(no subject)
It had gone from zero to chaos in three seconds flat, and had all hell not been in the process of breaking loose, Asher would have seriously considered saying: I told you so.
Raising Drake from a desert in Ass-End-Of-Nowhere, Iraq, provoking the Daywalker; it had never been a matter of if Blade and she-Whistler would attack, simply a matter of when. Asher had predicted as much - anyone with two brain cells to rub together could come to that same conclusion, so he understood how someone like Grimwood might have been shocked and dismayed - and he had warned Danica dozens of times about the inevitable dangers present, but as usual, his words had seemed to fall upon the stupidly stubborn ears of his sister.
It would serve her right if she had already been reduced to a small, smoldering pile of ash, but, in his heart of hearts, Asher would never wish any harm to befall his little sister. Selfish in his intent, perhaps, because he doesn’t know how he’d survive a day without her, never mind an eternity. It’s not the type of thing he wants to find out from first hand experience either. Ever.
He’d lost track of her ten minutes ago.
Every pile of ash he steps over sets off a new alarm in his mind as he makes his way up to the gantry that stretches out over the atrium of Phoenix Towers. It could be her, he thinks, but then quickly shoves the thought out of his mind, replacing it with a much more urgent, If you don’t pick up the fucking pace, it could be you, too!
His grip is tight against the gun he has in hand as he throws open the door which leads out onto the metal walkway - safety off, a fresh clip loaded into the magazine. From there, Asher has a bird’s-eye view of the action going on just below; a battle royale, the likes of which people would probably pay to watch on Pay Per View, and he’s got a front row seat to the event. Blade vs Dracula. Holy shit!
As novel a sight as it was, though, Asher knows it needs to end and it needs to end now. Blade should have been put out of his misery and out of their hair days ago, and he would have been, were it not for King and that bitch of his, crashing their party at the police station. A bullet, silver or otherwise, probably wouldn’t kill the Daywalker, but it would be a distraction that hurts like hell, and might give Drake the opening he needed in order to finish the bastard off, once and for all.
The pair battles on viciously, the metallic clanging of their steel swords ricocheting around the interior of the tower, sparks flying with each heavy blow and block. Their constant movement makes aiming a bitch, damn near impossible really, but he lines up a shot anyway, focusing on Blade and attempting to get a feel for his attack pattern. Lunge, lunge, slash, block, block, slash, duck, slash. Spin? Nice.
Asher’s finger finally tightens on the trigger, but the sound of his gun firing and the recoil it should cause never come. He feels a sudden, sharp pain in his left side, soon thereafter followed by an intense white-heat that’s concentrated in that same area before it quickly begins to spread until it engulfs him fully. He can’t move, can’t scream, but he wants to.
And then, ...nothing.
*****
Drawing in a deep, gasping breath, Asher’s eyes snap open, and he quickly regrets the action due to the intensity of the sun shining above. Sun?, he muses, daring to open a sensitive eye to peek again. Yep, that would be the sun. He’s indifferent about the fact at first, and would much rather go back to sleep, but he gets his wits about him quickly enough and he’s up and on his feet in a flash, his heart thundering away in his chest.
"The fuck?!" he exclaims, completely panicked, but instead of running for shade he stares up at the sky for a moment, then looks down over himself, grabbing at random points on his person and taking note that he’s still very much whole and not doing that annoying thing vampires usually do when they’re in direct sunlight. No fire. Feeling the ground beneath his feet give way slightly, he glances downward, frowning deeply at the sand and then scowling at it as though it had just insulted his mother. "I hate sand..." And that trip to Ass-End-Of-Nowhere, Iraq was responsible for that.
Noticing something by his foot, Asher bends down, pulling up an arrow that had been partially buried in the sand. He recognizes it immediately; Grimwood had pulled one just like it out of his eye a few days back. It belonged to King’s girlfriend with the Robin Hood complex.
"I’m in hell...," he quietly concludes to a small crab that sidesteps by him in a hurry, then standing upright once again. Well, it was that, or he’d fallen asleep during Lost again and was in the middle of the most lucid dream ever. Shutting his eyes against the sun once more, he basks in the feeling of it, letting it wash over him, uncomfortable heat and all and he smiles faintly.
If this was hell, it certainly wasn’t without its perks.
[ooc: Beached ex-vampire! For the sake of Asher's poor nerves and to avoid monotony, I'd like to have one person school Ash on the freaky enchanted island; the whys and how comes. All threads following that can be initial coping/island life informational and whatnot. Slowtime and late tags are welcome. He won't bite! Promise! Only because he can't...]
