following the pop-up invitations back to their source, having to fight his way up each rung of the ladder and beat more answers out of more vampires and familiars. That part he doesn't mind, but he's ready to cut the head off of this particular snake. If he wants to do that, he needs to get at least one step ahead of them instead of lagging three steps behind.

Fast forward to the present, and he's grinning fiercely as he kicks the door hard enough to not only open it, parts of the frame get yanked right out of the wall. One of Blade's ladder rungs lives here. When he enters, it's through a cloud of plaster and drywall dust. He doesn't rush. There's no need. His approach is as inexorable as the tides.

After a few eerily silent seconds, his lips tug into a smile so subtle that it almost isn't there. Just a brief, bare curve at the corners of his mouth. "Come out, come out, wherever you are. If you do, this will hurt less. Probably."

Jessica Jones has posed:
The woman in the apartment is screaming, scrambling to try and hide under the bed to escape. She's only just been initiated into familiardom, the clan tattoo on the back of her ankle still under a bandage, her pledge turning her from person to property as far as the leeches were concerned. The guy, named Rico, is a recruiter and a real scumbag and probably had every intention of roofying and taking advantage of his new recruit the first chance he got.

"What kind of psycho...?" Jessica mutters as she sees the heavily harmed stranger in black enter, Rico fumbling for a snubnused revolved tucked into back of pants that he yanks out and unloads in Blade's general directon.

Jessica puts down the camera and mutters a few swears under her breath as she puts a boot on the railing of the fire escape and pushes herself over, her limited flight ability carrying her easily until she crashes through the window in a shower of glass.

Eric Brooks has posed:
As always, Blade is dressed head to toe in black leather. He's got a static aesthetic. His long coat moves with him, but it lacks the superhero flair that garments like it would normally display. Because, naturally, it's packed with weapons, and he's also wearing a bandolier with a staggering number of silver throwing knives. They're small, almost dainty, each one just large enough and long enough to reach a vampire's heart. Because it's not the size that matters, it's how you use it. He hopes.

When the deafening booms of gunfire fill the small, enclosed space, the noise bothers Blade's ears more than the bullets bother his armored vest. They mushroom against the trauma plate with enough impact to push him backward one staggering step. Just the one. He glances down at the fresh scratches on the trauma plate, then up at the familiar. "Motherfucker, are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Narrowing his eyes, he plucks one of the knives from his bandolier. Ignoring the cowering woman, he uses an underhanded toss to send the blade end-over-end until it skewers Rico through the meat of his forearm. His slow, steady advance resumes. "I think you'll find that was very ill-advised."

Then the window implodes, which Blade was admittedly unprepared for. He's showered with broken glass and takes a few minor cuts, but seems more or less intact. He does, however, turn to face whoever the hell just had the audacity to interrupt a perfectly good interrogation. Now he's pissed, which generally means a bad day for everyone, himself included. He arches an eyebrow, just barely visible behind his sunglasses. "What. The. Fuck."

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones has her own aesthetic that she works. Leather jacket, studs at the shoulders, a few chains, lots of pockets and zippers. White wife-beater, black jeans, the kind of boots you use to stomp a mudhole in a drunk when you're a bouncer in a biker bar. Which is where she'd gotten them, pulling them off the bitch's fucking feet after breaking her through a pool table. Old crow didn't deserve 'em.

The broken glass glitters in her jet black hair, spilling around her feet and crunching under her boots as she flexes her hands. "Sorry, Neo, can't be letting you drop a corpse on my watch," she says. "That little slut might be a horrible bitch cheating on her dumbass husband, but death's probably a little too much for her," she says. "So why don't you put the pigsticker down and we can talk this out before I twist you into a pretzel?"

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade pauses. That's noteworthy all by itself, but he seems to actually consider the words as well. He glances at the familiars, who seem appropriately cowed, then at this newcomer. There's that smile again. So fast, it might not have even happened. "Okay."

