poly_chromatic | First Prank: Grand Entrance

Entry tags:

marvel 616 - loki

First Prank: Grand Entrance

[A charming smile with wide and innocuous green eyes, though the glitter in them is something less than harmless and innocent. When he speaks, his voice is light and engaging. Ignore the fact that he’s soaking wet.]

Hello out there!

[The volume is a bit loud and he winces before catching it and allowing his features to adjust back into that beguiling smile. He fixes the volume, teeth catching his lower lip in an expression that really is innocent. His charm does not fade as he speaks again]

Let's try this again? Ah. Better. Now. It seems there has been a terrible mistake, a grave error, I am entirely unsure of where I am, only that I woke up here- yes! woke up!- after being dumped in a fountain and er- found this Stark phone on my person. .

Obviously, whoever has done this has the wrong person entirely. I am no one at all of consequence, a Parisian orphan.

[He frowns and the expression is solemn, pious]

Now, if you please, could someone tell me how far back to Paris?

[OoC Note: Serrure speaks in the All Tongue (he understands every language, anyone he speaks to will understand him) but he thinks he's speaking in French and will assume everyone else is, too.]

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No. I live topside, unfortunately. But my business is Underground.

[If he could, he'd move down here. But his elder brother - wary of Karl's questionable hobbies - had set him up in the Cathedral. To keep an eye on him. Make sure no one else got slaughtered.]

A card-shark orphan in Paris, eh? Sounds like the makings of a movie.

[They enter the Black Market. Crowded, as ever, awash with strange wares, strange noises - and stranger people. In dark corners, Karl can sense other vampires lurking. Sizing up the newcomer at his side.]

What business is that?

[He is unsure he truly wants the answer, and his eyes are flickering over the area, the wares, the people, he sees those predatory gaze and narrows eyes on them, green fire practically dancing in their pupils.]

I should star in it. No one is quote so rogishly handsome.

I manage a vampire bar.

[A perfectly legit establishment, believe it or not. It's just Karl's after-work activities that raise eyebrows.]

And what would the title be?

[If Karl abandons the boy, the other vampires will be on him in a heartbeat. Humans - children - wandering in the Underground are rarely safe. But Karl has no intention of doing so. This evening may prove most entertaining yet.]

Mm. Wearing black leather and making bite puns?

[Oh but he is only starting to realize that this might be the case. An inward sigh, but he's yet to accept he isn't the master of the situation.]

A Series of Unfortunate Events.

Something like that.

[There are humans who visit the bar because they enjoy being bitten. But Karl rarely seeks them. Only a pathetic housepet eats food served on a platter. The real joy of feeding is in the hunt. In imbibing the victim's fear.]

Really? Did your parents perish in a fire that destroyed your entire home?

Huh? [He blinks at that, then shrugs. When given a good cover story...] Oh yes. Terrible fire. Both of them just burned up alive. They were both wonderful people. He read. She sewed.

[A short laugh. He's read that series of books.]

So when does the depraved old Count step in?

[Serrure, unfortunately, has not.] What old count? It was my uncle who did it.

[He's starting to get that, yes.]

What a despicable man. I hope he got his just desserts.

[A half-smile.]

Seen enough of the Market. I've a mind to show you the Warehouse next.

Oh, I am sure he will. Some kind of voodoo curse. Little doll, lots of needles. [He's just such a practiced liar. It comes more naturally than any truth.]

This warehouse? Abandoned? Dark? No one can hear someone scream?

[It's Karl's personal philosophy that 99% of what people say is untrue. He doesn't believe half the things the boy says anyway. Who'd discuss family with a total stranger, after all?]

No. Just haunted, from what I'm told.

[If he wanted to eat the boy, he could do so effortlessly. His kind are Chiropterans. They snap necks faster than most people blink.]

[He, of course, does not realize that Karl might do something publicly.]

Haunted? Mm. I do not mess with ghosts. Vengeful things, and they often follow one home- I saw a movie like that once. It was Japanese, but I am sure ghosts do not play by cultural rules.

[The truth is, 99% of what comes out of Serrure's mouth is a total and complete lie.]

I suppose you're right. They can be unpredictable, those wretched ghouls.

[A beat.]

Where then? The Arena? That's where all the good fights are had.

[Of course, whether Serrure makes it there in one piece is debatable. Karl's growing bored with playing host. He wants a little fun.]

Arena, sure. [Ah, but he's never complacent, he's already thinking, how can he get out of this? How can he turn it to his advantage?]

[Karl doubts the boy woul have an advantage, whether aboveground or below. He's made - is notorious - for kills in open air. Smiling, he leads Serrure out of the Market. But he's already decided to cut the tour short. He doesn't use the stereotypical conversation to buy time. Doesn't skulk in, or lure the boy into a dark alley.]

[Instead, in a blurred movement, he flashsteps toward Serrure. One hand elongating and darkening into a scaly green claw. He wraps it viciously tight around the boy's face, muffling any would-be scream. Warning, with just the grip, how easily he could crush his skull.]

[And, eyes glowing red, he vanishes off the street. Serrure in tow.]

[The Warehouse is a good place for devouring his victim.]

[Oh, but advantage is in the eye of the beholder. This one, he is every inch the predator, has made no qualms about showing that. Other creatures did not attempt to steal his prey in the market place. Serrure's mind moves a mile a minute, but he forces himself not to fight, to struggle. Only to be limp and compliant.

