From a Pink Corner House to a Tea Shop to a Hospital Cellar, Bristol, Wednesday Evening

[bitten_notshy]

[OOC: NFB, NFI, OOC is YAY. Follows this. Preplayed with chose_humanity, who gets all the pie.]

George	George hadn't managed to completely keep his expression straight during that conversation inside the house - that is, beyond the crying, which... yeah. Now that he was outside, though, he squared his shoulders. He had a job to do. He had to talk to Herrick. And so, he was pacing down the street with long, tensely confident strides.
Jack	Jack slipped out a few moments after George. For one, it meant he could have a cigarette and not worry about the hugging and crying, or Kate's ongoing near silence. For another, he was curious what exactly George thought he was doing. (He liked George, but he was a bit prone to what Jack saw as sudden, hysteric action.) He followed along quietly -- close enough that he could have played dumb if George sniffed him out at first, but dropping further and further back and fading into the sidewalk as best as he could as they went on.
George	George wasn't trying to sniff anyone out. In fact, while his sense of smell had been significantly heightened due to the time of the month, his attention was so focused on what he was about to do that he didn't even think of smelling anything. He just kept on walking, steeling himself a little more with every step until he found himself at the funeral parlor. He went in, stepping through the empty lobby and taking a corner until he found himself in a room with Herrick, and an old woman. "I thought the undertaker thing was just a front," he said. "Oh," said Herrick, turning towards him. "That's Nanna. She's one of us. She sits there... reads the brochures. Good for appearances."
Jack	Between George's refusal to turn around and the empty lobby, Jack was starting to get the sense of unease that told him things were a bit too easy. He fingered the star of David he'd jammed into his pocket and took a couple more steps down a hall. If he was grabbed, his plan was to fake interest in being turned until he got a chance to run like hell. If he was grabbed and recognized and George couldn't help ... at worst, it would make for an interesting death. He wasn't surprised to hear Herrick's voice. He was, however, surprised to realize George had sought the vampire out. The hallway was not precisely awash in nooks, but he managed to lean almost casually against a wall, out of the line of sight but not out of earshot.
Herrick	If Herrick realised there was a human hiding in the building at all, he certainly didn't make a point of it. He simply leaned over the desk and smiled at the older woman. "You all right, Nanna?" he asked. "Yes," she said, nodding happily. "Had an affair with Hitler, didn't you?" "Yes!" She seemed fairly pleased about the whole thing, actually. Herrick leaned on back, and threw George - appalled expression and all - a lazy smile. "I know she's not the perfect example of a fit vampire, but you know what it's like. You're out and about, you get the munchies, you'll eat anything."
George	George swallowed visibly, but he wasn't about to let this shake his resolve. "I have a message from Mitchell, about when and where you're going to meet," he said, steadily. "In the hospital cellar, at eight." No, that wasn't actually what Mitchell had said. But if they were all going to do as Mitchell had said, Mitchell would be dead. He swallowed again, then plowed on. "I don't know... how things have got this far, but this is our last chance. Please..." George's voice shook a little. "He's one man, why is he so important?"
Herrick	"Mitchell is a profoundly dangerous man," said Herrick. He pushed at some papers on the desk, in front of Nanna. "More so than he realises." He glanced up. "You know, he had the blackest heart of us all, yet he found something else and he repented. Now, it is all about symbolism." Herrick licked at his lips. "I need to eradicate a thousand years of fear and shame in our community. But Mitchell's scepticism suggests a kind of alternative, and before we know it, he becomes a rallying point for every vampire who isn't fully committed."
George	"We can run away," George said, quickly. "Run away to Fandom, and stay there, and never come back. You don't actually have to kill him; you can just say you did." He didn't care much for grand utopias or principles or standing up for his rights anymore; ever since he'd become a werewolf, his priorities had gotten smaller, somehow.
Herrick	"I'll know!" Herrick snapped, looking up sharply. He rubbed at his forehead briefly, then continued. "I'll know I let mercy and nostalgia deter me. Symbolism is important to me. If I can't defeat him, then I don't deserve this world and none of us do." When that didn't invite a response from George, he continued. "It was very brave, you coming here, but I'm afraid everything is set on stone from here on in. The cellar, you said...?"