Then he complies. Technically. He opts to put his knife down by throwing it at Rico, piercing him through his radius and ulna right next to the first one. "Don't go anywhere, I'm not done with you."

This new arrival looks like trouble. Blade's voice drops to just above a dangerous growl. "I'm a gentleman, so I'll say this respectfully. Fuck. Off. I'm in a shitty mood. You think I care about her vagina? Wrong. If you piss me off, you'll start seeing a lot more of me. I'll pop into the Kitchen and drop a loser like these two every night until you're so old you've got cobwebs between your legs."

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones finds herself staring long and hard at Blade as he lets loose his diatribe. Rico's whimpering is pretty much ignored, shifted into the background. He's not really her problem. The woman, Tina, is trying to crawl her way to the door on her belly. Jessica takes a couple of steps over and puts her boot on the small of the woman's spine, pinning her to the floor.

"Tina, go home to your fucking husband in Long Island. If I sew you in this place again, I'm going to put you on my shoulder, carry you back up to this apartment, and toss you right out the window I just broke in."

She flexes her fists as the turns back to Blade, "I think your respectfully kind of sucks, respectfully speaking," she says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a half-crumpled pack of American spirits, drawing a filter out with her lips and pulling out a Zippo to light it. "Maybe we should just do it because, honestly, I piss everybody off eventually and I wouldn't mind getting a little exercise. That said, you've got a lot of swords and I ain't in the mood to bleed. I'm a curious bitch, so why don't you just enlighten me about what all this ultraviolence is about so I can go back to finishing my bottle of Glenlivet, huh?"

Eric Brooks has posed:
Blade looks Jessica up and down the way a horse trader looks at a prospective purchase. A lot of weighing and measuring going on behind those sunglasses. Then, whip-fast, he draws and throws a third knife. This one pierces Rico's hand and pins it to a bedside table. "Stay."

When he turns his attention back to Jessica, it seems as if he can't decide whether he's looking at a racehorse or a nag. There's one thing he's pretty sure about, though.

"You can't afford Glenlivet." Somehow, it doesn't come out sounding accusatory. Just blandly matter-of-fact. Blade shrugs out of his coat and lets it drop to the floor, then cracks his neck. This is a double-edged sword, no pun intended. Now he's unarmed, but he also isn't weighed down with enough gear to outfit three vampire hunters. "I'm trying to do my job, which is ultraviolent. You're in my way. Since you don't strike me as the type to back down, we may as well get this over with."

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones turns her head, "I got it as payment for a job. Fucking lawyers. Just because she knows I'm a fucking drunk. I should've thrown it back in her face. But fuck it, I got a bottle of Glenlivet. She wasn't wrong," she says.

She takes a long drag on her cigarette as she leans back against the wall, blowing smoke through her nostrils like a steaming bull, "Fine, fine, let me finish my fucking smoke first. These things aren't cheap. So yourjob is just beating the shit out of randos? Like these two are about as dangerous as a parking meter, you seem kind of like overkill, pal."

Eric Brooks has posed:
In just his vest with a sleeveless shirt beneath it, it's apparent that Blade's build is one part weightlifter and one part gymnast. He's lean, but chiseled. Ever look at someone and they're so in shape you instantly know they don't have any real hobbies? That. He rolls his shoulders, then his wrists, preparing for-

Nothing? Ready to pounce, or at the very least defend himself, he can't help wilting a little. He's accustomed to being the one who makes people feel unimportant and highly punchable. This shift in the dynamic doesn't sit well with him. After a few silent heartbeats, he lowers his hands and glances at Rico. "Don't move. Don't speak. You might just live through the night."

When he looks back at Jessica, he's nothing short of flabbergasted. Finally, he shakes his head. "Ahhh, forget it. I'm losing wood now that I know you don't really want to. Nobody wants to get some if it's an obligatory chore."

