1587/The Prince is (Un)dead, Long Live the Prince!

The Prince is (Un)dead, Long Live the Prince!
Date of Scene:	09 May 2020
Location:	The Wick
Synopsis:	The Prince of New York vampires calls out the Living Vampire for the throne. It...doesn't go well.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Morbius, Blake Riviere

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Michael Morbius has posed:
He had thought himself above the game. His father had told him a long time ago that being outside the spheres of control set by others would make you immune.

But Dr. Michael Morbius was having a bad night already. The serum he had been developing to reverse his condition had turned out to be temporary. Fifteen minutes after his skin had turned pink and the fangs and claws had disappeared, they came back with a violent and painful vengeance.
Then he stepped outside to clear his head, took a few deep breaths, and then turned around to see his Land Rover covered with words like COWARD and YOUR PRINCE IS SOVEREIGN.

He took a few deep breaths, then called Triple-A, then asked Frank, his security guard on staff that night, to borrow his car. He had to run a VERY urgent errand. Frank, who was feeling a little guilty about not seeing who graffiti'd the doctor's car, coughed up the keys to his own vehicle, a used Mitsubishi Endeavor SUV.

Five minutes later, Dr. Morbius was on his way to the Wick...

Blake Riviere has posed:
Another night in New York, but not every fanged denizen was having quite so bad a night. After all, Blake had herself a little encounter with a fae heroine that had mistaken her most recent feeding for some unwanted attack. A small encounter where she'd trounced the poor well-meaning 'child' as the vampiress had labeled her.

After all that, one might think that she'd have had enough of people playing out a role and making assumptions, but apparently not. Here she was, once more in 'The Wick' on the night of the folks 'playing' vampire. Of course, this time she wasn't quite as dressed up: black jeans, a similarly colored slim leather jacket and a deep red vee-neck top for her usual splash of prefered color.
     The arrival of Dr. Morbius into the doorway? That has her looking up, a little quirk of her lips in amusement. "Have you returned for the intricate dance of politics tonight?"

Michael Morbius has posed:
Morbius...does not look happy. Which, oddly enough, makes him look even more bat-like. Even the nose looks a little odd.
When he looks at her, the eyes are red and angry, but restrained...barely. He takes a deep breath, looks to the corner where "Matthew the Prince of New York" is holding court, and says, "I have returned to acknowledge the thrown gauntlet, Blake...after a public display of juvenile property damage. If you will pardon me?"
He nods to her, then heads straight for the "throne" set up in the rear. He does not seem perturbed as Isaac appears again, and Blake can hear Michael's hissed words to Isaac. "Are you looking for a fresh injury?"

Isaac stops, apparently remembering the LAST time he tangled with Morbius...

Blake Riviere has posed:
"Property damage? Oh my..." amusement in those 'Queen's English' tones as she watches the exchange, a tilt of her head as she regards the encounter to be. A kinder soul would probably have made to interupt before things went from bad to worse but...Blake didn't really have the mood for it. Perhaps she felt like she needed some intertainment tonight?

Stepping forwards, the woman makes a little soft giggle as she steps up behind the pair. Apparently, she'd invited herself along.

Michael Morbius has posed:
It's when Michael is almost to the "throne" that he realizes he is still wearing his white silk shirt, black slacks, and meticulously-shined shoes with the leather soles. It's when he also realizes he now has a female companion. He is a little too ticked-off to try and talk Blake out of following him on this. Maybe she could be a Voice of Reason.

Morbius stops in front of Matthew, who gives him a warm smile after typing a message on his iPhone XR. He looks up. "So...the caitiff returns."
"You have a SERIOUS amount of brass to deface my property." Michael's voice is a barely-restrained growl.
"I see. Perhaps you might wish to discuss it outside, if you decide to formally challenge me?"
"Right now, nothing would please me more." Michael was looking at Matthew unblinkingly.
"Fair enough. Should I prevail, you will never show your face here again." Matthew stands up, smiling to the people around him. "I will be back shortly." He strolls towards the back door, seemingly without a care in the world.
"I...TRULY loathe that man," Morbius said under his breath. "I suppose you wish to be a thoroughly-entertained witness, Blake?"

