Bleeding Sin and Magic [Bloodkiss/Nocturn]

There were two adjacent cellphones placed upon the mahogony wooden desk. Both were identical at face-view, but if you turned them hundred-eighty degrees there would be a red X on the back of one. A soft-rumble chimed and the cellphone on the right began to vibrate and scitter across his desk.

Tave read the blinking numbers before snatching the phone out of the air before it could fall to an untimely death. Flipping the cell open and putting it next to his ear, he said, "Hello, Franklin."

"H-Hello, Mr. Owens. I'm just c-calling to confirm our-" The man's voice trembled pathetically on the other line.

Tave loosened the knot of his tie absently. "Yes, I'm well aware of the purpose of your call. I was, after all, there when we confirmed your appointment."

Franklin sounded like a scolded child and the anxiety in his voice was palpable. "Yes, sir. My apolgies, sir!"

"You know where to meet me. I suggest you bring a pen and paper, Franklin, in the case your memory fails during the procedure. At Dead Hour, be there and with my money." With a swift click, Tave snapped the cell shut, effectively ending the future ramblings of the simpering man.

Sometimes, Tave thought, he hated his job. But the money was worth it. He glanced at the cellphone laying unsettled on his desk; the one he uses for the public environment and not for hush-hush calls for that of the like of Franklin. Eleven in the evening. He still had two-hundred and forty minutes till Dead Hour where he would meet his client at St. Charlottes Cemetary. He would need to be at his best to complete the procedure, therefore, a little snack was in order.

Tave supposed the perk of living (or among the living) in the 21st Century was there were plenty of pretty little morsels who are more than willing to feed him. On the down-side, he missed the thrill of scouting for his next meal. Honestly, humans and their laws made his life a tad-bit boring.

Re: [Bloodkiss/ NocturnAngel]

Caoimhe sighed, tugging off her high-heels and tossing them aside. She slid out of her grey suit-jacket, dropping it to the floor and releasing a long-held breath of relief. Unbuttoning her creme-silk blouse, a soft rendition of Carmen rang through the air. Growling, she reached into her jacket-pocket and yanked out her Iphone. She slid her finger across the screen to answer the call, hissing a greeting, if you could call it that. "What do you want?" Her voice was tired, her Irish-brouge rough in exasperation. The woman on the other end of the phone said something and Caoimhe groaned. "Fine. I want my regular fee. I don't care if it's just clean-up. This is getting annoying. I'm not a maid, and this is the last time I'll clean up. Next time you find a body call Madeline."

Once upon a time there were great beasts whose forests were their backyards to do as they wish within. Nowadays, there were great beasts on leashes... And skyscrapers were their fire-hydrants. Tave was smug enough to title himself "great" and he did think of himself as a "beast". However, he would never admit to having a leash being handled by the law. Yes, the Law pestered him with its many limits and ultimately frustrating boundaries, but in no way did the Law controll him.

The city was his backyard and he did within it whatever he pleased. He proved his free-will every day and night by feeding on the ignorant and lustfull inhabitants, and performing rituals that had been banned throughout all eras. The allyways were like the viens in his arms. They were a part of him and he could trace them without a thought.

Tave walked one between one of the many shadow-painted walls. A coffee shop was just around the corner and it had been a favorite spot of his to get a quick drink. Despite the occasional killing near this very shop, customers still came to get their shot of caffiene. No, he wasn't the murderer responsible for the many bodybags being zipped and shipped off to the next psycho to reopen them like some sort of labrat.

But... he couldn't dismiss all the blame. Tave was one of many predators. He saw no point in killing like the rest simply because his victims were willing. In fact, as he stepped inside the soft-lighted cafe, a woman waved at him from her booth facing the entrance.

Tave smiled and nodded curtly. The woman got up immediately, her eyes shining hopefully. He took her hand gently in his and he lead her around the corner from where he came and lured her into the shadows. She allowed herself to be pushed against the brick walls and her lips parted as her soft pants brushed across his jaw. With two fingers, Tave tilted the woman's chin to the side, submitting her jugular to his hungry gaze. He trailed his fingers down her throat, feathering over two small scabs at the base.

"Don't move," he warned before he put his lips against her flesh in a soft kiss. Then, he bit and he drank. The woman went stiff.

Grabbing her keys and tucking her cellphone back into her pocket, Caoimhe hurried out the door. She didn't bother buttoning her blouse all the way, just enough to maintain decency. She slid behind the wheel of her Jeep and headed for the coffee shop on the corner. Her badge and her gun rested in the seat beside her, clinking together as she sped toward the shop. There was another damn body in the alley between the coffee shop and the small bookstore next door. And since the body hadn't been murdered in a normal way, like being shot or stabbed or bludgeoned, the cleanup and coverup fell to her. There were no sirens or other cops nearby when she pulled up, and there never were. The blood-drained corpse of the teenaged boy was kept hush-hush, as were all of his fellow victims. Caoimhe was supposed to be in charge of finding the vampiress responsible, but she always ended up being stuck with body-baging.