George	"Yeah," George muttered, "Let me just write that down..."
Jack	Jack almost said something then; the urge to march in grab George by the elbow and ask him what exactly he thought he was doing was surprisingly strong. He made himself slow his shallow breathing and think this through. He saw what George was trying (unless Mitchell had changed the plan and told George and not him, which was a distressing possibility). If he understood it right -- if George was trying to get Herrick on his own -- it seemed surprisingly noble, for George. Jack had underestimated him. Deciding he'd stretched his luck as far as he cared to just then, he walked briskly out of the mortuary and stood at the exit waiting for George.
George	A few minutes later, George stepped out of the building, steel-faced. He had about an hour until the time they'd set, maybe a little more. He'd do this. He'd do this because he had to, and no one else would, and he owed Mitchell, and-- ... He squealed like a girl the moment he took a glance to his left and saw Jack. "What the--"
Jack	"I could ask you the same thing," Jack muttered. "I got curious. What do you think you're doing with them?" He was already taking a few steps down the street. This wasn't exactly a place to loiter.
George	"I am choosing to grow up," George said, some two minutes and a good bunch of paces later, when he'd gotten control over his dreaming again. "That's what I'm doing. It's-- Mitchell planned this to happen on my time of the month, so I wouldn't be there."
George	"I thought that was a few days ago," Jack said, off his stride for a moment before he shook it off. "Lovely you want to grow up, but are you really going to go alone? Or is Annie sneaking away with you?"
George	"I was planning to go alone," he said, "But I'm-- afraid I can't risk any of this getting back to Mitchell, so..." He shot Jack a look. "Look, I just thought-- if the wolf can't do this, if it can't save someone who I owe my life, then what point is there to running away? 'And then what'? I just leave him behind?"
Jack	"We can't leave them behind," Jack said, and just then he wasn't really talking about Mitchell. "No. You're right. Just -- what's the risk to the wolf? He'd be devastated if he lost you that way."
George	"I don't know," George admitted. He sounded strangely giddy about it. "I mean, I think-- they treat my kind the way they do because we, we're stronger than they are once a month, but I don't--" A beat. "Look, I've got an hour, let's just nip by a cafe and get some tea, yeah?"
Jack	"Might help settle your nerves," Jack assented. Though George wasn't the only one with nerves, come to that. He kept an eye out for a cafe, wondering if George's plan might just work -- and if there was any way he could help beyond staying out of the wolf's way.
George	George ducked into the first cafe they did see, an old, run-down thing with a bored-looking, young blond bartender. He never bothered to ask for the fellow's name; he just ordered a tea and sank down.
Jack	Jack took a moment longer to get settled with his tea, then looked George over critically. "The only question I have," he said, picking up the conversation, "is what you do if Herrick brings along a few assistants."
George	Good question. "I don't-- Mitchell said it was a one-on-one thing. Vampires. Tradition, all that lot." He smiled nervously - it lasted all of a second - then added, "Besides, you've never seen the wolf at, er, work."
Jack	"I don't think I want to," Jack admitted. "No offense to you, but -- at least you can talk to a vampire." He didn't like that 'tradition' was the only reason Herrick wouldn't bring back-up. Nothing against tradition, it just had a way of being forgotten when it was convenient. And it certainly sounded like Herrick might want Mitchell out of the way more than he wanted to follow every rule. Sipping his tea, he continued, "Still, I suppose he wouldn't want to make it clear from the first moment if he doesn't think he can win on his own..."
George	"There's a locked-off room in the cellar," George said, sighing. "That's why I go there. You can lock it behind us, keep an eye out, if you're worried." George was personally worried about everything, but he was that most of the time, and he was trying not to be.
Jack	"Thank you, I will." George shouldn't have made the offer if he hadn't wanted Jack to take him up on it. As for what he'd do if he got cornered while George was occupied ... well, he'd deal with that when it came. He was not precisely defenseless.
