Velvet Blue - Best Laid Plans

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Description: Velvet gets sent a video from Konrad detailing his inevitable transformation into the brutal Sabrewulf following a deal for narcotics gone bad. Can Velvet get there in time before the frenzied werewolf slaughters his attackers and innocent bystanders? Who will survive and what will be left of them?

A video message. From Konrad von Sabrewulf, no less. Strange. He doesn't seem like the type to talk much on the phone, but here he's making and sending videos? What sort of strange or romantic things could the German recluse be discussing in such? And, why then, isn't he using a more direct video conferencing instead?

The video begins with panting. Human panting, heavy breathing, and the image is dark and grainy. The breathing is punctuated by very loud thumps and muffled yelling. Whatever is going on, it can't be good. The camera's view swings to show the face of the older man and his expression immediately reveals not only great stress, but great pain.

"Sis is not good," he says as another pounding thud visibly shakes the video image. Through labored breathing and with fumbling of the phone that has fingers sliding against the microphone and briefly over the camera lens, complete with a smear of something dark lightly over the picture, the phone is focused on a spot on Konrad's leg. The pant leg is wet with something dark and the fabric is ripped around a spot.

It swings again to show his carryall courier shoulderbag that he brings his very important medicine in. It, too, has a hole in it -- no, at least three -- and something green and nearly glowing leaks from them. In fact, the fabric along the bottom on the bag seems completely soaked through. The next thump actually causes the phone to fall, the image goes black, and after another bout of muffled yelling the image rises and focuses upon the man's face once more...but not without swinging over a panoramic view of the room. Dark, yes, but a room with only a single window, small and high-set from the floor, that looks not large enough to even fit a grown man. Various bits of rubbish and unused furniture decorate the corners and a single dusty and faded sign saying Two Rivers Bar is tucked away in the grainy darkness.

"I don't haf to say vas sis means, ja? Scheisse. So damn stupid. Americans, drugs, guns, money. Vas could go wrong? Vell...eferysing?" The man groans deeply in pain. More than just his leg might be injured. "Se door behind me does not lock, se vindow in sis room is too small, and I...I am quickly losing my strengs to hold se door closed and my villpower to hold se uhser door closed at se same time..."

Strange, creepy, romantic--it wasn't exactly one hundred percent sure /what/ the werewolf had sent Velvet when he first got it on his phone--as the performer pulled himself up out of bed and sat against it, watching the footage.

"Man, I hope he didn't send me porn by mistake--" Velvet rubbed his eyes and tilted one of his large ribbed ears towards the sound coming out of the phone speakers--hearing panting of the human variety. He sat with half-lidded eyes watching the screen in a state of half-confusion and a sort of 'not sure if want' expression."

"The cis are not good? your sister? what?" Velvet had to tap a clawed thumb against the video to find the tracking bar and replay that part of the video, not having been used to Konrad's accent--an so thick it ought to be making him breakfast right now. Speaking of, Velvet got up, wearing just a T-shirt and underwear, plodding to the fridge to get himself something to drink as he watched the video.

It's a pretty damning thing that Konrad is implying, though, but why would he be involved in drugs? Does it matter? the situation he explains reveals that he's in a worse case scenario, injured, and is quickly running out of time to avoid further bloodshed. "I don't know vhen you vill see sis and, honestly, I don't know vhy I'm even recording sis. Maybe sis is how it finally all ends. I know sat I couldn't stay hiding avay forever visout se risk of losing my humanity completely forever, but I didn't sink it vould be like sis. I needed coca extract for a quick mix and-"

Konrad inhales sharply through his teeth as the next attempt by others to break down the door behind him jars against his shoulder. He must be injured there, too. The inhalation turns into a sob of pain. The video, though, records something remarkable during the outcry, however. The man's eyes go dark, for just a moment, with a faint glow of red. The glow quickly fades, but any in the know will understand immediately what the man is fighting in addition to the barricading of the door with his person.

"Apparently my money vas good. Too good. After all, I vas just a rich foreigner vis money for se taking. Perhaps sey wanted to take me hostage at first. I don't know." There is a great deal of regret in the man's voice. His face slowly reflects a growing sense of resignation to his fate. "I suppose it does not matter now. Does it?" The more the muffled yells continue, the more it's obvious that the ones yelling are not only American, but lower class thugs.

