Topic: Life & Death on the Open Road (Maybe Mature)

Nope

Date: 2014-11-23 23:15 EST
For a being so given to caprice, Mona can be incredibly patient. She sits in a hammock tied between two of the thick wooden stilts that support her little beachside bungalow. Sprawled out like a bored child with her suitcase kicked over into the sand, she plucks at pieces of peeling gray paint on the post nearest her head.

She looks up when she hears footsteps, only to spy her neighbor passing by on his way to work another lousy graveyard shift. He glares at her the way one glares at a much hated dog, and he shoots her the finger when Mona flashes him a cheery smile.

"Haven't gotten your car fixed yet?"

He keeps moving, his hands crammed deep into his pockets, but he is a polite man somewhere deep down, and a question deserves an answer.

"**** you, lady. **** you and your dog and that pothead you live with."

Satisfied and amused, she allows him to go along unmolested. No need to poke the bear any further. Soon all that surrounds her is the crashing of nearby waves, the calls of a few wayward seagulls, and the barely audible music thrumming through her earphones. Above her head, the door to her house opens and Bart's voice comes tumbling down.

"Mona" Tina here yet' Do I need to put on pants? I'm kinda..uhh..averse to the idea of putting on pants right now."

Mona thumbs the power button on her MP3 player, and though she can't see Bart, she can feel the severity of what should be a ridiculous question roll off of him. She grins from ear to ear- they are best friends, after all, and shakes her head even though he has no way of seeing it.

"You don't have to put on pants if you don't want to, Bart. Tina isn't here but she's not coming up there anyway."

The answer must satisfy him, because the next thing she hears is the door moving. Before Bart can close it all of the way, she throws a warning up to him.

"Do not bring your women into my room, and make sure that Hallah is fed and walked. I will be calling to check on the both of you."

Mona can hear his fingers slide through his hair and the sigh that escapes his lungs. "Yeah, yeah. Or you'll bust my head in. Got it. If I had a nickel for every time.."

The stream of sleep grunted words are cut off by the door, but the undercurrents are received by both parties. I'll miss you and I'll miss you too. And people say that communication is dead.

Patience. She has that. For Tina more so than most.

(Bart used with the permission of his lovely player!)

Tina

Date: 2014-11-26 00:04 EST
Mona's indulgence is needed, for Tina requires patience as a fading diva demands praise.

This time, however, she is not overly late. In fact, there is some question as to how long she has been present. The girl has taken the arts described by Mona to heart, and practiced them as diligently as she ever did her two-handed backhand. Whether she arrives at too great a speed for most eyes or simply steps out of a fashioned concealment, she is suddenly there.

Her wardrobe continues to evolve, as well. Dressed for adventure in this case translates as black yoga pants beneath an oversize man's chambray shirt, tails tied off at the midriff and sleeves rolled to her elbows. A messenger bag slung over her shoulder carries whatever sundries her imagination might have deemed prudent for a trip as nebulous as this was, and she apparently has no concern about committing herself to a trip that she doesn't even know how to pack for.

She blows a bubble (gum apparently a joy not denied her new state), pops it and chews while she's speaking, hip cocked like a bad-girl in a B-movie from the '50s.

"Nice of you to meet me outside, or maybe just prudent, huh?" Her outsized eyes travel up the bungalow to the just-closed door.

"You gonna tell me anything about where we're off to or are you gonna, like, blindfold me so I can never retrace my steps" Just so you know, I'm pretty much good with either way."

Nope

Date: 2014-11-26 02:18 EST
"We're going to Peoria, Illinois, doce menina." Mona doesn't seem too bothered by how long Tina may or may not have been standing there. She lifts her arms above her head, stretches out like a house cat and smiles a slow smile. "An acquaintance of mine is lost and we are going to try to find her."

Mona then pours herself from the hammock and gathers her suitcase from the sand, all the while appraising Tina's outfit. Approval passes behind her pale amber eyes. Her own kit consists of a jacket of black leather and leopard print, a sleeveless beige silk blouse, black leather pants and burgundy ankle boots with heels high enough and sharp enough to stab a man through his heart. Her dark hair is pulled up and wound in a bun bordered by a trio of braided hanks.

She motions to the little house just a few spaces down with a tilt of her head; the only other shanty for miles. The one that her poor, long suffering neighbor calls home. Mona saunters over to the weather beaten wooden fence, throws open the gate and holds it open for Tina. In the driveway there sits a battered Tercel, almost every inch of it covered in scratches and peculiar little dents. The copper colored paint is barely visible under layers of seagull droppings.

Mona leads her protege past the old wreck, her movements rolling; too fluid to be exactly human. A large tin topped shelter sits behind the house on a patch of sand spotted asphalt. Amidst a plethora of tools and sandbags sits another car blanketed by a sun bleached cover.

"We need a car, you know" Buster will not mind. He loves me." She says love in a way that smacks of the exact opposite, and the glimmer in her eyes is terribly and utterly maniacal. Her pale hands grip the front of the cover and she dances it off of the car, revealing inch by inch a powder blue '56 Thunderbird convertible. It's the chrome that warms her thighs, and she gingerly leans over the driver's side door. When she snaps back up, she's holding a set of keys attached to a purple rabbit's foot in her hand.

"You want to drive, Tina?" It's that very same tone that has sent many a soul sauntering gleefully to their doom. She gives the keys a shake.

Tina

Date: 2014-11-28 23:48 EST
The girl pops her gum a few times before replying, overlarge eyes taking in every inch of the vehicle as it's revealed. When Mona asks the question she holds out a hand without hesitation.

"Blue, huh...," Tina spins the keyring around her index finger, popping her gum. "It's not my fave color, I'm not gonna lie to you. Maybe we can paint it, hmmmm' Just pick up a cupla cans of spray and we could do it in no time."

This disapproval does not translate into delay, though. She opens the door, appraising its swing with a critical eye, and slides behind the wheel like a moray eel slipping into a coral crevice.

"Bench seats. Primo. So much more practical than buckets, if you know what I mean." She may well not know herself, but she understands well enough how to turn the key and put a boot to the throttle. The old V8 bellows like an angry dinosaur. Once Mona is safely ensconced, the girl jabs at the clutch and socks the tranny into first.

Tina surely does not have a license, but she just as certainly has driven before...some spoiled teammate's parent's car, perhaps. Or maybe she just has an instinct for it, coordination and timing having filled so much of her young life. Or maybe there was a weekend with her "aunt" Magenta, who always rated enthusiasm higher than she did proficiency.

The little T-Bird fish-tails wildly as it leaves the lot, the sand on the asphalt making it easier to light up than pure pavement would allow. By the time Tina dumps it into second, though, it straightens out and begins to sing, barely hiccuping through third and fourth.

A young dragon scarcely avoids impact, beating its inadequate wings frantically and rising fat into the air like a partially deflated helium balloon. And then the road is clear ahead, and the horizon seems to be coming up fast.

"Peoria, huh?" says the girl. "I'm guessing you know the way?"

Nope

Date: 2014-11-29 04:36 EST
Mona does not know the way, and having unknowingly bought a ticket for Tina's Wild Ride doesn't make it any easier for her to concentrate. Yet, Mona purses her lips to one corner of her mouth and rolls her eyes ever so slightly heavenward- thoughtful-like. Like a child posing for a Christmas photo in a department store.

