Its Not Stalking! Its Active Watching!, [Sonny, darling]

[|Bastian Blood|]

Its the time of morning darkness. The hour of runners and early risers or late returners. Of stalkers hunting prey. Of course Bastian is out smoldering in the bliss of misty streets and cloud covered moons. His rugged body covered in a long beat up dark gray duster, a cigarette hanging from his lip. Three days of stubble covering his chin, cheeks, neck. That wild hair he's so well known by unkempt and shaggy, ruffled from the wind's soft fingers blowing through it.

4:30 AM

The burned out cigarette tumbles from his lips and he instantly replaces it with another. He's had his coffee, his donut with frosting, his morning exercise and hour of meditation. Now he needs something more wholesome than the plotting of murder and sloppy jacking off to death scenes. He needs contact, at least of the visual kind.


You see, they met last week at Chan's and since then he's had a hard time getting her out of his head. Not because she's an incredible looking woman, no, there are plenty of those, but because she seems to be his exact opposit. He says slaughter she says peace. He screams and she whispers. And you know what they say about opposits:They attract. They attract him at least and that's all that matters. Her opinion is valued (a giant difference from anyone elses) but only slightly. He is still the Alpha and the Omega in that twisted world his head has created.

She works here.


"should have drove," Bast' mutters to himself as he curls the cigarette to one corner of his mouth and shoves his hands into his pockets. He didn't realize how cold it was going to be. He's so used to the warm heat of a latin climate. No worries, his growing obsession will keep him warm.

[Sonny Edwards]

Sonny was pissed. This man’s scent alerted him to what was so obviously going on. He was indeed stalking Ms.DeAmor. Was this the danger that Gabriel King feared for her? He doubted it. Sonny only agreed to keep an eye on the witch, because if he stopped stalking her he might have forgotten her altogether. Out of sight, out of mind, right? That night in the park he had thirsted for her blood and he didn’t want to forget that he wanted it.

Yes, he wouldn’t mind taking whatever hoodoo she threw in retaliation. As soon as Gabriel was done with her, he’d have her. He only waited because he didn’t want to trigger the bastard. Sonny would bring his fists to him when he was good and ready. His arm was nearly healed.

He caught sight of this male, this stalker, who was impeding on his territory. He really had no claim to Ophelia, but paranoia does make the most ridiculous of accusations. His scent had the same energetic tingle to it that Ophelia’s had. He could’ve been a witch, or heavily charmed by one. Another faint scent that mingled with his emblazoned trail was quite metallic.

A crooked grin crossed his face as he imagined the fiend with his hands deep within Ophelia’s warm corpse. Why was he smiling? Why would him losing Ophelia’s blood to a witch be pleasing to him? It wouldn’t. But seeing her dead would. Being killed by her own kind would send another shiver of delight through his rare mood. Witches were so funny. Their secret ways were beyond frustrating. Now they were jumpy, charming anything and everything. Especially the area around the botanica.

Sonny’s nose tingled like someone had punched him. Sure there was a lot of spiritual energy pent up around him, but he meant no one any harm. Not at the moment at least. Maybe he could drive the male away, before deciding if his blood was worthy enough.

”No car?” Sonny asked from behind, responding to Bastian’s murmur to himself. ”That’s not exactly safe…” he said, a threat in his tone. The corner of his mouth drooped ever so slightly, but there wasn’t the grin from before.

[|Bastian Blood|]

Bastion was so caught up in watching the lights turn on upstairs that he didn't notice Sonny creep up behind him. Not exactly a wise thing for a sane person to do to Bastian, but no one claimed Sonny was sane.

”No car? That’s not exactly safe…”

If it startles the witch he doesn't show it. Glancing half over his shoulder before turning and dragging the cigarette away from his lips, Bastian lets a thick brow loft against his weathered skin before shifting something from one side of his mouth to the other. When he speaks its around the finger bone he's got snuggled up against his tongue and it makes his words come off as distorted, "For whom?" he questions mildly before dragging his gaze up Sonny's frame in half heartedly sizing him up. He detects no threat and lets his second cigarette drop onto the sidewalk next to his first before pulling out his pack and lighting up yet again. He gestures to the vampire in offer and then shoves the box back into his pocket.


