2707/In Cold Blood

In Cold Blood
Date of Scene:	31 July 2020
Location:	Abandoned Warehouse
Synopsis:	Blake, Ariah, and Johnny Blaze all seek out a potentially vampiric person of interest. It doesn't go very well for that person.
Cast of Characters:	Johnny Blaze, Blake Riviere, Ariah Olivie

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Johnny Blaze has posed:
People die in New York City all the time.

Rarely do enough seem to die, in relatively close proximity to one another, from blood loss. Especially blood loss that seems to have left from puncture wounds in the neck.

Nothing's been shared publicly--yet, at least. But the networks of rumor-mongering, favor-trading, and information control have been active so that the 'right' people know what may be coming.

All that's needed to prevent an explosion of supernatural-fueled terror? To find this wayward creature. Points of interest--the crime scenes--suggest an area in the Bronx that's seen far better days and that has an abundance of dark shadows in which to hide.

In one of them, a young man sits, caressing the corpse of his newest victim, both covered in her blood.

Blake Riviere has posed:
There were those that knew Vampires existed, for good or for ill. There were some who idolized them, some who hunted them, some enslaved to them and so many other variations that they could have in relation for them. In Blake's case? She was going to be inconvenience by them, despite her own 'nature'. The 'Draculina' as she'd been referred to in more than one file on the desk of a certain agency had heard the rumors, stories of those bodies that fit the typical 'M.O.' of her kind, or at least an imitator. Now? She had to find them.

Tonight she wasn't dressed in gowns, skirts or the usual gothic attire she favored, instead Blake the usual 'theme' was carried in a pair of black leather pants and paired with a rather simple deep red low-cut top that matched the ribbon-ties she'd secured her hair with. As the mist in the air swelled and warped, her form materialized at the end of the alleyway, a frown on her lips.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah isn't able to morph and bend or alter her form, but she's still quick. She'd joined Blake on this night's hunt. Not for food, but for the kind of monster that devours innocents and threatens the well-being of their shadowy existence. The elder vampiress can feel the presence of her childe, up on the roof near the alley's entrance, having worked her way across the heights with hops, skips, and jumps.

    Never one for leather pants, the corset-top-and-skirt is an outfit she's learned to fight in as effectively as anything else. There's a glance down to Blake, grey eyes with a dull shine, ready to follow instructions be it to investigate or engage.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
A low rumbling sound grows until it's a roar, and then a scream, as a motorcycle whose wheels are rings of white-hot flame tears down the street, stopping at one of the warehouse loading doors next to the mist-filled alleyway.

The chopper's rider, a man in leathers whose head is a fleshless, eyeless, burning skull, grins grimly at the building, pausing for a moment as if to look around, but then he slowly climbs a staircase leading up to the second floor.

Inside, on that second floor, a beating heart can be heard by those with extraordinary senses--and the heart's beating quickens at the sound of the rider's approaching footsteps.

The heart's owner scrambles, quickly, to run away from the direction of the stairs. Through the warehouse's mostly smashed windows, the blood-covered man can be seen, and his bare feet can be heard slapping against the floor.

Blake Riviere has posed:
Blake Riviere wasn't without her own sins, even if they had been committed when her will wasn't her own. Centuries as a 'bride' had included quite a few acts she wasn't one to speak of, but she'd been making up for it for almost as long as best she could. Perhaps the Rider could sense her mere presence by that alone, but Blake? She could -definately- hear the burning man's approach. There was no missing him.

"Oh my..." she speaks softly from her position at the mouth of the alleyway, her accented tones soft under the roar of that infernal engine but likely still enough to be heard by Ariah. A demon perhaps? Something else like that? It was more her 'Childe's area of expertise.

She'd say more, but she shifts to turn her gaze towards the fleeing heartbeat. A vampire making their heart beat with stolen blood wasn't unheard of, indeed Blake did that very thing...but this didn't quite feel right. Sweeping forwards, she headed towards the sound at a more cautious pace.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Despite being a founding member of the freshly-minted Infinity Watch, and also a card-carrying member of the Ladies' Book Club by proxy, Ariah... does not yet know the sound of that bike nor the manner of its demonic owner. Ariah blinks towards the sound, lips pursed, and takes a running leap to the roof of the self-same warehouse the Ghost Rider had entered.

    She follows the beating heart, unable to hear the Rider's footsteps, looking through broken windows. She chases the scent of fresh blood, expression neutral and eyes dim, though it's likely the glow of that skull is more than an ample enough beacon as well. The high road for the vampire witch, the low road for the elder.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
The fleeing man races through a labyrinth of trash, looking back over his shoulder. "No, no, no nonono," he mutters between quick breaths. "Not how it's supposed to happen..."

The Ghost Rider pauses at the dead woman's body, looking down at her in a pool of her own blood. Nearby, a two-pronged pricking instrument lies on the floor. The rider turns to follow the trail of footprints left, also in blood, by the fleeing man.

Trying to catch his breath, the man heads down an internal staircase to the main warehouse storage area. Loading doors open into the street and a mostly-busted skylight looks in from above. The man glances around, looking for some suitable hiding place--or weapon--before running to one of the loading doors, trying to open it.

Unfortunately, it's chained and padlocked from the outside.

Blake Riviere has posed:
"Caution," Blake speaks, easily heard or perhaps merely 'felt' through the connection to Ariah. While Blake had done her own part alongside the Sorcerer Supreme and others that dealt with mystical issues, she was 'magical' in nature, not in knowledge. Even one as powerful as her were considerate in their approach when dealing with the unknown.

Still, she needed to investigate this killing.

