Bloodied Vitality.

[Cherubiel]

Cymbeline Lavache made her way through the maze of alleys set in the City of Twilight, the ever growing dark beginning to press itself against her vision. Yet being a vampire and more, the dark could never blind her. The city seemed to pulse around her, the feeling of mortal vitality an annoyance to her, like an evasive itch at the back of her mind. She had grown used to it, and many a time she would put that itch at ease with a meal. Lessening it ever so slightly as her food's life-blood slowly filled her, yet a lessening nonetheless. A thought struck her that she hadn't fed this evening, and her earlier workings of magick had made her rather peckish. Food would be nice, she thought to herself. She'd have to do something about that before dawn... Waking up hungry always kept her in a bad mood throughout the night.

Mounds of trash behind bars and the mere decay of life made a sickly, sepia scent as she moved, something her delicate sense of smell made the most of unfortunately. There was something else in the air though, something faint that mingled perfectly with that consistent myriad of smells... She was in no hurry what with having time on her side, so she decided to investigate this scent further. Things she did not know bothered her, and this old, coloured aroma slowly filling her nose was definitely something new.

[Obelisk]

White noise, it filled Jericho's ears, buzzed within his skull and nearly pushed him over the edge into madness. This is how it always was when his body was brimming over with energy, threatening to force a shift at a moment's notice. He could hear everything -- the roar of electricity, the rhythmic thuds of a person's stride, breathing, whispered words, swirling air, the screech of wheels. The ruckus all mixed into one eclectic mess of sounds and tones. If he'd been younger and less experienced werewolf Jericho would've already succumbed to the feral half of his mind, but he was seasoned and he was strong enough to keep the wolf at bay. At least for the time being.

His rough-skinned hand was braced against the cool, grimy brick of an alley wall. Jericho screwed his eyes shut and concentrated on the simple act of breathing. He focused those shallow breaths of his until they were all he could hear. The white noise ebbed away and was drowned out by his intakes of air. His mind calmed, the wolf no longer clawed and ripped at its cage. For now he was sane, for now he was human.

Pushing off the wall, Jericho fell into a lazy swagger. His energy was drained, his mind a bit fogged, but he'd make do. He always did. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down, blurring his vision until he blinked the offense away. The man rounded a corner, shoulder hitting the edge of the wall in his clumsiness, and his feral eye (he had only one, for the other was blinded and covered by a black cloth) fell upon a curious female figure. By her scent alone Jericho could tell something was off. She wasn't alive, she reeked of death not dead. A vampire.

Jericho was no stranger to their kind and he was very much aware of the hatred that sometimes existed between their two species. Whether or not she was one to harbor such prejudices Jericho did not know, but he was no fool. He stopped in his tracks and did not pass her. There was no way he would leave his back open to a vampire of all things.

A cold, calculating eye ran over her form and Jericho spoke simply, gruffly, and curtly.

"Vampire."

It was a greeting or perhaps more of him showing her he knew what she was. Knowledge, as they said, was power, though whether or not his "knowledge" would prove to be of any help remained to be seen.

[Cherubiel]

The night spoke to her; it's dark, secretive tone making her shiver... Not from the cool air that came with night, but power. A smile blossomed on her red, red lips as she turned slowly, facing the wolf she knew had been coming. The night had told her, and his smell was quite distinguished. Ice blue eyes met green, and her grin dripped malice. It was a man, but all she saw was the power he held; a bristling thing covered in fur and drenched with blood, was how it felt, and it was the blood she recognized. One of the many things he killed pulled at her, a small tingling behind her navel as if a spell were being worked. A thing of the arcane had died at this creatures feet, and that scent permeated the air around it. She curled her tongue out, as if tasting it. Metallic, sweet... A touch of jasmine.

"My, you've been a bad boy," she crooned at the man.

