bitten_notshy | Claddagh + Environs, Baltimore, Saturday Evening

After his phone calls to Jack and Kate, George was practically scrambling to get down to the pub in time (although not scrambling enough that he couldn't pause, catch his breath, and opine on the stereotypical nature of said pub). He wasn't aware of anyone else doing the same. It was mainly terror driving him forward.

What if Mitchell bit someone? What if something was wrong? What if--

He was not necessarily watching where he was going as he wandered nervously onto the pavement.

	A few blocks away, nerves were making Jack a bit snippier than usual as he tried to find the pub. He'd apologize to Kate when he realized what he was doing, but his tone was all but bitchy when he asked, "You're sure this is the right bit of town?" It didn't look very Irish, all right?
	"Yes, I'm sure," Kate said. Or snapped. She didn't behave her best in stressful situations either. But at least she wasn't glaring at him. Too busy looking around. Where was that fucking place? "We can't be too far anymore."
	"We'll run into the harbor if we go too much further," Jack grumbled, also looking around too much to stoop to glaring.
	"Well that's why it can't be too far, isn't it?" That was definitely a snap. But nevermind that. Kate was finally really sure of where they were. "Oh. Oh, I know this place!" she exclaimed, and then pointed down the street, "It should be right down there!" She'd been keeping up a brisk pace up until this point, too, of course, but now she was almost running.
	George was... running vaguely in the right direction. He was also looking around, and it still didn't quite fit with his sense of elegance (of which he had little) and grace and... all of that stuff. It should have come as no surprise that he ran nearly headfirst into Kate as soon as he rounded the corner.
	Wow, that was unexpected. Kate was thrown off-balance, but she did manage to keep herself from falling down. It was probably due to her good balance acquired by years of trying to be a graceful ballerina. She did stagger back a few steps, though, and let out a decidedly not graceful screech of "Jesus fucking Christ, why won't you look where you're going?"
	Jack reached for Kate's elbow to steady her, blinking at the extreme volume of the screech. "George," he said. "Is something happening?"
	It was bad enough that Kate had screeched; the answer Jack was looking for probably hadn't been the answering, high-pitched screech that George made as he flailed. "Oh, god--" he started, "Please tell me you've found Mitchell."
	It hadn't helped that Kate hadn't actually recognized George straight away. Being smacked into was disorienting like that. She was caught up with the situation now, though. "Not yet," she said. "But the pub should be right there." She nodded in the direction she'd been trying to run.
	"And there's its sign," Jack said, following Kate's line of sight as he dusted himself off. He was letting George off the hook for the scream this time. "Do we need a plan for once we get in?"
	"Find Mitchell, make sure he hasn't--" He shot Kate a shifty look, "You know..." A shifty look at Kate became a shifty look over Kate's shoulder into the alleyway behind her. Suddenly, he was purposefully shoving her aside to get a better look at the figure standing in the shadows over there. It couldn't be-- "Shit," he said. His feet were already moving.
	And Kate was close behind, acting out of instinct, without much thought at all. Although, there was a nagging suspicion in the back of her mind, about how there was some huge thing that everyone else knew and she didn't. But it was quiet, unimportant for now.
	Well, it wasn't as if Jack was going to get left behind. (And he was wondering if he should have filled Kate in on that Huge Thing along the way, and dealt with Mitchell's inevitable anger when he had to.) He trotted along, trying to get close enough to see the figure properly.
	It would be hard to tell, as her back was facing them firmly, her attention on something else. She was silent and still, clad in a heavy black hoodie with a crop of brown hair cut into a neat bob. George recognized the hair. "Lauren!" he called. In his enthusiasm, he might have strayed closer than he should, but he wasn't thinking with his terror right now. She turned her head, revealing pretty, pixielike features. Again, she said nothing. "Lauren? It's me," he started. "It's-- it's George." She twisted around very suddenly, slamming the palm of her hand into George's throat and pushing him up against the wall until his feet were left to dangle in the air.
	No, that was really completely unexpected, and Kate stopped dead in her tracks when it happened. To her credit, this time she didn't screech. Or make any kind of noise at all.