"I think..we should consult the robot!" The 'robot' in question happens to be a small screen framed by red plastic that had, until then, been hiding out in the car's glove compartment. Mona presses the little suction cup against the windshield, hits a few buttons and squints at the digital maps that appear. People will never follow the stars again.

"I do not know where in Peoria she is, so I guess any place there will be as good as any. We need a motel, for starters," her fingers dance along the screen, the wind from her open window carrying away little electronic bleeps and bloops," but we can worry about all that when we get there."

A robotic, hiccupy woman's voice instructs Tina to Turn Right. Turn Left. Drive for 45 Miles. Merge into Questionable Mud Puddle. Do Not Lose Hope In Nexus. You Will Reach Your Destination In The Span Of A Sparrow's Blink And An Ancient God's Patience.

Mona seems utterly pleased with herself and lifts a hand up to tousle Tina's short locks. She even seems politely oblivious to the strange directions spouted out by the GPS. "I like the robot, and I like the car the color that it is. You do not ruin art, Tina."

A poor doomed creature that looks very much like an Opossum but for the three sets of eyes on its head instead of one becomes a speed bump courtesy of Tina's driving.

Mona flops back into her seat after surveying the carnage, one leg crossing over the other, and peers out of her window. "I haven't been to Illinois before. I've only been to, mm, five of the states?" She counts something else out on her fingers, something shielded in her mind, and then turns to face her young driver. Her dark hair whips in the wind, depositing a few stray strands across her face. "Have you ever been outside of Rhy'Din?"

Tina

Date: 2014-11-30 21:28 EST
She hadn't actually aimed for the opossum thing, but had merely declined the opportunity to swerve for it.

"If those things ever successfully mate with armadillos," she chirps, accelerating anew, "cars will need plows on the front just to clear the corpses out of the way."

Tina shakes off the tousling with a toss of her head, but a smile, seen only by the road ahead, belies any irritation.

"Outside of Rhy'Din?" she asks. "When I was little I guess, before my other mother...died. But mostly I've been a WestEnd girl since then. I've always figured it's best to be really good at one thing before you tackle another."

The robot beeps and hiccups, a mechanical voice that only the most desperate of fanboys would really call female. As Tina becomes accustomed to it, she begins to make a game of anticipating its directions, spinning the wheel before the instructions are complete. This results in several unanticipated detours through fallow crop fields and one ferocious k-turn; and then, like a blender full of nightmare, the final door of the Nexus opens in front of them.

Tina hesitates briefly, even taps on the brakes once before the wisdom of Auntie Magenta whispers in her ear. She leans forward, then, as if her position could urge the car to greater efforts, and buries the throttle once more.

In the corners of her eyes, out of a peripheral vision that she tries desperately to stare beyond, she passes visions of herself, dogged memories of the time caught in Alma's mind, in Alma's thrall. Tangled with that woman and, occasionally, twining with her and Miho both, slick as nightcrawlers in a glass jar, the Tina-visions moan and thrust and cry out in pleasure, but the girl at the wheel holds her hands firmly at ten and two, and soon enough the world blinks again, and the whitewalls kiss down on a paved interstate, snow piled dirty on its margins and rest-stop signs nagging every quarter mile.

"So this is Illinois," she says, fish-tailing briefly in the wind-blast of a passing semi. She finds herself feeling a grudging affection for the little car. As for Mona's admonition against painting it, well, she lets that comment lie unanswered.

It's best, she's discovered, to seek forgiveness rather than permission.

Nope

Date: 2014-11-30 22:10 EST
While Rhy'Din could rarely be classified as a tiny little dot on a map, Mona can't really grasp the idea of a world so small. It's these thoughts and a scattering of memories that keep her from so much as glancing at her own scene in the Nexus' show.

She comes to just as the truck zooms by, the wind whipping a good few hanks of dark hair from its bun. The ice stings her cheeks. Mona blinks at her erstwhile little driver, eyelids slowly rising and falling like those of a dreamer suddenly shaken from a deep slumber.

"I guess so?" She stretches, and their are so few people who can make such a simple act as subtly seductive as Miss Oliveira. "The robot said we are there, and I trust the robot. My..experience..with this part of the world is pretty limited." She seems almost apologetic with her confession, and for leaving out 'sour'. It's the one word that can sum up her entire affiliation with the States. Things soured badly for me here.

"We need to find a hotel," smiling at Tina, Mona plucks the GPS from the windshield and begins punching in letters and numbers. The DELETE button gets more action than the rest. "A nice hotel. They always track you down in the shabby ones, but money can buy a lot of blind eyes with the ritzier places." Her smile growing brighter suddenly, she replaces the GPS.

"You can go by your name here. Your mother, she was a big thing in Austria" But me, I'm going to go by Maria Silva. It isn't like I'm lying, you know? Those are two of my names."

She shrugs and thumps the green START button on the screen. Another little map pops up, and the voice chimes in soon after.

"I'll give you your ID once we get a room. Cannot have you driving around without one. It makes the blue boys so sad. Then we will get settled and you and I are going to hunt down some contacts of mine."

Tina

Date: 2014-12-02 23:51 EST
She nods as she listens, perfunctory, automatic, her attention hitting on keywords like the downbeats of a distant song. Occasionally she darts a glance from one side to the other, as if she expects the Nexus' revelations to linger even here. The passing scenery, however, it bucolic, weary, and wintry. To the eyes of this self-described "WestEnd Girl," the Illinois of the December Interstates could not be more mundane.

"Hotel," she says, grabbing the word out of the passing lullaby of language. "Will it have a pool, I wonder" I think I might have something I could wear swimming, and it might be a kick after dark, when lights under the water are all scalloped by the waves?"

The road is more wet than icy, and though rear-wheel-drive muscle cars aren't known as winter handlers, Tina and the little 'Bird have entered into a treaty of mutual respect. This does allow the needle on the speedometer to veer dangerously toward three figures, but no loss of traction indicates any risk of anything other than the attention of those Mona calls "the blue boys."

As Mona continues describing their future agenda, the girl stops nodding and even cants her head to better hear over the roar of the open windows (and why they don't shut these is a mystery; perhaps they simply don't know better, and enjoy the novelty of the bite of cold and speed).

"About the ID," she says, thoughtful, catching at each word cautiously before setting it free, "Shusberg is cool, nobody will know it here I'm pretty sure. But can you so something for me" If its not too late?"

She continues without waiting for confirmation.

"Martina," she says. "I think I want to be Martina."

Nope

Date: 2014-12-03 01:36 EST
If Mona is bothered by Tina's driving then she doesn't show it. Teenagers will, after all, be teenagers, and there isn't a whole lot left in the world that scares her.

Yet Mona seems both charmed and surprised by Tina's request, and a dark brow hitches up. "Of course you can be Martina, menina querida! Martina Shusberg. Muito distinto." Mona speaks over the whistle of the wind, her hair now completely liberated from its binds. It whips around her face and behind her head like the tail of a chaotic comet.

