Sugar And Spice And Om Nom Nom Nom

A man slowly walks onto the scene, there is a clinking noise that follows his heels. There is a peacoat hanging by his left hand to reveal a tight, black leather vest over a white-collared shirt. There is no mistake in the western appearance of the beautiful youth, as a leather belt hangs tightly on his hips. A large revolver settles in a holster that's located to both sides. A cowboy with quite the upgrades. A 9mm pistol is snugged gently beneath his belt and his belly, positioned directly under the belly button. His aviators reflect what little light comes from the surroundings.

Abbey jumps at the sound of the newcomer, craning her head to discern from where the noise is coming. She shrugs, then turns back to Jin. "So where did that guy take you? Some warehouse? Sounds kinda shady." She runs one hand through her hair; it catches on a tangle and she scowls as she picks at it with her fingers.

JianJun arches an eyebrow at the cowboy and frowns a bit. The shotgun, normally casually hanging from his hand is brought to rest between both of his hands. "My friend," he addresses Abbey, "Do you know this man?" He completely ignores the question posed to him.

"Shame. You'd know me if you hadn't passed out the other day when I flew in through the ceiling to save your asses." The man remarks with a smirk, one of his hands slicking back through the short hair. His thumb grazes over the premature grey hair at the side burns. As that hand does its work, the other clicks the hammer back on the Colt Anaconda and shifts over quickly to do the same for the 9mm. "Preparing your shotgun like that isn't kind of you after what I did. I don't take kindly to offenders. It wouldn't help you much anyways. You're going to waste those precious rounds on me, boy? This jungle is full of worse shit than I. Kid you fuckin' not."

Abbey puts both hands out, hoping to defuse the situation. Her voice is steady, and oddly calming. "No, Jin, I don't know him, but that's no reason to be ready to shoot. And you, um… well, I don't know your name, but there's no need to be violent. Come on, come on," she says, motioning for both of them to stop aiming their guns at one another.

JianJun quirks a smile, it seems to be almost completely carefree, "A bit jumpy, aren't you friend?" Jin continues to hold the gun at rest, though he removes his fingers far from the trigger, electing to hold it in a non-aggressive gesture, "So nice of you to drop in - THROUGH my ceiling. Left a big damn mess about it." Cocking his head to the side, the man continues to address John Wayne, "Be at ease with the firearms, my friend. I have business with you, but it will not be settled on the floor of the jungle - neither of us, I think, care to bleed at the current time." The man looks down at the ground and fails to keep a stern face as he finishes speaking, "…shooting Talbain in the ass…" he snickers, "Was highly immature of you."

"Considering your 'Tailbain' was more than likely the horrifying creature out in front that that fucking irish man fought, I could give a rats ass. I should've shot for the head, but I wasn't exactly aiming. Shot the Irish fuck too. They agitated my plans and I retaliated. For a good deed, in turn, I performed a bad one. Keeping the balance." Ravenholm remarks, his other hand dropping to the final revolver, and clicking its hammer back. He steps slightly forward, eyeing Abbey with a smirk. There is a quick comment made in Italian followed by a laugh. "Now you recall who I am."

A gentle rustling sounds out through the charred brush, followed by the light echo of soft footfalls on the faintly revealed street. Through the night illuminate by the city as it burns, an androgynous figure is slowly revealed, pale blue eyes sweeping the ruin of a world with a stoic, icy gaze. Lithe arms are wrapped firmly around a trim waist, pale hands and long fingers entwining themselves in the slate-gray material of a dress shirt. Black jeans cling loosely to the slight flare of hips, the shape they create neither masculine nor feminine. Soft golden waves frame an angelic and youthful face, providing an added air of innocents to the teenage figure. Nothing is said as the willowy form pauses, mid-stride, upon spotting the small group, caution flaring even more within those eyes.

Abbey looks over at the newcomer, then back towards Jin and his adversary. "Just… just don't shoot this guy, okay?" she says, a note of pleading in her voice. Despite the tension in the air, Abbey radiates calm. "This jungle is turning everyone crazy," she says to herself in a singsong voice.

JianJun shakes his head at Ravenholm, "We'll not settle our business on this night. Soon it shall be." Nodding distinctly, Jin heads off into the apartment complex.

Ravenholm shakes his head, watching JianJun rush off into the distance for the apartment. He eyes back over towards Abbey and shift over at the newcomer. His voice shoots off in Abbey's direction. "Baby, I've been crazy long before the jungle ever hit in. Keep up this peaceful charade and I'll end you quicker than the animals would. Especially since.. What, you're out here all alone now? Heh." His entire body shifts, twirling itself in the direction of the newcomer. One of his hands settles on the revolver on his right. His green eyes light up behind the aviators.