	Lauren's eyes shifted into a deep, murky black. The edges of her mouth pulled up into a grisly smile. "Bad dog," she cackled, ignoring her audience, and flung George to the side. He hit the pavement hard on the other end-- and gasped in horror. The blonde girl across from him on the ground whimpered loudly. She bled heavily from two wounds in her neck.
	"Kate, get inside. Find Mitchell," Jack said urgently, once his muscles unfroze and he felt like he had some concept of what was going on. He wasn't foolish enough to think he could take on an attacking vampire on his own, but he thought he'd do better with it than Kate would. Not really paying much attention to whether Kate listened or not, he tried to rush around Lauren to get to George and the bleeding girl.
	In a surprise move, Kate did actually listen. She may have not entirely understood the situation, but she knew bad stuff when she saw it. And she knew who she wanted to find when bad stuff was happening. So she turned around with the intention of doing exactly what Jack had told her to do.
	"Run, little girl! Run!" Lauren's voice was all idle menace. She didn't even budge as George started to crawl towards the blonde girl's shaking body, his hands flying towards her wounds in a desperate attempt to staunch the flow of blood. "And who are you then?" she inquired of Jack, "Did Mitchell get a kitten to go along with the puppy, or what?"
	"I'm not his pet," Jack declared, managing to put more scorn into that than he should have been able to manage for how afraid he was. He was watching George and the girl out of the corner of one eye. George didn't seem to be a very effective medic, but going to help him would mean letting the pretty brunette do whatever she took into her head. He suspected talking could distract her until Kate got back. If Kate didn't come back, or if he was wrong about how much time he could buy ... he'd deal with that when it came up. "I'm a student and a friend. Who are you?"
	You couldn't blame George, really. He was just trying to keep from hyperventilating. "I'm Lauren," Lauren said, as if having to pony up her name was a capital offense. Her heels clicked against the stones as she stepped towards Jack. "Who are you, then?" Her nose crinkled. "At least you're human." She gave her hair a casual toss. "Can't trust anyone these days."
	Hyperventilating would be fine, as long as George wasn't going to faint at the sight of blood. "Jack," Jack said, in the same kind of tone. He made a point of not stepping back as she approached. "And yes, unlike you, I'm human." A beat. "For now." He wanted to keep her talking, keep her distracted. Pretending to be a ... bloodwhore or fangbanger or whatever the terminology was in this world seemed like it'd serve the purpose.
	George had woken up in one too many half-eaten deer carcasses in his life not to accept blood as a part of life. That was at least a small consolation, right? "Oh, so you do know what I am?" Lauren said, laughing incredulously. "My god, look at you. Shouldn't you be-- oh, I don't know, cowering in your boots? I keep getting this wrong." Beat. "Wait, are you hitting on me? This just gets better."
	"I stopped being afraid of things that went bump in the night a long time ago," Jack said simply. He was now pointedly not looking at George and the blonde. "And I wasn't. Did you want me to? It wouldn't be my first time..." If he was remotely serious, he'd be making himself sick.
	George gathered the girl into his arms, pressing down on her neck all the more, muttering insufficient things like 'come on' and 'it'll be all right' at low enough of a volume that Lauren hopefully wouldn't notice. Lauren pulled a face. For the most part, it was amused. "Are you one of those blokes who pal around on goth boards?" she asked. "God, I used to think you were so pathetic."
	"You don't think that anymore?" Jack had very little idea what a Goth board was, so that was about all he could say. He chanced a glance toward George and the girl.
	"Now that I know that all the nightmares are true," Lauren said, with another carefully paced step in Jack's direction, "It's a little less out there, if you know what I mean."
	"Oh, now who sounds like she's into the romance of it all?" Jack asked quietly, and let himself look at George and the blonde fully this time. "I'm a little worried about your snack..." He hated calling the girl that, but he needed to acknowledge her somehow.
	Lauren raised an idle shoulder, combined it with an equally idle roll of her eyes. "She's got a few more pints in her left, give or take," she said. "It's an awful waste, really, but sometimes a girl's got to make a point."
