Wilmette After Dark. I have no funny subject title this time.
Title : Wilmette After Dark (2/10)
Summary : Pete leaves for the fight. And so it begins!
Author : Crispy The Centaur
Rating : PG for mild violence
Author's Notes : Alright! This is the last of the "improved" chapters. The real deal's gonna come next time!
Previous Chapters : Prologue, Chapter I
The sun was barely down when Pete awoke. He spoke no word the whole time, and neglected to drink his nightly elixir. Jaw grimly set and brow furrowed, he threw open an old trunk and sorted through the contents. Old clothing, Clandestine prototypes, and items that never once heard of the laundry. Finally, his hand brushed the outfit he was looking for - a Marauder hoodie - the one he wore on that same night William attacked. No matter how many times it went through the spin-cycle of the washing machine, nor how many cups of bleach soaked into the fabric, the bloodstains on the material never faded. Pete would wear it again tonight, as a reminder. Buckling his supply vest across the hoodie and surveying himself in the nearby mirror (Actually, he was only able to see his clothing. One of the problems of being a vampire was never knowing if you had bed-head.), he threw a few punches into the air as practice.
"You're really going through with this, aren't you?"
Pete froze in his tracks as Patrick's voice cut the silence. Pete turned, but said nothing.
"I gave the message to Joe and Andy. They both insist that at least one of us comes with you."
Pete opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find any of the right words. Patrick's pleas were only making him feel guilty - and his bloodlust and fighting spirit fading. Clenching his fists, Pete brushed by Patrick, headed for the door, and stopped. Just before stepping out, Pete turned and gave a smile, showing off his freshly-polished fangs. Three words were the only thing that came to mind, and he spoke them as slowly and deliberately as he could:
"It's been fun."
Then, in less than a blink, he had set off.
Ding...ding...ding...ding...ding...ding.
The clock struck seven, it's chimes echoing throughout the front hall. Patrick grit his teeth at each knell, like a deep, booming creature was laughing at him.
"Shut up! You're not helping at all!"
It has always been said that Patrick Stump had quite a vocal range, even when he was shouting at an inanimate object. The yells were loud enough to attract Andy's attention, who came half-running, half shuffling to the singer's side.
"Hey c'mon, 'Trick! I said that him going alone was a bad idea too...Wait...You weren't yelling at me, were you?"
Patrick folded his arms and stared at the floor, his voice almost deadpan. "No, not you." Though his speaking was flat, he fought with all he could to keep his jaw from trembling. There was silence in the room, save for the echoes of the ticking clock, and the faint yelling and grunting of Joe in the training quarters below. Patrick gnawed on his lip, playing through several outcomes of the fight in his mind - all ending with victory on the side of the Dandies. An alarm went off in his head...No, the idea of a single alarm could never come close to the panic in Patrick's mind. It felt more like a thousand alarms, set to their highest pitch, all hovering within a hair of his senses. To hell with keeping promises, someone's life was at stake!
Dashing into his workshop, seizing his Tangler Gun and supplies, Patrick called back to Andy, "Go get Joe! He's got the keys to the car."
Andy followed, shaking his head. "You can't be serious. Pete finds us following him and..."
"Better than us playing 'Find-The-Disembodied-Pete-Parts' after the Dandies have their way. Besides," Patrick headed to the door, paused, and turned back. "I'm more than willing to things my way. Don't think I can be the 'gadget-guy' and not know how to hotwire a vehicle."
Heaving a resignated sigh, Andy did as he was told.
-*-
The Penumbra Street underpass was the type of dank, grimy place where street-fighters called their haven. Although its abandoned buildings and broken streetlights seemed very unfitting for a group like the Dandies, it was also the perfect place away from patrolling policemen...and coroners.
William Beckett perched on the top of the Dandies' black limousine. Several of his underlings hove close around him, filing his nails, massaging his shoulders, and pouring him tea. Ever so often the leader would glance at the sky, then to a small gold pocket-watch. He repeated this almost fifteen times before Pete - sweating and tired - arrived.
"For the love of...Wentz, please don't tell me that you came all the way here on foot!" William shuddered and pulled a face at his rival, then paused and gave a hearty proper laugh. "Well, well, well, it's no skin off my back if all that running makes you collapse before I even touch you!"
