Fic: When Temari Karasu Became Sheriff's Deputy of Miami, Florida (Vampire: The Masquerade)
Characters: Temari Karasu, Matthias Sedlow, Miyake Sora
Rating: PG-13/R (violence, not sex)
Notes/Disclaimer: This isn't original fiction. This is written about characters in a roleplaying game within the universe of Vampire: The Masquerade. The characters, then, aren't mine; I'm just borrowing them from their people. Their backstory is conjecture, not canon.
Summary: Temari destroys a Sabbat master plan. Single-handedly.
- - -
Temari Karasu is pretty sure that the impact with the concrete would have stunned, even killed, a mortal human being. The last of the three Sabbat vampires attacking her seems to possess an unusual amount of strength - not magical, but just biological.
Unfortunately for him, though, she’s not mortal.
By the time his axe is in mid-swing, Temari is already on her feet. He overcommitted to his attack; he can tell, and he tries to swerve, divert.
Doesn’t matter, Temari knows. It’s already too late.
With superhuman speed, she twists his wrist away from the weapon, in an elegant, economical motion, and slams the palm of her hand into his nose. He twists against her, a fruitless struggle, and she brings him to the ground, plunging the broken end of the ½” high-quality dowel rod into his back.
She can tell the instant it pierces his heart; he goes limp, his struggle, his control fading away.
Temari picks herself up, gingerly, checking for injuries. One or two, nothing she really needs to worry about. She can heal it later; it won’t impact her ability to function yet.
Three vampires. Three vampires, all attacking her at once, in a clearly coordinated plan.
And as there’s only one survivor (she wonders what the hardware store’s janitor is going to think about the piles of dust in aisle A4), and she can’t very well carry a staked vampire out of the hardware store entrance, her course of action is fairly simple.
- - - -
Temari locks the bathroom behind her, letting the paralyzed vampire fall to the ground. Curses, softly, as she works out the kinks in her muscles.
It’s the work of a few minutes to secure the Sabbat vampire; she doesn’t know if he has any unusual kind of strength, so she reinforces the bonds as best she can before she tugs the dowel rod out of his chest.
The vampire groans.
“Why did you try to kill me?” Temari asks.
He doesn’t answer; he avoids her eyes, his head lolling to the side.
Challenge your assumptions.
What has Temari assumed? Is she asking the wrong questions? - maybe he isn’t Sabbat at all. She doesn’t see any of the distinctive tattoos, of course -
“Who are you? Are you Sabbat? What are you doing in Miami?”
No response, still.
All right. Time for some serious action.
Temari takes his chin in her hand and directs his gaze to hers. Pushes her will at him, as hard as she can. Uses every ounce of Presence she has.
The vampire screams. He thrashes, wildly, against his bonds, in a panicked flight for freedom.
One efficient move, and the stake is back in. The vampire goes limp.
“Please let this work,” she mutters, to herself. And waits.
- - - -
When, by her watch, fifteen minutes has passed, she yanks the stake out again.
The vampire twists, violently, and Temari raises it, ready to paralyze him again, if she has to.
But no. He’s trembling, out-of-control, but he isn’t under the effects of dread gaze anymore.
“Let’s try this again,” says Temari.
- - - -
He cracked so fast. One dread gaze was all it took, and he broke like a painted eggshell.
“Why?” she asks, turning her gaze back on the terrified Sabbat.
“We were to eliminate all Kindred in Miami,” he blurts. “From our sanctuary within the city.”
She pauses, for a moment; then, “Where?”
- - - -
“I need to speak with the sheriff.”
The ghoul - whoever he is - makes an irritated noise. “He’s busy,” comes the reply.
“It’s important,” insists Temari. She has no proof, now, besides the pile of dust left in the women’s bathroom - and the store is closed, anyhow. But he should believe her. He has to believe her.
“He won’t be happy with the interruption.”
“Just - let me talk to him.”
It takes nearly a minute; Temari has to slip a few more coins into the payphone, just to keep it going.
“What is it?” comes Matthias’ voice. A little too loud.