	"I think I missed your point," Jack said, trying to sound genuinely regretful about this. "Probably wasn't meant for me."
	"We could always talk about it later," Lauren suggested. It was more matter-of-fact than seductive. "Once I've handled this one."
	Jack's face stayed composed, but he couldn't completely stop his little shudder of revulsion. Hopefully it could be passed off as being caused by the chilly winter air. Luckily -- as far as anything about tonight could be called lucky -- he didn't have to worrying about defending it for long, because he heard footprints and a shout in a familiar voice. He drew a steadying breath. "You have company."

	Mitchell's walk just outside the pub was nervous, to say the least. Where was Becka? She should've come out of the toilet five minutes ago. With Lauren on the loose, she wasn't safe-- --and the decision to go back in was easy, crystal clear, as panic rushed up anew and he turned back towards the entrance.
	Oh thank Christ, Kate didn't have to actually go find him among the people in the pub. She was calling out his name as soon as she rounded the corner, although she felt like she herself could barely hear it over the thumping of her heart and the sound of her boots hitting the pavement. "Mitchell!"
	Mitchell spun around immediately. He recognized the voice, yeah; he just didn't recognize the setting in which to hear that voice. So you couldn't blame him if his answering, "Kate?!" was more than a little incredulous.
	"Mitchell!" she repeated, managing to stop right as she was about run straight into him. Her speech was halting, as she tried to get all the necessary information out of her mouth as quickly as possible. "Jack and-- and George, and some crazy chick and, and--" She made a flaily gesture in the direction she'd come from. "Round the back." If there'd been time for such observations, it could have been noted that she probably seemed younger than usual. There was no time to keep up her cynical, jaded shell.
	Mitchell did his best to take the edges of his stable frame of mind and yank it towards him. Or at least some shard of sanity. Something like that. "Kate," he started, reaching for her shoulders - either to calm her down or to calm himself down - "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe." Oh Christ, where was Becka?
	Kate made an incoherent noise at that, something that seemed to suggest that it was so not the time to be like that. But it did give her back her ability to form actual sentences. "Listen. There's a girl, and there's blood, and some serious shit going on. Now come on," she said, trying to grab his arm as she turned to head back.
	"Is there a blonde?" Mitchell asked, urgently. He moved with her, anyway. If Jack was there-- and George-- and Lauren--
	"Yes," she said, half-running again. "I think so." She didn't think to wonder why Mitchell knew to ask that. None of the pieces were connecting. There were more important things to worry about.
	"Christ." That was all he had. He was racing along with her, 'round the corner, past the wall and into the alleyway and oh christ. "Kate!" he snapped, "Call an ambulance!"
	Once again, Kate stopped dead in her tracks and obeyed. She was looking down the alleyway – although not really registering anything she was seeing – while she waited for the call to connect. When it did, she turned her head away and concentrated. "Hello? There's been an accident."
	Jack was talking to Lauren, doing his best to keep it a friendly chat given the decidedly odd circumstances and the girl who seemed like she might be bleeding to death in George's arms. He glanced up gratefully when he heard Mitchell's voice. He hadn't been sure how long he would be able to keep going. "I was talking to your friend."
	"Yeah?" Mitchell was a little out of breath. "Becka!" Because of that, mainly. Jack got a quick once-over to make sure he wasn't in any immediate trouble-- and then Mitchell was yanking his jacket off, shoving it at George and his makeshift attempts to stop the bleeding. "It'll be okay, I swear, baby, it's me..."
	Becka pawed at him - but mostly his jacket - ineffectually, her eyes huge. She made a disturbingly wet noise, more through her throat than through her mouth. Lauren pulled her eyes away from Jack, and came close to almost shoving him out of the way as she brushed past him. "Well, isn't this a touching scene," she drawled.
	After making the 911 call, Kate lingered near the mouth of the alleyway. Someone had to be there to signal that this was the place when help got there, after all. And also, she just really, really didn't want to get too involved in the situation when she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do to help beyond what she'd already done. But she was alert, and listening and watching, and her eyes were wide.