Blake Riviere has posed:
Apparently she wasn't quite going to be that voice tonight, infact she seems to be decidedly silent in the exchange between the 'Prince' and the pissed-off Morbius. She folds her arms under her bust, a tilt of her head and those bright blue eyes (noticably different to the crimson it had carried last time) watch the exchange.

"Perhaps you will take his place?" she finally speaks up, giving Michael a glance over and then looking to the fauning flock of the Prince's Court. "Instil some decorum in their antics?"

His invitation? It earns a little laugh and a nod of her head. "I'm simply happy that there's not going to be a mess in this place...but I'll hardly turn down the show."

Michael Morbius has posed:
Michael starts walking towards the rear of the bar. "Interested in a royal appointment, Blake? Or just..."

He pauses just before opening the door. He frowns as he senses something...wrong.

Blake, however, has much more finely-attuned senses, and can hear Matthew talking to someone else...and by the sounds of the heartbeats, SIX someone-elses. And Blake has been through enough wars and societal imbalances to detect an ambush in the making.

Blake Riviere has posed:
"Don't quite go invisioning consorts and concubines just yet Mr Morbius," Blake teases, a soft little quirk of her lips before she frowns, tilting her head to the side. Oh she'd seen Michael's reaction, but she didn't need to either. There were more of them out there, more laying in wait... "It seems that they're not intending to play fair."

It was all the warning she was going to give, then the vampiress was headed out the door behind Michael himself. She detected the ambush, but she wasn't one to avoid it apparently.

Michael Morbius has posed:
Michael looked at the door, then at Blake. "If someone attacks...defend yourself against any but Matthew. I consider it a matter of honor to face him, myself."

Michael looks back to the door...and then rushes it.

Matthew is standing in the parking lot beyone the back door, baseball bat in hand. His friends had similar implements - crowbars, tire iron, one even owning a collapsible baton.
He hated upstarts. He figured a good pounding should cement his status. By the time this "Morbius" got out of traction, he...

Then the door seemed to explode outward, catching Roy in the chin as he waited behind the door. It knocked him back and over the railing to land in the trash.
And then there he was, Dr. Michael Morbius, Nobel laureate, looking angry enough to chew nails and spit out staples. There was another behind him, some tasty little bit he wouldn't mind adding to the harem.

"TAKE HIM!" he calls to the others.

Blake Riviere has posed:
"My hero," Blake muses, uncrossing her arms and smiling lightly. "But I can handle myself quite well, do not worry."

Then he was bursting through the door into the mix and there was no more time for talk. A step behind the good doctor, Blake Riviere, the one true vampiress in the club of apparent thugs playing pretend emerges. She doesn't make to strike out, doesn't make to attack, but the raven-haired woman would defend herself. That call from Matthew brings a little click of Blake's tongue and she lifts a hand, gesturing to Michael in a mute invitation of 'after you'.

Michael Morbius has posed:
They don't target Blake, but head straight for Michael, while Matthew stood back and smiled with his expensively-made fangs and colored contact lenses.

The first man to reach Michael hit him in the head, making his ears ring. Morbius swung with a fist and sent the man back with a broken jaw and two missing teeth. He saw the second man coming and punched straight out, hitting him in the midsection, WHOOFING the air out of his lungs; after staggering backward, the second man falls to hands and knees and starts puking.

Matthew's smile slips a few notches. Half his friends were down and it had only been a few seconds...

Blake Riviere has posed:
From the first time she'd seen him, she'd known there was something 'different' about the good doctor. A 'scent' that was far more than some healthy figure with dentiplast and contacts. He wasn't the same as her, but he wasn't just another human being that happened to be good at handling himself in a fight.

