2449/Midnight Appointment

Midnight Appointment
Date of Scene:	14 July 2020
Location:	Doc Samson's psychiatric practice
Synopsis:	Samson is visited by a potential patient in need. It turns out he's in need of Samson's blood. Luckily, Vampirella's on the prowl!
Cast of Characters:	Doc Samson, Ella Normandy

---

Doc Samson has posed:
Just before midnight, a phone rings.

Dr. Leonard Samson answers, rubbing his face groggily. "Hello?"

"Doctor," a man says on the other end, his breath ragged. "I need help. I was referred--that is, a friend told me--I need you. I'm in trouble and I need someone to ... to talk to. Tonight. Please."

The man huddles in an alley, his voice so quiet he's almost whispering, one hand cupping his mouth to speak into his phone.

"There's a vampire after me, and if I don't get help I'll be dead by morning," the man continues.

Samson frowns, exhaling softly through his nose. "Alright. What's your name, and can you be at my office in ten minutes?"

"Yes, yes," the man says excitedly. "The name's Field. I can be there in five."

"I look forward to it," Samson says, and he hangs up. Then, he sits up from his office's couch and folds the blanket he'd been sleeping under.

A block away, the man sprints from his alley hiding spot across the street, racing for the doctor's office building. He glances over his shoulder for something, but he sees nothing.

Ella Normandy has posed:
    Vampirella doesn't quibble about being called a vampire. It's probably true enough. She glides leisurely above the city streets, wings wide and catching the hot air radiating up from the cooling asphalt. She could take this man Field any time she wants, but his call for help is intriguing. Who was that? Some member of the Unseelie Court? The German? A rogue Danser? It would be worth the time to find out, so she can learn what kind of network her enemies have built against her. There's the chance she would be able to get the answer from his blood, but the bloodsong is never reliable for fine details. Better to walk into the ambush.

    From a hundred feet up, she watches Field run the last few steps of his life.

Doc Samson has posed:
A minute later, Samson welcomes the gasping, sweating Field into the office waiting room. "Normally, I'd ask you to wait until regular business hours, but I recognize that this is an extraordin--"

"Please!" Field says, running to the large window across from the waiting room door. "Don't you have curtains or blinds? We're sitting ducks here! I need--I need privacy, doctor. Please."

Samson nods, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Of course. I understand. But if you sought me out, surely you know that I'm something of, ah, a super-hero. You're safe here, I promise. Why don't we sit and talk about what's troubling you?"

Field glances back frequently to the window, moving a chair as far out of its main lines of sight as possible. "I'm looking to ... mmm ... take a trip. Change my life. Yes, that's it. I want to change my life. But I'm hunted, you see. Hunted by a vampire looking to stop me from becoming my ... my best self."

Field offers a chuckle and a wary grin, but then he shakes his head. "You were highly recommend as a way to help. To help me take my trip."

"Well, I like to think I can make a difference in my patients' lives," Samson replies, jotting down some notes on a legal pad. "So how long ago would you say these troubles began?"

"That's not important," Field says, squinting at the window. "What matters is the now. The darkness. The window--the window to a better future. That's why I need you. To move forward." His hand disappears behind his back, and he flourishes a ritualistic knife. "As I said, you were highly recommended. You'll help me open the way--the way to my true home, my promised paradise. To Drakulon."

Ella Normandy has posed:
    Vampirella's hearing is exceptional, but once the human is in the building, even she can't hear him through all that concrete. When he disappears through the door, her only choice, which she accepts with aplomb, is to slowly land to give him time to finish his run, then follow his scent through the building. She skips the elevator, taking the stairs instead and pausing to sniff every floor until she picks up his rich, oily, acrid smell. Silently, she slinks down the hall, following his aroma. Her claws itch to come out, but only lazily so: humans don't really trigger what she thinks of as her battle form. They're too far beneath her.

