Hounding - Act 1
Pearce landed hard against the brick wall outside the bar. He rolled across some garbage bags and through a puddle. “Ow!” he groaned angrily, lifting himself from the murky water. “And– ew!” He looked up in time to duck from a wooden and steel barstool which flew from the doorway and splintered against the brick wall behind him.
Niki strolled from the bar, massaging her jaw. “What did he call you? The great prince?” The vampire didn’t answer, merely standing and wringing out the front of his black shirt. “You don’t even have your face on,” she dove forward, catching him off guard and wrestling him to the ground. “What’s wrong,” she asked, as he threw her off him, “haven’t taken enough punishment?”
Pearce grimaced and bared his still human teeth. “Don’t you ever shut up?” He dropped to the ground and rolled at her legs, twisting, but not hard enough, succeeding only in bringing her down to sit on his chest. She tried, but was unable to withhold her laughter. Pearce fumed.
“Come on,” she goaded, “put on the face – I can’t dust you like this.”
Pearce almost snarled – something that would have been much more effective if he had been able to vamp out, but as it was... “I can’t,” he said bitterly.
Niki frowned. “You can’t? Why not?”
Pearce bit his lip. “A little boy... I ate his mother... he made a wish: that I wouldn’t be so scary... a very childish wish, I admit, but someone was listening.”
Niki snickered. “Aw... The little vampire that couldn’t.”
“Piss off!” Pearce delivered a vicious blow to her kidney.
The Slayer jabbed his ribs with her heel before standing up. “I guess that’s why you fight like a Girl Guide.”
The vamp glared. “You’re no Bruce Lee yourself!”
Niki scoffed. “And I’m supposed to take pointers from who? The Girl Guide?”
Pearce cursed and charged at her but was easily, if awkwardly, diverted and sent head first into the wall. “Ow,” he moaned, rubbing his head as he turned around. “I know how to fight,” the vamp said with irritation, “I’m just not able to.”
To prove his point, he lifted an aluminum lid from a garbage can and tossed it into the air before him. When it came back down to eye level, he launched himself into the air and delivered a kick so powerful that the lid folded exactly in half. He landed deftly on his feet and the lid clattered to the ground. “I didn’t get the title of Prince for no reason.”
“Impressive,” Niki nodded, offering a few token claps. “But you’re right; not particularly terrifying.”
“So dusting me,” Pearce said with a small hint of hope, “wouldn’t exactly be a terrific display of Slayer prowess.” He reached down and picked up the crumpled lid at his feet, unfolding it with ease.
“I don’t know,” Niki shrugged. “As you pointed out, I could use the practice.” She took a step towards him, amused that he backpedaled in time with her.
“Then how about this,” Pearce raised his hands defensively. “You forgo practice this time and I promise to hook you up with some of the best martial arts trainers in this world or the next. Plus–” he added hopefully, “you don’t have to see me embarrass myself.”
Niki stopped advancing and let the small smile cross her lips. “Now that is difficult to watch.” There was a pause. “Alright. But if I see you about to eat someone, no matter how comically, I won’t hesitate to make you food for the dust mites.”
“Agreed,” Pearce nodded. He looked around for a moment, then retrieved a bar of steel from the broken stool. With shifty eyes, he finally dashed down the alley away from her. When he was a good hundred feet away, and Niki was heading back into the bar, the vampire called out.
“Oh, and Slayer,” he shouted, making her turn. “They didn’t call me Prince of Pierce for nothing.” He whipped the stick of metal so fast it was unseen. The only sign of it was the sound of wrenching metal. Niki raised an impressed eyebrow as she took in the sight of the garbage can not four feet from her. Pierce indeed. The improvised stake had gone clear through both sides of the aluminum can, and the garbage bag within, to stick into the steel dumpster behind. She turned back to the vampire, but the prince was gone.
The large wooden crate slid down the rollers towards the freight pickup center. Outside were trucks waiting to carry away the other crates and large packages, but no truck awaited the long box sealed with a padlock.
As movers with trolleys and matching uniforms carried away one crate after another, the long box was ignored.
After several hours, the box was moved to freight holding and slapped with a red sticker – a fine for whoever eventually would pick it up. As soon as it was moved to the warehouse, out of the sunlight streaming through the many window of the pickup center, a man in a business suit came looking for it. With the customs officer present, he looked over the long wooden crate. “That’s no mine,” he said at last, shaking his head.
“The number matches your tag,” the officer argued.
The man frowned. “It’s not what I had loaded in Frankfurt, I don’t care what the number says. Your mistake, not mine.”
The officer shrugged and turned for the door. The man slid a small key from his sleeve and clicked the padlock open, quickly turning to follow the officer once the shackle was free. Let the war begin.
Niki blinked. The message was quite clear. Addison and all his belonging were gone. A number where he could be reached was written on the whiteboard on the fridge. The number was for an apartment in London, England. She was speechless.
“You don’t need him,” Logan said reasonably. “You never really needed him. He just came with the Slayer package.”
“He’s gone,” she said quietly, as if the words themselves made it true. How could he just leave her? They’d had arguments before. Why was this last one different? “He’s... gone,” she murmured.
“He wouldn’t have gone if he didn’t think you could handle yourself on your own.” Logan took her by the shoulders and sat her down at the kitchen table. “This is the best thing for you,” he advised. “You can do things your own way now: no more arguing over Council procedures.”
“He’s gone because he’s given up.” She wasn’t listening to a word Logan was saying. Her Watcher had pulled the ultimate rug out from under her – the ultimate argument-ender. He had told her, with the overseas telephone number, that there was nothing the great Watcher’s Council, with all its power, could do to salvage her —to find some use for her— after all. It hurt like nothing since her parents had died the night she had met Addison.
“You’re your own Slayer now,” Logan said with a proud smile. “No one else’s.” He squeezed her shoulders, making her look into his eyes. Her eyes were distant and vulnerable. “You’re free.”
She blinked for a moment, then her eyes drifted towards the phone. “I have to call him.” But Logan intercepted her.
“Will you stop acting like a child?” He forced her back into the chair. “Yes, daddy’s gone — but the house is yours now.” He pulled her slightly slouching form straighter. “Act like it.”
His annoyed tone dragged her from her insecurities. “Yeah... Right... I never needed him.” She blinked away the distance. “I got things done better my way.”
“Exactly,” Logan smiled. “Now,” he grabbed her jacket. “Let’s go drinking.”
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