Run This Town - Printable Version
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Run This Town - Ishmael - November 18, 2018
16th November, 1888 — A random street, magical London
Sometimes it was all too easy to forget when last he'd done an honest day's work in his life. It probably had been in his life, actually, as opposed to the existence that had come afterwards; Ishmael probably ought to be ashamed of himself for that. Not that he missed the simple feeling of honest labour, the wretched work of a sailor, stepping into his father's shoes as a teenager and hoisting masts and hauling ropes, thinking himself lucky for getting to see the world like that - from one lone deck, or aloft in the tops. He'd thought himself lucky, and golden, and free: under orders at every hour of the day, constrained to a hammock for sleep and stale biscuits for breakfast. To think, that he had ever imagined that to be the rest of his life!
And nor had he lasted long in it. It had not been the end of trading, as a profession, but the trading had soon become much less... above board, as it were. And all sorts sold to all manner of people, over the years, any kind of thing imaginable: be they magical or muggle, valuable trinkets or common commodities, from mildly dubious to overtly illegal. And - in the matter of honesty - usually stolen.
He'd been doing away with a stolen haul tonight, as it happened, a collection of items the crew had racked up from running a few jobs, some that had been more easily pawned or exchanged or sold on than others. He had fun with this part of the whole affair, more so ever than the thieving, this pretence of giving, offering people what they wanted. There was an extra element of entertainment, too, if they showed an interest, or proved particularly gullible: there were so many stories he could invent. What the things to be traded were, what they were worth, where they had come from - who he was, and just how he knew. Perhaps people were more apprehensive of vampires in general, yes, certainly, but - whether by fear or by awe, they tended to accept his origin stories, as though Ishmael knew Morgana from Merlin, Columbus from Charles I, actually knew anything about the things he was spewed out as and when he willed.
Last of all today, he'd gotten rid of a time-turner - an illicit one, of course, unsanctioned by the Ministry, though he was not sure that that was where this one had originated - which (if it worked as it ought, which itself was... improbable) might potentially too valuable to part with, if only Ishmael had any interest in turning back time. It might come in useful to Monty and others, in another con, but the buyer he'd found (it was the part he was good at, finding people) had been rather keen, and easily persuaded to part with an absurd sum for it. The sucker. It was probably cursed.
Today, he said, because the weather had been grim and he'd been out a little earlier than usual, carefully shaded under a cloak and hat until tendrils of dusk had finally started winding their way through the city streets, and he'd done away with those adornments, now having less need of protection or a disguise. Ishmael was still camouflaged enough, he supposed to himself, though he was not trying now, purely by his aimless loafing. These side-streets weren't yet sparse enough in the night for him to stick out, and the passers-by too hurried about their business to waste a glance on even the likes of him, skin greyed, eyes dark-circled, and mouth betraying the flash of fangs here and there.
He was watching though, observing the sights in mild interest, having planned to fetch Galina some new fabrics and then throwing out that plan as too tiresomely tedious to bear. He wouldn't go so far to say he was looking for trouble... however, if a whiff of it was thrown into his path like a bone to a stray, who was he to turn a blind eye?
Well.
Not getting involved was his usual mantra. But once in a while, boredom trumped any such philosophy, and Ishmael was just intrigued enough in the scene he was witnessing to sidle up and try. He'd spotted the old man first, mostly for the evident disgruntlement on his screwed-up face, watched as he looked around, quickened his pace. Next - by virtue of following the man's focus - his eyes had landed on a younger man, a boy with wavy blond hair; he looked utterly casual at a surface glance, but there was a certain haste and purpose in his movements that belied his cherubic countenance. There was trouble, no doubt.
He didn't know what the boy had or hadn't done. Nor did he especially care. Picking a side, as a spectator, was always a gut instinct, and - well, he had always been one to instinctively root for an underdog. Whilst any threatening altercation might be amusing enough in itself to watch unfold from a safe distance, Ishmael saw an opportunity to re-weight the scales, and simply couldn't resist. He rounded, inconveniently, upon the old man, planting himself purposely in the path between one and the other, and - if he did say so himself - giving the old fellow the shock of his life, with his most intimidating Monstrous Vampire look, a pointed broad smile, a lick of his lips and a (slightly melodramatic) hiss that sent the man veering away, all previous vexations forgotten.
That was one thing that just never got old.
