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bigapplesauce2014-04-13 12:45 am
vlad_dracul) wrote in bigapplesauce2014-04-13 12:45 am
Working man [Open to multiple]
Once Dracula learned that the soil of this land would give him sleep, he set to work. He had no desire to become involved in the conflict between ROMAC and the rebels, particularly with such scant information. Fortunately, his actual needs were simple. He needed blood, easily supplied by the rats and vermin of the city. He also needed a place to sleep. Well, sleeping in a coffin, even one occupied, was something he had done before, when necessary.
He preferred a comfortable house or apartment, though. For that, he needed money. He had a small bit of gold in the lining of his jacket, a holdover from more dangerous times, but selling the gold would probably draw more attention than he wanted. Dracula needed a way to earn some honest money. He refused to stoop to crime, especially theft, which he despised. Fortunately, this city, even more than others, had a criminal underbelly willing to cater to those in need of new identities. After earning a small amount of money doing odd jobs, Dracula was able to get enough identification to get a job...at least in places that didn't check backgrounds too carefully.
Now, Dracula is gainfully employed as a bouncer at Wilmot's End. His job includes breaking up fights, preferably before they begin, and making sure minors don't sneak up onto the second floor. Dracula goes back and forth between the floors, making sure the clientele can see him clearly. Wilmot's End has a reputation for not tolerating trouble and Dracula has not hurt that reputation at all. He wears the uniform of black jeans and a black button up shirt well. It's an easy job and Dracula rather enjoys it, even if it is somewhat menial. Ah well. He's developing a solid reputation and gets along with most people.
Even on busy nights, Dracula tries to find time to talk with the clientele. The more they know him and the friendlier the relations are, the easier it is to get people to listen and cooperate. He's always willing to chat for a bit.
He preferred a comfortable house or apartment, though. For that, he needed money. He had a small bit of gold in the lining of his jacket, a holdover from more dangerous times, but selling the gold would probably draw more attention than he wanted. Dracula needed a way to earn some honest money. He refused to stoop to crime, especially theft, which he despised. Fortunately, this city, even more than others, had a criminal underbelly willing to cater to those in need of new identities. After earning a small amount of money doing odd jobs, Dracula was able to get enough identification to get a job...at least in places that didn't check backgrounds too carefully.
Now, Dracula is gainfully employed as a bouncer at Wilmot's End. His job includes breaking up fights, preferably before they begin, and making sure minors don't sneak up onto the second floor. Dracula goes back and forth between the floors, making sure the clientele can see him clearly. Wilmot's End has a reputation for not tolerating trouble and Dracula has not hurt that reputation at all. He wears the uniform of black jeans and a black button up shirt well. It's an easy job and Dracula rather enjoys it, even if it is somewhat menial. Ah well. He's developing a solid reputation and gets along with most people.
Even on busy nights, Dracula tries to find time to talk with the clientele. The more they know him and the friendlier the relations are, the easier it is to get people to listen and cooperate. He's always willing to chat for a bit.
Re: [June 8]
"Very well, if you don't want my help, that is your choice. You will not enter here. We do not permit fighting or theft inside."
He walks slowly forward, ready to transform, if necessary.
Re: [June 8]
He stepped back, only for a moment, hand dipping down and coming up quickly, sliding the black helmet into place. When the voice came again, it was filtered through the vocal equipment that had instilled fear in trillions.
"Sorry, I don't need 'help' - I need to eat. It's your turn. Stand aside and I'll be on my way. This is your final warning."
And the clothing is, almost casually, tossed aside, revealing the armour in all its glory. Half-starved and half-mad, some routines never died. It still shone, clean and prepared.
"Or I'll cut you into so many parts they'll never find them all."
Re: [June 8]
"If you merely wanted to eat, you would have accepted my aid. Attack or crawl away, but you are not entering here."
The armor does give him some concern, not for himself, but for the people inside. If he has weapons, it will be more difficult to keep him from harming the breathers inside.
STUMBLES ELEGANTLY ONTO THE SCENE
He staggers out through the first one he finds, right into what appears to be an imminent fight to the death.
