5801/Juicebox Where Their Hearts Used to Be

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Juicebox Where Their Hearts Used to Be
Date of Scene: 30 March 2021
Location: Parking Garage in Manhattan
Synopsis: Blade and Enchantress watch as Vampires give themselves extra special hugs!
Cast of Characters: Eric Brooks, June Moone

Eric Brooks has posed:
Sometimes you go looking for trouble and sometimes trouble finds you.  Today it's the latter.  For once, Blade is minding his own business.  Clad in black, but not visibly armed.  The only visible thing he has with him is a long, cylindrical document case.  It's currently resting in the passenger seat of his Charger.  

The classic muscle car is getting a chance to stretch her legs.  Blade is being followed by three vampires (he assumes) on motorcycles.  After a lengthy chase, they have him more or less cornered in a multi-level parking garage.  That doesn't seem to be a problem at the moment.  In fact, as he rounds the ramp between the first and second floors, he encounters a tightly-packed group of foes on foot who are unlucky enough to be in his path.  A press of a button releases a jet of nitrous oxide across the car's fuel intake, sending it from 20 MPH to speeds of 80 and above.  


Smiling, Blade steers his vehicle through the crowd and takes several out in the process.  Unfortunately, this slows him down enough that the motorcycles are able to catch up.  The drivers pepper the Charger with gunfire, but nothing powerful enough to pierce the car's armored skin.  They manage to crack and spiderweb the windows on the driver's side, but the reinforced plexiglass holds.  For now.   

There's only four more floors between here and the roof.  It's anyone's guess what might happen between now and then.

June Moone has posed:
As far as side jobs go; June had a multitude of them. Mostly because of her degree and the contacts that she's made over the course of her university stays and research papers, being able to globetrot on the University's dime gave her the means to line her pockets with some honest cash. Today was an appraisal. One of the rare Rauschenberg's that was clearly a fake, yet June nearly didn't have the heart to tell them. It was something that was going to stay in the family, so she leaves it be but declining to sign any certificate.

That was a giveaway.

Entering into her car within the parking structure, June actually heard the loud pops that echoed through the concrete prison. Her hands gripped the wheel as she glances left and right, soon ducking her head down into the car to make sure that she wouldn't be seen, her fingers shaking as she fumbles inside her purse which smooshed in between her and the middle console of her Prius.

"Crap.." She hisses quietly, lifting just a little to tug her purse away, which smashes against the middle console as all contents spill out. June was not having a lucky day, for in the middle of all that mess receipts from Target from the small town up north, was her cell phone she needed to call the police.

Eric Brooks has posed:
As Blade steers his way through the next curve, he lays down a skidding line of blood and rubber.  Then he rounds the corner and he's on his way to the third floor.

While this was fun at first, his patience is wearing thin.  He bangs the heel of his hand against the glovebox to pop it open, then pulls out a MAC-10.  Nothing says 'I care' like .45 caliber bullets from an automatic weapon.  

Using his gun like a garden hose, he walks his burst of fire upward and across one of the motorcycles in a diagonal line.  The driver hits the ground hard and rolls to a stop, while the bike slides in the opposite direction until it smashes into a concrete wall.


The Charger screeches around another corner and up a ramp at the same time.  When it comes to a stop, it's nose-to-nose with June's car.  Seemingly unconcerned, Blade waves with his free hand, then slams his vehicle into reverse and spins it around. 

The remaining motorcycles are in close pursuit, but they seem more concerned with raining boxes of bullets down on Blade than with any bystanders.  Those reinforced windows aren't going to hold up for much longer. 

June Moone has posed:
The sounds were getting closer, June could feel the panic. She's managed to get her phone within her hands until she hears a loud SCRR.. her head popping up from her seat to look out the back window. A man waves.. he backs up and guns it.. motorcycles whiz by in persuit.

But what Blade couldn't see, was a swarm that was waiting for him at the top. And that swarm saw -her-.

"Oh shit. Oh shit." She tries, shaking her phone, attempting to bring it to life so that face recognition would hit. Her hands were shaking and sweating so much that the little plastic-metal squelched from her hands and into the back seat. Someone was about to die.. or.. maybe they were..? She couldn't tell, bullets were flying everywhere!

