Absit Omen RPG

If Terry had sparked a fire amongst them, Motley was fanning the flames.

He couldn't quite help the way his eyebrows rose at her eagerness to drain bodies dry - muggle or wix. Himself, well, he wasn't so much a fan of muggle blood. Tasted all but flat to him, he'd rather a squib or a nervous little witch with more power than sense. It was clear that Cass, still young, revelled in the violence of her condition.

Something every vampire must quell in their immortal infancy.

Laz had something to say. Hooker valued his opinion; he didn't throw it about often so he knew that whenever Blackburn did speak up it was significant. His eyes followed the other vampire turning away.

            "... just don't bring the mess home. It's earlier than you think."

"Mm..." Terry made a thoughtful noise, as abruptly pensive as he had been excited. "House rules, aye. We don't drag corpses to our door, do we now?" The coven fell silent - not uncomfortably, no, they all knew the danger of too much attention from the Ministry of Magic.

This was a sober silence, almost embarrassed.

His kind, they were dangerous but not invincible. "Motley." Hooker pushed himself off from against the bar, looking away from Laz and towards the blonde. "Covens aren't alliances, you get?" he slipped his hands into his pocket. "We're like family. You come into our house, you learn the rules before you even think about bending them."

Tristan had sent him a wild cannon. Terry didn't mind - he asked for it - but he didn't get to where he was by letting fangs run amuck. And should Cass join the Camden Town Hookers she wouldn't just have to live with their rules. If she broke them, she would die by coven rule as well.

"We play, darling," he smiled as he echoed her address. "But this isn't a game."

He couldn't help but glance at Blackburn, whose eyes fleetingly found his own. Auror Roh. Tristan had described the witch as one of two usually sensible hens who marched into the Frenchman's office last week demanding ludicrous answers. No doubt she imagined her daughter at the fangs of a vampire not unlike their guest.

Motley's theatricality, drawing interest from many in the coven, suited Hooker. He imagined she would fit in alright - there was so much personality in that young frame, how did Vaillancourt manage?

No, he thought as he watched Anaïs slide a shot of blood liquor across the counter for Cass. No, a group was a better fit for this one. She must be bored out of her head with old Tristan. Dangerous vampires weren't necessarily the most interesting.

"Yes." Terry murmured pensively, echoing Lazarus. "No manners. And," he crossed his legs, "no respect." A hiss cut the air. Jin-ho, who was sitting in the closest booth to the bar, bared his teeth.

Hooker looked around his bar at the eyes who had been following Motley's tale. "Why should the Aurors respect us?" he spoke in a louder voice, gravelly. "They're afraid of us. They don't even know what we're capable of -" another round of hisses "- and they're still afraid. Of what we'll do or say. What our new friend here might say."

His dark gaze snapped back to Cass. His smile, which had been friendly, appeared only vindictive now.

"You don't take it lying down, now do you lass?" Terry licked his lips, a flash of fang. "Not on the Wireless, I bet."

He lifted a dark eyebrow at the Mr in Mr Hooker but smiled his wide smile at Cassandra Motley nonetheless. There was an aura of schoolgirl still around the woman, an observation that only made sense to those who'd been walking this earth for as long as Terry. Coven eyes followed her movements - then they followed his, dark hand reaching forward to take the pale one.

            “Honoured to receive word of your invitation,” their guest was smart not to exhibit nerves.

"Likewise. It's Terry, to friends, but you can call me Hooker till we're better acquainted, eh?" he said this with a glimmer in his eyes while they shook hands, as though he very much anticipated the act of becoming acquainted. "So this is the face behind the voice."

            "And what a face it is~" Anaïs sighed pleasantly behind the bar, pouring Laz two glasses of crimson. She listened to Motley on the Wireless.

Hooker laughed, which dispersed a slight tension in the room. He let go of Cass and jerked his head to the bar. "Sit. You got an invite, that don't mean your batwing's in the door yet..."