George	George nodded, and continued on with his tea. He was steeling himself still, and the beverage was certainly helping, so he'd... he'd keep that up. And he did. Keep that up, that is, right up until the moment came and he got up and they went for the hospital. Through endless tunnels, lifts and neon-lit corridors. He could hear Herrick, in the distance, just ahead of him, and he set his jaw. "Just be sure not to get stuck in the room," he muttered, more for his own benefit than Jack's.
Jack	"Wouldn't dream of it," Jack said softly. His own nerves showed in the slight, constant motion of his hands, as if they would shake if he didn't do something with them. He glanced down the last corridor, scouting out places he could duck into while George did ... something he didn't want to think about George doing.
George	The hospital was old, and full of little nooks and crannies, rooms where people didn't care to look, and the cellar was that times a thousand. There was plenty of room, and that was one of the reasons why Mitchell and George had chosen this place to begin with. They rounded a corner, and there was the room. George's sanctuary once a month. He could smell Herrick within. "Right," he muttered. "Here we are. Shut the door after I enter?"
Jack	"As you wish," Jack said grimly. "I'll be in the room next door." Which didn't seem to be a room so much as a maze of discarded medical equipment that had probably been down there since Jack was born, but that just meant he'd have more space to hide." He reached up to pat George's shoulder, not sure what one said to be encouraging but giving it a go anyhow. "Good luck in there."
George	"I'll be fine," George muttered. Though he wasn't technically all that sure of it. But he did step forwards, through the door, and the moment he did his expression hardened. Herrick stood on the other side of the room. There were words bubbling up from his insides and frankly, they had been for quite some time. "We wanted to be quiet," he said. "We just wanted a normal life. We would have stayed hidden, you know. Forever." He yanked his shirt over his head, exposing the large werewolf scars that nearly divided the skin of his torso up into two, diagonal halves. "You shouldn't have gone for Mitchell," he said, and his tone had shifted: dangerous and dark, like a wolf ready to fight for his territory. "It got my... attention."
Jack	And that tone of voice was a sign for Jack to shut the door firmly and retreat into his storeroom. He hopped up on a discarded filing cabinet set against a wall - he couldn't hear much through the cinderblock walls, but it was the best vantage point he was going to find that wasn't in the room with the wolf.
A Stray Vampire	There was still a buzz that signified speech on the other side of the wall, but it was muted. And it remained muted for at least a minute or two, when another noise echoed through the mostly-abandoned cellar. Footsteps. It wasn't that this vampire was here to back-up Herrick: Herrick had actually been rather clear with his crew about staying away from this battle. It was that he was here to help pick up another body from the hospital, and he'd gotten curious: he smelled human, werewolf and Herrick, and that was worth examining. He stepped into the main hallway, sniffing around to find the source of the scent.
Jack	Jack spotted him through the cracked door and soundlessly slipped down to get a better look. It didn't look like the vampire was spoiling for a fight, so he'd stay out of sight until it became more clear what exactly was going on.
Looking For A Snack	The vampire snuck closer to the source of at least two of the smells. Though... he was feeling a little peckish, and they were alone down here... He craned his neck, stopping in front of the door to the storeroom. He definitely smelled human. He darted a look at the door behind which werewolf was clearly in the air, then back at the storeroom. Decisions.
Jack	Jack probably would have kept watching silently as long as he could, had events not forced his hand. Events took the form of his failure to notice the wheels on a bed as he leaned back against it; it clattered across the floor, not far, but enough that any human would have heard it, let alone a vampire. Jack froze for an instant, then, deciding freezing would do no good whatsoever, called out "Hello?"
He's Gangsta	"Oi!" The vampire wasn't quite as funny looking as Seth, but he made a good bid at it. In fact, he looked close to 'hoodlum-chique' and wore the boxer shorts to match. A-hem. He yanked open the door, his decision having been made for him. "And who are you then?" he leered, "You know this is a restricted area!"
Jack	"I know that," Jack improvised, with the barest sneer at the boxer shorts. "Which raises the question of why anyone else is down here. Did you get permission?" It was very hard to take an enemy in underpants entirely seriously.
No Really	Hey, he was wearing trousers! ... Trousers slung so low they might as well have been pyjama bottoms that had nearly slipped off his arse. Vampire recruiting had dearly needed Herrick's recent boost in quality. "Of course I have permission," the vampire sneered, though he looked wobbly for a few seconds. "I'm here for a pick-up!"