It might have been just distraction enough to see the boy slip away - that had been half the aim - but he caught his eye a minute later, not yet out of sight. Ishmael tossed him the briefest crook of his fingers in a subtle wave; and he might have left it at that, had the street not melted back to its usual blindness, and his curiosity not gotten the better of him. So, as it was, he ambled across to catch up to the boy after all, his eyebrows raised in greeting.
And nor had he lasted long in it. It had not been the end of trading, as a profession, but the trading had soon become much less... above board, as it were. And all sorts sold to all manner of people, over the years, any kind of thing imaginable: be they magical or muggle, valuable trinkets or common commodities, from mildly dubious to overtly illegal. And - in the matter of honesty - usually stolen.
He'd been doing away with a stolen haul tonight, as it happened, a collection of items the crew had racked up from running a few jobs, some that had been more easily pawned or exchanged or sold on than others. He had fun with this part of the whole affair, more so ever than the thieving, this pretence of giving, offering people what they wanted. There was an extra element of entertainment, too, if they showed an interest, or proved particularly gullible: there were so many stories he could invent. What the things to be traded were, what they were worth, where they had come from - who he was, and just how he knew. Perhaps people were more apprehensive of vampires in general, yes, certainly, but - whether by fear or by awe, they tended to accept his origin stories, as though Ishmael knew Morgana from Merlin, Columbus from Charles I, actually knew anything about the things he was spewed out as and when he willed.
Last of all today, he'd gotten rid of a time-turner - an illicit one, of course, unsanctioned by the Ministry, though he was not sure that that was where this one had originated - which (if it worked as it ought, which itself was... improbable) might potentially too valuable to part with, if only Ishmael had any interest in turning back time. It might come in useful to Monty and others, in another con, but the buyer he'd found (it was the part he was good at, finding people) had been rather keen, and easily persuaded to part with an absurd sum for it. The sucker. It was probably cursed.
Today, he said, because the weather had been grim and he'd been out a little earlier than usual, carefully shaded under a cloak and hat until tendrils of dusk had finally started winding their way through the city streets, and he'd done away with those adornments, now having less need of protection or a disguise. Ishmael was still camouflaged enough, he supposed to himself, though he was not trying now, purely by his aimless loafing. These side-streets weren't yet sparse enough in the night for him to stick out, and the passers-by too hurried about their business to waste a glance on even the likes of him, skin greyed, eyes dark-circled, and mouth betraying the flash of fangs here and there.
He was watching though, observing the sights in mild interest, having planned to fetch Galina some new fabrics and then throwing out that plan as too tiresomely tedious to bear. He wouldn't go so far to say he was looking for trouble... however, if a whiff of it was thrown into his path like a bone to a stray, who was he to turn a blind eye?
Well.
Not getting involved was his usual mantra. But once in a while, boredom trumped any such philosophy, and Ishmael was just intrigued enough in the scene he was witnessing to sidle up and try. He'd spotted the old man first, mostly for the evident disgruntlement on his screwed-up face, watched as he looked around, quickened his pace. Next - by virtue of following the man's focus - his eyes had landed on a younger man, a boy with wavy blond hair; he looked utterly casual at a surface glance, but there was a certain haste and purpose in his movements that belied his cherubic countenance. There was trouble, no doubt.
He didn't know what the boy had or hadn't done. Nor did he especially care. Picking a side, as a spectator, was always a gut instinct, and - well, he had always been one to instinctively root for an underdog. Whilst any threatening altercation might be amusing enough in itself to watch unfold from a safe distance, Ishmael saw an opportunity to re-weight the scales, and simply couldn't resist. He rounded, inconveniently, upon the old man, planting himself purposely in the path between one and the other, and - if he did say so himself - giving the old fellow the shock of his life, with his most intimidating Monstrous Vampire look, a pointed broad smile, a lick of his lips and a (slightly melodramatic) hiss that sent the man veering away, all previous vexations forgotten.
That was one thing that just never got old.
It might have been just distraction enough to see the boy slip away - that had been half the aim - but he caught his eye a minute later, not yet out of sight. Ishmael tossed him the briefest crook of his fingers in a subtle wave; and he might have left it at that, had the street not melted back to its usual blindness, and his curiosity not gotten the better of him. So, as it was, he ambled across to catch up to the boy after all, his eyebrows raised in greeting.