"Save it, pal. Let's get this fight over with." Pete gave his traditional scowl - though this time, it wasn't something posed for a photograph.
"Oh, such a shame, Wentz. You did know that we're expecting a meteor shower tonight? I thought maybe you'd like to see some falling stars from the sky before you see falling stars from my fist! Ah, perhaps you need someone to soften you up in the meantime." William gave a wave of his hand and one of the Dandies advanced, ready to attack Pete.
In less time than it took to blink, the Dandy was on his back, with Pete's foot at his throat, and the knife that Patrick, Andy, and Joe found in the drifter between his eyes. "What a coincidence William would send you, Mike." Pete smirked. "I had something that I needed to return to you."
"Well, look at you, Wentz, still full of piss and vinegar." William gave his applause as Pete kicked Mike away. "Very well, let us begin."
Every Dandy stood and surrounded Pete in a wide circle. Setting aside his tea, fedora, and tying his hair back with a silk ribbon, William followed into the makeshift ring. At the snap of the leader's fingers, a group of Temptresses appeared, each one holding a large ornate box.
"I guess you expect me to be a bit of a bad sport, eh Wentz?" William strode between the females as he spoke. "Dear me, if I was, I'd have tipped those police officers a little more just to fire up the ol' electric chair on you and your buddies! But, I digress...I'll let you choose our weapons. Show you how fair of a vampire I really am."
Pete inspected each box, testing out what each weapon had to offer. Small daggers, dueling pistols, even elaborate maces made up the vast array of Dandies weaponry. After some time, Pete closed the final box and shook his head. "I choose hand-to-hand combat, Beckett."
"Shame, I was hoping you'd go out with a bit more style. Too bad." William shrugged as he held his glove aloft.
Pete went into a grappler's crouch, waiting for his opponent to signal the start of the fight. William never dropped the glove. Instead, with his opponent distracted, he dashed and swung out with his other hand, knocking Pete square in the chin. With the strike, the head Dandy elicited a roar of cheers from his followers. Already he wasn't willing to fight fair!
Summary : Pete leaves for the fight. And so it begins!
Author : Crispy The Centaur
Rating : PG for mild violence
Author's Notes : Alright! This is the last of the "improved" chapters. The real deal's gonna come next time!
Previous Chapters : Prologue, Chapter I
The sun was barely down when Pete awoke. He spoke no word the whole time, and neglected to drink his nightly elixir. Jaw grimly set and brow furrowed, he threw open an old trunk and sorted through the contents. Old clothing, Clandestine prototypes, and items that never once heard of the laundry. Finally, his hand brushed the outfit he was looking for - a Marauder hoodie - the one he wore on that same night William attacked. No matter how many times it went through the spin-cycle of the washing machine, nor how many cups of bleach soaked into the fabric, the bloodstains on the material never faded. Pete would wear it again tonight, as a reminder. Buckling his supply vest across the hoodie and surveying himself in the nearby mirror (Actually, he was only able to see his clothing. One of the problems of being a vampire was never knowing if you had bed-head.), he threw a few punches into the air as practice.
"You're really going through with this, aren't you?"
Pete froze in his tracks as Patrick's voice cut the silence. Pete turned, but said nothing.
"I gave the message to Joe and Andy. They both insist that at least one of us comes with you."
Pete opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find any of the right words. Patrick's pleas were only making him feel guilty - and his bloodlust and fighting spirit fading. Clenching his fists, Pete brushed by Patrick, headed for the door, and stopped. Just before stepping out, Pete turned and gave a smile, showing off his freshly-polished fangs. Three words were the only thing that came to mind, and he spoke them as slowly and deliberately as he could:
"It's been fun."
Then, in less than a blink, he had set off.
Ding...ding...ding...ding...ding...ding.
The clock struck seven, it's chimes echoing throughout the front hall. Patrick grit his teeth at each knell, like a deep, booming creature was laughing at him.
"Shut up! You're not helping at all!"
It has always been said that Patrick Stump had quite a vocal range, even when he was shouting at an inanimate object. The yells were loud enough to attract Andy's attention, who came half-running, half shuffling to the singer's side.