A large sign, its moorings bordered by lights and artfully arranged clumps of daphne and hellbore, welcome them to the Hotel Wolfield just as the GPS tells them that they've arrived at their destination. The hotel itself is a garish white brick structure with no more shape to it than a saltine cracker box. A large fountain replete with a duo of cheeky, spitting angels sits just beyond the gilded entry way where a few bellhops stand talking to a smartly dressed valet. The latter perks up when he spies the 'Bird, the steam of his breath mingling with cigarette smoke. He relaxes again when the car heads for the parking deck around back.

"I don't do valet parking," she hisses conspiratorially, her face suddenly inches from Tina's cheek. "It is better to park your own car, that way you know where it is if you need it."

When all is said and done, when the room is booked and the luggage is carried up the spiral staircase by a spindly bellhop (one who eyes the both of them with a bashful smile), Mona sits down on the edge of the bed and immediately removes a cellphone from her purse.

Admittedly, the room is shamefully bigger than most apartments. There are red damask chairs surrounding a mahogany table, a full sized bar in one corner that, while it wouldn't put it to shame, would certainly give the one at The Red Dragon a run for its money. A flat screen television bigger than either of the room's current occupants nearly takes up an entire wall.

"Watch some television or something, Tina. Make yourself at home." She plucks a brochure from an end table and tosses it at the girl. "I think there are actual stores down below, and there is an indoor swimming pool. Go hog wild. No one says that you cannot combine business and pleasure, and this trip is for you as much as it is about finding my..."

A muffled voice on the other end of the phone suddenly catches her attention, and she narrows her eyes in concentration. While she listens, Mona removes a plastic card from a pocket in her purse and slings towards Tina like a child skipping a rock across a river's surface. A credit card. Turning her back then, a habit, she snares a dark strand of hair around her finger and winds it 'round and 'round.

A few moments pass and she smiles brightly at Tina, her thumb ending the call before she hides the phone away.

The cool air has revived Mona, perked her up. She moves to her feet quickly, shrugs out of her jacket and heads towards the bathroom door. By the time she reaches it, she's wearing nothing but her underwear, a matching black lace duo that provides a delightful contrast to the pale skin that it has no hopes of ever covering. There's a level in Hell no doubt dedicated to Mona Oliveira eating an apple in nothing but her underwear; an impenetrable window the only thing standing between her and the panting fellows on the other side. Hand on the door, the jagged silverfish line of a long scar visible on one wrist, she looks over her shoulder at her childe.

"It is 8:00 right now. You have until 10 to explore, and then we go meet my contact, okay' He'll be able to help you with your new ID too."

And then she disappears into the little room without another word.

Tina

Date: 2014-12-03 23:29 EST
Tina absorbs information like a wool coat in a rainstorm. Mona's admonition about valet services is noted and stored; it fits well into her picture of the world, where flight, if it only serves to get one behind one's opponent for renewed attack, is always an option to keep on hand.

The eyes of the bellhops are noted too, though they do seem to favor following the lusher form of her mentor. Regardless, she rewards them with forked fingers to the eyes, the universal "I'm watching you!" sign, and a stuck-out tongue.

The credit card is a new experience, but the shops adjacent to the hotel lobby are more than happy to convince her of its value, and Tina (for whom money has always been more theoretical than practical; since everything has always belonged to her if she only wanted it enough), quickly learns the essential wisdom that the bit of plastic can buy anything...the notion of eventually paying being of course nonsense to her.

It is only, in truth, the fact that she covets little that prevents her from doing real damage with the card. That, and the fact that she is curious about Mona's ultimate goal here and suspicious that it might include opportunities for her to spread her new wings, as it were.

Thus she only purchases a new swimming suit—a somewhat modest two-piece , in black because she can't wear white anymore—and an inflatable plastic water ring with the head of a sea-serpent, simply because it looked lonely.

With these in string-handled bags that shout out her identity as another customer of the Wolfield Plaza, she manages the electronic key with just three tries and shoulders open the door to an empty room and the sound of running water.

Nope

Date: 2014-12-04 02:51 EST
Stepping from the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of emerald green studs in her ears, Mona walks to the window and peers between the heavy linen curtains. Stories below, people mill about; some arriving while others depart. A raccoon carefully navigates the tightrope wire of the electrical line connecting two of the hotel's flat roofs. She hears the drunken revelry of a couple too far into their cups bellowing through the hallway; a chorus comprised of undying devotions soon muffled by their room door.

With a slow smile creeping across her lips and water beading from the ends of her dark hair- colored darker by the shower, Mona shifts her gaze to the long brick building that houses the swimming pool. Windows run nearly the entire length of the structure, and she spies Tina's form; a tiny speck to anyone else, but Mona can make out each feature on the girl's face.

The former Archbishop watches her childe for a long time until the scene before her blurs and her mind drifts off on the back of a pretty distraction. Soon an hour slips by her like a greased eel, and though Mona has climbed pretty far into the clouds, it takes but a knock at the door to send her plummeting back to reality. The swimmer is gone, and for a moment she thinks that the person in the hall is Tina.

A potential mistake that announces itself quickly enough.

The second volley of punches- for they are too loud, too forceful now to be called knocks, splinter the heavy duty wood from the grasp of the door's hinges. In a flash, Mona is on her feet, her arms lifted to allow the delicate silk of a pale blue robe to slip over her form. Quick though she may be, she barely has time to tie it when the visitor kicks the other side of the door hard enough to send the handle, and the wood that supported it, crashing to the floor. It lands against the carpet with a dull thud, leaving a hole big enough to reveal a swatch of denim.

The intruder is coming into that room regardless, but Mona finds enough time on her hands for some quick math. She swipes something from her nearby purse and hides in a fist at her side just as what?s left of the door swing open, and she quickly closes her robe with her other hand. The man in the doorway is a giant fellow, red and corn fed with close cropped hair the color of dust. He doesn't look at her with anger or lust. The expression on his blotchy slab of a face is both exhausted and annoyed. When he sees her, it switches for a brief second to confusion, as if he's unsure that he's knocked down the door to the right room. He takes a deep breath- human. A ghoul,she thinks, but a human still, and pastes on a dim, forced smile.

"Mona Oliveira?" He nearly pants her name, but of course he does. Breaking and entering can take a lot out of a guy. Her brows go up and she turns her head to the side sheepishly, a bit of blood willed to her pale cheeks for a rosey blush.

"N"o, voc" tem a pessoa errada," she mutters, slow and seemingly in shock at the intrusion. For a split second, the man almost buys the act.

"I don't speak..whatever you're speakin". C"mon, girly." He holds his hand up to show that he doesn't have a weapon, but it's his voice that clenches her fist tighter. That same voice used by every textbook stranger trying to tempt a child into his van with candy. "I ain't here t"hurt ya, okay' My names Tommy. That?" He motions to the door with the jerk of a large thumb. "I was just blowin" off steam. My boss sent me, wants to meet you and your little friend. That's all. Just tell him why you're in town and when you're gonna be leavin"."

Mona's mask of confusion only deepens, her brows knitted together and her bottom lip curling against the top in a nearly perfect pout. She shakes her head at him, the poor befuddled foreigner, and takes a step back. Tommy doesn't move, doesn't dare- he's not bright but he isn't that stupid, and his expression darkens. Storm clouds move behind his seaweed colored eyes.

"Okay, I'm gonna ask again," he speaks through gritted teeth, causing Mona to bite back a small smile. His patience is running thin. So little Tommy has a quick temper. Easy as pie. "You come with me nicely and ain't nobody gotta worry, okay' We can even talk on the way. Like I said, my boss just wants to meet you. Or, we can do it the hard way. Hate to leave nothin" behind for your little friend t"find."