Anaïs brought out another glass, though not for Terry; he was quite full thankyouverymuch. Other members of the Coven perched themselves here and there: on top of tables, on the bar counter, draped languidly in their chairs. Relaxed, almost, if not for their gazes still very much drawn to this new set of fangs.

"You have grievances to air." Terry leaned against the bar, folding his arms. "The red robes, purveyors of all that is good and right in the wizarding world...?"  he said those words, good and right, like they were covered in filth. "Tell us. Tristan's words don't look good in other people's mouths."

        “Here by invitation.”
   "Invitations, there aren't many of those...How'd you find one."

Behind the counter, the lanky bartender with her toothy smile leaned forward and crossed her arms with interest. "What's this? We allowed to interrogate the new meat?" she asked - like Laz, Anaïs too had heard of a new member being invited. A controversial, visible one.

And Hookers' wasn't known for being visible now, was it?

Terry Hooker was in black tie and he looked like he had slept in his suit when he emerged from the bar's back rooms, undone bowtie dangling loose at his unbuttoned collar. He had just fed from a live, unprotesting witch; the slightest drop of blood trickling from the corner of a wide smile. Cass Motley's moment of arrival was fortuitous.

"Everybody!" he yelled, causing a couple of coven members and every single human patron to jump in their seats. "Ladies, gentlemen," Terry laughed in his unfriendly way. "We're closing. Coven busines."

Nothing else needed to be said. Bar stools were pushed back and a low murmur rose as the small exodus began, ushered out by Jin-ho's attentive charm.

He decided that they really were in the presence of a simpleton. Terry gave their guest a hard look, thinking: didn't seem like anyone would miss a sprog like this if they went missing. Except they might miss him, and he didn't need more MLE knocking on his door asking questions like the ones Tristan brought over last year.

"Leave." Hooker shook his head, lip pulling back in a sneer of disgust. "In this town you pay for the fucking privilege of being touched by one of us, mate."

Anaïs, sensing the coven leader's displeasure, joined in - the same way she always did, the same way she had jeered at little Nemo retreating with her bitten boy friend. "If you don't know it's rude, luv, you don't say it, yea?" she raised her hand in a shooing motion. "Have some brains."

The older vampire snorted, and Anaïs continued with pleasure. "Get out before someone here changes their mind 'bout letting you leave on two feet."

Terry got up even as she spoke, rubbing his face as he turned away. All. These. Bloody. Kids.

            "Uh..th-...thank you..."

The kid seemed to understand but then he just stood there, like he was waiting. Terry and Anaïs exchanged a look, the latter raising her hands with a shrug. Don't look at me, you're the boss. He licked the crimson liquor off his lips, jutting his chin out with a jerk at the young wizard. "Wot? You simple?" he raised his eyebrows and gestured at the door.

"Out. This ain't a playground ," Hooker explained, deciding that it was possible the child was somewhat slow, " 'less you're looking to drink or be drunk."

Who the hell walked around asking for jobs anyway? Even he knew the muggles used those glowing tablets they carried around, and the magical folk who did come in for work usually possessed a particular set of skills useful to vampire covens.

            "O-oh...thats a relief. I thought it was...a muggle place...location and all."

They got themselves a clueless dingbat. Anaïs was listening to the boy with a smirk on her face, and she glanced over at Terrence's booth. He gave her a shake of his head, his meal tonight still chattering white noise in one ear and out the other. The other vampire turned back to Sam, shrugging.

"Sorry luv," she grinned a little, flashing her sharp teeth, "We're a mostly vampire establishment, you see?" A jerk of her head to mirror, which only reflected the four or five humans in the bar.

Terry nudged the woman next to him, indicating he was done here. She waved, leaning back against the leather seat of the booth and dreamily watching him leave to approach the bar counter. Milking that high.

"Shot of my usual," he nodded at Anaïs, sliding on to a leather bar stool not far from their quiet new visitor. His eyes, black and gleaming, settled on the child for a moment as he wondered if there was any fun to be had here. But the wizard looked no more different than anyone who walked about Camden Town, and wouldn't have been a good fit for Hookers even if they were looking for mortal hands.
 