RE: Run This Town - Questor Spryly - January 4, 2019
Life was abject misery and had been ever since he'd woken up in the hospital after the expedition. There were few things Spryly relied on to keep himself alive but his legs and consequent agility were one of those things. With his leg mangled he'd never be able to pickpocket and get away with it and it ruled him out of a lot of physically demanding odd jobs, not to mention he likely wouldn't instill a lot of confidence with a limp. He supposed if worst came to worst he could try using it for pity but it wasn't the most appealing of prospects.
Ultimately, Spryly had checked himself out of hospital as soon as he could - the longer he stayed the more he owed - and consequently slowed his recovery considerably. He was determined he'd have it back to normal sooner or later, but in the meantime he'd reluctantly resorted to begging and emotionally manipulating people when the opportunity struck. Finally, he felt recovered enough that he could run, albeit much slower than before, which meant that he could return to petty opportunistic crime. He'd pulled off a couple attempts with success but little in the way of reward for his efforts before he targeted the older gentleman.
Desperate to make up for the slim pickings he was more brazen than usual. Upon turning quickly to start his get away, he landed on his leg at a bad angle and knew at once he was going to have trouble making any sort of speedy get away. Shit. Gritting his teeth, he tried to affect a casual gait and put gradual distance between himself and the man before he could figure out where the contents of his left pocket had gone. His leg smarted but he tried to walk a little faster so he wouldn't have to run later. A fleeting glance over his shoulder told him that he was being pursued. Double shit. This was the point at which he'd usually bolt, weaving lightly through the crowd and jostling as few people as he could. That was out of the question now however.
Another glance back a few seconds later and he saw that the old man had seemingly been obstructed by a third party. Not willing to waste the seemingly divine intervention, Spryly broke into a light, limping run until he could duck around a corner and contemplate the throbbing in his leg. He leaned against the cool brick wall and willed both his pursuer and his leg to leave him alone. He probably ought to go back to the hospital and see what they could but he couldn't afford medicines and treatment as things stood now. He would just have to hope that time would set it right.
His eye was suddenly caught by the unnerving stare of a strange whom he was fairly certain had been the one to distract the man he'd robbed from catching him as he'd surely been about to do. What did he want? Now he was gesturing at him. Some gut instinct told him to run because the man looked like some undead danger he didn't want to get too close to, but the pain in his leg was putting up a very good argument for not moving. "'Lo," he said gruffly, trying to seem tough and physically untroubled by any of his body parts that might make defending himself difficult.
Ultimately, Spryly had checked himself out of hospital as soon as he could - the longer he stayed the more he owed - and consequently slowed his recovery considerably. He was determined he'd have it back to normal sooner or later, but in the meantime he'd reluctantly resorted to begging and emotionally manipulating people when the opportunity struck. Finally, he felt recovered enough that he could run, albeit much slower than before, which meant that he could return to petty opportunistic crime. He'd pulled off a couple attempts with success but little in the way of reward for his efforts before he targeted the older gentleman.
Desperate to make up for the slim pickings he was more brazen than usual. Upon turning quickly to start his get away, he landed on his leg at a bad angle and knew at once he was going to have trouble making any sort of speedy get away. Shit. Gritting his teeth, he tried to affect a casual gait and put gradual distance between himself and the man before he could figure out where the contents of his left pocket had gone. His leg smarted but he tried to walk a little faster so he wouldn't have to run later. A fleeting glance over his shoulder told him that he was being pursued. Double shit. This was the point at which he'd usually bolt, weaving lightly through the crowd and jostling as few people as he could. That was out of the question now however.
Another glance back a few seconds later and he saw that the old man had seemingly been obstructed by a third party. Not willing to waste the seemingly divine intervention, Spryly broke into a light, limping run until he could duck around a corner and contemplate the throbbing in his leg. He leaned against the cool brick wall and willed both his pursuer and his leg to leave him alone. He probably ought to go back to the hospital and see what they could but he couldn't afford medicines and treatment as things stood now. He would just have to hope that time would set it right.
His eye was suddenly caught by the unnerving stare of a strange whom he was fairly certain had been the one to distract the man he'd robbed from catching him as he'd surely been about to do. What did he want? Now he was gesturing at him. Some gut instinct told him to run because the man looked like some undead danger he didn't want to get too close to, but the pain in his leg was putting up a very good argument for not moving. "'Lo," he said gruffly, trying to seem tough and physically untroubled by any of his body parts that might make defending himself difficult.