“I have important information,” says Temari. “A Sabbat told me that there’s an emplacement, within the city of Miami -”
“A Sabbat told you,” repeats Matthias, flatly.
“Yes,” says Temari. “He said-”
“Did you confirm this?” asks Matthias. “Under Dominate, perhaps?”
“I don’t have,” starts Temari.
“We’re in the middle of a war,” says Matthias, cutting in. “We don’t have the resources to track down every tip. I’m sorry.”
The phone line goes dead.
Temari clenches her jaw. Hangs up the phone.
- - - -
The address she got, luckily, isn’t in any particular vampire’s domain. She isn’t sure what she’d do if she had to ask permission. She’s not even sure exactly what she’s asking permission for.
She stops to feed before she gets there, of course. She used enough power in the last fight that it would be the height of folly to start another one alone, injured, hungry.
Suburban Florida. The house in question has a small faded pink flamingo eaten alive by a yellow-dry unmowed lawn. It looks abandoned.
Temari notices, halfway up the sidewalk, that there are three cars parked around the street. Tinted windows. Probably a vampire or a ghoul inside each. Maybe others, Obfuscated nearby.
She lets her eyes sweep over them and settle back on the sidewalk, moving with a strong, unconcerned pace. No threatening body language. Two houses down, she ducks just beyond a low brick wall, and considers her options.
Inadequate visual support - means they can’t see one another.
It isn’t a very long debate.
- - - -
One car, in particular, covers the side entrance; the second is on the far side of the house, with no clear view, and the third is partially obscured by a row of bushes. The side entrance, then, is Temari’s way in.
She slips behind the first car without too much trouble. Eases the door open, without making a normally audible sound. Shifts it inch by inch -
“Yeah,” she hears the person inside say, “all right. Comm silence, for half an hour or until that girl shows up again.”
Not as subtle as she thought, then. But they aren’t being cautious enough.
Temari eases a thin wooden stick from her hair, and, in one extraordinarily fast movement, darts into the passenger seat, reaches, and stabs the man’s heart.
He’s not a vampire; that much is apparent, immediately. His face freezes - he looks down at his chest, up at her, and his mouth moves, silently.
He’s dead in seconds.
Temari closes his eyelids, and pulls her stake free from his heart, murmuring a half-remembered prayer. Ghoul or mortal, alive or dead, he worked for the Sabbat; and, in war, there’s no forgiveness for that.
- - - -
The side door, to Temari’s surprise, is unlocked. They must really be depending on surveillance and secrecy; they don’t even seem to be taking the most basic of security precautions. Then again, who would look for a Sabbat emplacement in a neighborhood like this?
She slips in, easing the door shut behind her.
Voices-
“…still haven’t reported in.”
“Were they supposed to, yet?” asks a second voice. Both male, both low. Temari tilts her head, moves stealthily to the adjoining room.
A sigh, and then the first voice responds. “No. But I didn’t expect it to take this long.”
They’re on the other side of the wall from Temari. So close -
“Maybe we should have chosen another target.”
“The choice was fine.”
“We picked the newest Kindred in Miami. Not necessarily the most vulnerable.”
“The newest usually is the most vulnerable.”
“That’s not true.”
“Three Sabbat should be able to take care of one measly Camarilla.”
“Not necessarily true either.”
Now or never, thinks Temari, and she bursts into the room.
- - - -
The first one she takes by surprise. He fumbles for a gun; only starts shooting after she’s already dodging. She moves under his arm, knocks the gun out of the way, and then he’s staked, falling to the ground, already paralyzed.
She turns, to take care of the second -
He’s not there.
A heavy weight slams into Temari’s back, throwing her to the ground, into a two-level glass coffee table that shatters twice as she falls through it. Temari doesn’t ever stop moving; she twists to her feet, dodging to the side, moving to hit him once, and twist - but he parries each blow, spins into a round kick that she barely has the presence of mind to dodge.
He’s just as fast as she is.
This is a problem.
Temari finds herself on the defensive, already wounded by the glass, already weakened, however marginally, by the encounter with the ghoul outside. On the other hand, the Sabbat attacking her seems wide awake, flushed with blood, in his prime.