"No no no no no no.." June manages to get out, before a pair of charcoal covered fingertips grips her shoulders. It was almost like a game of magical leap-frog, the pressure to the shoulders shrunk June into nothing which drew the succubi-Goddess into place. A snap of the neck occurs, and soon she disappears into a cloud of black smoke...

..and right onto the next level in the path the beaten down Charger goes...

Eric Brooks has posed:
The last of the glass is blown out by the motorcyclists, eliciting an instinctive duck-and-cover from Blade.  Once the fragments have settled, he leans out the now-destroyed driver's side window and lets off the last ten or so rounds in the MAC-10s clip. 

When the weapon is empty, he discards it on the floor and reaches for the document case.  Two of his very favorite things are inside.  His sword and a shotgun. 

With the shotgun in his left hand and the sheathed sword in his right, he uses the scabbard as a prop and fires off a round into the gathering crowd.  Then he guns the Charger's engine, taking himself up to the fourth floor.  Only a quick jerk of the e-brake saves him from taking out the woman in front of him.  Or so he assumes.  There will be time for questions later. 

Rather than worry about conversation, Blade steps out of his vehicle and starts methodically pumping shotgun shells into the advancing horde.  "Hey," he says, keeping his greeting simple. 

June Moone has posed:
"That's suspicious." Enchantress mutters; even as the bullets whiz by her and bounce off a field that surrounds her. She was a rock that wouldn't move, thankfully Blade had reflexes that would allow him to stop the car before he ran himself into the invisible wall and murdered the precious charger that was already filled with holes.

As he steps out, she steps aside, her glowing, green eyes taking on the scene. There were a lot of them, naturally, but it doesn't cause the witch to move just yet.

"Hello." Is all she musters, hands now placed upon her hips, eyes glancing up towards the concrete ceiling as she hears a multitude of boots hitting the ground, and quite possibly a few cars.

"I do not save people." She points out. "I am only ensuring my hosts survival. What do you need." That is quite possibly the nicest thing she's ever said to anyone in a million years (literally), and right now, she has a grudge to pick with vampires.

One speared her in the back. Vengence justified.

Eric Brooks has posed:
As soon as he runs out of rounds, Blade tosses his shotgun through one of the destroyed windows of the Charger.  Waste not, want not. 

Which leaves him surrounded on all sides holding nothing but a sword.  Which, incidentally, is his idea of an excellent evening. 

His edge is sharp and his strokes are efficient.  Almost like chopping wood.  A head parts from its shoulders, then an arm is cut off at the elbow.  "Need?" he asks.  "I need to be saved like I need an STD. But if you're not a shrinking violet, how about you contribute to your host not dying?  All of these--" he sucks in a breath and nearly hacks a vampire in two at the waist.  "These are bad guys. So... sic 'em, assuming you can do that."

June Moone has posed:
Enchantress watches Blade with a little bit of interest. Sizing him up, attempting to get a read on his aura admist the chaos he brought to the parking garage. Strange. Something was missing from this poor fellow, but that was not Enchantress' mission to find out. But what was currently missing?

Her help.

"Sic 'em? Do I look like a dog to you?"

Rhetorical questions need no answer, only demonstration. Enchantress moves along side of him right towards the middle of his charger, then hoists herself up to sit upon the roof. Little fire-lights flash all around her as one leg crosses over the other, her hand held out palm upward as a nail file appears, in which she begins to lightly groom herself.. all while being shot at, and repelling. At least she's doing -something-.

"I will just watch." -sktt- -sktt- "All it would have taken was a little bit of politeness." -sktt- -sktt- "June, June, June.. what have you done with our nails.."

Eric Brooks has posed:
This is where things get complicated for Blade.  He's outnumbered at least fifteen to one, and that's not counting whoever might still be up on the roof.  But in order to receive assistance, he would have to ask for it.  Politely. 

A CRACKing blow catches him across the jaw, then an opportunistic enemy springs on Blade's back and stabs him somewhere between his kidney and his lung. 

Left and right, he slashes out and holds his foes at bay.  Still more than a dozen left, including the one on his back.  "Uhhh," he grunts, followed by a soft exclamation when he's stabbed a second time.  "Ow. I'm sorry. Would you help?  Please?"