RE: Run This Town - Ishmael - January 13, 2019
"Evening," Ishmael said, a little more ceremonious than the boy's 'Lo, approaching close enough to have a conversation without their voices carrying far, but stopping a little out of reach so that the boy's adrenaline didn't go for a second round. Ishmael listened for his heartbeat for a bit, judging the pace of it thoughtfully. (He wasn't hungry enough to worry about paying attention to things like this.)
He felt he'd given the youth long enough to catch his breath, and maybe he hadn't seen Ishmael's intervention for what it was in the first place, but - "You're welcome, by the way," he added, more in casual explanation than too concerned with getting the thanks he was due. What was the boy, a petty thief, then? He couldn't be a very good one, if he'd thought that was subtle - nor could he be very smart, to chance a run. He must've been beaten up pretty good already, if his leg had anything to do with that. Poor kid.
"You alright?" He asked next, still friendly.
He felt he'd given the youth long enough to catch his breath, and maybe he hadn't seen Ishmael's intervention for what it was in the first place, but - "You're welcome, by the way," he added, more in casual explanation than too concerned with getting the thanks he was due. What was the boy, a petty thief, then? He couldn't be a very good one, if he'd thought that was subtle - nor could he be very smart, to chance a run. He must've been beaten up pretty good already, if his leg had anything to do with that. Poor kid.
"You alright?" He asked next, still friendly.
RE: Run This Town - Questor Spryly - February 13, 2019
Spryly was getting some weird vibes off this guy. What could he possibly want? Surely if he was out to rob people he'd have chosen someone who didn't also need to resort to such measures? The 'you're welcome' thing confirmed his suspicions that he'd been the one to act as a distraction, which meant he was probably after some sort of recompense. "Me? I'm great, I am," he replied, his tone almost aggressively upbeat. "Who's askin'?" Couldn't this man just ask for whatever he was after and be done with it? Beating about the bush with pleasantries he couldn't possibly be invested in was an annoying waste of time.
RE: Run This Town - Ishmael - March 20, 2019
Ishmael only grinned, far more unhurried than the boy seemed, like he was ready to get the hell out of here. (Admittedly, Ishmael had the luxury of not hurrying more than any human did.)
The boy hit him with his suspicions only a beat after that. "Oh, no one," Ishmael said with a shrug; his brushing off the question might not endear him any further to so wary a stranger, but he also made sure to keep his distance, give the boy enough of a berth that the youth didn't think he was about to get mugged for what he'd stolen.
"Only," he added pointedly, quirking a quizzical brow at the boy, "doesn't seem all that smart to be trying things like that on that leg of yours." He'd seen the odd attempt at a run, had caught how he looked near-wincing at putting his weight on it - was reminded a little of that August fellow he'd bumped into once, another blond with a bad leg.
He rather wanted to know what this boy had done to it, but doubted the thief would take kindly to further questioning. Instead, all he asked (more out of professional interest, than personal, but still friendly): "Did you get anything decent from him, at least?"
The boy hit him with his suspicions only a beat after that. "Oh, no one," Ishmael said with a shrug; his brushing off the question might not endear him any further to so wary a stranger, but he also made sure to keep his distance, give the boy enough of a berth that the youth didn't think he was about to get mugged for what he'd stolen.
"Only," he added pointedly, quirking a quizzical brow at the boy, "doesn't seem all that smart to be trying things like that on that leg of yours." He'd seen the odd attempt at a run, had caught how he looked near-wincing at putting his weight on it - was reminded a little of that August fellow he'd bumped into once, another blond with a bad leg.
He rather wanted to know what this boy had done to it, but doubted the thief would take kindly to further questioning. Instead, all he asked (more out of professional interest, than personal, but still friendly): "Did you get anything decent from him, at least?"
RE: Run This Town - Questor Spryly - May 4, 2019
Spryly's forcibly cheerful facade faltered at the mention of his leg. He knew it had to have been fairly obvious that his stride was off but it felt threatening to have this stranger admit that he'd observed it, like he was trying to highlight his superior physical capabilities should he try to get away. Then it occurred to him that this man might be some sort of undercover secret police. What if he'd been on his trail for a while now and finally managed to corner him while he was weak? It'd be strange for law enforcement to help someone commit a crime but maybe he'd had to in order to create a solid case against him for maximum sentencing.