The next few seconds are purely silent on his behalf, as if at a loss for things to say, while the muffled yells call for more to come help out. The next smash against the door causes the door to jolt and the door frame to audibly crack as it strikes Konrad against the back of the head. The sound that follows is a low growl. Brief, yet longer lasting than the glow of his eyes. The door simply cannot take much more abuse. The next two blows are endured in that grim wordless stare not at the phone, but through it. It's more than just a sad look. It's so far-gazing, a thousand yard stare, that shows how lost he realizes himself to be.

The last blow against the door fully cracks a hinge free and light streams into frame. This causes Konrad to snap back to reality just long enough to fight for a few seconds longer against the bulk of wood. A hint of rap music can be heard in the distance. His eyes focus on the phone as the muffled yelling now becomes all the louder and the shadows beyond the door's cracks reveal many individuals.

"I'm sorry," is the last thing he says before he moves to stop and send the video with a button press, but not before the last few frames reveal the collapse of the door and figure beyond. A black man with an Ace of Spades tattooed around one eye is over the German man's shoulder and the video abruptly stops.

Velvet had taken his time, getting a drink of milk before setting the gallon jug back in the fridge, turning back to the phone, listening and watching it in the otherwise dark kitchen area in silence. He sat there looking at it for a few moments, after it stopped--the lack of light coming from the screen casting only minimal light onto the half-darkstalker's face.

"Goodbye Konrad, hello Sabrewulf," he intoned in a kind of monotone, slightly disappointed voice. There hadn't been time to help him, not with how stubborn and resistant he was to help. Thought he could do it himself--now people were gonna die. Possibly him, too.

"Now I gotta get there and stop him before he eats the rest of 'em," Velvet moves to his laptop and proceeds to slip the micro SD card out of his phone--he'd have to examine the file to see if it contained any kind of GPS data, then he could compare that data to online map programs and try to figure out where it was taken. If the model of camera used to take it even recorded such information--he didn't have access to crimelab levels of phone access, otherwise he'd just try to tell where the werewolf's actual phone was. While he waited for the data machine to load, Velvet went briefly to his bathroom to wash up, before strolling back through the one bedroom-sized apartment to begin getting dressed.

The night are was cold and unforgiving, despite the heavy leather boots, dark suede trousers and multiple layers of shirts he had on under his jacket--the performer was driving to the area with his phone attached to a stand on the dash, using it to help find where the hell in Metro he wound up. It was either that or listen to a police scanner, maybe listen for cherries and berries of squad cars or EMS trucks to try and spot where shit was poppin' off.

So far he was only seeing slum shithole skidrow type areas, which well--given the part of Metro they were in... Good thing he was in a car at the moment, Darkstalker or not.

The good news is that the neighborhood it eventually appears to be in is a place that police and EMS units seem to entirely avoid if at all an option. The bad news is that the neighborhood it eventually appears to be in is a place that police and EMS units seem to entirely avoid if at all an option. While some time has passed since the creation of the video, and while gunshots were clearly a part of the mayhem that had ensued, life for the inhabitants of the worn down and cruel area seem to be going about as if everything were normal. Scary thought.

The Two Rivers Bar is nowhere to be found following the rather easily trackable GPS data encoded in the video. However, something far more telling is in its place: The Ace of Spades. This run down establishment has a few neon signs outside advertising Money for Hoes, although some sections of the lighting are inoperable. A few low-riders are parked out front, all looking to be a wealth-sink in comparison to the shoddy environment. Pristine. Untouched. And the engines are cool.

The building has no doorman. Nobody enters or exits. And, furthermore, the locals don't look to have the money to visit. No real sound comes from within save for what was once loud rap. Now, instead, is white noise from a potentially busted sound system. There are no guards outside or within.

In comparison with the hellscape about to be unleashed at the end of the video, the current state is eerily inactive. In fact, nobody at all is in the main bar area. No people, alive or dead, remain. If they had fled, would they have not used their vehicles? Would the locals not be alarmed? Everything is on, including the terrible sound of static mixing with the low-volume wide-screen television playing music videos of dark-skinned men and white-skinned women, borrowed melodies from 80's and 90's hits, and droning autotuned messages of money, sex, and empowerment through violence. All as expected?

Though intervention by the blue would be eventual, thanks to the shots having been fired--Velvet didn't know that. He did however only need a few minutes to swing by and see if he could grab Konrad--at least if it /was/ still Konrad, and not a slavering, growling frenzied werebeast. Velvet parks his car around the corner just for that reason, alone--walking the short way down to the sleazy bar, kicking the door in if he found it unlocked. Not that anyone would see him as the door opened--unless just a set of yellow cat-like eyes was discernable to any of the humans in the gloom--Velvet slipped in through the doorway, half-crawling, not wanting to get shot by anyone thinking the place was getting raided or that he was what they were afraid of--keeping himself low and stepping inside--wondering where the hell the werewolf was.