"Seen her?" Bast' asks, jerking his head in the Botanica's direction before flame sparks his features to light. He's wearing a button down shirt covered in white polkadots and long black slacks beneath his duster. His shoes are those same thick soled black boots that have trampled over years worth of bone, blood and flesh. He can't get rid of them now, they're a part of him, it doesn't occure to him to try and get rid of Sonny. He's in deep space, meditating on the color of her blood. Funny that these two should want the same thing for entirely different reasons. For Bastian the idea borders on erotic.


A wink of finger bone peeks from between his lips as he shifts it around in his mouth. The smell of blood heavy with this one. The scent of dead hair, remnants of flesh in bone charms, copper colored bliss enchanted by words and wishes. What does she know? What spells lay coiled in that nest of her pretty head? His hands slip into his pockets to finger a napkin he saved from their meeting at Chan's. That fate filled night that introduced his newest obsession.

"Bastian," he mutters into the air, meaning it to be an introduction but making no attempt to look at Sonny, or for that matter to let him know that he's given his name and is not spouting off random information (as he's sometimes prone to doing) "I can't decide how she'd look best. Alive and begging for mercy or dead with me groaning above her." he says matter of factly. Just wait until he realizes Sonny is after the same thing he is.

[Sonny Edwards]

Sonny paused. His limbs were rigid and he waited for the witch to give him any reason to pounce. Yes, he was indeed a witch, and an odd one at that. Not only was he male, he had an aura all his own. Sonny couldn’t place his finger on it, but deep down, something was not quite right.

“Sonny,” His name sounded much more like a hiss, than an actual word. It was almost instinctual when he’d said it. He usually didn’t offer his name. He liked to reserve his introductory moments for when he expected quivering and sniffling pleas. Oh Sonny could be so patient for that. It was a game he enjoyed. Sticking to the shadows, and letting them catch a glimpse as he dodged away. He’d chortle as they asked around and scared themselves more than he needed to. The confirmation he offered was just to seal the deal. Yes, I’m Sonny, and I’m here to kill you.

He hadn’t been stalking this Bastian though. So he really didn’t need to know his name.

”Both paint pretty satisfying pictures to me,” Sonny said, his voice was low and calculating. What use did this man have for blood, and why did he have to choose Ophelia’s? Was he taunting Sonny? Was this some ply from Gabriel King? Not only did he no longer need Sonny to watch Ophelia, but he slapped him in the face by putting someone so weak in his place. Weak in a physical sense. The flash of bone between his teeth and the way he spoke with such a nonchalance, intrigued sonny. He found himself smiling again. This man was his rival. He should be snarling. Sonny was entertained.

”I’ll let you know, when I’m done,” Sonny squinted his eyes ever so slightly. He was reading this strange smelling witch before him. Strange smelling for a witch.

[|Bastian Blood|]

The shop lights go on and Bastian gives an audible exhale. Ah, life, movement, his Ophelia and all that pretty skin. Such pretty skin! He almost chokes on the bone in his mouth when Sonny speaks for the last time. "Wait, what did you say?" Bastian questions, turning and really looking at the man for the first time. His head tilts to one side. Those wheels set a turning. Its always in the eyes, what gives his lack of sanity away. Those furrowed brows, that sparkle which hints at mirth disguised anger. He rolls his shoulders back in a slow shrug before turning to face this new creature.

"I want the scalp, the hair, the flesh, a vial of blood." Honestly, he's not even sure he wants her dead. He only knows that he wants more of her. How much more can you get than having the body which carrys the soul? So just like that he starts to wager. "the organs. Are you the King?" She'd said she works for a King, could this beast be what she meant? Jealousy flares up in Bastian like fire in the devil's eyes and his gruff hands clench to fists in his pockets.


He casts a sidelong glance at Sonny, attempting to keep the malice from surfacing in his gaze. All that shaggy salt and pepper hair hiding the clench of his jawline, the strained expression of furrowed brows and crows feet. "Does she keep many men? Oh fuck it. Who cares, right? Whores are whores. I want the skin."

[Sonny Edwards]

”I have no use for the body after I’ve killed her,” Sonny said his eyes still appraising the maniac before him. Sonny didn’t bother to answer his first question, but his request peaked his interest. What did this witch need with her scalp and such? Was he a cannibal? They might be more alike than Sonny was beginning to imagine.

”No,” he answered again, his response feeling automated. Sonny wasn’t a king. His smile made yet another small transformation as he could sense a new emotion coming from the witch. His tensed hands, probably meant he was upset. Was he going to throw from magic in Sonny’s face? It was possible. Sonny welcomed the attack. If he couldn’t have Ophelia’s blood he’d settle for Bastian’s.