"Just a snotty ol' nose rag s'all." He could hardly deny what had happened but he could try to minimize the severity of his theft if he downplayed it. In reality he didn't need to downplay it all that much, he didn't think he'd grabbed more than a few sickles at best. His ill-gotten gains now sat heavy in one of his coat pockets but he hadn't had a chance yet to properly look. "I'd best be off now, family'll be wonderin' where I'm at." As he said it, it occurred to him that should something happen to him, precisely no one would notice or care. Not for a while anyway.
"Just a snotty ol' nose rag s'all." He could hardly deny what had happened but he could try to minimize the severity of his theft if he downplayed it. In reality he didn't need to downplay it all that much, he didn't think he'd grabbed more than a few sickles at best. His ill-gotten gains now sat heavy in one of his coat pockets but he hadn't had a chance yet to properly look. "I'd best be off now, family'll be wonderin' where I'm at." As he said it, it occurred to him that should something happen to him, precisely no one would notice or care. Not for a while anyway.
RE: Run This Town - Ishmael - May 13, 2019
"Shame," Ishmael said, nonchalantly enough, at the lacklustre fruit of the boy's labours. He had caught him on a bad day, then, or a bad target - or he was just a lacklustre thief. Or the leg had ruined his abilities somewhat. "Better luck next time," Ishmael added amiably, "from one thief to another."
The boy must feel caught out or cornered, what with how skittish he was. (Plenty of people were skittish around vampires, but this kid - well, Ishmael wasn't sure it was even that, with him. He looked rather highly strung, for a pickpocket.) It reminded Ishmael of the earliest days, when he had gone around cornering people like this, and drinking them dry. Before he'd learnt control.
But that wasn't how he did things now, although unfortunately he was beginning to suspect this little thief might be too much effort to coax around to the idea. Still, if he had to feed a struggling family, money might be enough lure -
"'Course. I'll let you get on," Ishmael said, stepping back pensively. He shrugged his hands into his pockets, made as if to turn away, and casually brought out a galleon, flipping the gold deftly between his fingers, letting the light glint off it from different angles. "Although," he remarked, as though it were a chance afterthought, "there are easier ways to make some cash than that."
The boy must feel caught out or cornered, what with how skittish he was. (Plenty of people were skittish around vampires, but this kid - well, Ishmael wasn't sure it was even that, with him. He looked rather highly strung, for a pickpocket.) It reminded Ishmael of the earliest days, when he had gone around cornering people like this, and drinking them dry. Before he'd learnt control.
But that wasn't how he did things now, although unfortunately he was beginning to suspect this little thief might be too much effort to coax around to the idea. Still, if he had to feed a struggling family, money might be enough lure -
"'Course. I'll let you get on," Ishmael said, stepping back pensively. He shrugged his hands into his pockets, made as if to turn away, and casually brought out a galleon, flipping the gold deftly between his fingers, letting the light glint off it from different angles. "Although," he remarked, as though it were a chance afterthought, "there are easier ways to make some cash than that."
RE: Run This Town - Questor Spryly - May 31, 2019
Spryly was more than ready to get out of this odd man's company, he had even started slowly edging his way away from the fellow. But then he saw the galleon. He stopped his awkward shuffling and stopped to gaze at the large gold coin as though mesmerized. This guy was suspicious, what he was saying now was definitely super suspicious, there was no way this couldn't lead to trouble but he was scraping the bottom of the barrel for alternatives that would allow him to not die homeless and hungry in the probably near future. If he could just go along with the man until he could stand on his own two feet - literally - then he could pick up where he'd left off before the whole fog and crocodile incident and go his own way.
The sensible voice in the back of his head was telling him that it likely wouldn't be as easy as that, it was surely some illegal shit and he'd be blackmailed to his eyeballs but what choice did he really have?
"I'm listenin'," he muttered reluctantly.
The sensible voice in the back of his head was telling him that it likely wouldn't be as easy as that, it was surely some illegal shit and he'd be blackmailed to his eyeballs but what choice did he really have?
"I'm listenin'," he muttered reluctantly.
