pennysheets | Vampire cult nonsense (PSL for Natasha)

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Vampire cult nonsense (PSL for Natasha)

It had taken her a while to get far enough into the ranks of this... organization. They have half a dozen names for themselves, depending on where one gains entrance, and most people don't ever go beyond those half-dozen entrance groups. Natasha is good, but these people are paranoid, and death cults are not a thing that you get access to immediately.

But because she is good, here she is finally, fresh from the ritual bath and dressed in undyed cotton, barefoot, ready for her first ritual. She's the only new one today, but there are other junior members walking in their two lines from the baths to the ritual room and its five sealed coffins. Natasha has yet to be told what's in them, only that they are very powerful.

"Which one is it today?" the young man who'd introduced himself as Stolen Moon (junior members tend to pick very pretentious ritual names) asks, quietly, of the senior member walking in front of him, who was known by the (slightly less pretentious) name Fox.

"You'll see when we get there," Fox says.

"Don't ask questions in front of the initiate," adds the senior at the head of the second column, an older woman called Hawk.

There are already three senior members waiting inside: Raven, Star, and Shimmer. Fox and Hawk motion for everyone to take their places, in an outward-facing ring inside the circle of coffins, and then join them, each standing between two of the coffins.

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"I do," she says, and after a moment, gives an address. It's several blocks away from where he's holed up, a hole-in-the-wall bar that caters to the heavily blue collar.

"Tomorrow, an hour after sunset. We won't stay there, but it's a good starting point."

And a safe place to ensure neither of them has picked up a tail - unlikely, given their relative skills, but not impossible.

"Okay." He pauses, like he would be taking a deep breath if he breathed, then adds, "If you're really worried about it, bring your backup. You know he hates me, he'd keep you safe."

"At the risk of insulting you," she says, "you're not the one I'm worried about."

Not for her own physical safety, at least. If this is an op, she's more useful alive and where she is. If it isn't, he's shown no inclination to harm her of his own volition.

He barks a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, okay. I guess if I was more worried about my own safety, I'd have ditched this phone. Probably should have, but you're the only person who can get me answers. So here we are."

"Here we are," she agrees. "I'll bring the pictures, and a few files I can pull on the SSR on short notice. Anything else you need?"

A place to hole up that isn't a complete shithole, she almost suggests. She has a couple of safehouses that aren't on SHIELD's radar, though Clint - and, she's fairly certain, Fury - knows about them. But she doubts he trusts her enough to take them, and anyways, it's early days to burn that sort of asset.

He makes a sound like a sigh. "A full day's sleep and a good meal that doesn't make me feel guilty. But I'll manage. Maybe working a little with you on putting these fuckers away will help." At least it might help the anxiety a little, who knows. And filling in some of the holes in his memory could go either way.

"I'm guessing it's not as easy as breaking into a blood bank," she says, something a little wry in her voice - for all the research she'd done up to laying her trap, she's still far from an expert on how vampires work.

"Breaking into a what." Look at that, there's another hole in what the cultists taught him about the modern world. That's a predictable one, though, because you don't want your pet vampire running off and drinking his fill without your say-so.

He can put two and two together, though. And the idea is... well, he's not sure if it's better than biting actual people or not. "They have... banks of blood? Are they in hospitals or somewhere else?"

"The main facilities are mostly in hospitals," she says. "But there are collection centres that aren't attached to a hospital or medical clinic. Those would probably be easier to break into - they're not 24-hour, and they don't store any controlled substances."

And it feels entirely surreal to be imparting this information - something most people just take for granted as a part of the world, something almost no one would consider breaking into in the first place.

People replenish their blood on their own. Blood banks have to take it from volunteers, presumably. He'll have to think on this. And try it at least once to make sure it works, so he's not angsting over nothing if it doesn't.

"Guess that's where I'm going tonight before dawn, then," he says, bemused. "Thanks. I would never have even thought of that."

"That's what I'm here for," she says, forcing her tone to remain light. "Strange facts and morally dubious advice. I'll see you tomorrow. Stay safe."

"You, too."

He hangs up, and now, finally, crushes the phone in his metal fist. He'll remember the number. He'll get a new one and give her that number. But now they can't track him.

Her, or anyone else who might have infiltrated SHIELD.

He lets her show up at the meeting point first, watching from across the street for any sign of surveillance or pursuit, and makes her wait a few minutes before emerging and crossing to meet her. He looks like any other guy, hair pulled back and a hoodie and gloves covering his metal arm, hands in his pockets. "Waiting for somebody?" he asks.