He's surprisingly heavy for a kid his age and size, just shy of three hundred pounds- it's almost impossible if one thinks about it, but there it is, heavy and dense. He is doing an admirable job of keeping his breathing calm, even around that hand and his own goes to it, not trying to pry it away, but to touch the scales, the talons, interesting.]

[The boy's weight startles him - even with Karl's strength. Either Serrure has a bellyful of lead - or he isn't human. The lack of struggling too, is intriguing. But Karl's amusement overlaps even the bloodlust. He likes the feisty ones. Likes seeing how they can be broken.]

[When Serrure's hand touches his claw, he exhales a chilling little laugh. Examine all you want. That hand will be ripping your entrails out to strum tunes on, soon enough.]

[Swooping like wind, rooftop to rooftop, he reaches the Warehouse in moments. The interior is dank and cold, underlit. But Karl's vision can see everything clearly.]

[Brutally, he slams Serrure back-first into a wall. Feet dangling. Claw around his throat. In the dark, Karl's eyes are blood-red, his fangs a phosphorescent slash.]

You should let up on the desserts, little man. You weigh more than a barrel of bloated corpses.

Edited 2012-06-13 09:12 (UTC)

Take your own advice- [He gasps around the hand at his throat.] -let the dessert go. Or at least, be careful about things and you can have dessert more than once.

[It's funny, he thinks, head swimming with grey dots, to fight ones natural instinct to struggle, to let this creature hold him there, while remaining as perfectly still as possible. If you ran from big, angry dogs, they tended to chase. So for now, he would act the big dog himself, even if they both knew differently.

Bargain. Calm. If that failed, then he could think of something else.]

[Karl's sharp peal of laughter echoes eerily through the Warehouse.]

I can have dessert whenever I want. Or haven't you realized that yet?

[Bargaining, unfortunately, doesn't work on the insane. It's only Solomon whom Karl listened to. But even that camaraderie has lately devolved into mistrust. His hand squeezes tighter on the boy's throat, just to wring a scream out of him. He does so love it when they scream.]

[He grinds his back molars together so hard, he thinks he can hear them squeak with friction, but he refuses to cry out. He tenses his toes, his fingers, then relaxes them. You'll have to settle with choked little sounds of breathing.]

Yes...[He chokes out] But...how much... of it is... willing? [Of course, that will only work if this guy doesn't prefer his meals unwilling and Serrure is beginning to think he's a bit out of luck in that department.]

[No screaming? Pity. Karl settles for gleefully absorbing the pained expressions on the boy's face. Charming child, really. Diva would have loved toying with him - before tearing him to pieces.]

Does that matter?

[If Karl wants, he takes. Also, Serrure? Preliminaries over. A filthy discarded rag lies on the floor. Karl scoops it up casually in his free hand. And jams it in a wad down the boy's mouth. In the next moment, he's removed his claw from Serrure's throat - split-seconds before his fangs flash out. Digging into the carotid artery in a gush of blood.]

[His victim can struggle all he wants. His hands - hard talons - grip the boy's upper-arms. In this position, Karl is planted firmly, strength absolute.]

[Drinking in long pulls of blood from Serrure's neck.]

[The only thing he can think of is 'Really? Really? That was on the floor. And then there is the searing paint of fangs in his throat, his blood spilling out. He can feel blood gush out of his body with every pulse of his veins, every tick of his arteries. The sensation churns his stomach, but he swallows the feeing down, not wanting to choke.

Pain both blurs and sharpens his mind, his thoughts are like mice fleeing a cage and all he can think is that he does not want to die here. And that's what he's waiting for, death. The cold chill of black overcoming him. But. It doesn't. His body is responding, already trying to heal the punctures, the tear in his carotid. Ten seconds max he should have been dead.

It was all very confusing.]

[There's always a brief delicious struggle, a moment of incredulity, in each victim. And after, a hopeless capitulation. Their bodies twitch, tremble, and gradually, as the blood is drained gulp by gulp, go cold and slack. They see death looming. And they succumb to it.]

[But that isn't happening here. Karl feels it all. The thrum of the boy's terrified pulse. The blood pulsing out, rich and hot. But he's not going into death-rattles. In fact, the torn skin under his fangs is closing.]

[Well well...]

[Karl takes a final drought before wrenching his fangs out. Blood slicks his grinning mouth. His red eyes dance like sparks.]

...What have we here? A demon? A goblin?

[The boy. Is not. Human. That much is clear.]

[His thoughts are muddled, but incredulous. Perhaps he is a mutant. Perhaps he has some healing factor. Like Wolverine. That would be so cool. You know, if he weren't pinned to a wall by a vampire wearing his blood for lipstick. Pity that deep down, he knows it isn't true.]

Red is not your color. You're more of a summer...[His words are ill paced, some oddly spaced, some slurring together. He is beyond scared, he is terrified. And it isn't the vampire he's afraid of. There are worse bogeyman i the world.]

I don't know, really... you tell me. You're the connoisseur.

Red's not my color?

You're right. Perhaps purple. Or whatever color your entrails might be.

[An inhuman boy. An immortal? Karl's curiosity - already piqued - ratchets tenfold. He's always wanted a toy he could torment for hours before it broke. Mentally, physically. Perhaps tonight, he'll get that chance. With Saya gone, the despair gnawing at him has boiled into an acidic, carnivorous rage.]

[Anyone - everyone - is an acceptable target.]

Who knows? I'm more interested in seeing what other parts of yours regenerate.

[One talon-hand lifting to pry open the boy's mouth.]

Your tongue, maybe?

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