    The door to Samson's office is soundproofed, because of course it is. It might not be a HIPAA requirement, but it's just good manners to make sure people can't hear what your patients are saying. Vampirella is slightly annoyed by this circumstance but rolls with it; it makes sense this man trying to ambush her (as she's so sure he is) would choose a place she would have no advance warning about. She might be able to double back, head downstairs and out of the building to climb the wall and come in through a window, but she doesn't want them to have any more lead time on the ambush than necessary.

    Better to kick in the door now.

    So she does. The doorjamb splinters under her boot, and she dives in low, ready to avoid any weapons fire that would probably be aimed chest-high.

Doc Samson has posed:
Neither Field nor Samson seem to have anticipated a violent arrival through the front door. Both turn immediately to its direction, the conversation cut short.

Samson dives in front of Field, trying to block whatever might be fired or thrown or blasted at the patient.

In response, Field takes his ritual knife and plunges it into Samson's collar.

The super-powered shrink shouts in pain, crumpling to the ground for a moment, before Field withdraws the blade and holds it up in front of himself.

"Begone, enemy!" he snarls, flinging blood droplets all about the area. "This one's essence is powerful enough to open a gateway to desired Drakulon. You're too late to stop me!"

Even so, Field takes a step or two back from the door, trying to keep as much distance between himself and his assailant as possible.

Samson groans and tries to reach up at Field. "What ... who ... why ... ?" he asks weakly.

Ella Normandy has posed:
    A better person, a hero, might pause to be outraged at the victim lying on the floor. Vampirella is not such a person. She feels little compassion for the bleeding Samson, only a cold, reptilian rage at the man who put him on the floor. She pushes up from her prone position onto fingers and toes like a sprinter, and flings herself forward again, a flying tackle at Field. He'll probably have a chance to stab her with his knife, but the blade isn't made of wood, so she doesn't care too much.

Doc Samson has posed:
"No! No, no, no!" Field screams, slashing at the attacking woman with one hand while trying desperately to mark the walls with eldritch sigils written in Samson's blood.

Thanks to the quick assault, Field's not able to multitask very well. Indeed, as he's tackled by Vampirella, he finds himself trying to grab onto anything that might prevent him from potentially crashing through the window and out onto the street below.

Samson, meanwhile, attempts to apply pressure to his knife wound, dragging himself to a nearby table he can sit himself up against. His eyes flutter, but he manages to stay conscious. "Just ... a moment ... and I can help ... sort this out," he coughs.

"Die already!" Field shouts, although it's not quite clear if he's addressing Samson or Vampirella.

Ella Normandy has posed:
    Vampirella cared less about the knife when it wasn't cutting her open. She heals fast, visibly so, but every wound drains the reserves of blood in her body, meaning the pain of each cut (and they are deep slashes) is matched with the indescribably cold ache of starvation in her belly.

    She's aware she misread the situation, that the man on the floor is not Fields's ally but his victim. That complicates things. She didn't mind killing in front of a witness if the witness was also going to die, but this human seems like he might live, which means he mustn't be allowed to watch her feed. Even in her fury, her predator's instincts are keenly honed to the dangers of losing control.

    So, snarling, she makes a fist and slugs Fields hard in the stomach, watching for a counterslash of that damnable blade.

    The scent of all the blood in the room is so distracting...

Doc Samson has posed:
Field makes a sound that's not unlike whalesong as Vampirella's punch causes him to empty his lungs of air. His grip on the knife loosens, and he fumbles in an attempt to stab her in response.

Instead, Field grabs his gut with one arm, doubled over on the floor. "Just ... *wheeeeze* ... just do it. I ... *wheeeze* ... I ..."

Nearby, Samson frowns, the color returning to his face. "I admit--I didn't think there'd be an actual person chasing him. I take it you're the vampire?" He raises an eyebrow. "I suppose it's a coin toss right now as to whether or not /that's/ literal or figurative."

Ella Normandy has posed:
    Vampirella's ravenous, nearly to the point of not noticing Samson's returning strength means he's regenerating as quickly as she would. The observation only occurs to her distantly. She bends over, picks up the knife, and fights down the urge to petulantly break it while Fields watches. "Let me know what the coin decides," she grunts wryly at Samson, forcing herself to eye him carefully. "You take a neck stabbing better than most people."

