Realistic or Modern Streets of Blood and Brimstone

[Abyss]

*Jazz Hands*

 

[Elenion Aura]

Raphael Shaw

The Vampire

Night fell. Fitfully.

He’d been in town only a few nights and already he’d decided this much: New York was a thoroughly grotesque city. He loved it. And if that weren’t enough, if Raph hadn’t already been wholly taken with its gritty charms, he soon discovered that its inherent ugliness was only enhanced under the cover of darkness, as the light of the wretched sun gave way to gauche, tantalizing neon.

Finally, Raph thought. A city as depraved as he was. He was going to like it here. Better than the last place he’d haunted, at least. Hell, anywhere was better than that. Just like that place had been better than the one before it… And on, and on. That was the way of it. The way it had been, since his world had burned…

Raphael stalked the crowded streets and busy sidewalks, head high, expression smug, hungry, his pale face reflecting the shimmering hues and bright flashes respectively cast by the string of nightclubs on his left, and frenetic cars whizzing by on his right. The party was in full swing, here. Men stumbled into one another and picked fights. Women spilled out of tight fitting dresses and clutched to their friends like crosses… Raph walked like he owned the whole joint, like a noble lord surveying his fiefdom. There was also, like always, something predatory about his gaze. Like he was the only wolf in a world teeming with sheep…

… But that wasn’t exactly true. Not anymore. Not that it had ever truly been. The only difference now was this: the sheep knew they were being hunted and they, understandably, did not seem to like it very much. Which… Fine. Fair enough. But ever since the news officially broke, along with the world—Metahumans Live Among Us—Raph had begun to notice lingering gazes from passers-by that seemed to linger just a little too long for comfort. He knew he had left his Scarlet Letter at home but still, some paranoid part of his un-dead brain wouldn’t stop screaming,

They Know…
They Know…
They See You,
RUN!​

Raph suddenly took a sharp nose-dive down a darkened alleyway, deftly avoiding a pair of drunken humans spilling their guts on the sidewalk as he left the raunchy cacophony of the Thursday night party crowds behind. Conventional wisdom would have advised against this detour—as, for most people, dark alleys late at night, especially in large, dangerous cities, were to be avoided. But… No one ever said Raphael Shaw was ordinary. Nobody alive, anyway. And besides, this was the quickest route to where he was headed.

quiet alley

confident

stylish

N/A

coded by natasha.

 

[Abyss]

Merrit Anderson

The Dragon

He walked a few blocks for the sake of it, the cool night air and the feeling of solid pavement beneath his feet helped him feel more grounded in the moment. The itching foot, his parents had called it. Merrit wasn't sure if the phenomena was something that had been born into him or had come later with experience, having spent most of his life being moved from place to place. Either way, he wasn't getting any sleep tonight. The empty pack of cigarettes on his nightstand had beckoned him to go outside with an excuse to roam which he couldn't resist.

A couple of fresh packs in his pocket, Merrit wandered down the street until he found a place to rest, propping himself up against an older brick building covered in far more than it's fair share of graffiti. A purple octopus playing the drums was still visible under the street-light. The absurdity of it brought a smile to his face. If spray paint had been his preferred medium, he'd likely have come back later to add to the wall. Perhaps the octopus artist would consider a giraffe with a saxophone a worthy addition to the band.

Putting the thoughts of animal-graffiti aside, he leaned his head back on the brick wall, head tilted up to the sky with his eyes closed. The city had it's perks, but a beautiful starlit sky wasn't one of them. Still, there was comfort to be had at night, with less people around and no one concerned about one more figure taking up space on the street.

With the grace of habit, Merrit pulled out the fresh pack of smokes and a beat up lighter that may or may not have originally belonged to one of his roommates. He rolled the pad of his thumb across the wheel, striking up a quick flame that flickered and died. His eyebrow raised at the sight, equal parts amused and exasperated with his luck tonight. It seemed to be running short lately—threatening to become a trend.

Instead of getting back up and heading to the store, Merrit pocketed the empty lighter and gave his surroundings a quick scan. A woman rushing out from a diner, a couple walking together on the opposite side of the street. The nightlife in this area wasn't particularly abundant, so most people passing through had better places to be. The only thing he might have to worry about was the scurry of something further down the alley that might have been a street cat or one of New York's famously large rats.