The intense infatuation of the sensual suckling on her effervescent pulse consumed her but she was beyond speech. Suddenly reaching forward to dig her nails into his ribcage, it was the only way to convey the explicit pleasure throttling through her veins. Tave slid his hands from her shoulder and cheek, down her sides to grip her thighs and wrap them around his hips, shoving her firmly against the wall.

Her shriek vivified his senses and her nails then scraped up his spine to intangle in his hair, fisting and tugging. The frivolity he feels anticipating the final beat of her heart; always at this point he doesn't want it to end. For her sake, he releases the tight grasp his lips have to her throat and gently licks the weeping wounds. A moan of dissatisfaction and regret erupts forth as he allows her legs to slide down from his hips to touch the pavement.

Her lips trembling, he turns away, sated to his core. Dispassionate toward her unknown fate, what would become of her this night, he melted in the shadows. His mind soon drifted to the obligations he's to perform at the cemetary. The woman still reaching out for him already forgotten.

Caoimhe skidded to a stop, the ahnk hanging from her rearview mirror swinging violently. She got out of the car with a groan and proceeded to the back of the alley. She spotted a woman before she reached the back, but fortunately she was still alive, dazed though she was. She rolled her eyes and ignored the woman. She'd obviously willingly subjected herself to being bitten, and she wasn't dead, so she none of her concern. Bright green eyes turning to the back of the alley, she spotted the young man's body sitting up against the filthy brick wall that was worn and stained from years of weather. She took a pair of latex gloves out of her pocket and snapped them on her long, slender fingers before taking out a small mag-light. She searched the area for any traces of the vampiress, but as usual, found none. Next she turned to inspect the body.

St. Charlottes Cemetary was an antique memorial for the people of this city. It was not simply a grave for the dead, but a playground for many darker creatures -- his kind often included. Over a thousand tombstone littered the vicinity, many grorified by roses, tulips, and other meaningful flowers. Meaningful to the living; the dead had no use for such chivalry.

Tave followed the long, winding path splitting the cemetary and took a turn at the fork. He walked farther, the breeze bracing against his forever cold skin, teasing his tie and his hair. In the distance, a large, white marble tomb stood forboding and ominous at the end of the path. There were no flowers placed in the vases set before it, just weeds long wilted.

Setting his leather briefcase down on the tomb's steps, he read the plaque with a twisted smile. "Here lies Andrea Cannigan, beloved daughter, mother, and heiress."

There was an unsettling air about her grave. It was tense, thick, and sharp. It hovered over his aura, cautious yet threatened by his presence. Like a snake it coiled around him, not quite touching, ready to strike at the slightest movement. Her soul still lingered here and it was already atuning to his power.

This was fortuitous for him. Murdered souls were much easier to raise. Their hatred and grief bound them to this world. Even more impressive, their lingering souls could sense power and when that power came within their grasp, they latched onto it, attempting to possess and then succeed their "unfinished business". The fact that Andrea had yet to take action was incredibly humorous.

With a mocking grin, Tave took a step forward and laughed outload as her soul lashed out at his leg, effectively knocking him backwards. He balanced himself immediately, a grace he'd been endowed with the moment he'd been created, and he bowed low at the waist -- a taunting gesture. Andrea's aura rippled furiously and he chuckled again.

This poor, doomed soul knew what he was, and she knew what was to come.

Caoimhe zipped up the boy bag, hefting the boy onto the gourney and wheeling him back to her Jeep. She shoved him into the back and slammed the door shut, grumbling to herself the whole time about how nice it would be to get a new job, maybe one at a desk. With paperclips and a boring stapler.

She sighed and got behind the wheel. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I would never survive a week as a desk jockey. Bu you have to admit, my job sucks a lot more now than it did a hundred years ago. Aw, what do you care? You're done with this world. Hopefully you'll have better luck in the next one, kid." She pulled up to the gates of the cemetary, turning of the Jeep and going to the back. After wrestling the gourney back out, she ushered him to the oldest part o the graveyard, toward the tomb that held the bodies of the vampiress' victims.

A shadow fell in his peripheral vision and Tave stood erect once more, shifting on his feet elegantly to face the confused and scared man behind him. He grinned, all fangs, watching as blood left the man's face comically. "Ah, Franklin, good hour to you. I see you did as I suggested."

"Er, good hour to you, too, sir," Franklin muttered. He had indeed brought a pen and paper, and Tave knew without a doubt the man was asking himself what kind of greeting "good hour" meant. It was a joke between the undead; he wouldn't understand, of course. Tave beckoned his client forward and smiled as Franklin nearly sprinted to his side. For a lawyer, the man had no backbone when it came to non-human beings. No, Franklin dealt strictly with humans.