Those words taste bad. You can tell from the look on his face.

June Moone has posed:
Pay Enchantress no nevermind, she was -busy-. While most say beauty is pain, Enchantress revels in it. So much so that she shaved her nails to triangular tips which would surely piss June off in the end. Imagine scratching your scalp with those things? And imagine cutting them off.

June knew better. The woman had the makings of being a world class archeologist digging in the dirt and she wanted to keep her nails.. -long-?

Where is the -fucking- practicality.

Her thoughts were soon invaded by the sweetest word, 'please', Enchantress' brows curling up as if Blade were a little pup who happened to trip while trotting down a wooden, slippery hallway. Both hands press against her heart, which soon lift away to clap at the air that sends a tiny shockwave through their area.

That misses Blade, even though he's covered in undead.

"Come." Enchantress orders, that shockwave carrying a telepathic assault, one that drags those within the vicinity of them to her against their will. Their footsteps were slow, dragged. Shoulders twist and turn to try to fight, faces twist and contort baring fangs with loud hisses, growls and cries. Resistance is futile. Resistance is beautiful. Resistance is pain.

Eric Brooks has posed:
Resistance is making it a lot easier for Blade to swing a sword.  Back to chopping wood, he dispatches vampires with a cold efficiency that can only come from lots and lots of practice.  His free hand lashes out, both swinging punches and grabbing onto clothing to send assailants flying.   

That's when he realizes that these vampires aren't just inhibited, they're...  What are they doing?  Experimentally, Blade pokes one in the chest with the tip of his weapon.  "Now that," he observes, with clear admiration.  "That's a nice trick."

Despite his two knife wounds, the Daywalker appears none the worse for wear.  A little out of breath, maybe.  Once he's clear of the dogpile, he observes with one eyebrow arched inquisitively and a hand pressed to his injuries to staunch the flow of blood.

June Moone has posed:
Mind control. A simple and easy trick any sorcerer or witch could do, especially if those who are controlled are nearly mindless assholes who were only focused on one thing.


Enchantress leans back upon her hands on the hood, watching all around her as the vampires amble towards her like zombies. And once they were close enough?

They do. Not. Stop.

It was almost like madness, the vampires soon bunching up against each other, their feet barely moving against the ground as they're all caught into a clusterfuck. With their supernatural strength, Enchantress forced the notion that they had to get -as- close as possible.

Close enough for them to wear each others skin.

It was a disgusting display, all of the vampires squished, smooshed, bones cracking and tears falling. Spit flew and soon squirts of blood, as one managed to break ahold to begin to claw for his life. It would all be futile.

Blood runs along the concrete, flowing underneath cars, occasionally splattering against Enchantress' legs, her chin slowly lifting towards the ceiling with a slight little shrug, and a glance towards Blade.

"Not too sure they want to come down now.." Of course they wouldn't, the vampires were suffering, as they were becoming undead juice boxes for Her fun.

Eric Brooks has posed:
"Uhhh," Blade says again, more eloquently this time.  "Well, that just happened."

Despite all the death he's seen and caused, this new method seems fascinating to him.  He only spares one quick glance for his partner in crime before he returns to studying her work.  "Yep," he summarizes.

The tip of his sword scrapes against the concrete as he moves from pile to pile, inspecting the mess.  "I don't say this often, but I'm impressed."

June Moone has posed:
Bodies were dropping into sloppy messes. Enchantress looks down at her legs and sighs, then hops down from the top of the car. Yup. She did just that; brought a nightmare to life and offered the vampires extra special hugs for a job well done!


"If you ever meet a Green Lantern, thank them. Power of imagination and will and other stupid bullshit.." Her words trail off now, feet marching through the blood and guts that happen to spill, her hand pressed against the car hood to lean into it.

She inhales slowly, and exhales.. her arm runes glowing brightly as the car begins to knit itself back together with a show of loud pops, knicks of glass reforming and dents being undone. And once complete, she shakes her hand out, squeezing it tightly and releasing.

"There. Next time when I see you, I will murder you."

He did call her a dog after all.

Puff of black smoke, she was gone.