Jack	Jack didn't think much of his taste in trousers, either, really. It was a versatile sneer. "A pick-up," Jack repeated. "I'm alive and staying that way, and as far as I know the only others down here besides me wouldn't be eligible either. Did you take a wrong turn? The corridors can be terribly twisty." He realized as he talked that he sounded like someone spoiling for a fight. He wasn't sure he could stop himself.
Most Of Them	The vampire was stupid enough not to quite get that sneer, beyond the dawning sense that he was getting mocked. He hissed. "That's none of your business, boy!" he shouted, even though he looked all of eighteen himself - he hadn't been turned more than a few years ago, so that wasn't a bad assessment, either. "What are you doing here anyway--" He took a whiff, then paused. "...Did someone leave his pet trailing around?"
Jack	"It's a big basement," Jack answered, though his heart was thudding away. "I'm sure plenty of rats get in. And who are you to call me boy?"
Are About	"Older than you!" By about a few lack-of-heartbeats, sure. "So whose are you, then?" If it was someone weaker than him, it wouldn't be that bad if he took a quick snack, was it?
Jack	"I was born in 1881." Trump card. Trump card which tended just to confuse people, but trump card nonetheless. Jack started idly rocking that bed back and forth with one foot, wondering what would happen if he shoved it at his new friend with all his force. "And I'm part of the court of Don Sebastien de Ulloa." So, someone stronger, not that he expected the name to be recognized. "Whose are you?"
This Clever	The vampire disregarded the question and frowned at Jack instead. Mental fortitude was... not his strength. "You don't smell like vampire!" he said, accusingly. ... and in confusion. A lot of confusion.
Jack	From how fast Jack's heart was going by now, there was a very good reason for that. His cool blue eyes slid to the wall between this room and the one where George and Herrick were facing off, wondering what was happening in there, before going back to the vampire. "How certain of that are you?" he asked, tilting his head as calmly as he could manage. He'd been around vampires enough in the last several days that some of the distinctive scent might have lingered on his skin. "Are you certain enough to do anything about it?" ... granted, he'd mentioned being alive not five minutes before, but this one didn't strike him as much for short-term memory.
Runs With Mobiles	Well, he could hear Jack's heartbeat. ... Or was that his heartbeat? The vampire tilted his head quizically. "Stop talking," he settled on finally. He needed to think, dammit.
Jack	"All right. Why?" Jack asked, agreeably enough, and then began to hum to himself just loudly enough to be distracting as he went back to rocking that bed back and forth, trying to get it into a good position to serve as a barrier.
Or Maybe Scissors	"Because you're not making any sense, punk!" Yes. Clearly it was Jack who was at fault, here. "Who's this Sebastien bloke?" Answer that one!
Jack	Satisfied with is position for the moment, Jack folded his arms. "He raised me, and he's a better man than almost anyone here, I can tell you that much." This likely wouldn't help much with the confusion -- but it was okay, the confusion seemed congenital.
Vampire	"..." The vampire weighed his options. "...You're not really over a hundred years old, are you?"
Jack	Not even a fifth of that, really. "In a manner of speaking," Jack nodded, drawing himself up in a vague attempt to look a bit more imposing. "... didn't you say you were picking something up?"
Doesn't Think Things Through	And this was a young vampire, trying to figure out which way he should hedge his bets. "...Fine," he said, backing away from the store room. "But if I find out you're really a human--!" You'd what, exactly? Go looking for a needle in a haystack?
Jack	"Go." Jack waved a hand dismissively. "You won't find that out." Largely because he never intended to come here again, but never mind that. He started to feel a bit safer as he strained his ears to listen for ... whatever George was doing.
Et Al.	The vampire hissed at him one last time, then took off, heavy footsteps clomping away from Jack at a steady pace. They'd be replaced by four different sets of footsteps soon enough, but not quite yet. Inside the room next door, Herrick and George were... still talking. Fragments of phrases resounded, but the whole thing came down to a single growled statement from George-- "We both know that's not true, because we're not talking about bullets or knives here, are we? I... am... the weapon."