He takes a step forward, and Mona knows that he's already decided on the hard way.

But something draws his eyes to her fist and the little bits of dull steel that peek out from between pale knuckles. "Hey, hey..whatcha got th—-"

Tommy's world suddenly explodes in a starburst of white pain, and the last thing he hears is what sounds like a gunshot going off in his skull. Afterwards every sound- even his own screaming, becomes morphed as if by some evil child's voice changer. He paws at his left ear and the hot wax and blood that trickle down his cheek is smeared by his hand. Mona simply stands where she is and watches, her middle finger and thumb still posed together mid-thump, while Tommy lurches across the room. A broad shoulder narrowly misses a collision with the television. The coffee table is not so lucky.

While her would-be escort/attacker continues thrashing about, making a mess of everything his hulking form comes into contact with, Mona lowers her hand and uncurls her fingers from her palm. Three metal jacks, the same sort that countless children have shot marbles at for more than a century, tumble into one another.

"You won't get hearing back in that ear, Tommy. Sorry about that." Her expression is surprisingly relaxed, her cold eyes half lidded and her mouth turned up ever so slightly at the corners. Pressing his hand to his ear, the still visible spikes of the jack jabbing into his palm, he calls her every crude name that he can think of, and even sobs up a few news ones.

"Mona Oliveira is dead. The girl and I, we bow to no one. Tell your boss to v" se danar." She rolls her eyes at him and begins to shove her belongings into her suitcase. "Idiota. Scream all you want! Rock stars stay here, you know? These people, they are used to noise."

Come on, Martina. It isn't safe here. The room service is horrible. Martina...Tina..

With a shirt clenched tightly in her fist, she stomps one foot at Tommy and screams as loudly as she can down at him. Dark punctuation to be sure, but also an attempt to hasten Tina's return.

Tina

Date: 2014-12-08 01:26 EST
The pool was a revelation. Not that she had magically become more buoyant, no, and though her skin was cooler the water still chilled thrillingly at first touch. The difference was in the sensitivity of her sense of smell, and its increased ability to pick out the separate ingredients in the biological and chemical bouillabaisse that infested the water. Fortunately that ability was joined by a nonchalance regarding matters of contamination that she had never known before, so it evened out.

The new black suit was not particularly skimpy, but in it her newly pale skin strobed almost as nicely as her tan once had against tennis whites, and she was pleased enough to note that several pairs of eyes followed her stroll along the slick tiles, her pre-cannonball bounce on the diving board. These things are good to know; tools to tuck away for later use.

It all eventually palls though, and once she's absented herself long enough to, she figures, allow Mona the privacy for whatever ablutions she favors (Tina does not want to walk in on her sire naked; doesn't want to have to force herself not to look), she hooks the sea-serpent water ring around her neck and, towel over one shoulder, ascends the elevator back to their floor.

She hears the sound of breaking things as soon as the door wheezes open, and the rapidity of her response, unthinking and unwilled, surprises even her. With a single glance at the broken door and the messy tapestry within, she comes to a decision based on an unlikely maturity.

With the edge of the towel over the top of the door, the portal can be wedged closed with wet terry hiding the worst of the damage. Once the world is shut out, she steps forward and, with a quick kick of her bare foot, silences the still thrashing ghoul. The sudden quiet is an almost physical pleasure, but she doesn't linger to enjoy it.

A nod to Mona, a shushing finger to her own mouth, and she starts jamming their partially unpacked belongings into whatever bag is closest to hand, and drags a pair of jeans on, the fabric sticking on the wet at the back of her knees. Thus half dressed, with the black bikini top above and the sea monster still necklacing her throat, she finally speaks aloud to her sire.

"You're prolly not gonna want to wear that. Want me to fetch the 'Bird and meet you out front once you're decent and all?"

Nope

Date: 2014-12-11 20:45 EST
Tommy's unconscious form proves to be the only obstacle between Mona and the Thunderbird. But for those who have shed any tears for Tommy, do take comfort in the fact that he would survive; though his dignity would join his hearing in a file marked non-salvageable in the Universe's Great Filing Cabinet.

Dressed in a white blouse, black slacks and a pair of sensible black flat, Mona wastes no time punching the address into Madame GPS's smooth face. 11 Crowben Dr.

The robotic voice dictates its left and right turns, and each mile takes them further from the little huddle city lights until there is nothing on either side of them but winter bitten, long forgotten farmland. Mona watches the world pass by with her cold forehead pressed against the chillier glass window of the door. "I.." Huh. "I..hate surprises. I hate bad surprises. They really chuff my arse, you know?"

But she's smiling, and Mona In The Window reflects the expression. "Not too much further. A few miles, maybe?"

Maybe turns into definitely. 11 Crowben Dr is situated at the rear end of a long stretch of dirt road. What was once no doubt a stately farmhouse, all that remains is a shattered, rotting corpse. The broken windows lining the top stare out like ruined eyes into the distance. Blind but knowing.

"History, I think, is like..umm..silly putty. You put it on the paper, you know, and then peel it off and there is the text. That putty stays gray even after you knead it. Even after the text fades. That house.." She points through the windshield, excitement in her voice and her eyes, "has covered up a lot of text, but I bet it remembers every word, Tina."

Tina

Date: 2014-12-12 17:25 EST
Tina is not exactly chastened, but clearly muted. Her driving exhibits none of the brio of their earlier journey, the robotic commands of the GPS followed with crisp precision rather than anticipation and the constant retreats from disaster that it occasions.

The sea-monster water wing, its plastic ring wedged between seatbacks, sits up between the two women. A pair of sunglassses perch on its nose, and a jaunty navy-blue scarf blows back from its inflated neck. If their pursuers are looking for two passengers, Tina thinks, perhaps the illusion of a third will be enough to buy a bit of time.

She is fat with questions, but the urgency of the situation quiets her, and she manages to avoid hectoring Mona with endless queries. For better or worse, she has hitched her wagon to this woman's star, and the girl has always been one to strive to be the best at whatever she does. Interrogation, no matter that the urge niggles at her like a reformed smoker's craving with her morning's coffee, will have to wait.

When Mona does speak, and the old farmhouse looms up ahead like the gravestone of a giant, Tina slips the blue 'Bird out of gear and lets it idle to a stop while she studies the dwelling.

Some windows are boarded up, their planks gone silver with time. Those not so covered have earned the attention of the particular species of vandals who prey upon abandoned places, their panes cracked at best and shattered at worst. Tina finds herself wondering what price those rock-throwers might have paid for their adventures.

There is not a light in the house, but it also does not boom with silence after the fashion of empty places. With a glance at Mona, and perhaps a shiver at her smile, Tina slips the "Bird into first and eases up the drive, the rough dirt road causing the sea-monster between them to nod with an unseemly eagerness.

She parks close, tucking the little car behind a leaning outbuilding to better hide it from any passing on the main road. The engine ticks and pops its way toward cool. Tina has no intention of opening a door before Mona leads the way.

Nope

Date: 2014-12-12 22:18 EST
She pushes the dapper float out of the way and peers around its long neck to get a better look at Tina. She may not know Tina as well as she would like- for no one will ever completely know another of their kind, but she is quite accustomed to recognizing quite a few airborne hungers; questions, int this case, or rather the need to question.