[Obelisk]

If he had been a wolf his fur would've bristled under the scrutiny of the vampire's stare. Jericho made no physical indication, but he was very much aware of the fact the woman was contemplating him or, perhaps, contemplating what she could do to him. Long lives tended to tarnish one's mind, rendering them incomplete or in pieces. Violence seemed to be the most common affliction of an ancient mind, which was only made more dangerous by that innate, inescapable bloodlust. No matter. Jericho was no stranger to violence and he, too, understood that bone marrow-deep need. The only way to truly sate the wolf was to kill with reckless abandon, to taste blood and flesh within his monstrous jowls. Already the presence of the beast was prickling at the back of his mind, coaxing, threatening.

Lips upturned into a snarl that was purely animalistic. Unfounded anger flared within his chest and a growl was ripped from his throat. Being mocked never suited the man well -- especially when he was in such a.... tentative state of being.

" You're one to say such things, vampire," His eye narrowed and with a brush of his hand over his face Jericho seemed to regain his composure. A thumb rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if he was trying to will a headache away, though the threat was far greater.

"How many have you killed this week, this day? I'm no stranger to the wicked little games your kind indulge in." His words were cold, biting, and unfriendly. It wasn't a surprise, really, for if anyone knew the nature of Jericho, they would say such treatment of others was commonplace, and it was.

In short; Jericho was a bastard.

[Cherubiel]

Cymbeline knew much. She knew all the dark spells in the waking world, ones that could freeze the blood in the veins, or break your mind with fear. She could speak to the shadows, that which sought the shadows and everything that feared the light came to her for information... But what eluded her now was this things obvious pain. Instead it sang to her. She inclined her head briefly, her cool eyes judging what may happen here... And laughed. It was a full, nearly living thing that stroked the body and made the heart stop. His pain was there, and she took a deep breath at the end of her mirth, swallowing deep.

"You taste good, wolf. I wonder what your innards would taste of..." she said, her voice thick with need. Hunger.

The air around her ruffled the deep crimson cloak she wore, her skin soaking the moonlight coming through the sudden break of clouds above. Her body was still. Something only the dead, or nearly dead, could accomplish. As if you moved your eyes from her, she'd vanish. Blue shone through her eyes, collecting the light around her at an almost preternatural level... Which wasn't far from the truth. In fact, it was dead on.

Cymbeline's throat rattled with unquenched desire. She was hungry, and here was food.

"This should be interesting," she whispered.

[Obelisk]

Cymbeline knew much. She was versed in magicks and spells. Jericho knew much. He was versed in the arena of physical, brutal fights. As a man he would be clever enough to back away, to seek retreat. Vampires were powerful creatures, after all, and it was foolish to think yourself able to contend with it. The man was clever, yes, but the wolf was all ferocity, all instinct, all feral want and need. And the wolf had burst out from its mental cage, coaxed to freedom by the vampire's threatening yet playful words.

Suddenly Jericho was on his knees, his fisted hands gripping at the soiled, dirty ground. It was a dangerous game the vampire played and her move had forced him into a shift, and it wasn't a pretty sight. Groans and garbled growls were wrenched from his throat as his body twisted and contorted. Bones snapped. Flesh morphed and fell away. Blood dripped and pooled at his feet. The sick popping and wet, crushing noises filled the alleyway along with his agonized cries. When it was over where once a man stood was now a hulking beast. Within the green, yellow-flicked eye of the monster shimmered no human intellect, just that of the wolf. Black lips pulled back the reveal a set of perfect and menacing fangs that were meant to tear, to pierce, to kill.

A constant and low rumble reverberated out from the werewolf's chest and he slowly stood up, feral eye not once leaving the position of the vampire or blinking. The beast was focused, entranced with his new foe. Then, without warning, it snapped its head back and released a howl, singing its pleasure of newfound freedom.

The beast's attack came swiftly, its movements fueled by pure rage and unadulterated bloodlust. He'd lost sight of the arcane vampire but he was drawn towards that spot of pooling energy. There was no thought in the wolf's attack, just sheer instinct. It wanted to feel flesh tear underneath its dagger-sharp claws, it wanted to revel in the sensation and taste of blood dribbling down its jowls.