"How curious..." she muses aloud, watching the impacts as if it passed in slow motion to her and finally taking a step forwards. Perhaps she'd become bored, or maybe she'd learned enough; it didn't really matter.

One thug's tire iron is seized, gripped on the backswing and plucked from his hand before she gives the club a lazy twirl and flicks it sideways out of reach. "It's rude to leave a lady on the sidelines..."

Michael Morbius has posed:
Well, the paradigm shifts for the guy whose tire iron went bye-bye. You only raised your hand to a woman if she Crosses the Line. Interfering, talking back, not providing what you want on demand. All good examples of Crossing the Line.
Which re-categorized Blake from Prize to Combatant.
So, naturally, he took a swing at her, because you have to tool them up a little to show them who's boss.

The bad news, though, is that this leaves only two left to deal with Morbius. Although he is not a gifted street fighter, he has a lot of Quick and a lot of Strength. His control's a little shoddy, though.
He catches a crowbar in the kidneys, the pain flaring up his spine. He is aware of it, but he is also aware that he would have been seeing blood in his urine for the next week with a blow like that.
However, when he punches the guy with the crowbar, he caves in three ribs and the guy falls on his back. He hadn't meant to hit him THAT hard...

Then he grabbed the arm of the last guy attacking him, squeezed...and felt both radius and ulna break as he squeezed. The man backed up and bellowed in pain, holding his broken arm.

Morbius turned to face Matthew...who was no longer smiling.

Blake Riviere has posed:
The swing at Blake? It simply hits air, a brush of hair and whisper of air as she calmly twists and pivots between each and every strike. Her red-painted lips are pulled into a smirk almost flirtatious in appearance and entirely intended to infuriate. Compared to the swift and brutal actions of Michael taking apart the thugs? She was like a cat toying with her prey.

Then she glances sidelong and spots Michael advancing towards Matthew, the show she'd come out for...she couldn't miss this!

The thug who'd thought to 'tool up' the intended 'Prize'? His fist was suddenly caught, a smaller hand seizing his wrist and stopping the strike dead. There was a click, a painful surge as the delicate bones threatened to give way before she twists and -flings- the man towards the wall. It might almost be taken for some sort of impressive judo or aikido movement to the casual glance, but damn if he didn't hit the wall awfully hard!

She steps up now, licking her lips and moving towards the confrontation without interupting, deep red irises focused on the pair.

Wait...when did she put the contacts in?

Michael Morbius has posed:
Matthew suddenly realized he was up against something he couldn't control, intimidate, or manipulate. And Morbius looked...almost bestial.

"READY TO JOIN THE FOOD CHAIN, 'PRINCE?'" He almost didn't sound human.

And, ladies and gentlemen, that was when Matthew went to his knees, and the acrid smell of urine reveals that his bladder had let go.
"PLEASE, MAN...don'tkillmedon'tkillmedon'tkillme..."
Morbius grasped him by the throat, and suddenly it was all too easy to just bend his neck, tap into that glorious flow of heat under the skin, and drink until the man didn't have a drop left in him...

...over a car.
Michael stopped. Had he really thought to kill this man over a bunch of graffiti?
With that thought, sanity began to claw its way back into his brain...and then he dropped Matthew on the pavement.

"YOU...ARE *ABDICATING.*" Okay, too much Monster From Hell. Pull it back. "If I see you again, it will be the LAST time you see anyone. Go away, and do not come back!"

Blake Riviere has posed:
Facinating. That was the only word for it. That was the only judgement that Blake Riviere was able to voice. A step forwards, her gaze flicks towards one of the concious men still clutching his arms in pain. Bending down, pain was enough to draw his gaze up from clevage to those faintly luminescent red eyes.

"Sleep and forget."