Tave moved around Franklin and clapped his hands on his shoulders. He jumped under his touch. "Tell me, have you ever witnessed necromancy, Franklin?"

The wimpy lawyer shook his head negatively and Tave patted him in a facade of comfort. "You, my dear sir, are in for a treat." And with lithe, dance-like steps, Tave strode forward inside the tomb. Andrea's now panicked efforts to stop him completely ignored. She shoved him uselessly, trying to get him off his feet, snapping invisible tendrils at him but her power was only as strong as little wisps of nothing against his.

Reaching the coffin centered inside the tomb, he flicked the solid, marble lid onto the floor and gazed at the ghastly corpse dressed in a crystaled gown of silk. He leaned over Andrea and he sucked in a small breath. Death tickled his senses and as he slowly exhaled, it began.

Andrea's soul suddenly fled to every corner of the tomb as Tave thrusted his power outward. It filled the room in a gust of heat, overwhelming and suffocating, and it wrestled against Andrea brutally. He could suddenly hear her screams in his mind, feel her struggling against his hold but he didn't faulter. His power clenched around her roughly as he pulled her soul toward the now open coffin. Her efforts to claw away from him were absolutely worthless and he pulled harder, painfully so. Soon, he could feel it slither over the rims, seeping inside the corpse that lay within.

The screams cut off.

Inhaling sharply, he withdrew his power, allowing it to fill him once more and as he did, the room went ice cold and the flying dust settled.

Franklin fell to his knees, dry-heaving and nearly wretching. His body quivered uncontrollably. Tave scoffed at him silently, then addressed him. "Franklin," he called curtly.

He didn't respond and Tave rolled his eyes. "Pathetic. Franklin," he fisted his hand in the man's collar and pulled him on to his feet. "Don't you have a few questions for dear Andrea?" Releasing him, Tave stepped aside so the man could see Andrea Cannigan lift herself out of her grave.

Caoimhe was in the midst of tucking the boy in for his eternal rest when she felt the familiar cold gust rush through the graveyard. Turning around, she pinpointed the direction the power was coming from and hurried towards it, drawing her gun. There was finally some excitement, and she wasn't going to miss it.

She spotted the two men before the stench of the reanimated corpse reached her. Biting back bile, she stepped closer to them. "Is it already Dead hour? Time just seems to fly, doesn't it?"

Franklin sprung up from his knees to whirl around as the unfamiliar voice jump-started his shot nerves. There was a wet stain on his pants; he'd wet himself during the resurrection. He stared at the woman like a deer caught in headlights before managing to peel his eyes away to stare horrifically at the gun poised in her hands.

Tave sighed delicately, irritation furrowing his brow. "Fuck."

Andrea's legs finally met the floor and she stood before them, slightly hunched, and her undivided attention on Tave. She was truly one of his better raisings; most of her body was intact. Skin, bones, eyes, all fingers and toes, hair... Though on one side of her jaw there was a hole and there her tongue hung limp and dry. It looked like a moldy sponge.

Slowly, so as not to provoke any brash response from the gunwoman, the vampire turned to face his newest guest. Andrea mimicked his movements as he did, a puppet being mastered by invisible strings -- his strings.

"I suppose it does," he replied distantly and slipped a hand casually in his pant's pocket -- his attempt at looking harmless, as human as possible. Perhaps it was pointless. She had obviously seen the zombie; if not, she could certainly smell the corpse. His mind raced. Raising the dead was illegal and Necromancer's were required to register with the state to prevent them from animating the dead. Being a vampire, no one bothered to ask what else he was. It was uncommon to be anything else but human, vampire, werewolf, etc.

Sparing a glance at the spineless Franklin, Tave calculated whether or not he should take the money, discard the zombie, and just get the hell out of there. He had a reputation to uphold and this woman who just so happened to come across his business was a threat to it. It was also a good kick to his pride. He hadn't noticed her arrival at all...

Caoimhe smirked, waving the gun she held in a loose grip toward Franklin. "I don't recognize you. Are you new in town? Or are you just good at hiding?" Grey-green eyes sized up Tave, her thin eyebrows arched high in question. She fought back the urge to gag against the stench of rotted flesh, her full, red lips pursed in disgust. Her wavy sunset-colored hair was confined to a loose bun held behind her head by a long silver pin that resembled a dagger.

That was insulting. To spite her, he would've said he didn't recognize her either, but that would be very childish of him. His lips tilted amusedly at ther obvious distaste to Andrea.

"You should move along, madam," he said harmlessly, weaving an air of carelessness in his tone. "This is a private matter, strictly business between two responsible men. It would be greatly appreciated if you left us."