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones snorts, "Losing wood? Already? And here I thought you might be the kind that could go all night," she says. "If you don't have the patience, though, that's fine. But if you feel froggy, jump, you don't have to wait for my permission. This isn't the Cliffs of Insanity and I'm not the Man in Black,' she says.

She leaves her cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth as she shrugs off her jacket, lettin git fall to the floor. Her bare arms are visibly muscled, flexing a bit, rolling her shoulders, "Before you spring, though, you might want to get the lay of the land," she says, reaching over and picking up the discarded revolver, holding it up in the air and then crushing it between her fingers, the sound of creaking metal echoing in the room as she balls the snubnose up into a useless wad of steel and drops it to the carpet.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Now Blade perks up again. He raises an eyebrow as the screech of crumpling metal fills the room. "Did I say losing wood? Nah, don't know what you're talking about. I'm yours until I wear you out."

The moment seems to call for a demonstration. As they're fresh out of disposable guns to squash, he glances at a stone support pillar. It's about two feet on each side; that'll do nicely. With a quick, snapping hook, he not only smashes a chunk out of it, that chunk poofs into a spray of dust and a light patter of gravel hitting the floor. It's not nearly as difficult as squishing tempered steel, but the effect is more dramatic. "Land looks fine to me, lady."

Feeling he's eloquently made his point, he advances on Jessica the same way he always does. One measured step at a time. Never hurrying, never rushing. Despite her show of strength, he doesn't seem concerned. Blade doesn't get concerned. He just isn't bored anymore.

Then, with jarring abruptness, he lashes out with an open-handed blow to the midsection. He's got a feeling this girl can take a punch, but how well? So he holds back on the initial strike, probing and testing with his attack.

Jessica Jones has posed:
She can take a punch very well, which is good because she has no hope of blocking that shit. The palm strike to her abdomen drives her back a bit, bending her forward and pushing the air out of her lungs with a cough. Her cigarette falls out of her mouth, the last of the ember sure to leave a burn hole in the carpet but not enough to start an actual fire.

The fire that gets lit is in Jessica, her eyes blazing as she looks up, "Oh you're gonna fucking get it now," she snarls and she charges forward, flinging from her feet to spear him in the midsection, hefting him up and onto her shoulder and driving forwrad until she smashes him into the drywall on the opposite side of the room, plaster cracking and dust shaking from the sealing as she makes a Blade-shaped dent in the apartment.

Eric Brooks has posed:
"Yeah, yeah. Don't tease me if you won't please me." Wait. Huh? Suddenly, the decor shifts. Rico lives in apartment 203. Blade is pretty sure he's now in apartment 204. Thankfully, it's vacant. It'd be hard to explain he and Jess crashing through the wall, even if they hadn't just both gotten the wind knocked out of them.

After a forever-feeling instant, he's able to suck in a breath and reorient himself. He's definitely in apartment 204. He's currently looking at the ceiling. And he's got a girl on top of him. He lets out a groan, just as much from embarrassment as pain.

He throws a quick rabbit punch to feint, then slams in a hard hook to the liver, buying enough space to scramble to his feet. He's battered and bruised, but a quick fourteen point check reassures him that nothing is broken. "Geez. You don't have to please me that much."

And that concludes the information gathering portion of the squabble, at least for Blade. He can move fast, so he relies on that, snapping off jabs at anything that looks remotely vulnerable.

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones feels that liver punch and gives a sharp yowl, "THat fucking hurt, you psycho," she grunts. SHe isn't used to feeling punches too much, your average joe schmo scumbag can't really get much past the basic plating of her invulnerability. She ain't Carol Danvers, though, and she's gonna have a hell of a bruise from that.

She quickly realizes she doesn't want to give him distance to get those strikes in so she says in close, trying to wrap his torso up in a bearhug and punctuating it with a s harp headbutt right to the bridge of his nose.