Raising Drake from a desert in Ass-End-Of-Nowhere, Iraq, provoking the Daywalker; it had never been a matter of if Blade and she-Whistler would attack, simply a matter of when. Asher had predicted as much - anyone with two brain cells to rub together could come to that same conclusion, so he understood how someone like Grimwood might have been shocked and dismayed - and he had warned Danica dozens of times about the inevitable dangers present, but as usual, his words had seemed to fall upon the stupidly stubborn ears of his sister.
It would serve her right if she had already been reduced to a small, smoldering pile of ash, but, in his heart of hearts, Asher would never wish any harm to befall his little sister. Selfish in his intent, perhaps, because he doesn’t know how he’d survive a day without her, never mind an eternity. It’s not the type of thing he wants to find out from first hand experience either. Ever.
He’d lost track of her ten minutes ago.
Every pile of ash he steps over sets off a new alarm in his mind as he makes his way up to the gantry that stretches out over the atrium of Phoenix Towers. It could be her, he thinks, but then quickly shoves the thought out of his mind, replacing it with a much more urgent, If you don’t pick up the fucking pace, it could be you, too!
His grip is tight against the gun he has in hand as he throws open the door which leads out onto the metal walkway - safety off, a fresh clip loaded into the magazine. From there, Asher has a bird’s-eye view of the action going on just below; a battle royale, the likes of which people would probably pay to watch on Pay Per View, and he’s got a front row seat to the event. Blade vs Dracula. Holy shit!
As novel a sight as it was, though, Asher knows it needs to end and it needs to end now. Blade should have been put out of his misery and out of their hair days ago, and he would have been, were it not for King and that bitch of his, crashing their party at the police station. A bullet, silver or otherwise, probably wouldn’t kill the Daywalker, but it would be a distraction that hurts like hell, and might give Drake the opening he needed in order to finish the bastard off, once and for all.
The pair battles on viciously, the metallic clanging of their steel swords ricocheting around the interior of the tower, sparks flying with each heavy blow and block. Their constant movement makes aiming a bitch, damn near impossible really, but he lines up a shot anyway, focusing on Blade and attempting to get a feel for his attack pattern. Lunge, lunge, slash, block, block, slash, duck, slash. Spin? Nice.
Asher’s finger finally tightens on the trigger, but the sound of his gun firing and the recoil it should cause never come. He feels a sudden, sharp pain in his left side, soon thereafter followed by an intense white-heat that’s concentrated in that same area before it quickly begins to spread until it engulfs him fully. He can’t move, can’t scream, but he wants to.
And then, ...nothing.
*****
Drawing in a deep, gasping breath, Asher’s eyes snap open, and he quickly regrets the action due to the intensity of the sun shining above. Sun?, he muses, daring to open a sensitive eye to peek again. Yep, that would be the sun. He’s indifferent about the fact at first, and would much rather go back to sleep, but he gets his wits about him quickly enough and he’s up and on his feet in a flash, his heart thundering away in his chest.
"The fuck?!" he exclaims, completely panicked, but instead of running for shade he stares up at the sky for a moment, then looks down over himself, grabbing at random points on his person and taking note that he’s still very much whole and not doing that annoying thing vampires usually do when they’re in direct sunlight. No fire. Feeling the ground beneath his feet give way slightly, he glances downward, frowning deeply at the sand and then scowling at it as though it had just insulted his mother. "I hate sand..." And that trip to Ass-End-Of-Nowhere, Iraq was responsible for that.
Noticing something by his foot, Asher bends down, pulling up an arrow that had been partially buried in the sand. He recognizes it immediately; Grimwood had pulled one just like it out of his eye a few days back. It belonged to King’s girlfriend with the Robin Hood complex.
"I’m in hell...," he quietly concludes to a small crab that sidesteps by him in a hurry, then standing upright once again. Well, it was that, or he’d fallen asleep during Lost again and was in the middle of the most lucid dream ever. Shutting his eyes against the sun once more, he basks in the feeling of it, letting it wash over him, uncomfortable heat and all and he smiles faintly.
If this was hell, it certainly wasn’t without its perks.
[ooc: Beached ex-vampire! For the sake of Asher's poor nerves and to avoid monotony, I'd like to have one person school Ash on the freaky enchanted island; the whys and how comes. All threads following that can be initial coping/island life informational and whatnot. Slowtime and late tags are welcome. He won't bite! Promise! Only because he can't...]