Doc Samson has posed:
"It's not enjoyable," Samson responds flatly. "And it'll ache for a while. But that comes with the gamma-irradiated body, I suppose."

He pauses, and then adds, "Wait. Have you not heard of me? That's a bit of a blow to the ego..."

Field, meanwhile, scowls at Vampirella. "Are you going to end this or not?" he asks, finally having caught his breath. "At least don't draw it out."

Samson clears his throat. "Excuse me, Miss ... attacker? Why don't we call the authorities? There's help that Mr. Field here needs--help that I'm not sure my therapy can fully provide. Luckily, there are resources available."

Ella Normandy has posed:
    Vampirella growls at Fields and kicks him in the middle of the thigh. Kicking like that with the toe would set most people limping for an hour, but either Vampirella's boots are steel-toed or she's strong too. "Shut up," she snaps at him, then returns her attention to Samson, anger melting into placidity. "Sorry, I haven't heard of you. You can call the police if you want, but you should call the Inquisition. He needs to be kept somewhere with no blood to steal, and they won't torture him. To the Inquisition, humans are sinners who can be saved by grace and all that."

Doc Samson has posed:
"I ... don't know the number for this Inquisition," Samson responds, pushing himself to his feet and slowly stumbling toward the reception desk. "But you're welcome to use the phone after me."

He dials 911 and walks the operator through the situation, clearly recuperating well by the end of the call.

Field howls in response to the kick to his thigh, clutching his leg tightly. "You undeserving abomination!" He hisses, his eyes watering. "I should be reigning in glory in Drakulon now, gaining all the gifts you have!"

Hanging up the phone, Samson walks back to the other two. "The police should be here momentarily. So he wants to steal blood?" He rubs his chin. "Field, I thought you said you were being hunted by a vampire. It sure sounds like you're the one with the vampiric tendencies here."

Field shakes his head and sneers. "You'll never understand, you mortal imbecile. Just--just leave me be. If I am denied my paradise, then I have no use for you any longer." His eyes, though, linger on the knife.

Ella Normandy has posed:
    Pain does not seem to instruct Fields, so Vampirella doesn't waste effort kicking him again. She just walks over to the doorjamb, which is already ruined by her entrance, so there's no harm done stabbing the blade deep into the wood, then shoving hard against the tang, snapping the blade just about in half and leaving the bit of it still attached to the hilt curved stupidly to the left. "Thanks," she says casually as she accepts the phone and calls the Six Marys, explaining curtly the situation. It's anyone's guess whether they can head off the police after an official complaint has been lodged, but that's a whole big bunch of not her problem.

    Vampirella tosses the phone back to Samson. "Do you know why he picked you?" she asked. "Just for your strength, or are you the fated scion of some mystical bloodline?"

Doc Samson has posed:
"If I had to guess," Samson says, "I'd say that there's a hat trick of sorts made: I'm a psychiatrist, so I'm available. I do some hero work, so I'm willing to help against potential vampire attacks. I've got some radioactive blood, so maybe that super-charged whatever ritual Field here was working on."

Field only stares daggers in return.

Approaching sirens can be heard, and then through the window the accompanying lights can be seen.

"I appreciate the help," Samson offers, hefting up Field with one hand. "What should I call you, by the way?"

Ella Normandy has posed:
    Vampirella's scarlet lips quirk in amusement. "Call me Vampirella. Radioactive blood?" Curious, she kneels next to Samson's blood pool, now quite tacky and nearly fully coagulated. She peels a small scab's worth off and licks it experimentally before tossing it back onto the puddle, which is now really more of a pile. "Interesting," she concludes as she rises. "But I need to not be here when the police come in, so excuse me." She pauses, then adds, "Maybe I'll visit you again. I could use someone to talk to."

    With that, she heads for the door, then the stairs, then the roof.