Eric Brooks has posed:
The air whistles out of Blade's lungs almost as soon as he has it back. He manages to keep one arm out of the bear hug, but loses the other to Jessica's grip. Then he hears his bones creak, which feels like being at the Devil's chiropractor. Immediately, his eyes widen. It's just become apparent how much stronger than him this wisp of a girl actually is. Also, he didn't know bones could creak.

In this position, there's no way to get enough leverage and momentum to swing a punch. He sure as hell can't dodge a headbutt at this range, so he meets it head on, determined not to get his nose broken in front of a familiar. Forehead to forehead is better, but not by much. He winces and his vision swims as he squirms against Jessica, but is unable to free himself. Once he realizes that he's not going anywhere until she lets go, he decides to return the favor. He wraps his free hand around her throat and starts to squeeze. He's not as strong as Jess, true, but strong enough to bring a respectable hand necklace. Nearly nose to nose with her, he finds energy to grin. "Hi."

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones is resistant to punching and kicking pretty well, even if Blade's punches and kicks have definitely been much worse than she's used to getting and she's going to be very fucking sore tomorrow. She's going to have to wash down a couple of percs with her whiskey. Good thing she got that big bag o' meds from the junkie she rescued last month. Technically she was helping to clean out the girl's stash before putting her in rehab. And sometimes you needed medicine on short notice.

She does need to breathe, though, and she's soon thrashing, trying to get loose of his grip without releasing hers but she finally has to give in and shove him away, tumbling tot he other side of the room while she drops to a knee and sucks air, "God dammit, I hate suffocating. Don't do that shit. Fuck."

Eric Brooks has posed:
"Don't be a baby." Blade wheezes out the words hoarsely as he rolls over, ready to handspring back into the action.

Then he just doesn't. Really finding out which of them is better would involve at least one of them getting seriously injured. Having discovered a peer, it seems he's weighed the cost-benefit ratio and found it wanting. So he picks himself up slowly and make a show of brushing drywall dust off of himself. "Ow. Fuck me, I think you broke a rib. Who the hell *are* you?"

Jessica Jones has posed:
Jessica Jones holds up a hand, "Fucking time out, dude. Fuck," she mutters. She slumps down onto her rump, laying her back against the wall as she catches her breath. "Jessica Jones, Alias Investigations. I'd give you my card, but they're in my jacket and I left that in the other room. Make sure I didn't drop anything, I do not need the landlord of this fucking hole trying to make me pay for damages," she says.

"Who the hell are you? Killboy? Sword King? Captain Psycho?"

Eric Brooks has posed:
"Close enough. It's Blade. Captain Psycho isn't bad, though. Rolls off the tongue." Now Blade flashes a real grin, but it's still so fast it's hard to be sure. He gives himself a shake, then limps over and offers Jessica a hand. "You look none the worse for wear. Come on, up you get."

That's it. No parade or fanfare. She doesn't smell like vampire or demon, she doesn't want trouble, that's all that matters. When people explain things beyond that, Blade just hears Charlie Brown's teacher. Most people, anyway. "Those two you were watching? They're familiars. Means they belong to a specific vampire, like a pet. Yes, vampires are real. These days, just assume everything is real. Keeps things simple."

Jessica Jones has posed:
"Blade, huh? Well...I've heard worse codenames," she says. Like Jewel.

She takes the hand and lets the big man pull her up to her feet, tossing back her black hair and spitting a little blood from where her lip got split somewhere in the midst of it all.

"Vampires? Ah, shit. I hate magic shit. I hate creatures. Fuck," she says. She's encountered a bit of that shit here and there, she's been around enough to know that the shadows are full of things we all thoght were pretend.

"I swear next week I'm gonna end up fighting the Jersey Devil or a chupacabra or some shit," she says, then rolls her neck, popping her vertebra like those little snap fireworks, one after the other, "You drink Scotch, Blade? I think you earned a glass."

Eric Brooks has posed:
"We both earned one." Blade nods an affirmative. "Trust me, shit'll get weirder now that we've met. I have that effect. I'll give you the rundown, but it'll be more palatable with a stiff drink."