And he’s good.
There’s no art in his movement - which is fortunate, otherwise Temari would have had a greater problem. He’s all efficiency, all brute force.
Temari allows herself to consider, for one fatal moment, that he could beat her. And in that second, he makes his move.
It’s her own chopstick - one of the two she had in her hair earlier. Her own. And it’s in her chest before she can blink, stabbed with a strength that she, in her weakened condition, can’t match.
She staggers, and falls, limply, to the ground; something wooden presses into her palm, behind her back.
“Not so tough now, are we, Camarilla?” -and he bends over her.
That’s your last mistake, thinks Temari, and she shifts into action, willing her muscles into obedience.
The Sabbat collapses, staked with the splintered remains of the broken coffee table’s frame.
“You missed,” spits Temari, and she slumps backwards, into the wall. Grits her teeth, grasps the chopstick and pulls, inch by inch, and it hurts so much, so badly, that she heals it, reknitting the flesh with a conscious effort.
A wave of dizziness sweeps over her. She hasn’t been this hungry in a long, long time - but it was worth it.
Temari staggers to her feet, and, for the first time, she registers the ceiling-high stacks of boxes, cluttering one half of the room. She kneels next to a half-open one, and slips the cardboard flaps aside -
Explosives.
She glances over the boxes, and makes a quick calculation.
- - - -
At Temari’s “I’m at a house with two staked Sabbat vampires and enough explosives to level a city block”, Matthias gets to the scene with impressive speed.
“You did all of his,” he states, evenly, his deputy Sora examining one of the boxes in the background.
“I did,” says Temari, lifting her chin.
“I believe,” begins Matthias, and he stops. “I believe I have made a poor choice in my estimation of your abilities.”
“Perhaps,” says Temari. “I can’t speak for your estimation of my abilities.”
Matthias half-smiles. He turns, glances to Sora, then back to Temari. “I would be honored if you would accept the position of Sheriff’s deputy,” he says.
No, is her first thought. It would attract attention. - but then, wouldn’t refusal attract attention, too? The city is in a war against the Sabbat. They need everyone.
Temari looks up at Matthias, and her mouth twists, in a secretive kind of smile.
Rating: PG-13/R (violence, not sex)
Notes/Disclaimer: This isn't original fiction. This is written about characters in a roleplaying game within the universe of Vampire: The Masquerade. The characters, then, aren't mine; I'm just borrowing them from their people. Their backstory is conjecture, not canon.
Summary: Temari destroys a Sabbat master plan. Single-handedly.
- - -
Temari Karasu is pretty sure that the impact with the concrete would have stunned, even killed, a mortal human being. The last of the three Sabbat vampires attacking her seems to possess an unusual amount of strength - not magical, but just biological.
Unfortunately for him, though, she’s not mortal.
By the time his axe is in mid-swing, Temari is already on her feet. He overcommitted to his attack; he can tell, and he tries to swerve, divert.
Doesn’t matter, Temari knows. It’s already too late.
With superhuman speed, she twists his wrist away from the weapon, in an elegant, economical motion, and slams the palm of her hand into his nose. He twists against her, a fruitless struggle, and she brings him to the ground, plunging the broken end of the ½” high-quality dowel rod into his back.
She can tell the instant it pierces his heart; he goes limp, his struggle, his control fading away.
Temari picks herself up, gingerly, checking for injuries. One or two, nothing she really needs to worry about. She can heal it later; it won’t impact her ability to function yet.
Three vampires. Three vampires, all attacking her at once, in a clearly coordinated plan.
And as there’s only one survivor (she wonders what the hardware store’s janitor is going to think about the piles of dust in aisle A4), and she can’t very well carry a staked vampire out of the hardware store entrance, her course of action is fairly simple.
- - - -
Temari locks the bathroom behind her, letting the paralyzed vampire fall to the ground. Curses, softly, as she works out the kinks in her muscles.
It’s the work of a few minutes to secure the Sabbat vampire; she doesn’t know if he has any unusual kind of strength, so she reinforces the bonds as best she can before she tugs the dowel rod out of his chest.
The vampire groans.