	Jack was fairly happy to be shoved aside before someone started sinking fangs into him. Feeling decidedly nonessential to the bloody tableau before them, he beat a fast retreat to stand with Kate. "Are you all right?" he asked her softly. Now that he'd dropped the act to some extent, his eyes were about as wide as hers were.
	"What did you do to her?!" Mitchell screamed, his eyes darting from Lauren's face to the two kids gathered in the corner and back again. Sheer... somethingorother at what had happened plus concern meant he had to pay attention to too much at once.
	"Easy, tiger," Lauren called back. Her lips curled up into a smirk. "What's the problem? You just need to let her drink from you." Mitchell didn't respond to her again. His attention was on Becka now, desperately trying to keep her consciousness where it was. "It's okay, honey." Lauren's voice was a honeyed taunt. "He'll save you. He can make all of this go away."
	"The ambulance should get here soon," Kate told Jack quietly, not taking her eyes off the scene in front of them, and only vaguely aware that she wasn't actually answering his question. Although, maybe she was. And she was slowly starting to realize that she had no idea what was going on.
	"Ambulance," Jack repeated numbly. He had a better idea what was going on, and he still couldn't tear his eyes away from any of it. He'd never seen -- this. He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he couldn't look anywhere else. "Well. That's something."
	"Mitchell," George managed, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice as he articulated. Every. Word, "Can you save her?" "I can't," Mitchell whispered, "I can't-- I can't--" His bloody fingers hovered over Becka's face, his expression dire. "Th-- th-- the-- She's losing consciousness!" George screamed, yanking his head up to stare at him with an imploring sense of desperation.
	"You better hurry up," Lauren added, leaning over to examine the scene as if it were merely an interesting tableaux in a museum. "She's about... two pints? Away from being an organ donor." "Mitchell!" George shrieked. The man before him had gone nearly rigid, trembling over Becka's body. Unmoving. Shock, maybe? "Do. Something!"
	Kate's eyes were flicking from Mitchell to George, and to the blonde girl, and to the brunette, and inevitably back to Mitchell because out of these people he was who she knew. Only at this very moment, she hardly recognized him, and somehow that was the scariest thing about this whole situation. And none of what was being said was making any sense.
	If Kate asked, Jack would explain -- as much as he knew, anyhow. But he was so absorbed in the scene before him that he didn't think to offer. Would Mitchell turn her? He knew that this was the rare situation where even Sebastien would, but -- there were things he didn't like to think about, when it came to vampires, and this was one of them. His heart thudded away as he willed the ambulance to get there already and spare Mitchell the choice.
	Mitchell's hands kept trembling there for a moment that seemed to span forever in his eyes-- or perhaps it was just an instant. He couldn't tell. "I can't," he managed, finally. He sounded like he was practically sobbing as he repeated it. "Not another one, I can't." His answer was another screech of his name from George, but the answer remained the same. I can't. I can't, I can't I can't I can't I can't--
	And that was what snapped Lauren out of her idle, malicious stance. "...You can't do this!" she snarled at Mitchell. "You made me this, Mitchell!" Her face twisted. "This is all your fault!" Her voice climbed up an octave. Suddenly, she spun around. Her footsteps echoed as she ran off into the empty shadows. Mitchell slumped over on Lauren; the ambulance siren was finally audible in the background.
	And now, now that the sense of danger was fading, the questions were flooding to Kate, almost as if she was waking up. The whys and the hows and the whos. And the big one: a what. What had Mitchell done? But then, thankfully, she heard the sound of the ambulance, and she could shove all the questions aside because they could wait, and she could stop staring at Mitchell and the girl, and she turned and took a few steps towards the street, waiting to see the flashing lights.
	Jack made a false start after Lauren as she fled into the night -- one that rapidly came to an end when she turned a corner out of sight, and he realized he had no way to track her through this unfamiliar bit of town and very little idea what to do if by some miracle he caught up with her. If he'd helped George instead of wasting time chatting her up, he might have been able to help save a life. That burned. Too overwhelmed and tired to be of much use to anyone, he wandered back toward Kate, found a section of curb where he wouldn't be in the way of the ambulance and sat, hunched into himself.