Thomas and Evelyn: You Spin Me Right Round
@t-raith from here.
Thomas wasn’t really sure an antique shop was the best place to find what he was looking for, but none of the other shops he’d visited had turned up anything even remotely close. His phone had handily directed him to the nearest antique shop to what had been his present location, some sort of curiosity shop that he wasn’t sure would be all that promising either, but if nothing else, maybe the shopkeeper could direct him somewhere more useful.
He left his pristine white Jaguar parked at the curb, probably illegally but somebody kept paying his tickets so he didn’t worry about it too much, and strolled up to the shop entrance, dressed in white from head to toe and whistling cheerfully to himself.
But then he stopped short, falling abruptly silent. Something wasn’t quite right. His eyes narrowed sharply. From the outside, the shop looked normal enough. There were no signs of anything amiss. But something had his senses on edge, and it took him a moment to work out what that was.
That scent. It was only barely present where he stood, hanging faintly in the air on some stray wisp of breeze and likely imperceptible to mortal senses, but he recognized it. How could he not? He’d faced ghouls more often than he had ever wanted to in his life. Granted, that really only meant it had happened more than never, and he had half a mind to take off and just let the locals deal with it.
Only, they probably wouldn’t. He scrubbed a hand over his face, something in his gut sinking at the realization that any humans the ghoul–or ghouls plural, ugh–encountered wouldn’t be long for the world, and what were the odds of some heroic wizard swooping in to save the day?
To be fair, what were the odds of some heroic vampire coming by to save the day? And why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been literally anybody else? Somebody actually heroic, for one thing!
Cursing his misfortune under his breath, Thomas dashed back to his car to yank some suitable weaponry from his stash in the trunk, then headed back to the door of the shop. It still appeared to be open, so at least he wasn’t going to need to make more noise than he needed to, but he wasn’t sure whether the shop would have one of those annoying bells that jingled every time someone walked in, either.
He didn’t exactly have time to worry about it now.
The deathly stench washed over him the second he opened the door, far from subtle now, and it was a struggle not to choke on it. Moving quickly and without any concern for the shop’s wares, he dashed in exactly the direction he really would have preferred to avoid given that he was still reasonably sane and in favor of his own continued existence, namely towards the ghoul. He felt his hip knock something over as he moved, but he ignored it as he brought up his tactical shotgun and fired several slugs into the creature from behind.
Distantly, he registered the presence of a woman there at the counter, one who appeared to be wielding a stool like a sort of shield, but he couldn’t spare her much attention yet short of ensuring that she wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. She could yell at him for shooting up her store afterwards, when she was still alive, thank you very much.
The creature laughed at Evelyn as she brandished the stool, and her heart pounded in her ears so loudly that she barely registered the tinny jingle of the bell over the door that signaled someone entering the shop.
“You’re a lively one, aren’t you? I like it when they’re lively. Got a little kick in ‘em.” The monster bared its teeth at her in something that could only technically be called a smile, vicious and greedy. It’s toying with me, she thought. Playing with its food. “So much more fun,” it crooned, “for when I start to--”
A series of deafening percussions split the air, and the creature jerked, propelled forward to tumble to the floor beside her. She scrambled back to the corner, as far away as she could get from it, and saw the holes in its back blooming with muddy, watery blood. It flopped on the floor, screeching with pain and rage, and floundered as it tried to get back to its feet.
“Stay down, damn it!” Evelyn shouted, and broke the wooden stool over its back with three blows using every bit of adrenaline-fueled strength she had. Then she kicked it for good measure. It continued to twitch and make gurgling, growling sounds, but didn’t get up. How on Earth was that thing still alive? For that matter, what on Earth was it?
Her feet seemed to galvanize themselves into movement, and, still gripping her impromptu shield and weapon, she skirted around the fallen monster, gingerly high-stepping over its extended, still-jerking arm and backpedaling away from it.
She realized she was shaking, her knuckles white as she held the remnants of the stool. Her eyes lifted to the man who now stood on the other side of the register counter, holding a large shotgun. He was dressed all in white, and good Lord above, he was beautiful. Raven hair, long and wavy and artfully tousled, framed a perfectly sculpted face that would put any cover model to shame, and he clearly had a body to match beneath that pristine white outfit. Well, nearly pristine. Blood splatter apparently had a way of, well, splattering.
There was something vaguely unsettling about him, too, that set her senses sweeping towards high alert, and she had the uncanny sensation that she was standing in the presence of yet another predator. One before her, and one behind her. For a moment, she couldn’t decide which predator to turn her back on, and after a brief deliberation decided that the one currently twitching on the floor behind the register was less of a potential threat than the one currently standing in front of her with a loaded shotgun.
Chicago was such a fun city.
“That... um. Thanks.” She looked at the shotgun; she wasn’t exactly well-versed in guns, but that weapon certainly looked military-grade to her. That was a strange thing for someone to just happen to have on hand. Oh, good. He was probably a part of some big crime syndicate or something. Here to offer his protection. From, apparently, monsters. She had the best luck. Her throat felt dry as she swallowed back her tension and squared her shoulders, leveling her gaze at the man in a way that she hoped conveyed strength, but not outright hostility. “You seem to be... well, remarkably prepared,” she commented.