The teen peer at the young woman a curious, almost appraising glance, eyes seeming to slide towards her for a moment until a flat-out stare is being given. Blinking once, the detachment returns as any sparks of interest quickly fade out. No apology is offered for any rudeness, the only acknowledgment given being a curt, stiff nod of the youth's head. Elegant neck arching slightly, pale sights are now turned on the self-proclaimed crazy, though the reaction garnered is even less this time. Another nod later and the willowy form takes a gradual, slow step forward, the black leather of platform booth creaking softly with the slight motion. One arm unwraps partially, rising upwards as finger inch upwards, toying with the buttons of the shirt.

Abbey stares at the gun-toting man blankly, almost sweetly. "It's not a charade," she says, smiling slightly and shaking her head. "I don't know what quarrel you have with Jin but I don't even know who you are." After this she stays silent, figuring that any attempt to rationalize with the man will fall on deaf ears. Abbey watches the teenager out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he will stay a silent observer.

"If its not a charade.. Then it is simply disgusting and I hope the world hasn't become that blind since the last I checked, lovely." Another remark follows out, but this time in Russian. It sounds more loving than the Italian did, but that's all that seems to be apparent to those who merely hear the words. "I know what's better. What are you doing tonight?" Ravenhol remarks to Abbey as he advances towards the teenager.

A mixture of both fascination and amusement washes over angelic features for a moment as the youth watches the pair on the street interact, head tilting slightly to the side in the process. At the same time, the teen's hand continues to play with the buttons of the shirt, one long index finger circling the top plastic disc a few times before lightly pushing it out of place, then back in. The action seems rather subconscious, as it continues, even as the man's attention shifts. Stoic eyes take on a harder, more predatory quality as his words spill out, a slight frown tugging at full lips. "Sorry, taken.", is muttered out in a quiet, though firm, tone, the voice both velvety and as androgynous as the form it belongs to.

Abbey stifles a giggle at the teenager's reply. "You know, the usual, foraging, looting, trying not to get eaten by acid-spitting lion-monsters, then maybe a book and a can of Spaghetti-os before bedtime." She crosses her arms across her chest, though her face remains placid.

He's quick. His pistol is withdrawn at a remarkable speed. He seems to be as fast as the cowboys he would emulate. With the snap of a wrist and without looking, the barrel is leveled in the direction of Abbey. "Good. You're coming with me then. This is not a kidnapping. No, I am not going to kill you. Though I'll put a bullet in you, a mere wound if you refuse. I just need someone to come with me." Ravenholm remarks, his eyes continuing to stare down the androgynous one. They haven't blinked. They haven't even shifted. "You. I don't trust you. Not saying you'll kill me or shit.. Just saying.. No one dresses like that and survives hell unless they're packing some major shit."

Abbey sighs angrily. "This really does sound like a kidnapping," she mutters, a brief flash of frustration crossing her brow. "You should come too," Abbey says to the teenager, beckoning him with her whole hand in a friendly gesture. "If we get attacked, can I bolt? Because I'd really rather not get killed by you, or a monster, or the army." Her tone has a slight hard edge to it, though she is acquiescent.

As the man draws his gun, the youth twitches slightly, the motion seeming more annoyed than nervous. Eyes remaining cold, they slowly rise in their focus until they meets the man's gaze now, equally unmoving as eyelids lower into the shadow of a glare. "Then leave me alone." The words still come out quietly, despite the gravity of the situation, holding little emotion and only the faintest hint of demand. The button is abandoned now as finger travel still farther up to rub at the pale skin covering a prominent collarbone. The pressure is great enough to leave a bloom of pale red, though it begins to fade immediately. The other hand released the material of the shirt, falling to a slender side as long fingers flex in seeming anticipation.

Ravenholm chuckles slightly. "Fine. Remain alone then." He turns his back to the youth, eyeing Abbey as she continues to speak. His green eyes give a vicious glare towards the girl. His feet move quickly over the brushes, one of his fingers popping open the revolver chamber and removing all the bullets from the six cylinder chamber except for one. With a flick, it spins quickly, and with a second flick, it closes into place. "I've got a better plan. You don't bail on me. As a matter of fact. You don't do shit. This decides what is going to happen. I am going to take three shots. If you survive all three, you're free to go. If it fires in any one of the three and doesn't kill you, you're going to remain my bitch. If you try to run.. I won't shoot you to death. No. I'll chase you down, I'll fucking claw out your entrails, force feed them to your fucking face, and then when I feel satisfied with you still alive and in pain, I may end you out of mercy. If I contain any by that point." His finger snaps back, pulling the trigger. Nothing happens. "One."

Abbey flinches as she hears the empty click of the gun. She lets out a deep breath, then mutters a curse under her breath when she realizes that there are two more to go. Even on top of the anxiety she feels about possibly being shot, she feels uneasy, a heavy rolling feeling in the pit of her stomach. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end. She clenches her jaw, awaiting the next shot and trying to figure out what she is going to do. "I was never your bitch to begin with," she says, her veneer of calm slowly eroding beneath a sea of uncharacteristic rage.