"Whoa," he announces. "Hello. Sorry. I can come back later."
He's distracted, however, by the dude in the Stormtrooper outfit. "Oh my god," he blurts, and gives way into a fit of drunken laughter. "Look at you!" He laughs again, doubling over. "Use the Force, Luke!"
no subject
"Your life is going to be full of disappointments tonight."
And he marches forward, confident entirely of success. And he reaches out a hand again, gathering the power to strike with force lightning.
Then he hears the drunken voice, and turns his head. How did he know? He'd have to ask later. And possibly severely.
"I'll deal with you later."
no subject
Dracula is painfully aware that this situation is escalating out of hand. Revealing his nature as a nosferatu, a vampire, is certainly not in his plans, but the armor tells him defeating this foe may take extraordinary measures...measures an ordinary bouncer would not be capable of. He begins walking in a circular movement, trying to draw his enemy's attention away from the drunk.
no subject
"YOU run," he says, willfully antagonistic. He leans back against the wall, his hand grasping awkwardly as though he expects a new drink to materialize. "Kick him in the balls!!"
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He briefly turns his attention to the other man.
"I'll have some questions for you, citizen, about what you know. You are not under arrest. This planet is now under Imperial jurisdiction. My jurisdiction."
Because in the heat of the Force, in the hot fire of the dark side, he remembers what he was trained to do. To be.
And it is precisely then that he turns back, unleashing a volley of Force Lightning at his prey.
no subject
"Simpletons and fools, both of you! Do you think you are in charge? You who came to this place as a beggar and a thief? You have no authority here and you never shall!"
no subject
For a moment, he just stands there, stunned, his mouth hanging open. This is not where he expected this to go, and for an instant, it's pretty fucking cool. It's a pretty short-lived instant; he startles back to himself when he feels creatures scrabbling over his shoes and jerks back, repulsed.
"Oh HELL with this," he announces, and presses his palm against the wall of the building, opens a door and vanishes through it, letting it vanish along with him.
no subject
But there are more important things to deal with. Like the vast swarm of creatures swarming over him. They have no chance of getting through the armour. Nothing short of repeated blows from a Jedi or a turbolaser cannon would do that trick.
But they will eventually block his vision. Walking forward, crunching as many underfoot as he can, he reaches out with the force, concentrating all his effort, and thinks of one command: back.
And the swarm falls back, flying in a cloud, and he leaps towards the tree, lightsaber flying into his hands and igniting, red light casting new, blood-red shades.
"I do now, magician. My authority comes from the Empire, and I am its fist. Your options are surrender, retreat, or death. Choose now. I'm willing to go with death."
no subject
no subject
"And as far as I'm concerned..." a small cylinder fell into his hand, as if from nowhere, "you're just dead rebel scum, magician."
And a brilliant red blade flashed into light. Because pride, and purpose, spoke louder even than hunger.
no subject
"Empires rarely recover, once they fall. Your empire does not exist here and never did. Do you not understand? This is not your world."
Dracula eyes the blade warily. He can feel the heat of it, even from this distance.
no subject
And then he moves. Faster than any human ever could. Inhuman, supernatural speed, leaping towards Dracula and bringing the lightsaber up in an arc that would cleave a person from hip to the opposite shoulder.
no subject
"You stupid fool," Dracula snarls, knocking the lightsaber away with an angry blow. "I should rip your head from your shoulders."
no subject
"Nice trick, magician," he replies, settling into a defensive stance. "Bet if I separate that ugly face from the rest of you that you'll die like the rest, though."
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"Are you certain?" Dracula asks, his voice light and amused. "Stab wounds such as you just inflicted are generally fatal."
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"Not as often as I'd like - but there's one way to find out, isn't there?"
And, using the force, he flings the lightsaber at his opponent, swinging in a rapid circle that one would rather like to avoid.
no subject
"Well, we could do that, if you hadn't missed. However, being decapitated is messy and inconvenient, though fortunately not fatal. I do have a work shift to complete, after all."