sky_from_sea | (no subject)

(no subject)

They're sending out a posse for Nicky.

They're sending out a posse.

For Nicky.

They're going to get their asses handed to them. (Well, probably not, but--Nicky's a bastard. Anna will never forget that.)

That, and Nicky is hers.

This explains why Anna--shotgun in hand, handgun in her waistband, and knife under her shirt--is stalking the mean streets of Chicago, keeping an eye out for an old, old friend.

The only question is, why is she leading Crabapple behind her? And what is all the rope for?

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Nicky is a sneaky bastard. Word spreads fast enough in this town even without the internet, or phone lines, or even the Pony Express, since it seems Anna brought that with her.

But the posse is headed to the University, and Nicky currently to the east of there. He saw them coming. They'll find something, but maybe not what they were expecting.

And Anna...what is Anna looking for? He'll wait and see. From a safe distance, for now. Does she know he's near?

She knows what kind of hidey-holes rats like him prefer, at least.

And it would be poetic to say she can smell him from a mile away, but she can't.

Though she has fed recently. Quite recently.

There's no sense going up against Nicky unprepared, after all.

Anna doesn't have a deathwish.

He chuckles to himself. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but he is downwind of her. Maybe that is her scent on the breeze.

Nicky's pretty sure he can at least smell the horse.

No one else around, either. Brave girl.

He moves closer, jumping from one balcony to the next, several stories above the street.

She doesn't look up, but her attention is firmly fixed on those balconies.

Pigeons don't make that kind of noise when they land.

Neither to whatever feral cats might remain.

She's got her gun. She's looking for trouble, apparently. He can give her that. It's all she ever gave him.

"Hello, kitten." It's quiet. She might not even hear it.

But then again...

Oh, she heard it.

She was pretty much waiting for it.

"Hello, Nicky. You're in deep shit this time."

"Speak for yourself." It's hard to tell exactly where his voice is coming from in this alley- sound echoes strangely

"No friends, tonight?"

"They're out looking for your friends, Nicky."

She grins, a flash of sharp teeth in the near-dark.

"But you knew that."

"Knew it, yeah. Never said you were stupid, Anna." A light 'clang' noise.

"I'm not stupid either. You're here alone."

That's what he wanted.

"Just for you, baby."

There's no bite to her voice, just an easy, soft drawl.

The look in her eyes, though, is sharp enough to cut steel.

"Whatcha want, Anna?" He lowers his voice, too. It's almost intimate, if you got rid of the horse and the guns, and the dirty alley.

He already knows.

Anna laughs quietly, body tense as a wire.

"Oh, Nicky. Nicky. Do you have to ask?"

"Not like you ever do. It's been what you want ever since we came to Chicago. It didn't have to be like this."

Rustling, closer now.

"Still doesn't, maybe."

"It was always going to be like this, sweetheart."

She licks her lips, voice silky-smooth even has her hands tighten on the shotgun.

"I fucking hate you."

"It's too bad you don't like this, you know. You could have been-" he cuts off here with a sigh for lost potential.

"With what I know now. This whole town would shit themselves."

"Is that what I smell, Nicky?"

She's not smiling.

"It's a pity they don't make Depends anymore."

He snorts, and it's louder and closer sounding than he intended it to be. "You didn't used to be such a bitch, girl. Is that what hanging in Chicago's done to you?"

Quiet again.

"I'm stronger than you, kitten. And I don't mean any of that Stoker shit about being elder or alpha or anything. You know what made us like this?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

She sounds pleasant enough.

"You always did like to hear yourself talk."

He seems to be on a roll, now. Anna might be right.

"There are labs in DC. Big, secret, underground ones. Some of them aren't so underground anymore. And some of those techies were desperate to get out. Some bad mojo down there. Experiments. Vats of the fucking virus that did this to us."

"Did that lure you into taking a bath, Nicky?"

Her breathing is just a little high and tight in her chest.

Waiting can be hard.

"I'd have thought you'd prefer skin creme."

"I always liked a good direct shot to the veins better, sweetheart."