The attention of the pair once more focused on each other, the youth takes the moment to take a slow and casual step back, narrow hips swaying slightly as the small motion is made. Long fingers tipped with short nails continue to force a red line to bloom over pale skin as the rubbing motion along the teen's collarbone increases. Still the icy gaze never leaves the scene laying itself out, interest continuing to spark once more. This time, the innocents is gone however, replaced with a more feral darkness. A pink tongue darts out to moisten full lips now, as though something is about to be said, though the only other action performed is a shift from heel to toe.

Ravenholm smirks slightly, his left hand lowering onto the 9mm tucked away. "Talk like that and you'll be a dead bitch soon enough." He merely remarks, his eyes shifting back towards the silent one with a smile. The outlaw pulls the hammer back on the revolver and his finger pulls slowly. There is a click from the pistol and a swerve of the chamber, but no bullet has come from this one either. The green-eyed man merely nods in her direction. "One more. Brave enough for it?"

When the hammer on Ravenholm's revolver drops down and crashes against steel, something in Abbey seems to snap. It's not the insane snapping of a person who's mind has departed from their being, but the sudden and inexplicable door of the subconscious breaking right from it's hinges as her Beast makes an appearance, stomping around and becoming a spectacle of itself. The calm that is often right behind her eyes if replaced with disquiet, and a terrible darkening that threatens to devour anything that would even bother to masquerade around as Humanity. Her lips peel back from her otherwise beautiful face, parting and showing massive, glittering fangs as they extend from her upper-row of teeth. A savage hiss escapes her, before she springs at her assailant, grabbing the front of his clothing and letting letting the force of her attack shove him to the ground as hard as possible, with her on top of him. She gnashes and shrieks and growls, before blurring into an unnatural speed and grace, and bending over him to rip a chunk of flesh right from his throat. As she pulls back, she's chewing on it, attempting to swallow her ill-gotten gains. (11 Success grapple. Wtf.) (And a celerity round.)

An actual smile threatens to break across the youth's face, held at bay by the glimmer of intelligence that shine through now-bright eyes. Taking in the scene with a a calculating glance, the gaze turns to surroundings as well, something seeming to garner attention even more than the carnage being delt by the young woman. Careful steps are taken away from nearby rubble, no warning being offered to the grappler and grapplee. At the same time, the hand scratching at the pale collarbone falls away, fingers arching and flexing though the air as the teen continues to back away towards the east.

Still hissing and growling and chewing, Abbey makes a show out of herself and her lack of control, showing nothing of the sweet and innocent girl that just seconds ago was being held at gun point and threatened with rape. She moves faster than the gunslinger, and despite the fact that she still has a chunk of his flesh in her mouth, she dips back in and takes another massive bite, bloody fangs rending cold meat and forcing more down her throat like some poor glutton. As the first bite crumbles into ash though, she chokes on it and gags, heaving and puking cold, dark crimson vitae all over Ravenholm's face and chest. He doesn't, in response, even attempt to break the grapple. Instead, there is an explosion at the tip of the barrel of his gun, and like a piece of crisp paper a spark catches upon his hand and devours it in a flame that threatens to ripple across his entire frame.

It's not enough that Abbey has puked all over Ravenholm and then torn out two bites from his throat, leaving a literal canoe-shape there almost. But then she goes in for a third bite. She is stopped, however, by the heat and the light from the fire, which seems to trigger some deeper and even more primal need to survive than that of her blatant violence right now. The blackness in her sights threatens to fade a bit, but as she blinks, it re-takes it's grasp. She hisses again, vitae covering most of the front of her clothing, and her face, before fading from existence with supernatural speed. The girl is gone, appearing again a bit down the road, still on her hands and knees. Could it be that she celerity /crawled/ away?

Ravenholm screams, rolling over onto his chest as Abbey rises up in panic. The trick worked flawlessly. He rises up and as he moves, the flames appear to be nonexistent. There is no burn marks over where they once traced, the pistols seem wholely intact. There isn't even smoke to be seen. Yet the outlaw is still reacting violently to the encounter, dashing off into the distance as he screams out into the night with his arms flailing, suffering from the same fate as his opponent. "FUC- AARHGGGGGGG!"

Blinking once more, the youth's shadow of a grin fades away, replaced by the slightest pull of a frown as now-humorless eyes observe both vampires's violet reaction. As the gun slinging outlaw flees into the darkness, the teen speeds up the formally slow steps, boots crushing the charred plants as the willowy figure walks swiftly away from the entire chaotic scene, muttering, "That's my cue to leave…" Both arms compulsively re-wrap about a trim waist, finger drumming softly against denim-clad hips.

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