RE: Run This Town - Ishmael - June 29, 2019
Aha. The kid didn't sound keen, didn't sound like he wanted to be listening... but he was, all the same. And it was not as though Ishmael was set on the outcome of this: there were easier ways to twist someone's arm to get what you wanted than this (and physically twisting their arm might be a start there), but he had always liked people to have a choice in the matter. A choice, however slim. (He knew what life was like, poor. He knew he fed off desperation as often as anything else; but that was not his fault, but society's.) No matter. It was still better than hunting them down, kicking and screaming, butchering them in the night. The point was, there was a great deal more potential in an arrangement if they came willingly.
So Ishmael turned back round, his stance relaxed, and flashed the boy a grin, a grin that showed off his fangs as plain as he'd showed off the galleon a second ago. He meant it to be genial enough, the grin, a gesture of I'm on your side, don't worry, rather than predatory. Well, rather than just predatory. He couldn't help that.
The fangs alone would make the point for him, probably, but Ishmael added anyway: "It's simple enough. You have something I need," he tapped the side of his own neck, tellingly, "and if you let me take a little, I'll pay you well for it." How desperate was the kid to help that family of his? How much of a risk would this seem against getting caught for petty crime on the street? Ishmael shrugged, pretending to almost be bored by the thought. "It's perfectly safe."
So Ishmael turned back round, his stance relaxed, and flashed the boy a grin, a grin that showed off his fangs as plain as he'd showed off the galleon a second ago. He meant it to be genial enough, the grin, a gesture of I'm on your side, don't worry, rather than predatory. Well, rather than just predatory. He couldn't help that.
The fangs alone would make the point for him, probably, but Ishmael added anyway: "It's simple enough. You have something I need," he tapped the side of his own neck, tellingly, "and if you let me take a little, I'll pay you well for it." How desperate was the kid to help that family of his? How much of a risk would this seem against getting caught for petty crime on the street? Ishmael shrugged, pretending to almost be bored by the thought. "It's perfectly safe."
RE: Run This Town - Questor Spryly - September 22, 2019
If Spryly hadn't been feeling uneasy before he sure as hell did now. Were those fangs or did this strange guy just have weird teeth? Those couldn't be weirdly shaped normal teeth, surely? The gesture at the neck cemented his suspicions. Definitely not a normal human man. Shit. He definitely couldn't outrun this fucker and he probably didn't stand a chance using magic either. That left two options - decline and hope he didn't get murdered now or a short while later when no one would notice, or accept and possibly still get murdered or turned into a vampire, which was basically being murdered and getting to remember it later.
Not wanting to seem as uneasy as he felt, Spryly tried to play it cool and confident. "How much you talkin' about?" If it was anything decent it might just be worth the risk, again not that he had a lot of choice not as he saw it anyway.
Not wanting to seem as uneasy as he felt, Spryly tried to play it cool and confident. "How much you talkin' about?" If it was anything decent it might just be worth the risk, again not that he had a lot of choice not as he saw it anyway.
RE: Run This Town - Ishmael - October 11, 2019
If he strained his hearing, he might be able to hear the boy’s heartbeat, might have been able to gauge an uptick of apprehension. Ishmael tried not to pay attention, however, because as soon as he focused on someone’s racing heart, the sooner he thought about blood, and the sooner the thirst won out in spite of his self-control.
So he didn’t, and kept his distance and feigned disinterest, though the lad had asked about the money, which Ishmael supposed a good sign. He shrugged indolently. “More than you got from that old man, I’d wager,” he put out (privately thinking it riotously funny to call that bloke in the street an old man, when he was standing here, and the poor passerby likely half a century younger).
To sweeten the deal, Ishmael reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin purse, weighing it meditatively in his hand for a moment and then tossing it lightly over to the thief. Perhaps he’d try and make off with it for nothing - and if he did, Ishmael would be too lazy to pursue him, probably - but, Ishmael often found, the living did not often like to take their chances with a vampire.
There was a decent cluster of coins in there, but would the boy be too wary not to check the contents of the coin-purse, or too wary to even look down for a moment, and divide his attentions? Ishmael wasn’t sure.
He eyed him with more intent than the rest of his movements thus far had suggested, waiting for some indication, one way or the other. “Sound like something you’ve got the guts for?”
So he didn’t, and kept his distance and feigned disinterest, though the lad had asked about the money, which Ishmael supposed a good sign. He shrugged indolently. “More than you got from that old man, I’d wager,” he put out (privately thinking it riotously funny to call that bloke in the street an old man, when he was standing here, and the poor passerby likely half a century younger).