A blurring shadow that crosses towards the body, she kneels to the sight of the instrument, frowning at its design as she sniffed. The device was disturbing enough, but its nature left more questions. Human beings contained quite a bit of blood after all, what had the killer been doing with it? If not for themself, then for who?

By the time the man hits the padlock, the air took a strange chill to it despite the presence of the rider, a mist spreading through the space of metal and stone before it swirled in silhouette and revealed Blake standing beside the man. No greetings, only deeply glowing red eyes meet the terrified human. She had to ask her questions, and if the rider slew the man before she did the answers would be lost.

A hand snaps out, making to try and snare the man by the throat and hold him aloft. "Why are you killing these people and draining them?"

Direct.

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    The caution is noted, and the sounds and roof do lead Ariah to the broken skylight. She doesn't hop down, not yet. She waits, watches the man struggle with the sealed door, and sees her sire take the initiative. And there she waits.

    The white-haired witch crouches next to the shattered window, gazing down on the scene below, brow furrowed. She hadn't seen the instrument but she could tell this man was... human. The heartbeat, the fear, and the blood. A hell of a cocktail. She turns away from the grab, instead looking for the fiery Rider through her eye in the sky.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
The terrified man yelps, not leaping backwards from the woman who has suddenly appeared so much as going rigid and leaning upright before swaying backwards. He manages to collect himself enough to drop to his knees, raising his hands before himself. "Oh, thank the dark lords," he giggles hysterically.

"I thought--I thought it was the authorities, come to arrest me. But instead, you've come. You've witnessed my sacrifices," he continues, shaking his head and breathing as if relieved. "Seen that I have the discipline to join your unholy coven and become immortal. I have chosen my vampire name and everything! Please ... call me Draconus."

The Ghost Rider appears at the top of the staircase, slowly stepping down, each footfall a heavy but muted 'clunggg' of rubber on metal. He reaches for a chain around his waist, and it falls limp, dragged down the stairs behind him, accompanied by a screeching, grinding noise.

"This sinner belongs to me," the rider says, his voice a raspy snarl. "Or do you claim him?"

Blake Riviere has posed:
Blake recoils. Not in pain, not warded off just...disgusted. Like she'd touched something gross with those pale manicured fingers. She'd come across pretenders, people 'playing' vampire to try and get laid or to try and play scary, she'd even come across people who were genuinely insane but...these sorts? They were the worst. They'd also been around since the 1400's, 'Renfields' some called them, if they were to entertain their requests or string them along for some ends.

"You..." she exhales a breath, lowering her hand as those glowing eyes wane and those fangs retract. "You are an idiot. A fool thinking you know things, taking lives without purpose, a menace screaming for attention." Those tones actually slip, drifting from the usual 'Queen's English to more French lilt before she steps away, turning just in time to face the flaming skulled Rider. That voice could chill the bones, but Blake doesn't blink. Instead, she glances over her shoulder at the self-christened 'Draconus'. "A vampire kills for food, even I prefer to leave my meal alive...you're wasteful and killing to get attention." A breath, those painted lips pull into a smile as she looks back toward the rider and begins to walk away. Apparently giving her answer to the demon.

"Enjoy that attention 'Draconus'..."

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah cringes at those words. All of them. Especially 'Draconus.' She exhales a sigh, shaking her head, and starts to move away from the skylight. She knows the fate of the man, even if she spares a glance towards the one dragging the chain. It's the demon's game now, though she still finds herself curious about the Ghost Rider. Etrigan is interesting enough, but the rider doesn't speak in song. No, just deadly serious and with grim purpose. She can respect that.

    "Do we depart?" she inquires, voice cold and sharp, directed towards Blake before she can mist away again. There's a lot to clean up here, too, unfortunately.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
"No! Dark mistress, I beseech you!" Draconus cries, reaching out to try and grasp the woman's arm ... only to be stopped by the sudden constraint of a chain wrapped around his wrist, the Rider holding its other end.

"You know you've messed up when the damned that lurk in the night don't want you," Ghost Rider says. "Lucky for you, the devil's always happy to share his brand of pain."

He yanks the man close to him, staring through eyeless sockets into Draconus'. A moment later, Draconus starts screaming, his eyes wide. His hands tear at his hair, and his body shudders.

The rider lets him go, and Draconus falls to the floor in a heap, still screaming. The grinning skull face turns back toward the departing woman. "I wonder if this stare would work on you ... but I don't feel the urge I normally would to find out." He pauses a beat. "Let's hope that doesn't change."

Blake Riviere has posed:
Her strides stop, pausing enough to glance back at the screams before the man drops and she's left to face the rider. She doesn't know the nature of the stare, so the question of if she had a soul or not was one she didn't have pause to ponder in this moment. Crossing her arms under her chest, she looks back to her companion and she nods. Wordless, but it was clear they were done here.

Perhaps both of them were a little disappointed with what they had found, by tradgedy or bordom, or somewhere in between.

That warning, she inclines her head. "Perhaps. I'm no murderous pretender...but we have no quarell creature, as long as your own prey remains beings such as this. Otherwise? Well...noone is immune to punishment."

Blake Riviere, threatening the Ghost Rider if his motives were evil. If only she knew!

Ariah Olivie has posed:
    Ariah's eyes stay focused on the Rider. The pretender's screams don't even make her flinch. At his words, though, she responds from above. "We are not monsters," she states, cold and clear. But no motions of aggression are made, and she turns from the skylight. Back to the alley, back to the street. Back to prowling the night.

    She purses her lips briefly and gazes skyward. How many more blood-letting freaks live in the city, praying to be brought into the blessed fold of darkness and embrace of undeath? A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. A lucky girl, she is, to be what she is.