"We're not going in his house. We'd probably fall through the floor for how rotted that place looks. He'll meet us out here. Probably has to freshen up," She indicates the poor old house with a sharp upward nod of her head. "So speak now or hold your peace..or whatever. Just know that I am interested in what you have to say, Tina Shusberg."

She releases her hold on the float's neck and falls back into her seat. As she waits for Tina to saying something, to ask anything, she removes the sunglasses from the rubber pool toy's snout and slips them on. A few mangy but well-fed curs climb out from beneath the remains of the porch and begin sniffing around. The moment they see the car, they raise their scarred faces and bark, but they don't move any closer to the 'Bird and its occupants. Maybe they sense something there that those poor delinquents, those responsible for at least a few of those broken windows, lacked.

Tina

Date: 2014-12-13 19:06 EST
The question is welcome, and Tina muses for a moment, trying to compose her own queries. The arrival of the curs distracts her for a moment, and she feels the impending-toothache itch of her hidden incisors inching out. It is not that she feels threatened, per se, but only that she has a lingering antipathy for dogs, not the only prejudice she has inherited, willing or no, from her mother.

"Ok, ok, just a cupla things then. That...thing...in the hotel...." Here her pretty little face twists into a scowl; she is quite aware of what Tommy is, and there is clearly no love lost for those of his kind. "...who sent him, and why was he there" And what does he have to do with your friend's disappearance?"

The sea monster nods, seemingly disconsolate at its loss of sunglasses, or perhaps urging the girl to further speech.

"And this house...." Her oversized eyes flick over the ruined structure, wary of whatever it might disgorge. "...who or what is gonna come out of it, and exactly how wary do I need to be." She turns her face to Mona and the loyalty in it, naked and naive, is enough to break a heart. "Cause I'm not gonna let anything hurt you. I'm just not."

That seems to be enough, and her words are already slurring over the teeth that, fully arisen now though uncalled, dimple her lower lip. The dogs, either sensing the danger in the car or responding to another threat as yet unseen, slink back, barking desultorily in the manner of all cowardly things, until they are hidden by the deeper darkness beneath the porch again.

The air in the car seems to grow cooler, perhaps as the evening lengthens and sucks the warmth from the sky, perhaps chilled by the intensity of the girl's attention. As she waits.

Nope

Date: 2014-12-19 02:03 EST
(Taken from play with Tina's stellar mun!)

Mona doesn't have time to answer even one of Tina's questions.

It doesn't matter that she wants to tell the girl that she can trust her and that she'd never put her- intentionally- in harm's way, because a Very Large Something decides at that exact moment to smash itself against the 'Bird's windshield. Growling and snarling, its weight spiderwebbing the glass below it, the creature pulls its black, rubberish dog lips back from yellowed broken piano key teeth in a snarl aimed at both ladies. Its short tusks scratch out a rhythm in time with its black, chitinous claws against the glass. Eyes, a human's eyes- of that there is no doubt, are still red in their centers and yellow where white had once surely shown. A slimy black nose drags trails through the pink foam falling from its lips.

The inflated sea-monster wobbles lazily, a breeze through the open windows giving it the illusion of apprehension, and for a moment Tina fantasizes that it might flee the car and rush to their defense, but her teeth are free now and rather than flinch she leans toward the window, answering the monstrosity with her own catfaced fury. Hands on the dashboard, shoulders hunched, she answers threat for threat. She has trained, after all, to be the best little monster she can be. And winners never....show fear.

Meanwhile, Mona just watches. If one were to ask a stranger about Mona, both weird' and pretty would be on the tips of several tongues, but sitting there as she is, as calm as a housewife drowsing over a good book, weird looks a lot like insane. Pretty insane.

"Ignore him," mutters Miss Oliveira to her tense childe, her head slowly tipping to one side. "He'll stop. Just give him a second, okay?"

Tina nods at Mona's suggestion, her huge eyes nevertheless locking on those of the creature without. Eventually the monster DOES stop, though the reasoning behind its sudden slide from the car is unclear, and Mona seems in no hurry to hazard a guess. Standing straight, the beast pops the collar of his filthy leather jacket up, passes a horrible hand over the slick, black duck's rear of his hair, and falls into a casual lean against Tina's side of the car. Then, with its face against the window, it pulls its lips into a horrible grin. Mona rolls her pale eyes just as his gaze hops from Tina, to the pool toy sandwiched between them, and stops dead on Mona's mouth.

"Who's your friend, Boner?" Those sick peepers slowly trail back to Tina. It's voice is a growl. "Who're you?"

Mona's nonchalance does much to calm Tina, but not enough to make her drop her defenses. Her pretty little teeth, milk-white and the envy of any abalone, remain erect, her voice slurred around them. "Martina Thusberth," she answers, keeping inflection from her voice. "Who wants to know?"

"Thusberth, eh?" The Gangrel's doggish ears perk up, but he nods. No need to start fires in places without fireplaces. Mona, tight-lipped, agitated, and staring disgustedly at the busted windshield, removes a cigarette from the silver case in her purse and places it between her lips.

"This is my childe, Howie," she croons, almost with affection, "Martina, this is Howard Strong. He's the contact that I told you about."

Howie snorts and rests one arm against the door, the nails on his hairy hands sharp and splintered. The surprise in his eyes fades, replaced by something darker. "Childe." He snorts and a drop of reddish fluid drips from his nose. "Heh. Well...how 'bout that' I got information, yeah, but maybe..just maybe I don't wanna tell you, Boner."

Mona's squares her shoulders at the nickname, her eyes slowly shifting back to Howie. She fights back a grin. Freakish or not, Howie is a charming SOB.

"Maybe," he continues, "just maybe I wanna tell it to Miss Thusberth here. Outta this thing." He smacks a hand against the roof of the car hard enough to leave a dent.

With the situation clearly defusing, Tina regains her ease, and nods at the maniacally grinning inflatable head next to hers. "Thith," she begins, and pauses, sucking her lips until the teeth retract, "this is Nessy. She's a CostCobra, the most venomous kind." Huge eyes study the monstrosity called Howard, and she tries to be tactful. "So you'll be safe with us....if that's what you're looking for. But maybe we all better be sure about that before you really want me out of this car."

He waits for her to finish, the expression on his face as close to amusement as the marks of previous frenzy will allow. "CostCobra" Cute."

Meanwhile, Mona remains silent and still, a pale little thing bathed in the naked moonlight streaming through the car window. She seems perfectly content just letting the girl deal with this, which means she probably trusts Howie enough. Probably. Howie tilts his head to one side, doggish, and eyes Tina's legs with interest. "Boner knows I ain't bad people. Well..I mean, there are worse people. Think I'd hurt ya with her sitting there?" His ragged nails begin drumming against the Bird's roof. "I ain't gonna anger that plastic thing either. Might have a meaner bite, yeah?"

Tina flicks a glance at Mona, and finds a smile, though there is a hint of habanero in it. "Nah, you misunderstand, Howie, I wasn't worried about you hurting me or Nessy. 'Cause you're right, there are worse people. Loads worse. So you want to tell us what you're gonna tell us or are you gonna make me get out of here to hear it. It's all good to me." Great eyes wide and catching the moonlight like mirrors, and there is a slur creeping back into her voice at the final words.