Hm, he left out the very-dead-yet-walking woman behind him, still standing at the side of her coffin. The gun's barrell was still brandished at Franklin, which he was -- to be honest -- asboltely confused about. That pathetic guppy of a man was the least threatening of their group... As a vampire, Tave was thuroughly irritated.

She laughed smugly, tucking her gun back into her belt beneath her creme silk blouse. "And I would greatly appreciate if you didn't patronize me." She paused, flipping a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Alright, so I'll assume that this man, obviously a lawyer, and a crappy, chickenshit one at that, hired you to bring this obviously wealthy woman back long enough to finish her will." She smiled at Tave mischeviously. "You are very good at what you do. Unfortunately, it is my bread-and-butter to catch people just like you."

Tave's smile wilted. Hearing her last words, he removed his hand from his pocket, a subtle sign that he was withdrawing his peaceful pretenses. Looking pointedly at the put-away gun, he murmered, "Then, if that is the case, you should have kept out your gun."

Like a rodent sensing a pack of wolves, Frankling scurried to Tave's side, half-hiding behind the necromancer and his zombie. Andrea felt her master's will and in response a growl gurlged from her throat. Tave smiled at his puppet and patted her on the head like a puppy, letting his eyes find the opposing green eyes of the new antagonist, mocking her as he rewarded his pet.

Then, with a simple thought command, Andrea bounded toward her, arms already reaching to inflict bodily harm. Murdered souls also tended to be stronger than the average zombie. Franklin shrieked and stumbled backwards at Andrea's abrupt movement. Tave stepped away from the sprawled rat and awaited for his specimen to tear into the woman.

In the span of a second she yanked loose her hairpin and threw it with startling precision, the point sticking right between her lifeless eyes. Her red-gold hair tumbled down her back, and her face took on a sudden seriousness shadowed by amusement. The knife wouldn't stop Andrea, she was already dead, after all. But it would slow her down. "You are good. You didn't even have to whistle to command your bitch." Pulling her gun back out of her belt, she smirked. "Is that all you've got?"

Tave laughed suavely, careful not to show his fangs. "Not at all, madam. However, it's become clear to me you do not scare easily."

With a flick of his fingers still at his side, Andrea retreated and all the while her hands flailed around the protruding hairpin as if she didn't quite know what to do or what had happened. A zombie is powered by the necromancer and its own soul. Although the brain remains dead, the soul manipulated by the power allows it to function as the necromancer seems fit.

In a sick way, zombies were like retarded children on steroids. Very strong, but very stupid unless they are given specific instructions.

"Do you plan to... arrest us, madam?" There was an undisguised taunt to Tave's voice. "Lock us away? You have no power here among the many, many graves. I do."

Running a hand through her loose hair, she smirked. "We both know that it's beyond even your power to raise every body in this graveyard. And besides, I don't chase necromancers. I'm far too busy chasing the people who put bodies into the grave, not take them out." She shrugged. "I'll overlook it this time, because frankly, I don't care what you do to dead heiresses and I've had a long, exhausting day. But the next time I run into you, I might not be so kind. I hate lawyers, and anything to do with them." She turned and started for the tomb she'd been placing the John Doe in. "Keep the hairpin. It looks better on her, anyway." She laughed and strode off, eager to finish her work and go home. She needed a shower and some sleep. She'd heard their voices and thought maybe she'd stumble upon her Vampiress and another victim, but she had no such luck.

As her back turned on them, Tave's fists clenched. "Beyond my power..." he whispered. Golden eyes burned furiously and they narrowed in animalistic slits. "Beyond my fucking power? That fucking bitch," he snarled, lips curling back over his fangs now bared menacingly. The nerve of that woman! Her arrogance sent his mind whirling. She had the audacity to strut around like a preening peacock, spewing shit like "I'll overlook it" and "next time I might not be so kind"... As if she thought she had power over him.

Her attitude was enough to tempt him to cancel the contract now and kill Franklin. The rat had already dampened his mood with his spineless ass and now a woman was sending him in a very foul sense of mind.

"M-Mr. Owens?"

Eyes flashing murder in Franklin's direction, he squeaked (very much like a rat).

Tave glared and managed to spit out, "Ask the corpse your damn questions, Franklin."

And he did, with much stuttering and once he got his answers, Tave put Andrea Cannigan to rest, took his money, snapped Franklin's neck, and slipped away into the shadows with the rat's notes.

Caoimhe finished tucking the boy in for his last sleep, then snapped off her latex gloves and put them into her pocket. With a heavy sigh she strode back to her car, tossing her gun into the passenger seat and turning over the engine. Slowly pulling out of the gravel drive and onto the main road, she ran her hand through her hair again. "Damnit...that was one of my favorite hairpins." Groaning, she drove back to her house, eager to go to bed.