No one here. Velvet rose from the bent over crouch, peering about over tables and chairs, slowly allowing himself to fade back into view. Anyone that might have seen him would have just seen his eyes--as well as ivory teeth, should he bother to part his lips. All one saw right now was long black hair, plus his forehead and eyes as they rose up, long jacket following--with his heavy layered clothes beneath, one hand on the handle of his wakizashi.

Nothing about the main floor of the bar seems incredibly out of place. The number of bottles and shot glasses shows that the building wasn't that heavily packed. Six, maybe seven or eight people present? The sound system isn't located upstairs, though, meaning that there's no easy way to turn off the grating noise of static permeating the air. The men's bathroom is clear, door open and nothing of note within. The women's room is, however, close-doored...and occupied. Within are two scantily-clad women in hiding, but they seem more confused than terrified, yet seem to not be very inclined to leave the building just yet without some sort of catalyst.

Otherwise, that leaves the back door, the stock room (empty and not the most well-stocked, meaning that the bar's business isn't designed to host a lot of people at once), and the stairs leading to the basement.

The stairs leading down hit a small landing before turning ninety degrees around a blind corner. Stepping around that not a pleasant thing. A single man lies at the base of the stairs, seemingly fallen before he could run away, but not by claws or teeth. A gunshot wound in the back is clear as day and very much something worth alarm. Lifeless eyes stare up at any who walk around that turn while essence leaks from the young man's lips. Beyond, the hallway light flickers chaotically, but the sporadic lighting is still enough to illuminate more fallen people.

At least two more lie motionless. One has a ragged wound across the gut spilling forth sausage casing onto the floor and the other appears to have been thrown from out of one of the doors down the way. An arm is twisted in a direction it shouldn't where it impacted with the door frame before the man's airborne momentum sent him spiraling into the wallpapered-covered brick wall with enough force to leave a glistening splatter that trails down to where the body lies crumpled from severe head trauma.

Another door is closer to the stairs than the one down the way, near the bodies and shards of shattered wood that was once a door. This room looks like a meeting room, probably for business, and a look inside reveals couches, a table, and a rigged-up sound system. A bag of money is strewn across the floor and, worse yet, is the unmistakable wintry presence of white powder thinly lining the floor and part of a sofa. Two more large bags of the substance sit undisturbed. Nobody is within, but there is a trail of green stuff, once liquid and now dried, leading from that room's interior, down the hall, to the door of questionable safety.

The static is louder down here.

"Bitches leave," Velvet said very plainly, just in English--not bothering to repeat it in Spanish or any of the various tongues--jerking a clawed thumb over his shoulder at the two he found in the bathrooms, before he moved to head down the stairs, slowly--angling his head to try and hear anything--or see anything that might be down there.

Alas, he was too late. Two dead already--at least two that seemed to have been attacked by Konrad. He noted the gunshot wound, and wondered what that was about--placing a finger to the man's neck to see if he still going--before continuing.

Following the trail of green ectoplasmic goo--Velvet kept crouched, moving slowly and methodically down the hall--not wanting to get shot, or surprise anyone--though he doubted anyone with a gun was still here--but maybe they were, hiding behind a door or in a closet... Speaking of coming out, now he just needed to find his hopefully still breathing werewolf.

"Konrad...? Konraaaad... it's Velvet." Nothing.

"Nun liebe Kinder... gebt fein acht~" all the German Velvet knew was from listening to music written in it, the choice of words were meant to be familiar to him.

"Ich bin die Stimme... aus dem kissen..."

"The fuck is out there?!" comes a voice from over the static, but it's not Konrad's voice. "Nigga, I ain't playing shit wit you. I fuck you all up!" By the sound of it, whoever it is is hanging on to self-control despite desperation by sheer bravado. Still, while the voice comes from the door -- the broken door -- nobody comes out. The sound of that damnable white noise drowns out any detail beyond those words; any subtleties of position or movement are lost completely.

"You best be gettin' yo ass in here and cap this fucker, Gonzales, and how many times Spade gotta tell you to stop wit all that Spanish shit? Motherfucka, we speakin' English, now I ain't playing shit wit you! Took yo ass long enough, I swear, fuckin' bitches playin' at homies like you gotta va-jay-jay and tryin' to hide it. What - in - the - fuck, get in here!"