He throws his hands into the air in a sign of feigned surrender and steps back. His movements are awkward, and in the light bathing the little clearing, it isn't hard to see why. Below his knees, his legs are bent backwards and tug at the denim of his jeans. Kangaroo indeed. He wears no shoes, but there is not a cobbler in existence that can make boots for cloven hooves. Mona leans close to Tina, close enough to kiss her ear if she had dared. "Just go," she whispers, "if he seems like he's going to be stupid, knock his teeth in. It won't come to it. Howie, he is a joker."

But Howie Strong's great bat ears miss little and he looks as shocked as he possibly can, his bottom jaw dropping to his chest. "I already said I wouldn't hurt her! I just..I get lonely, ya dig" You outta know that, Boner. I ain't as pretty as I used to be, as pretty as when we first met..but I'm a gentleman." He's grinning again. So many horrible teeth. "I just joke around. C'mon Martina. A few minutes next to a lonely ol' monster is worth what Twinkletits needs t'know, right?"

The door is opened and Tina is out, the sea-monster dragged in the sudden rush of air from her movement. It seems there is a Tina in front of Howie...and then alongside...and then behind...and then one of them speaks, the voice seeming to come from all three locations at once. Oh she has practiced, and Mona is watching.

"Her name is Mona. What is it that you have to say to us" Make it quick though..." The Tina images flicker again, here and here and here, and the voice from everywhere. "'Cause I....have this attention deficit thing, and I get really, really impatient!"

"Save the bluster for when ya need it, kid. For the umpteenth time, I ain't gonna harm ya." His voice seems serious, if not for the hodgepodge of animal traits that make up his features. He lowers his head and his ripsaw voice falls into a hoarse whisper. Even without the aid of satellite sized ears, Mona can still hear. She seems, for the most part, perfectly ready to accept whatever happens. Lessons are, sometimes, learned the hard way and Howie has proven to be an excellent teacher int he past.

"I'm doing you two a favor," he continues, visibly unphased by Tina's theatrics, "favor for a favor, and I don't owe either of you that much. I owe Lana, got it' As for where she is, I got a clue." His eyes trail along the float's neck, and dart like a speed-hyped lab rat's to the car and its petite occupant. "Truth is, kid" Lana's dead. You wanna find her, you're gonna have to be really frickin' good at sortin' through dust. That's one body ain't ever gonna be found."

Sadness finds its way in his voice and his ears droop down. Inside of the car, Mona visibly flinches, but keeps her eyes trained ahead. His eyes stay trained on Mona's face for a long while. "Sorry, Bo..eh..Mona. But you know how it is. Some people just seem t'live just to pay off another person's sins." Frowning, Howie then looks back to Tina's face. If he had had a tail, it would have been firmly tucked between his legs.

Nessy, still caught in the wind of Tina's movement, rocks along, bouncing from one side to the other until she is suddenly, firmly, next to it. A flick of toe lifts it into the air and onto her neck, her oversized eyes peering around the inflated throat. Her voice is softer, almost kind, a girl that people want to please. "Thanks for that. If Mona wants to find her....then we will. Simple as that. Is there anything else you can tell us" It would make me happy if you did. And for so little effort...."

Howie barks at her then, his ears pointing straight up. "Don't be so rude. How's that' Kid, you got balls." His lips pull back into an absentminded snarl and he bounces just a little from one hoof to the other and shakes his head from side to side. A snort sends the red mucus on the tip of his nose splattering against Nessie's neck. "You think you guys can get 'em' Go right ahead." He looks again at Mona and seems oddly confused by her lack of expression. "Soooo, she's checked out. Anyway, there's a guy that haunts the sewage treatment plant up in Roscoe. Mean old mess named Lucas. Nos-fer-a-tu, ya dig" Don't know if he works both sides'a the fence, but he dealt the final blow on poor ol' Lana. Ain't as friendly as me, though."

Tina nods, and Nessie does as well, seemingly unconcerned by her recent disfigurement. "Thanks for that, too. Nosferatu. Yeah, mother had a few of those hanging around once in a while. Not like it's gonna scare me. Anyways, you helped us this far. We'll carry the ball from here." A manipulation of her hand nods for Nessie, and she slips back into the 'Bird.

He cries out to the both of them. In the end, Howie is simply happy to have visitors. "You ever get bored or need a shoulder t'cry on, I'll be here. I ain't one for Tories, but I get uglier and ya'll just get prettier." He can't whistle any more than his little pack of curs can, but he can howl, and howl he does. It's appreciative and lecherous, but good-natured, and it follows him all of the way back to his house.

When he's gone, Mona takes in a deep, deep breath, unneeded but steadying, and watches Tina- and Nessie, can't forget that damned thing- slip back into the car. "On the way, we might have to pull over, okay' Don't freak out or ask what is wrong, no matter what you hear or see. I'm just going to..." And suddenly she's crying. Red beads tumble down her frighteningly pale cheeks and she buries face in her hands, her head moving from side to side.

"Fifteen-love, by my count, boss lady. " Tina mumbles and tucks Nessie's hoop into the space between the seatbacks, before pulling away. She does not mention the tears, does not acknowledge them even.

"It ain't over till it's over, Mona, and it's still our serve."

Nope

Date: 2014-12-19 03:26 EST
(Once again taken from play with Tina's mun. Weeeee!)

Even though there is no need to pull over, the tears themselves never happened as far as Mona is concerned...A fluke. A glitch. With the scent of Howie still hanging in her nostrils, like straw and dogsh*t and old pennies, she silently thumbs through the list of options presented to her by the Good Lady GPS. The glow from the gadget's screen bathes Mona's face, and one side of Nessy, in its dull light, draining color from each inch of reality that it touches. Once the GPS is placed in her cradle once again and begins belching out new instructions, Mona repeats the ritual of placing a small, long fingered hand against Nessy's chest ad pushing her back to get a better look at Tina.

"Obrigada, Martina, for driving and keeping me company during this."

Another poke secures Nessy more tightly in her tuck between the seatbacks. Tina thus far, has abstained from any mention of Mona's tears, even if their ghostly streaks still mar her cheeks. "No problemo, boss lady. I figure it's good for me to learn these things. And I kind of, you know, owe you I guess" So any ideas of what fresh Hell we might run into once the mechanical lady finishes singing?"

Mona simply eyes Tina for a second before looking once more at the road. "A trap," she says it flippantly, as casually as one might point out a feral kitten in an alleyway. "It's a trap. Howie didn't set us up and I'm pretty sure Lana is like he said she is," she swallows and her hands flutter briefly in her lap, "but I am pretty sure this Lucas knows we're coming. Word travels fast. It may just be him there or it might be an ambush. Either way, I am sure that he is paranoid."

Tina grinds fourth, double clutches, and gets it on the second try, the only sign that she might be rattled. She swallows, blinks, and responds with no apparent emotion. "Sooooo, a trap?" The 'Bird flies quietly now, just the low moan of the big eight playing counterpoint to the wind. "And I'm guessing you're not especially worried about this, 'cause you have faith in me and all?"

