Danica Talos
Time: approx. lunchtime, Christmas Day
Location: Basement stairs



Manicured fingertips flicked burning embers off the gun before picking it up out of the pile of ashes and shaking off the remains of a lackey who had obviously shown more loyalty to Danica than was good for his health. She checked the magazine, stepping purposefully around the couch, the cacophony of metallic clanging and sword clashes covering the clack of her heels as she moved. The noise reverberated through the tower, ricocheting off the walls in an endless echo; the cry of another vampire frying from the inside out making Danica pull back her lips over her fangs and check the magazine again.

They had Drake. And they had Blade. Asher had warned her of the dangers, more than once, but this was what she’d been waiting for, ever since they had found Drake in the Iraqi desert. As far as she was concerned now, Blade’s arrival just made it easier to get rid of him for good, on their own turf, and she wasn’t about to let him ruin three years of hard work before he had the pleasure of getting the fuck out of her hair.

Their battle raged on not thirty feet from her. She should just blow off Blade’s head right now, have done with it, and hope King didn’t scuttle off with his tail between his legs before she was finished playing with him. Raising her gun, she barely had time to aim before a Nightstalker-shaped distraction caught her eye up in the gantry.

Oh. This would be good.

Her arm swung smoothly towards bitch-Whistler, finger pulling off round after round of rapid fire, bullets licking at her heels as she ran for her life. A smirk replaced the snarl on Danica’s lips at the thought of serving up her bloodless meatsack to King later. Maybe she’d ask Asher to take photos for posterity. She might not have seen her brother in the chaos yet but they had survived far worse than this - the downfall of the entire Vampire Nation included - and would do for a long time to come. Taking a leaf out of his book for once, she narrowed her eyes and stopped playing games, squeezing the trigger with a fierce glare and aiming for the heart.

The knock took her by surprise as King - fucking Hannibal King! - barrelled into her from the side, the force enough to snap her head back as they flew through the atrium. Her ribs hit the top step first, the crack followed by another bout of machine fire as her finger tightened automatically. As she tumbled down the concrete stairs like a broken rag doll she kept her ears pricked for the sound of bullets tearing into flesh.

 
 
Current Mood: determined