A A simple command, but the man's eyes roll back and he drops into the blissful ignorance of sleep. Finally, the woman could turn to the snarling 'monster' that is Morbius. That she herself wasn't running away in utter terror might be confusing...if he can summon the presence of mind to realise she was there.

Only when Matthew was fleeing did she finally speak again, tilting her head to the side and leaning her hip against the wall of the alleyway. "So...are you some sort of Halfbreed?"

Michael Morbius has posed:
Matthew decided that leaving this life was an EXCELLENT idea. In fact, he could catch the next flight back to Gary, Indiana. If he hurried. And BOY, did he want to HURRY.

As Matthew bolted away, Michael turned to Blake...and she could see the Thirst in his face. It even LOOKED more like the face of a bat than a human's. He looked down, held up a hand, then snarled, "A...MOMENT..."

He reached into his pockets, pulling out a blood bag from each one. The bags were marked O-POSITIVE - FOR RESEARCH PURPOSES ONLY.
Michael tore one open, pouring the contents into his open mouth. The blood smelled cold, with a couple of chemical traces Blake recognized as preservatives. He drops the first bag, now empty, then opens the second and drinks deep of that one, as well.

Blake Riviere has posed:
A blink, Blake is left to whince a little at the draining of the blood bag...let alone the reveal of them from his pockets. As unnerving as it might be for him to be carrying them, that he would be drinking from them at all has her shuddering. Blood bags with preservatives? It was equivlent for the vampiress to eating extremely artificial nasty food one might find at a cheap gas station.

Her eyes remain glowing, but only now do her fangs, those that had been hidden for every meeting, finally extend with a soft 'click' like a flexing of a joint.

"What...are...you?"

Michael Morbius has posed:
Michael looks back at her, and the bestial look is gone. His nose is almost normal, the jaw looks normal, and the eyes are still red, but not inhumanly so. The fangs have not disappeared, but they have retracted, and he has an apologetic look on his face as he picks up the discarded blood bag.

"I'm...a very sick person. I used to be afflicted by ALAD-deficiency porphyria. Now...it's a mutated version of the disease. Calling it 'ALAD-Deficiency Porphyria-Morbia' in the research. I'm...not the stereotypical kind of vampire. Light annoys me, holy objects are interesting, and I can enter a church without going up in flames. I have a heartbeat, a pulse...but I am also experiencing side effects that would hardly be considered typical."

Blake Riviere has posed:
"A vampire 'disease'," Blake speaks softly, frowning a little to herself. "How...facinating and frightful. Is it contagious to others? Are these men at risk?" Her concern wasn't for herself, but perhaps she had well and truely proven she was more than she appeared. Slowly, her own fangs and eyes faded, returning to a mask of 'normal' as she stepped closer.

"Some things are different between...species of vampire. Creatures have different weaknesses and rules...but a disease that mimics abilities and thirst alike?" she exhales, uncrossing her arms. That mask of flirtation and playfulness that had lingered the entire time slips just a little. "I feel sorry for you Michael Morbius."

Michael Morbius has posed:
Michael shook his head. "No! No, GOD no!" He took a deep breath. "No...I've done EXHAUSTIVE testing. I'm one of the premier minds when it comes to infectious diseases, and I have taken extreme steps. I have definitively determined that I cannot spread this condition to others. Even though it is a genetic disorder, I left nothing to chance..."

He looks truly animated as he speaks, and Blake gets the feeling that this is what he has done many times - argued the science.

"I've tested myself. Not only do I not communicate any type of contaminant to another person, my body seems almost poisonous to bacteria or viruses. So yes, I have checked...and no, I am not contagious in any way."

He takes a moment, realizing the passion of his own defense, then sighs. "I apologize. When a potential cure to my condition presented itself, I did not have the time for testing. Had I not taken it, I would be in a very expensive medical facility, while doctors analyzed the rotting of my brain...I would be dying in great pain and quite possibly suffering from dementia-induced insanity. Although...this was not the result I was hoping for."