To sweeten the deal, Ishmael reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin purse, weighing it meditatively in his hand for a moment and then tossing it lightly over to the thief. Perhaps he’d try and make off with it for nothing - and if he did, Ishmael would be too lazy to pursue him, probably - but, Ishmael often found, the living did not often like to take their chances with a vampire.
There was a decent cluster of coins in there, but would the boy be too wary not to check the contents of the coin-purse, or too wary to even look down for a moment, and divide his attentions? Ishmael wasn’t sure.
He eyed him with more intent than the rest of his movements thus far had suggested, waiting for some indication, one way or the other. “Sound like something you’ve got the guts for?”
RE: Run This Town - Questor Spryly - November 19, 2019
It wouldn't take much for it to be more than he'd just lifted. He was lamenting this sad fact when a bag of coins came hurtling towards him. His leg might be compromised but that didn't mean his reflexes weren't still sharp as ever. Spryly clutched the bag to his chest having caught it just in time. Having transferred the bag to the palm of his hand he squeezed it to gauge the contents without being obvious about it. No need to look any more desperate than he already did. From the shapes he could feel through the fabric he got an idea of the sort of coins inside.
Unless he was being strung along in an elaborate ruse - which was entirely possible when vampires were involved - this guy was able to get his hands on enough money that he felt perfectly at ease walking around with it and handing it over to a stranger he'd just witnessed committing theft. Granted he wasn't much of a flight risk at present and the vampire probably felt like the bigger threat and rightly so.
Spryly shrugged in an attempt to seem nonchalant although he was feeling anything but. "All right then."
Unless he was being strung along in an elaborate ruse - which was entirely possible when vampires were involved - this guy was able to get his hands on enough money that he felt perfectly at ease walking around with it and handing it over to a stranger he'd just witnessed committing theft. Granted he wasn't much of a flight risk at present and the vampire probably felt like the bigger threat and rightly so.
Spryly shrugged in an attempt to seem nonchalant although he was feeling anything but. "All right then."
RE: Run This Town - Ishmael - November 28, 2019
There was nothing ceremonious about his agreement... but he had agreed.
“Good for you,” Ishmael said, as if he complimenting the young man’s bravery. He grinned, honestly pleased but not able to fully suppress his amusement, either. Now that they’d made an agreement, though, he was keen to make good on it before the boy found a way to wriggle out of it, and so cast a glance down the empty road. It was only a side-street, and still deserted, but a little more cover might be nice.
Moving slowly, just to give the boy as much warning as he could, Ishmael stepped up to him and extended a hand. “Abraham, by the way,” he introduced, never quite sure whether dropping in a nicety or two helped soothe the situation ever, when the humans’ nerves were always already ragged with anticipation. Whether or not the boy responded to this, anyway, he gestured down at the next corner, a dead end that looked slightly less exposed. “Shall we?”
“Good for you,” Ishmael said, as if he complimenting the young man’s bravery. He grinned, honestly pleased but not able to fully suppress his amusement, either. Now that they’d made an agreement, though, he was keen to make good on it before the boy found a way to wriggle out of it, and so cast a glance down the empty road. It was only a side-street, and still deserted, but a little more cover might be nice.
Moving slowly, just to give the boy as much warning as he could, Ishmael stepped up to him and extended a hand. “Abraham, by the way,” he introduced, never quite sure whether dropping in a nicety or two helped soothe the situation ever, when the humans’ nerves were always already ragged with anticipation. Whether or not the boy responded to this, anyway, he gestured down at the next corner, a dead end that looked slightly less exposed. “Shall we?”
RE: Run This Town - Questor Spryly - January 17, 2020
Oh Merlin, this was actually happening and it was happening now. His instinct for survival was screeching at him to get the hell away before it was too late, even if it meant lobbing the coins back at the man. He clutched the bag of coins to his chest and fought against his gut. The worst that could happen was that he would die and while that would suck, his life wasn't much better at the moment. If he was turned into a vampire then that would also suck (no pun intended) but this guy didn't seem hung up on being a vampire, he was living his best afterlife and apparently in wealth. At least, more wealth than Spryly had to his name not that that was setting the bar very high.
He shook the man's hand out of sheer habit of accepting an outstretched hand and was too uneasy to give his own name in return. The whole thing got worse when he saw the dingy nook this guy wanted to take him to. "Right. Yeah." At least he managed to sound reasonably normal and not like he was shitting a brick.