“Why did you try to kill me?” Temari asks.
He doesn’t answer; he avoids her eyes, his head lolling to the side.
Challenge your assumptions.
What has Temari assumed? Is she asking the wrong questions? - maybe he isn’t Sabbat at all. She doesn’t see any of the distinctive tattoos, of course -
“Who are you? Are you Sabbat? What are you doing in Miami?”
No response, still.
All right. Time for some serious action.
Temari takes his chin in her hand and directs his gaze to hers. Pushes her will at him, as hard as she can. Uses every ounce of Presence she has.
The vampire screams. He thrashes, wildly, against his bonds, in a panicked flight for freedom.
One efficient move, and the stake is back in. The vampire goes limp.
“Please let this work,” she mutters, to herself. And waits.
- - - -
When, by her watch, fifteen minutes has passed, she yanks the stake out again.
The vampire twists, violently, and Temari raises it, ready to paralyze him again, if she has to.
But no. He’s trembling, out-of-control, but he isn’t under the effects of dread gaze anymore.
“Let’s try this again,” says Temari.
- - - -
He cracked so fast. One dread gaze was all it took, and he broke like a painted eggshell.
“Why?” she asks, turning her gaze back on the terrified Sabbat.
“We were to eliminate all Kindred in Miami,” he blurts. “From our sanctuary within the city.”
She pauses, for a moment; then, “Where?”
- - - -
“I need to speak with the sheriff.”
The ghoul - whoever he is - makes an irritated noise. “He’s busy,” comes the reply.
“It’s important,” insists Temari. She has no proof, now, besides the pile of dust left in the women’s bathroom - and the store is closed, anyhow. But he should believe her. He has to believe her.
“He won’t be happy with the interruption.”
“Just - let me talk to him.”
It takes nearly a minute; Temari has to slip a few more coins into the payphone, just to keep it going.
“What is it?” comes Matthias’ voice. A little too loud.
“I have important information,” says Temari. “A Sabbat told me that there’s an emplacement, within the city of Miami -”
“A Sabbat told you,” repeats Matthias, flatly.
“Yes,” says Temari. “He said-”
“Did you confirm this?” asks Matthias. “Under Dominate, perhaps?”
“I don’t have,” starts Temari.
“We’re in the middle of a war,” says Matthias, cutting in. “We don’t have the resources to track down every tip. I’m sorry.”
The phone line goes dead.
Temari clenches her jaw. Hangs up the phone.
- - - -
The address she got, luckily, isn’t in any particular vampire’s domain. She isn’t sure what she’d do if she had to ask permission. She’s not even sure exactly what she’s asking permission for.
She stops to feed before she gets there, of course. She used enough power in the last fight that it would be the height of folly to start another one alone, injured, hungry.
Suburban Florida. The house in question has a small faded pink flamingo eaten alive by a yellow-dry unmowed lawn. It looks abandoned.
Temari notices, halfway up the sidewalk, that there are three cars parked around the street. Tinted windows. Probably a vampire or a ghoul inside each. Maybe others, Obfuscated nearby.
She lets her eyes sweep over them and settle back on the sidewalk, moving with a strong, unconcerned pace. No threatening body language. Two houses down, she ducks just beyond a low brick wall, and considers her options.
Inadequate visual support - means they can’t see one another.
It isn’t a very long debate.
- - - -
One car, in particular, covers the side entrance; the second is on the far side of the house, with no clear view, and the third is partially obscured by a row of bushes. The side entrance, then, is Temari’s way in.
She slips behind the first car without too much trouble. Eases the door open, without making a normally audible sound. Shifts it inch by inch -
“Yeah,” she hears the person inside say, “all right. Comm silence, for half an hour or until that girl shows up again.”
Not as subtle as she thought, then. But they aren’t being cautious enough.
Temari eases a thin wooden stick from her hair, and, in one extraordinarily fast movement, darts into the passenger seat, reaches, and stabs the man’s heart.
He’s not a vampire; that much is apparent, immediately. His face freezes - he looks down at his chest, up at her, and his mouth moves, silently.
He’s dead in seconds.