She's ordered a drink - rum and cola, by the scent of it - and tucked herself in at a small table, near the rear of the bar, along an outside wall, with good sightlines. She glances up when he approaches, and takes a sip of her drink, tracing a finger along the rim of the glass.

"Not tonight. Could do with some company, though." She nudges the chair opposite hers out with one foot. "What's your poison?"

She doesn't know if he even can drink anything that isn't blood - but they'll be less noticeable if they both have a drink, and it will give them a little time to see if either of them has a tail that hasn't made itself visible yet.

He settles down on the offered seat. "I'm a simple man. I usually stick with beer." And no, he's not going to be drinking any of it. Which is why he's going for the cheapest option; he'll not waste more of her money than he has to, seeing as he has very little himself. "You a local?"

"Not really. Temp work. You know how it is." She rolls one shoulder in an easy shrug, and lifts a hand to signal the lone waitress. It's not particularly busy at this time of the evening, and the staffing level reflects that.

"What about you? Have any roots here, or just passing through?"

"Pretty sure I don't got roots anywhere," he says with a smirk that's probably too bitter to be properly casual. "But yeah, this is a pit stop for me, too. Though I don't got anything so nice as work to explain it, just needed somewhere to rest my feet a little, you know?"

"Do I ever," she says, crooked smile not quite a smirk of her own. She has no intention of telling him about her own flight from a shadow organization with its very own stable of murderers - yet. That's the sort of commiseration that requires some trust first.

"Planning on staying long?"

"Maybe another day or two," he shrugs. "Not much to keep me here." He tilts his head at her with a better smile, this time. "Though I could be persuaded to stay longer, if I had a good reason."

"Hmmm. Now that sounds like a challenge." She leans back in her seat, tracing one finger idly around the rim of her glass, lashes lowered slightly in teasing flirtation that isn't reflected in the beat of her pulse and the rhythm of her breath. It's an outward show: woman decides to take stranger home from a slightly seedy bar. Something to cement them as unremarkable, should anyone ask after them later.

The waitress comes to take his drink order; Natasha picks up again after she leaves. "Headed anywhere interesting?"

She's not expecting anything even approaching an honest answer. She's a means to an end, that's all. As long as she gets the intel she needs out of the bargain, that's fine.

It's going to be a lie only in that he has no real idea where he's going next. His tentative plans were completely derailed by the discovery that his goddamn cult has infiltrated SHIELD. He's hoping that this meeting gives him a little direction, or else he'll just... keep running, for now. Until he runs right into one of the nearby temples and tears everyone inside apart, or something.

So he says thoughtfully, "Maybe south. Soak up a little sun for once." Which is hilarious since he's never going to get any sun. He's a vampire. "Got any recommendations? If your work has you traveling, I'm sure you've seen a lot of places."

"Austin has an interesting nightlife," she says. "Or you could head west. All kinds of interesting places near the Rockies."

She smiles, a quick flicker of humour that isn't, in contrast to the flirtation, entirely feigned. "Depends a little on what you're interested in. Places with the best hiking aren't always the places with the best art, or the best clubs."

He actually gives this one a serious answer, after a moment of thought. "I want to see interesting things. Buildings, landmarks, even people. I wanna see shit I haven't seen before." Which isn't as hard as it sounds, despite his age. It's not like he got to do a ton of sight-seeing, as a bound slave for a death cult.

"Well, in that case..."

A rundown of some of the more interesting sights on the continent is, at least, a relatively harmless way to kill time for her to finish her drink, and for it to at least look plausible that he's finished his. She intersperses it with questions about places he's been, or read about. A couple more patrons trickle in, none of them seeming to pay any attention to the pair.

Eventually, she leans forward, offering him a slight, sly smile and a suggestion of, "Want to get out of here?"

He can give her a couple mostly-true stories, at least, in return for her maybe partly-true suggestions. It's a weird conversation, because he knows they're both being fake as hell, but at the same time, having a normal-ish conversation with someone who both knows what he is and isn't afraid of that. It's like a dance, rather than the battle of talking with strangers and acting like a real person.

Still, it's a relief when she thinks they've beaten around the bush enough. He draws up a smirk, one that doesn't quite display fang, and says, "Thought you'd never ask."

He pushes back from the table and lets her leave some cash behind for the drinks.

She tips high. Not enough to be incredibly memorable, but enough, in this sort of environment, to leave the waitress well-disposed to them, and all the more inclined to temporary amnesia if anyone does come looking.

And then she loops an arm around his waist, ignoring the complete lack of any body heat, and heads for the door and into the cool night air. "Motel's not far," she says quietly, trusting his hearing to pick up her words. "We'll have some privacy there."

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