Though as Bastian continued speaking Sonny could tell he wasn’t all there. Not in a conventional way… not in the least. He wanted her skin.

”I can’t guarantee that you’ll get it in pristine condition,” he told Bastian, his voice barely louder than a mutter. Were they enemies or comrades? Bastian didn’t want what Sonny wanted, and vice versa. They did both want to kill the little witch and take from her what they enjoyed… but none of their wishes were conflicting. Sonny could care less what Bastian stripped from her, as long as he let Sonny have his way.

He wasn’t going to let her die quickly, and he wasn’t going to let Bastian get to her first. What would Bastian do? Maybe he should test him? Press his limits?

”I also can’t guarantee that when the time comes, I’ll be willing to share…”

[|Bastian Blood|]

"Your willingness doesn't mean anything to me. I'm in the market of taking what I want, be it offered or not. You're welcome to resist instead of help but I can be...difficult when I don't get my way."

Bastian's head tilts to one side as his eyes flicker back to Sonny's face. A wry smile forming from his lips. By the expression one can tell that Bastian is not threatening Sonny, nor is he joking. More sane souls would turn and leave right then and there, but it seems Bast' is in good company.

"Besides," he says, flicking up the black shades that adorned his eyes, "I sense that this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."


He's distracted by movment in the shop and snaps his head in its direction. The door opens and an old woman comes out to sweep the front stoop. When did she get there? Bastian wonders as he casually glances down at his wrist as if the time might be perched there. He pulls the cigarette from his lips and shakes it between two fingers to send white ash drifting towards the ground. There are so many things going on with him, inside of him, that anyone with any know at all can sense an almost electricity to him.


"Salt or sand?" he questions without looking at the vampire. "To rub into open flesh I mean. Salt or sand?" Little things like this can tell a person so much about someone's personality. "Lemon juice comes last, naturally." Bast mutters to himself, seemingly having forgotten about asking a question, possibly about Sonny at all.

[Sonny Edwards]

”Uh huh,” Sonny muttered as Bastian expressed he could be difficult if not given his way.

”Salt,” he answered, his voice distracted as well,”...with a wire brush.” Oh Sonny had plenty to think about. Stalking Ophelia lost its thrill now that there was another predator out to get her. Sonny wondered why and immediately concluded that it was neither important or interesting.

”I’m not even sure there’ll be enough time for torture,” he sighed, crossing his arms and letting his eyes stare into the ground. His fickle smile returned, and he even let out an airy chuckle.

”Sometimes I lose myself,” he admitted. Yes, if he were too excited he would kill Ophelia and after he laid back next to her cold body, full off of her blood, he’d then realize that he foiled his own plan. He let his gaze flicker back to Bastian.

”Why do you want her?”

[OOC: Obviously my brain is blocking all incredible Sonny activity. ]

[|Bastian Blood|]

"Wire brush? Ah, that's real nice Sonny, man. Nice. I like that." Bastian shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back onto his heels almost childishly. Those dark eyes remain glued to the shop as lights begin to turn on and figures appear behind the windows.

"We need more people like you, pal. Inventive sons of bitches. I'm tired of watching people sit on their asses, you know? Lets have some progress here!"

Of course by progress he means slaughtering, demon calling, church burning, virgin sacraficing progress, but he doesn't feel it necessary to say as much. One hand pulls from his pocket to comb through his thick black hair before sinking down into his jacket where what's left of his smokes rest. He lights another up before exhaling the toxic fume into the air via his nostrils.

"Are you on a schedule?" Bast questions after hearing Sonny's mention of not torturing the lovely little thing in those walls. "I don't know how I'd feel if someone killed me and didn't even enjoy it. It just seems wrong." Bast twitches his wrist causing the ash to float from the tip of his cigarette before a heavy brow arches at Sonny's words.

"I reckon that's none of your fucking business," he says, "But I like you so I'll indulge your curiosity. She made me feel good. Not like the rest of these ass sucking pricks. Talked to me like I was a real person. That's hard to come by." he pauses and turns his eyes from the shop to glance around himself for the first time in quite a while. Not bad, good area, plenty of business, nice legit place to be seen with a briefcase which may or may not contain a fine toothed saw and pair of eye goggles.

"You can't fuck around with those things. Got to snatch'm up and never let'm go when you find them and that's exactly what I intend to do. Snatch her up... and never let her go."