Clearly, the person inside is confused. And scared. And alone. Well, alone except the 'fucker' of which he wants 'capped'. Looking into the room, the flickering hallway light illuminates little. Most of the room is dark. Still, the light reveals some of the piled up furniture that was briefly visible before in the video and, behind it, a somewhat hidden glow of red eyes. The smell of blood is strong in the dark room and the only visible figure, more a silhouette against shadow, is a man with a pistol aiming at the furniture. He can't get close enough to get a good shot without putting himself in danger, but neither can he leave. There is a very clear danger zone that he's avoiding. Chances are, he's been stuck in the standoff the entire time waiting on his buddies to show.

Conversely, the figure using the furniture as cover can't leave while that gun is pointed his way without risking even more injury. As the room itself has no speakers, the static is less loud and a deep pained panting can be heard by sensitive ears from the monster lurking behind the furniture pile.

"Sure boss," Velvet is fading from view again as he crouches and lurches into the room containing the man, the gun--and the figure stooped behind the mass of furniture with the red, glowing eyes. His weapon stays at his hip--no hanzo steel nonsense here--he has just enough time to slip in in front of the man holding the gun and fold an arm around his, with his back to the armed figure--he grabs the forearm and jerks it up into the air, trying to wrest control of of the gun.


And also pop his his shoulder or elbow out of it's socket. Crying out as the gun likely goes off when the man clenches his hand as a reflex--Velvet lashes out with his left elbow--trying to score a hit on the man as he turns--continuing to try and wrestle the gun away from him and brings his boot up--aimed at the man's jaw or temple.

"Gotcher shit right here--" Velvet is uttering curses under his breath as he viciously fights with the man, trying to knock him silly, because right now listening to him speak is the last thing he wants to here.

After a short tussle, Velvet picks himself up--wincing at where a handful of hair was pulled out of his head, whipping the rest of his long dark hair back.

"Konrad... you there? It's Velvet."

The display is watched by the mostly hidden figure taking refuge and, would one have the time to observe such, might find that the violent show is enjoyed in an almost sadistic way. At the very least, the victory scores a bit of respite and a chance for the creature to show itself. Panting continues and something else can be heard; a light wet spattering of something wet hitting the hard floor drip by drop. Drool? Blood? ...both? The red-eyed creature stirs, slowly, as if taking the time to unwind itself around the pile of junk that kept the gun-toting thug at bay.

With a sudden fury, however, furniture is shoved aside with a deafening clatter and the blue-furred werewolf charges forth two steps before bounding with claws at the ready and jaws opened wide!

In almost the blink of an eye the creature has moved one corner of the room to the door, nearly trampling his savior in the process, but for what reason? He doesn't flee. No. Rather, he catches somebody about to step in. This man isn't somebody new that was hidden away, though. The bloody spot on the floor in the hallway shows that the individual given flying lessons was merely knocked out cold.

The shank of wood falls to the floor from the one hand that still works and moves to the creature's mouth to pry at those thin lips and sharp teeth. The angle allows the man to stare directly at Velvet as the muscular wolf clamps jaws around his face from below the chin, exposing his throat the beast's tongue and forcing his head to the side at a very uncomfortable level. The man gasps and gurgles from the humid breath washing over his head and feebly tries with his unbroken arm to fight for some leverage to get free. All he can see, though, is the other Darkstalker in the room.

For Sabrewulf, it would be so easy to end this, and yet...he draws it out. Fear fills the scent of the room, along with urine as one of the man's pants legs becomes wet, which the red-eyed beast seems to enjoy a bit too much.

Velvet held a hand to the side of his head, favoring one ear--obviously, the gunshot going off in the confined space--combined with his supernatural sense of hearing from having literal bat ears meant that Velvet was a bit disoriented right now. To the point of vertigo and nausea as he felt the room spin for just a moment. It came to a stop just as he noticed Sabrewulf's now wolfed out jaws, drooling blood and closing around what looked like a human head. That's a sight that's gonna haunt the memory for a bit.

"Gah--Konrad--stop--" Velvet tries to rise, still unsteady on his feet and tries to reach a hand up, as if to stop the giant werewolf from going through with what was likely going to be a sickening bone-crunching headbite.

"Let 'em go--drop it, stop--" the irony of this situation, without context, sounding like someone trying to get their dog to drop something they've deemed to be a new chew toy was not lost on the darkstalker entertainer--he just didn't have the time or place to allow time to the thought.

"We gotta go, the police are gonna show up soon--and if they get into with you I cannot help you," he tries to urge the werewolf to ease back and not bite the man's goddamn headoff, even Velvet doesn't want to see anymore of these guys wind up dead.