"I have faith that you can survive. You have that look to you, like the stripped end of a power cable. You and I aren't so different." She hides her worry with a sidelong look out of her window. "Correct me if I am wrong, but you fear what others take for granted. Where your next meal will come from, if the place you are staying in will hold up. You know that bite and you knew it before." Her mouth forms a straight little line on her face and she flips down the little rectangle hanging above her lap, checks her eyeliner in its little mirror and thumbs away the remains of the tears. "One or one hundred, what does it matter" It's the not knowing that scares me. It's always been that."

Tina eyes the road for a moment, a few flurries swirling in the lights in hyperspace parody. "Yeah, I'll be ok. And you can count on me. Truly. I may worry about stuff, but I've never let fear get between me and what I had to do."

Bless the GPS. The Rosco Sewage Treatment Works sits perhaps a mile away, off in a field made mute by winter's quick crawl. From this far out it looks like any other white brick and steel testiment to the modern world; an abandoned one, sure, one long defeated by some bigger and better facility, but still it is exactly what it is. Mona smiles, but it is gone as quickly as a candle's flame trapped in a draft.

"We'll both be fine then. We really have no other choice."

The GPS squak-speaks, and Tina downshifts before turning toward the facility. With a perhaps unexpected show of common sense, she flicks off the lights and navigates by the reflected glow from snow and cloud. When they're fifty yards from the concrete mausoleum, she shifts into neutral and kills the engine, and the 'Bird drifts forward with only the whisper of tire on gravel to mark its passage. Once it rolls to a stop, maybe thirty feet from the building, she unwedges the sea-monster and cuddles it in her lap.

"So, is there a plan or do we just sort of stroll up and be ready for whatever ass-kicking the situation calls for?"

Mona reaches into her pocket and removes a bunch of maybe five metal children's jacks, the same as the one that had taken Tommy's hearing back at the hotel. "Take these, okay' Speed equals power. It is the difference between bouncing harmlessly off of a car's bumper and being flipped over the entire thing. Do not throws these like you would your tennis balls. Aim and thump them. You can blow out the back of man's skull if you do it correctly." She offers them over to Tina, careful not to drop them onto the float's thin hide. "We make nice and then we unmake it if it comes to it."

Tina pockets the little missiles. "Yeah, that Kindred throw thing, I've been practicing it, even backhand..." Despite her apparent confidence, she pulls the door latch gradually and swings the portal open in near silence before, Nessy tucked around her neck, she slides out onto the frozen ground. "Ready when you are, boss lady."

"I am as ready as I'll ever be." Mona once again sucks in air that she doesn't need, a relatively new habit, and steps out of the car. A few snowflakes fall upon her cheek but do not melt.

Up close, the building looms in a way that makes Howie's house look like a resort. It is flanked by tanks of all sorts, cracked pumps and shallow cesspools with ice forming on their moldering surfaces. Mona smiles once again, one of those odd quick lip tugs, and moves to the large steel door in front. Mona knocks despite the urge to just barge in, and something on the otherside opens the steel door wide. Looking over her shoulder to Tina one more time, concern finally flickering behind her eyes, she then disappears into the darkness. Tina positions herself behind her sire, hipshot in an attitude of teenaged arrogance, the inflatable around her neck belying that stance. Her right hand hangs loose, fingers curled just enough to create a cage for the jack that rattles in it, not so much held as cupped. The girl remains half a step behind her sire, Nessy bobbing happily with her pace.

Little pinpricks of eyeshine appear and disappear all around them, like Christmas lights set on blink. Mona doesn't look back at Tina again, takes her footsteps and the rubbery scratching sounds of Nessy as assurance enough. Tiny claws skitter across concrete, but Mona finds herself mindful of something much bigger and self-aware. There's something here, something else. It isn't angry, no, not yet. It's terrified and it's waiting. Mona licks her lips and carefully begins tying her hair up in the rubber-band nestled around her wrist. '

The air is stale and sour.

Suddenly the eyeshine and the skittering stops completely.

The silence is like a force, and as such vulnerable to its counter. Tina maintains her pace behind Mona, softly at first, and then with an abrasive sibilant authority, she begins to whistle. The first few notes might be unrecognizable, but soon enough the tune comes clear. It is "The Sunshine of Your Love." She rocks a little with each step, almost a dance, her great eyes probing the dim light of the room like tentative fingers.

Whatever is hiding shifts its position when the whistling reaches its ears, and Mona spins on her heels to face Tina, her own pretty white teeth complete with pretty white fangs ready to let loose a no doubt lovely and not at all profanity laden call via her tongue for her childe to just Shut The **** Up. But the air grows thick, cloyingly so, crushingly so, and barrels towards the both of them with all of the strength of a giant's fist backing it. It catches Mona off guard and sends her flying back against a concrete stairwell. When her head hits the wall, the room is treated to the sound of an egg shell cracking and the scent of strong, old blood.

Tina pivots and reaches Mona almost before she lands, tennis reflexes meet Kindred speed. There, she kneels in front of her sire, facing the unknown. Her left hand reaches up to her neck, twists plastic, and with a push to set her in motion, the sea monster wobbles through the air into the threatening dimness, riding a squeal of escaping air. With a hiss of confidence that she doesn't feel, Tina cheers it on its way. "Kill Nessy!" she hisses, "kill them all!"

The Invisible Thing shifts again, the little pinpricks of light returning one by one. Rats, not just one or two, but hundreds of them watch from landings and old pipes, bits of defunct electrical wire high above and through ventilation grates bolted safely into the walls. Mona shakes her head slowly, one foot twitching awkwardly and quickly, and she mutters something in a language other than English. A large metal barrel breaks free of its moorings at the far in the room and crashes to the floor, followed by another and another and another in a chorus of chaos.

Something dodges the wobbling inflatable, the sound enough to mark a location, and Tina backhands the jack towards the noise, and is rewarded with the meaty, hollow sound of a dagger striking a pumpkin. Before the first strikes she has another jack in her hand, just in time for the invisible fist to send her flying. A dozen rats are broken beneath her as she lands and rolls, but she doesn't drop what she's holding. There will be pain later, she knows, plenty of it, but for now she struggles to her feet. There are rodent corpses beneath her, the few not quite dead snapping at the air in instinctive aggression.

Nearby, a piece of pipe groans on its moorings and then begins to swing. One thick strand of wire snaps, and then the other, all in the span of three seconds. The pipe then sails through the air towards Tina, as nimble as a knight's lance in the hands of whatever wields it. The feeling in the air, that terrified animal fog, shifts into unbridled anger. More rats replace their dead and dying kin, but throughout the room there rises a cacophony of anguished, surprised squeaks.

The pipe is a target, a line aiming at whatever wields it. The second jack is flung overhand, a flick of the wrist at the moment of release. This one finds bone, and the sound if its impact makes it clear that it doesn't stop there. Flinging herself to one side, Tina scrambles to her sire, only to find that Mona is no longer there. The only trace her is what has been left behind; a pool of crimson and a fan of blood splatter to mark the skull cracked bit of concrete. Eyes flicking left and right, Tina growls a low rumble, jack in hand, elbow cocked, as the darkness clots and something seems to come for her again.