Didn't even seem all that good for scaring. "Get on your way, kid." Terrence reached for the blood liquor Anaïs had promptly poured. "Try the stables[1] in the light of day."

1.	The Camden Town Stables market, full of stalls and shops selling original/vintage stuff.

What was it about his pub and young adults? Manning the bar, Anaïs Poole shot the coven leader a look and he followed her gaze to the shy new patron who'd just strolled in, looking greener even than the last few sprogs this past few months. Terry didn't mind - these curious kids, whether they ended up agreeing to being bitten (for they paid regardless) were good for extra pennies. But they were dull, one after the other, each clueless.

           "Hello?" the barely-there voice addressed the bartender.
    "Yes?" Poole continued pouring drinks, reaching for an empty glass that shot to her hand with a little telekinesis. "What you drinking?"

Hooker himself was in a booth with a pretty squib redhead who'd come for a high and stayed to chat. She didn't notice his preoccupation, rambling away about a muggle rave that was happening later tonight under the Lock bridge. "Hm, yes, luv, not my scene," he murmured to her so that she had a reason to change the subject.

He would wait and see, with the new kid who came in. Didn't look like their usual fare.

             "They're always drinking tea," Laz observed as Terry got up and joined him.

Not wrong. That was the thing about Blackburn, he made sense. Eventually. Hooker stood in the doorway for a moment to join his fellow vampire in giving Waverly Roh-Ballentyne one last look; with her wild curls and wilder eyes, cradling her hands like it was a child. Very different from the witch who'd strode purposefully into his pub.

"I think it'll stick too, mate." Terry smirked, taking her wand out of his pocket and tossing it on the closest table; just far enough. "For her sake."

They left the flat as silently and with as little bother as they'd arrived; the scale had been reset, and it was the mortal's turn to act. Or rather, not to act.

A sharp whistle[1] brought Hooker out of his drinking, eyes rolling back down as he jerked back from the human. It was messier than it would have been at the pub - blood was smeared along her long neck, centred around the twin wounds. He licked his lips and fixed his jaw back into place, still crouched.

Terry glanced over his shoulder at the other vampire, who was fussing over tea. "What are you doing?" he intoned with a gravelly sigh; Lazarus was always so strange. Like a child playing with the make-believe toys of mortal lives.

The coven leader turned back to his prey. Waverly was slumped against the wall, still coming out of the heady effects of the bite. She was lost to its delirium, worse than before. He glanced at her wrists, clocking the one he had offered her last month. Instead he reached for her other hand.

"Keep your head down and your mouth shut, bloodbag," his open palm came close around her fingers, and then suddenly squeezed down with enough force to break Waverly's little bones. "Or I'll be seeing you again," he spoke over the sound of fracturing metacarpals.

Hooker released her hand and got up in one swift movement, gesturing at Lazarus. They were done here, the message had been delivered. Vampires did not need an invitation to enter a home but Terry never saw a point in sticking around afterwards.

1.	Laz, with Niobe's permission.

He lunged at her as she pulled away, pushing herself across the wall to get away. Terry didn't let up - and when she dropped to the floor he clutched her forearms, forcing them to the floor and dropping his knee  to crouch before Waverly. She was crying, they were always so sweet when they were crying.

            Fweeeeeeeeeee!

Hooker made a frustrated snarling noise, "Laz!"" he hissed, urging the other vampire to come deal with the domestics of the situation. The whistle of the kettle was loud and high, and it grated on his nerves. His dark eyes, pupils completely dilated, snapped back to the girl.

This was her second chance. If it happened again, there would be no third. There would be no Waverly, either.

Deaf to her pleading and stalling, he ducked his head and went straight for the neck. She had a pretty neck too: slender and rich with the woody scent of an Oud perfume. Terry breathed her in for just a half-second, before he bit down. He shoved her back against the wall. His ears, sensitive, sought and focused on the racing of Waverly's heart, to pace his bloodlust.