There's an equal measure of stubbornness in being told to let the man go. Fingers weakly grasp and search over the wolf's face for something to grab, anything at all to help free himself, but Sabrewulf isn't content with letting go just yet. Somewhere inside the gangsters head he calls for help, begs to be let go, and simultaneously misses his mother. Nothing he tries to say forms into words as he is held in place and made to stare ahead at the other 'monster' in the room.

Furthermore, the gang-banger makes a sigh-heavy squeak as the werewolf's jaws tighten -- just a little -- drawing blood and leaving marks that would take a long time to heal if he survives the encounter. The glowing-eyed beast even toys a bit further by lifting his jaws, just enough to bring the man to his tip-toes and...just to the point of being able to support his own weight. The terror elicited is immense.

The man goes rag-doll limp, as quick as a snap of the fingers, and the man's head is released from those jaws to allow the body to crumple to the floor once more. Sabrewulf follows this by immediately roaring a loud complaint at Velvet before turning to walk into the hallway where the light flickers still. Stepping over the somewhat ruined shoulderbag that once held Konrad's homemade alchemical injections, giving the lifeless body just outside the storage room a dismissive kick, the broadly-built beast wanders back toward the meeting room where the sound system spews static throughout the building amidst a well-lit cocaine-covered portion of the room and its contents.

A sweeping clawed strike is enough to make the air quiet once again. The light also shows that Konrad's alternate form/self is pretty badly shot up. Nothing vital, but he has to be hurting.

There is a rush of relief but also some frustration at Sabrewulf as the man is released. "Whaaat? Didn't you eat like 2 already? you'll make yourself sick--you've don't know /where/ they've been, or /what/ they've been into!" Velvet sighs. Actually, maybe that was the point--was Sabrewulf trying to control his WILD ZOANTHROPIC URGES with drugs...? This is something he'd have to work on finding out when they finally got clear of this place.

Walking out into the meeting room, Velvet seems to calm down as well, the destruction of the radio is likely a part of this.

"Thank you--now can we please go? Also how did that guy get shot?--my car is right up the street, lets see if we can make it there without being seen," he points in the direction of the way he came down the street, motioning for Sabrewulf to follow him.

It's about then that Velvet realizes--wait, how am I gonna fit this giant fucking werewolf into the car?? He'd have to see about stuffing him into the backseat.

As it stands, though, Sabrewulf has no real knowledge of why one gang member was shot in the back while seemingly heading for the stairs. When everything went south he knew he couldn't head upstairs because others were up there and they would have been alerted to the gunshots from below. He had to hope that he could escape from deeper in the basement. This didn't happen.

Three half kilo bags of coke are present in the one room, although one was damaged somehow and completely blown open. This leaves two bags of coke and a spilled bag of cash that can be collected. Sabrewulf helps himself to the cocaine, easily grabbing the two small tightly-packed bricks, before turning to leave. The money isn't exactly traceable and is only enough for one bag of the substance anyway, so...profit?

The werewolf isn't super tall by any means, but he's built like a true killing machine. He barely fits in the stairwell leading up and the steps are a little small for his digitigrade feet. It might almost be funny to witness if the process didn't seem to frustrate the already angered beast even more.

stealth is something that Sabrewulf can do well, but he's hurt and more angry than sensible. Nonetheless, the growling wolf eyes Velvet. He hasn't said a word this entire time, but Velvet knows he can talk. At least, he could talk just fine when of the presence of mind of Konrad's self control. Even so, he seems to stick close as if the understanding of Police Intervention being the major danger it is is something to be truly avoided.

The monster sniffs at the air coming from outside to see if anybody might be waiting out there. Nothing. But, though, an ear perks up as the sound of tires squealing comes from some distance away. The vehicle does not use a siren, though.

Glowing eyes look to Velvet an a lingering muted snarl rumbles under his breath. Now would be a good time to leave.

"Alright you, lets get moving--and try not to kill anyone else out there, okay? I mean it," Velvet is apparently not asking anymore questions about the three dead people--two he can assume were due to Sabrewulf. The other one... well, he'll have to figure that one out later.

"You can keep up with me like that, I hope," Velvet has time to give Sabrewulf a bit of the business as he follows him out the door--then taking point to try and help lead the muscly but stout werewolf back to his car. It's gonna be hell fitting him into the back seat. He'll have to bust out the dirt devil to get rid of the dog hair on the seats later.

"Hokay--lets go!" the performer's boots stamp across the club floors as he beats a hasty retreat.

Log created on 01:44:43 10/29/2019 by Velvet Blue, and last modified on 20:16:31 10/29/2019.