He's close now.

"Found some friends there, too. They might be havin' a party with yours right now."

She shifts her grip on the shotgun, muscles drawn wire-tight with a sudden surge of adrenaline.

"They might be, at that. But I like our party better, Nicky."

This time she does smile, sharp and false.

"You always did know how to give a girl just what she wanted."

"Glad to hear it."

There's a rustle and snap just at the edge of her peripheral vision, Nicky's coat blowing in the wind as he dives at her from above.

She whirls to meet him, jabbing the butt of her shotgun up and into his jaw.

There is a very audible crack as it connects, just seconds before Nicky's weight topples her over, bearing her down to the ground.

He's a dead weight on her for a moment, before shaking it off- that fucking hurt.

Nicky voices his frustration in a wordless snarl and wraps his hands around Anna's throat, slamming her head into the pavement.

She's already winded from a solid blow of Nicky to the solar plexus, which means the ringing in her head from the blow to the ground is even more of a pain in the ass.

Not to mention her increasing difficulty with breathing.

She bucks up under him, back arching. It frees her knee just enough so that she can get him a good shot in the balls.

"Augh-" enhanced strength or not, it's an instinctual response to get the hell away from that.

Nicky releases her and rolls off and away in a crouch, trying to regain his own breath and dignity.

"I'm gonna make you scream," he snarls, baring his teeth at her.

Anna chokes, pushing herself up to her elbows, then rolling over in an attempt to stand.

Her voice, when she finally manages enough breath to speak, is hoarse.

There's gonna be a lot of bruising later, looks like.

"Oh honey, you say the sweetest things."

She fumbles with the shotgun, swinging it up to point right at him.

Here's hoping it didn't get damaged. Nicky's got a hard head.

Pushing himself up, he lunges at her again, trying to leap over the gun entirely.

The report of the shotgun is clear and loud in the deepening twilight.

The sharp, sudden smell of blood fills the air, and Anna can feel her mouth water, even though she's already fed.

Crabapple, who can smell blood too, breaks position and skitters off into the dark.

Hopefully she hasn't gone all that far. They might not be alone out here, after all.

There's a groan, and Nicky uncurls from where he landed. The lower part of his left leg is slowly turning red. The shotgun blast seems to have torn him up a bit.

But he still stands, and Anna can see the white of his eyes as he wrenches the gun away from her, careless of the hot barrel.

He kicks out at her side.

She feels something snap in her ribcage, hand dropping to the ground to better support her weight.

If she thought breathing hurt before--this has got to be worse.

Her own foot swings out to catch him in his left leg, seeking to further that initial injury.

She might also be fumbling at her waistband for her handgun.

Anna's got a feeling she's going to need it very badly in a second or two.

He staggers back a step with another snarl, before straightening up.

Nicky laughs. It's almost hysterical, and he chokes on it a little, walking toward her. He reaches down to grab at her hands.

"You've got no idea, kitten. You can't kill me, I'm gonna keep coming for you-"

He opens his mouth, flashing fangs as he leans down towards her bare wrist.

She curls her hand in a futile attempt to rake his face with her fingernails.

He doesn't have long to laugh at her attempt, though, because her other hand's on the Glock in her waistband, clicking off the safety.

Anna shoots Nicky point-blank in the collarbone.

It shatters, blood splattering against the ground, against her face.

She doesn't flinch at all.

"No, sweetheart, you really won't."

He's the one who actually screams.

Nicky is flat on the ground now, good hand clutching his shoulder. The other leg she shot twitches, sending pain shooting up his spine.

Barely conscious, his eyes roll back.

She stands, wavering on suddenly unsteady legs.

Dammit, she can't lose the adrenaline now. Not yet.

Gritting her teeth, she takes a step forward, bending down to knock him in the head with the butt of her gun.

There.

That should keep him out while she gets Crabapple back.

And decides whether or not she's going to kill him.

She can feel her teeth itching to rip his throat out, drink down his blood, feel it end.

She also feels her stomach turn at the very thought.

Right.

Dry heaves later, horse now.

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