Clearly some part of Waverly must have known this visit was coming, known she had wronged the coven - her words ran on without halt, desperate to prove their integrity as Terry continued to approach the witch by backing her up against a wall.

Oh, yes, of course her mothers would have seen the bite, seeing as how she was reckless enough not to conceal it. He could tell she was being truthful on one account at least: neither Roh nor Ballentyne appeared to know anything. Vaillancourt promised to keep him informed should the witchy couple make progress in their investigations but for now the status quo prevailed.

"Didn't anyone teach you to hide your sins, luv?" he searched her expression. "Now how do I make sure they don't come to know anything else?"

Terry dropped his jaw into an open mouthed grin, letting it grow long and unhinged in a series of little cracks. "Don't you think." he breathed his words against her face, in two voices at once, "Hooker deserves a little compensation for the trouble?"

            "I didn't tell anyone, I didn't tell anyone, I didn't tell anyone..."

"No?" he took a step forward and then another, slow but deliberate as he took out his own lighter for the cigarette. "Then why do you think I'm here, girl, if you didn't tell anyone?" Terry took a long drag and tasted her tobacco with distaste. "You think I pay house calls for a lark?"

Well, he did, but not for young little sprogs like this one. The vampire puffed away and crossed an arm over his chest to rest his elbow against, watching Waverly with inky eyes. She wasn't going anywhere. She was afraid. Those were two things he was counting in her favour; her head was screwed on just fine. Only a little bit loose.

Terrance continued, shaking ash off the tip. "I hear your mummies are well informed. Must be fun, luv. Auror for a mum," he stepped closer and glanced past her for a second - aware of Laz lounging not far away.

In one moment there was a young woman standing at the door, eyes wide, and in the next there was an animal scrambling to get away from him.

Terry was on his feet just as quickly - reacting in spite of his initial surprise, following the animagus. Vampires could be quite fast when they needed to be but in this instant it was unnecessary. As soon as he stepped out his eyes latched on to the only thing Waverly could be rushing to claim. No wonder; she was unarmed. Nasty beasts, witches, with a wand.

"Nah," he said, reaching a hand up so that the wand shot far above them and straight into his grasp. "Let's play nice, pussy cat." Hooker slipped the wand into his inner jacket pocket, having hardly moved from where he was stood. A little psychokinesis was never not handy.

Maybe, later, he would snap it in half. If he didn't snap anything else. The vampire was tense in spite of his stance - ready to wrestle with the wildcat, if only to keep it from escaping. "What? No warm welcome, bloodbag?"

A little before eleven in the evening. Rated M for violence.


The door relented, opening inwards into the flat. Terry entered with a light step that did not quite touch the wooden floorboards and therefore made no sound. Being a Sunday evening, however, he was relaxed and didn't anticipate interruption.

Lazarus was hanging about, keeping a watch. The apartment building was a converted factory, the kind of place that popped up further out from central London, packed to the rafters with kids who smoked like chimneys and played a variety of string instruments (badly). Laz had also helped him to get into the flat - they had their resources.

This was nothing too sinister by his standards, anyway. Hooker closed the front door behind him and paused to observe the living area in the dark, adjusting to the different smells. Exposed brick walls were prettied up with comfortable touches. He followed his nose.

Waverly's bedroom was unremarkable. There were clothes everywhere, a copy of the new witch weekly lying on a mess of older magazines. The scent was strongest here and Terry lingered a moment, touching the odd trinket. He was wearing a black suit, unbuttoned - and a red paisley neck scarf, which he undid and left carelessly on her nightstand. On the way out, he nicked a nearly empty pack of fags.

The bathroom. Small, a tub taking up the lion's share of floorspace. Magical fairy lights were carefully strewn about, lighting up the naked pipes and little glass bottles of toiletries.

Hooker perched himself on the lip of the tub and crossed his legs. He placed one of Waverly's cigarettes between his lips but didn't light it.