Not the kind of rat I'm worried about, at least.

He leaned forward and cupped his hands around the cigarette, summoning a familiar warmth to the palm of his hands. An orange glow emanated from his skin, not on fire exactly, but hot enough to serve as a substitute to the empty BIC. The light illuminated his face, revealing the dark circles under his eyes from six-months lack of sleep. Metahumans. A word straight out of a comic book and something he'd never thought he'd see on the headlines of every website, news channel, and political campaign out there. The hot topic of seemingly every conversation, not to mention how it dominated his own train of thoughts as well. It was one thing to know that you were different, it was another thing entirely to find out that there were others like you around the globe. Merrit took a deep drag, held it and let the warmth of the smoke seep into his body.

For whatever it was worth, the so-called professionals didn't appear to be making much progress getting the answers either. It was probably a good thing for Merrit, but truth be told a small, almost guilty part of him had been hoping for some sort of useful information to come up from having everything out in the open. Ever since the reveal it had felt like an invisible clock had started ticking in the background of his life and he was waiting for the buzzer to go off.

He exhaled, laughing under his breath. Watching as a plume of smoke escaped into the night air.


View attachment 908965

location info

mood: uncertain

outfit info

N?A

coded by natasha.

 

[Elenion Aura]

Raphael Shaw

The Vampire

His reasons for coming all this way to The Big Apple were simple.

Raphael had received a letter.

Which would've been alarming all on its own because he didn't have any friends or relatives—at least none who'd go to the trouble of sending him a postcard—never mind the fact that the contents of said letter had been quite... Salacious. And not even the fun kind, either. No. The letter, instead, had exposed, in excruciating, clinical detail, Raphael to himself. His affliction, his curse, his power… It was all there, written pen-to-paper.

The letter had named him. Vampire.

And so, naturally, Raphael did what any self-respecting Vampire would do. He was following the instructions left by his mysterious pen-pal. And when he got to the end of this trail of breadcrumbs? Well... No use spoiling the fun bits. Just kidding! He’s going to rip the throat out of whoever had the gall to invite his ire. No loose threads in this tapestry, I fear.

The night here was heavy and dark… At least, it would’ve been, but for the city’s myriad lights, illuminating the streets, and shops, and night-time curios meant for weak human eyes. But step away from the main drags… The strips, the shops… The comfort of streetlamps… And the darkness closes in once more. Here the streets are empty and quiet.

It appeared that humans still had not quite overcome their millennia-old fear of the night. The dark. Or rather, what lurked within. Hm. Good.

Raphael stalked his way down an abandoned alleyway, his shadow subsumed by the night all around him, merging with it. He was the night, and wore the dark like a mantle. His eyes were well-accustomed to this. They were made for this. Humans beware. Your fears made manifest has come.

With those sharp, predatory eyes, Raphael spied a handful of warm bodies up ahead, though to be fair, he had smelled them before he’d seen them. A human couple clutched close to one another as they hurried to their next destination. A woman. He could smell her too-liberally-applied like perfume from here. And hear the beating of her heart.

And, lastly there was… A man. Standing off in the distance. He had just lit up a cigarette, and soon the smell of its smoke reached Raph’s nose, along with…

You smell like brimstone.

Raph thought, tilting his head as he pressed further, closer. His curiosity piqued. Is it getting warmer? Humans rarely tickled his fancy like this. He could afford a slight detour…

Raphael’s eyes sparkled, greenish-grey in the low light of the alley as he drew closer to that warmth, watching intently as the profile of the man-shaped silhouette before him exhaled a plume of roiling smoke. Raphael didn’t know if he’d be spotted or not, from where he stood, enveloped in the night as he was. But another few paces and even a human would know he was there.

Even a human? What a peculiar thought. There were only humans here, save for me, he thought self-satisfactorily as he brushed the thought aside. Moments later he emerged, shadows pulling back and falling away like silk curtains. His date with destiny could wait. Besides, Raphael had never been one to show up to a party on-time.

“Good evening.” He said to that silhouette, all confidence and charm. And only a dash of the feral hunger that ever lurked behind his eyes. He wasn’t trying to spook the man. Not yet, anyway. “I could just kill for a smoke. Would you mind?”

quiet alley

confident

stylish

N/A

coded by natasha.