Temari closes his eyelids, and pulls her stake free from his heart, murmuring a half-remembered prayer. Ghoul or mortal, alive or dead, he worked for the Sabbat; and, in war, there’s no forgiveness for that.
- - - -
The side door, to Temari’s surprise, is unlocked. They must really be depending on surveillance and secrecy; they don’t even seem to be taking the most basic of security precautions. Then again, who would look for a Sabbat emplacement in a neighborhood like this?
She slips in, easing the door shut behind her.
Voices-
“…still haven’t reported in.”
“Were they supposed to, yet?” asks a second voice. Both male, both low. Temari tilts her head, moves stealthily to the adjoining room.
A sigh, and then the first voice responds. “No. But I didn’t expect it to take this long.”
They’re on the other side of the wall from Temari. So close -
“Maybe we should have chosen another target.”
“The choice was fine.”
“We picked the newest Kindred in Miami. Not necessarily the most vulnerable.”
“The newest usually is the most vulnerable.”
“That’s not true.”
“Three Sabbat should be able to take care of one measly Camarilla.”
“Not necessarily true either.”
Now or never, thinks Temari, and she bursts into the room.
- - - -
The first one she takes by surprise. He fumbles for a gun; only starts shooting after she’s already dodging. She moves under his arm, knocks the gun out of the way, and then he’s staked, falling to the ground, already paralyzed.
She turns, to take care of the second -
He’s not there.
A heavy weight slams into Temari’s back, throwing her to the ground, into a two-level glass coffee table that shatters twice as she falls through it. Temari doesn’t ever stop moving; she twists to her feet, dodging to the side, moving to hit him once, and twist - but he parries each blow, spins into a round kick that she barely has the presence of mind to dodge.
He’s just as fast as she is.
This is a problem.
Temari finds herself on the defensive, already wounded by the glass, already weakened, however marginally, by the encounter with the ghoul outside. On the other hand, the Sabbat attacking her seems wide awake, flushed with blood, in his prime.
And he’s good.
There’s no art in his movement - which is fortunate, otherwise Temari would have had a greater problem. He’s all efficiency, all brute force.
Temari allows herself to consider, for one fatal moment, that he could beat her. And in that second, he makes his move.
It’s her own chopstick - one of the two she had in her hair earlier. Her own. And it’s in her chest before she can blink, stabbed with a strength that she, in her weakened condition, can’t match.
She staggers, and falls, limply, to the ground; something wooden presses into her palm, behind her back.
“Not so tough now, are we, Camarilla?” -and he bends over her.
That’s your last mistake, thinks Temari, and she shifts into action, willing her muscles into obedience.
The Sabbat collapses, staked with the splintered remains of the broken coffee table’s frame.
“You missed,” spits Temari, and she slumps backwards, into the wall. Grits her teeth, grasps the chopstick and pulls, inch by inch, and it hurts so much, so badly, that she heals it, reknitting the flesh with a conscious effort.
A wave of dizziness sweeps over her. She hasn’t been this hungry in a long, long time - but it was worth it.
Temari staggers to her feet, and, for the first time, she registers the ceiling-high stacks of boxes, cluttering one half of the room. She kneels next to a half-open one, and slips the cardboard flaps aside -
Explosives.
She glances over the boxes, and makes a quick calculation.
- - - -
At Temari’s “I’m at a house with two staked Sabbat vampires and enough explosives to level a city block”, Matthias gets to the scene with impressive speed.
“You did all of his,” he states, evenly, his deputy Sora examining one of the boxes in the background.
“I did,” says Temari, lifting her chin.
“I believe,” begins Matthias, and he stops. “I believe I have made a poor choice in my estimation of your abilities.”
“Perhaps,” says Temari. “I can’t speak for your estimation of my abilities.”
Matthias half-smiles. He turns, glances to Sora, then back to Temari. “I would be honored if you would accept the position of Sheriff’s deputy,” he says.
No, is her first thought. It would attract attention. - but then, wouldn’t refusal attract attention, too? The city is in a war against the Sabbat. They need everyone.
Temari looks up at Matthias, and her mouth twists, in a secretive kind of smile.