He shook the man's hand out of sheer habit of accepting an outstretched hand and was too uneasy to give his own name in return. The whole thing got worse when he saw the dingy nook this guy wanted to take him to. "Right. Yeah." At least he managed to sound reasonably normal and not like he was shitting a brick.
RE: Run This Town - Ishmael - January 26, 2020
The boy had shaken his hand like a man, but hadn’t gotten out a name of his own. (Ishmael supposed he couldn’t blame him.) But with the way his heart was beating, it felt better to sate his thirst sooner rather than later, before the fellow ran off on him.
So Ishmael curled his cold hand around the young man’s wrist and pulled him better out of the way, his grasp only as firm as it needed to be. “It won’t kill you, I promise,” Ishmael said, trying not to grin; as if his word was worth anything, whatever he said. He felt the boy’s pulse again as he pushed his sleeve up, better exposing his forearm (of the hand that was not clutching at the bag of money like a lifeline). He’d have gone for the neck if he could have chosen, but some men seemed to find that a little too suggestive for comfort, as though drinking blood could be more or less indecent from one place or another. Safer - for them both - just above the wrist, then. Ishmael put one hand at the crook of his elbow and the other around his fist, and glanced up at him briefly, just to see the look on his face. “It’ll be over before you know it,” Ishmael said, baring his teeth brightly, and then plunged his fangs into the boy’s arm.
So Ishmael curled his cold hand around the young man’s wrist and pulled him better out of the way, his grasp only as firm as it needed to be. “It won’t kill you, I promise,” Ishmael said, trying not to grin; as if his word was worth anything, whatever he said. He felt the boy’s pulse again as he pushed his sleeve up, better exposing his forearm (of the hand that was not clutching at the bag of money like a lifeline). He’d have gone for the neck if he could have chosen, but some men seemed to find that a little too suggestive for comfort, as though drinking blood could be more or less indecent from one place or another. Safer - for them both - just above the wrist, then. Ishmael put one hand at the crook of his elbow and the other around his fist, and glanced up at him briefly, just to see the look on his face. “It’ll be over before you know it,” Ishmael said, baring his teeth brightly, and then plunged his fangs into the boy’s arm.
RE: Run This Town - Questor Spryly - February 9, 2020
Oddly enough Spryly didn't find the vampire's words reassuring. At all. For the first time it occurred to him that he might only be warming the bag of gold for this creep, he could just kill him and take the money back. Agh this was dumb, this was really dumb. It was also too late. He couldn't even reach for his wand because one arm was wrapped around the gold and the other was about to become his cause of death. The whole scheme was so obvious but clever! He'd just walked straight into it like a lamb to slaughter. Who would even notice something had happened to him until his corpse was discovered?
The vampire looked up from his arm and the look of horror on Spryly's face intensified tenfold. That was the last face he was ever going to see. "Ahhhh!" It was half a gasp of surprise and half a yelp of pain as the man's abnormally sharp teeth bit into his arm. He realized then that it wasn't even going to be a quick death, there'd be an awkward waiting part while this weirdo ate dinner from his arm until there was nothing left of him. What now? Small talk? Try to really quickly make friends so that he might not want to drink all of him after all? That seemed better than pathetically waiting to shrivel up like a prune. "Uh. Um. It must be a bit shit... Bein' a vampire. Who wants soup for dinner every night an' no bread?" He let out a single, somewhat forced and definitely awkward chuckle. Well that definitely sounded better before he actually said it out loud. He was probably going to get himself drunk faster now.
The vampire looked up from his arm and the look of horror on Spryly's face intensified tenfold. That was the last face he was ever going to see. "Ahhhh!" It was half a gasp of surprise and half a yelp of pain as the man's abnormally sharp teeth bit into his arm. He realized then that it wasn't even going to be a quick death, there'd be an awkward waiting part while this weirdo ate dinner from his arm until there was nothing left of him. What now? Small talk? Try to really quickly make friends so that he might not want to drink all of him after all? That seemed better than pathetically waiting to shrivel up like a prune. "Uh. Um. It must be a bit shit... Bein' a vampire. Who wants soup for dinner every night an' no bread?" He let out a single, somewhat forced and definitely awkward chuckle. Well that definitely sounded better before he actually said it out loud. He was probably going to get himself drunk faster now.