Cymbeline had backed a wolf into a corner and now she was to deal with the aftermath of her decision.

[Cherubiel]

A fight, is it? It's been a while, but this should be fun, she thought to herself with a shadowed grin.

She saw the lunge coming before he had even thought of it. A being of high emotion lets off energy, a sort of precognitive show for her to see and she saw it all... How it was to begin, end, and all the possibilities in-between. She would win, he would win. Neither would win. Her body in that perfect still could sense everything. She was everything. Her senses melded with the stone beneath her feet, the raging earth beneath that, the soft wind blowing her blood-red hair. Calling on it all, her pact to the Darkness moved inside her. Something it always did before a working of power.

Closing her eyes, a deep breath filling her lungs, she moved. Fast, quick, herself becoming a part of what she felt. The darkening world. A shadow flickered behind the wolf, and she stepped from it silently, moving to hold the wolves jaw in her vice-like grip with one hand, the other holding the thick neck of the werewolf in the bend of her arm. At the same time the shadows she came from writhed up and around her form, her actual body being blotted out by the ebony of it all. Her power twined itself around the shadow of the wolf, and it was trapped by it. An easy spell to keep the darker of people at her disposal. Not much energy was used, but it was effective.

If it moved she could snap it's spine like a twig, or she could animate it's body by choking it in her power. She opened her mouth wide in an imitation snarl of the wolfs own, the scent of blood pouring from it, and her eyes changed to pure white. His neck was bare to her, the thick pulse just below the skin calling to her for release. She was going in for the kill...

[Obelisk]

There was no real cognitive thought rattling in that brain of his. The wolf was a creature driven only by instinct and the need to fulfill its basic and often base desires. A wolf was a force to be reckoned with when on the prowl and even more so when its life was hanging in the balance. Self-preservation was one of an animal's strongest and most powerful instincts. It drove the wolf to react, to use all its might to break free of the spell and so he did, but not without injury. By wrenching himself out of the vampire's powerful grasp, the wolf's jaw was jarred and fell slack, skewed out of place.

The animal's heaving form was but a specter in the alleyway, crouched over, tongue lolled out to the side as it took a moment to consider. Power. Strange power. It emanated from the vampire's form and forced the wolf to reconsider its tactics. The rage of the beast still smoldered and such was obvious by the sheer ferocity that burned within his glowing eye. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to attack, to fight even if it meant his death, but a small voice within him spoke of his need for self-preservation, to run and survive to prowl another day.

The decision was made. The wolf snapped his head to the side, popping his jaw back into place as a python would after swallowing its prey whole. He then fixed his gaze upon the fire-haired woman and broke into a charge, his vicious growls and snarls breaking into the night. The second before impact the wolf maneuvered to the side, narrowly missing the vampire and falling into a quick, swift run. The creature knew when he was outclassed.

On and on it ran, weaving through the alleyways like a maniacal bull, uncaring as to what destruction it caused on its path. Trashcans were tipped over, claw marks imbedded into the walls as it leapt about, eye straining to find a den, a place of hiding. His movements were a bit stifled, a bit clumsy. Whatever dark magick the woman had cast had somehow dampened his motor skills. The wolf lacked its true grace, its nimble, quick movements.

From its perch high upon a wall, the wolf's eye fixed onto the boarded up windows of a long-abandoned warehouse. Coiling his muscles and making clear his target, the creature pushed off the wall with all his might and burst through the wooden boards and window, landing on a concrete floor with hardly a sound. It was dark save for the faint columns of moonlight that worked their ways through cracks around the numerous windows. Stacks of crates climbed heavenward like little wooden skyscrapers and buildings.

The wolf slunk into the shadows, taking a position behind one of the many stacks of crates. The swift beating of his heart filled his ears and his wide eye pierced through the shadows, searching, assessing. There he waited. The environment in the warehouse would prove a credit to the wolf should the vampire wish to continue the fight. This wolf was not yet ready to give up, to surrender his life. If flight would not work then he would be left with no other choice than to fight.