"Hey c'mon, 'Trick! I said that him going alone was a bad idea too...Wait...You weren't yelling at me, were you?"
Patrick folded his arms and stared at the floor, his voice almost deadpan. "No, not you." Though his speaking was flat, he fought with all he could to keep his jaw from trembling. There was silence in the room, save for the echoes of the ticking clock, and the faint yelling and grunting of Joe in the training quarters below. Patrick gnawed on his lip, playing through several outcomes of the fight in his mind - all ending with victory on the side of the Dandies. An alarm went off in his head...No, the idea of a single alarm could never come close to the panic in Patrick's mind. It felt more like a thousand alarms, set to their highest pitch, all hovering within a hair of his senses. To hell with keeping promises, someone's life was at stake!
Dashing into his workshop, seizing his Tangler Gun and supplies, Patrick called back to Andy, "Go get Joe! He's got the keys to the car."
Andy followed, shaking his head. "You can't be serious. Pete finds us following him and..."
"Better than us playing 'Find-The-Disembodied-Pete-Parts' after the Dandies have their way. Besides," Patrick headed to the door, paused, and turned back. "I'm more than willing to things my way. Don't think I can be the 'gadget-guy' and not know how to hotwire a vehicle."
Heaving a resignated sigh, Andy did as he was told.
-*-
The Penumbra Street underpass was the type of dank, grimy place where street-fighters called their haven. Although its abandoned buildings and broken streetlights seemed very unfitting for a group like the Dandies, it was also the perfect place away from patrolling policemen...and coroners.
William Beckett perched on the top of the Dandies' black limousine. Several of his underlings hove close around him, filing his nails, massaging his shoulders, and pouring him tea. Ever so often the leader would glance at the sky, then to a small gold pocket-watch. He repeated this almost fifteen times before Pete - sweating and tired - arrived.
"For the love of...Wentz, please don't tell me that you came all the way here on foot!" William shuddered and pulled a face at his rival, then paused and gave a hearty proper laugh. "Well, well, well, it's no skin off my back if all that running makes you collapse before I even touch you!"
"Save it, pal. Let's get this fight over with." Pete gave his traditional scowl - though this time, it wasn't something posed for a photograph.
"Oh, such a shame, Wentz. You did know that we're expecting a meteor shower tonight? I thought maybe you'd like to see some falling stars from the sky before you see falling stars from my fist! Ah, perhaps you need someone to soften you up in the meantime." William gave a wave of his hand and one of the Dandies advanced, ready to attack Pete.
In less time than it took to blink, the Dandy was on his back, with Pete's foot at his throat, and the knife that Patrick, Andy, and Joe found in the drifter between his eyes. "What a coincidence William would send you, Mike." Pete smirked. "I had something that I needed to return to you."
"Well, look at you, Wentz, still full of piss and vinegar." William gave his applause as Pete kicked Mike away. "Very well, let us begin."
Every Dandy stood and surrounded Pete in a wide circle. Setting aside his tea, fedora, and tying his hair back with a silk ribbon, William followed into the makeshift ring. At the snap of the leader's fingers, a group of Temptresses appeared, each one holding a large ornate box.
"I guess you expect me to be a bit of a bad sport, eh Wentz?" William strode between the females as he spoke. "Dear me, if I was, I'd have tipped those police officers a little more just to fire up the ol' electric chair on you and your buddies! But, I digress...I'll let you choose our weapons. Show you how fair of a vampire I really am."
Pete inspected each box, testing out what each weapon had to offer. Small daggers, dueling pistols, even elaborate maces made up the vast array of Dandies weaponry. After some time, Pete closed the final box and shook his head. "I choose hand-to-hand combat, Beckett."
"Shame, I was hoping you'd go out with a bit more style. Too bad." William shrugged as he held his glove aloft.
Pete went into a grappler's crouch, waiting for his opponent to signal the start of the fight. William never dropped the glove. Instead, with his opponent distracted, he dashed and swung out with his other hand, knocking Pete square in the chin. With the strike, the head Dandy elicited a roar of cheers from his followers. Already he wasn't willing to fight fair!