Somewhere the monster howls, but there is no longer even a hint of humanity to the sound. If it knows that its anger has caused it to slip up then it doesn't make such a thing known. Though it is still cloaked by the ether, little droplets of blood mark its path through the room, but it is old and mad and frenzied. Another rat squeals briefly in pain as a pale hand holds it to a white, bloodied mouth on a length of stairs trailing above, and soon the corpse, smaller for having been drained, is thrown with a sickening splat against the floor. Mona crawls after and quickly corners another rodent with the same results. Rinse, lather, repeat until there are no fewer than thirty exsanguinated little bodies dotting the floor, left to rot with those killed by Tina's fall.

Still hazy, still hurting, but better that than a muttering vegetable, Mona throws her head back and shouts blindly, "Tina! Follow the blood! Follow his blood before he heals!"

With her right hand still clutching the jack, Tina pushes herself off with her left. As she does she finds it resting on a length of pipe, barely two feet long. She carries it as she rises, feeling its heft. Sometimes, when the opponent was unworthy, Tina would play southpaw just to stretch the agony out a little. Heeding Mona's advice, she inhales deeply. There is blood everywhere; hers, Mona's, the rats', but another darker and sicklier than any of these, and the scent-trail is as clear as breadcrumbs. The source where it still bubbles out stronger than all. She whips a jack towards it, fishing another from her pocket, and charges forward, left arm cocked for a backhand smash.

The jack imbeds itself, backed by all of Tina's fury, between the beast's shoulders. Mona stares at the space where the jack has stopped and for a moment she spies Lucas, a tall and lanky creature made of more burn scars than actual flesh. Beneath it all, his face is still handsome, or was once handsome, and the hatred festering in his pale blue eyes is something no animal could ever claim; no animal other than human. Mona tumbles as she stands, lands painfully against the concrete floor below on both of her knees, and when it seems that Lucas will once again retreat- for he no longer has anything to lose, he stops and stares up at the older Toreador like a rat caught in the line of a snake's enchanting stare.

The anger fades slowly but surely and Lucas' scarred hands find purchase upon his knobby knees. Mona, still looking woozy, holds a hand out to Tina and crooks one finger in an attempt to call her wounded childe to her side. Tina's eyes follow Mona's, and for a moment she sees their enemy as well. She is wounded, yes, but she is hurt worse by the fact that her sire has been harmed, and Tina flirts with the beast, her own mouth leering and toothy, her eyes almost alight with madness. She is on the cusp of a rush forward, of a swing that she would intend to remove the creature's head from its body, but she sees Mona's beckon. The struggle plays itself out on her face, and she menaces alternately with the missile in her right hand and the pipe in her left, but she allows herself to be called to heel.

Mona can barely collect her thoughts, much less hug Tina, probably wouldn't anyway, but she manages to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Lucas seems oblivious to the presence of the ferocious teen-thing that had placed the jack so deeply into his blistered flesh. The expression on his face is apologetic and when he looks up to Mona, its with all of the self-awareness of a child who has been caught doing something incredibly naughty.

Mona manages a smile for him, forced and exhausted but believable. It's a struggle to find the words, but she finds it hard to stop them once they have been freed. "You killed Lana, Lucas" It is a shame we have to meet under such circumstances. I have gotten along with most of your clan in the past."

The Nosferatu, no longer looking at her eyes, finally allows himself to stare at Tina out of shame. "I did what I had to do. They made me do it or they were going to run me out of this place. That poor girl," he moans, "that poor poor girl."

Mona nods her head in understanding, but there is rage bubbling up inside of her; jet black and far more terrible than anything Lucas could possibly know. He will get his end tonight, after all. Mona gets the booby prize of continued existence. She stands to her feet, motions for Tina to do the same, and glares down at the man. "You took her away from me." It's almost a wounded animal's keening.

Calming, if only a bit, Tina meanwhile finds that Nessy, now flat and despondent, is beneath one foot. Never taking her eyes off of Lucas, she bends and lifts the float, a pinch of plastic in her jack throwing hand, and inflates it. Lungs that no longer need breath still serving effectively as pumps; air in-air out. In her left the length of pipe sways hungrily, eager to back whatever play Mona might make.

Mona is swaying unsteadily while her rage gains momentum. "You ripped her from this world because you're a coward, nothing more." Her head is pounding, her knees throbbing, but it isn't physical pain that sends her teeth to chattering. "She kept me sane and you took her away and, meu Deus, I'm never ever going to get her back."

Lucas is, in the very end, sorry for what he has done. It is the plight of those unfortunate individuals who get caught up in the grinding gears of a bigger animal's fear. Mona kneels down with effort, just long enough to drive the heel of her hand into his sharp chin. It does not decapitate him, not entirely, but separates spine from spine and rips the deceptively thin flesh of his throat open wide enough to view its inner workings. The rats, no longer in his thrall, rush forward, tiny nails skittering over undead flesh, and begin to feed upon their master quickly dissolving form while Mona watches, even as a few of them stumble over her slippered feet.

Tina drops the pipe, it simply falls from her hand as if her fingers had forgotten to grip it. She returns the fourth jack to her pocket and, with exaggerated gentleness, sets the again-cheery Nessy around her neck. She finds that for once she has nothing to say, and the leftover adrenaline—if adrenaline she still has—is sending deep shivers through her body, bucking her shoulders. She feels like she wants to cry but doesn't know why, so she watches the show at her sire's side, as awkward as a girl hearing about the birds and the bees too late.

"Go ahead and whistle now, menina. We won. We beat the monster."

Mona turns awkwardly, one hand reaching up to apply pressure to the slowly healing wound on the back of her head. Pieces of her own skull, blood, and a thicker substance greet her palm. It is completely possible that she isn't merely ignoring Tina's current state, but entirely blind to it. There is no triumphet strut to her limping gait, no hoot or holler to really drive home the glory of their hollow victory. She looks for all the world like a little girl, and there is a pain in her eyes that has nothing to do with her wounds.

"You'll learn that not everything is black or white," she calls weakly from the doorway. "Not everything is about who walks away from the wreckage. You'll learn because I will make sure that you will learn, Tina Shusberg." Because I care about you, idiota. Then she continues her march to the car, her head cradled in her bloodied hands, and she doesn't stop until she is once again silently seated inside of the Thunderbird.

Tina has no urge to whistle, even to sing "It's getting near dawn...." She follows Mona silently, only pauses briefly next to her door to vomit suddenly and violently onto the ground. Stale, sour blood splashes against the frozen ground. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, repeats until she feels halfway clean, and only then slips into the car behind the wheel, turns to Mona and whispers in a lost little voice, "It's Martina. Please."

"Alright, Martina. Drive. You can handle that, right' I don't care where we go, just get us..just.." Mona's eyes fall shut and her mouth stays frozen around words unspoken. She slumps forward and the dash stops her falling any further. In the moonlight and snow glow, even through the blood darkened mess of her hair decorated with bits of her own skull and pale lumps of might very well be brain, the wound is made horrifyingly visible. She makes a sucking sound and her bottom lip trembles as if she's simply cold, but blood drips onto the 'Birds blue floormats all the same.

Her voice returns a moment later, pitiful and cracked. Whatever had driven her to that final stand-off with Lucas is long gone. "..a hotel. Just get it get..away from here, okay?" Mona manages to turn her head slightly to the side so that she is facing the girl and for a second she smiles. It is meant to be reassuring, but it is lopsided and lazy, and no sooner then it blooms does she, perhaps mercifully, pass out.