07-09-2013, 07:53 AM
"Do you think that's a good idea?" Patrick asked his regnant, the barrel of a .38 being used to scratch a faint itch on his scalp. "I mean, I don't know Miss Cat. That's an awful lot of gas to have in a car."
"It's a truck. Not a car, silly Patrick. And we all make sacrifices."
"But..I mean Miss Cat....if we smack a bump too hard..." He made an exaggeration with his hand, representing an explosion.
"We all make sacrifices Patrick."
There are parts of Denver that are bad. Then there are parts that are really bad. There are nicer parts, and then there are affluent sections that are insulated well enough that the upper crust of society never really are troubled with what occurs among the lower rungs of humanity, even within their own city.
Cat has settled into a warehouse, abandoned for years and forgotten when the economy took a downturn, in one of those really bad parts of the City. This is where Cat is keeping her brood. Patrick wasn't so sure about these sacrifices. They had almost 75 gallon containers of gasoline in the back of the box truck, too many fireworks and shot gun shells. He was driving really slow, but every single bump on the way to the warehouse made him wince.
In the warehouse, the group that Cat has gathered are busy. The rational mind would say not to give a schizophrenic a knife and certainly don't give them dangerous chemicals with which they could blow themselves up. But Cat is very liberal and her mind doesn't work the way that the rational mind works.
The beeping of the truck in reverse as it backs into the warehouse is like an alarm for the gang inside. They flock to the truck and Cat scowls. Shooing them away with a quick flash of fingers and fangs. She's promised them Mecca. Heaven. A world without their own Others (though she couldn't imagine why they would want that...) and peace.
And she plans on delivering, just not right ...now.
Right now she has Patrick guide them into unloading the truck. Stacking the gasoline in a back locked and ventilated room away from the fireworks they stocked up on after the nation celebrated their two-hundred-something birthday. Cat wasn't impressed with this. her sire was older than this country and she wasn't far behind.
No one sat off fireworks for them on their re-birthdays.
"Pizza and punch!" She declared as one of the men carried boxes of pizza to a nearby table. She went to another. Bit into her wrist and held it over small red Solo cups. Letting her vitae drain into each one of the ten. "But, medicine first. We always must take our medicine or we will be ill. I cannot take care of you if you don't take your medicine. You can't have any pudding if you don't take your medicine."
There's pushing and shoving and grumbling before the lot of them settle into a semi-straight and orderly line to get their medicine so they can have their punch and pizza and best of all their pudding.
"It's a truck. Not a car, silly Patrick. And we all make sacrifices."
"But..I mean Miss Cat....if we smack a bump too hard..." He made an exaggeration with his hand, representing an explosion.
"We all make sacrifices Patrick."
There are parts of Denver that are bad. Then there are parts that are really bad. There are nicer parts, and then there are affluent sections that are insulated well enough that the upper crust of society never really are troubled with what occurs among the lower rungs of humanity, even within their own city.
Cat has settled into a warehouse, abandoned for years and forgotten when the economy took a downturn, in one of those really bad parts of the City. This is where Cat is keeping her brood. Patrick wasn't so sure about these sacrifices. They had almost 75 gallon containers of gasoline in the back of the box truck, too many fireworks and shot gun shells. He was driving really slow, but every single bump on the way to the warehouse made him wince.
In the warehouse, the group that Cat has gathered are busy. The rational mind would say not to give a schizophrenic a knife and certainly don't give them dangerous chemicals with which they could blow themselves up. But Cat is very liberal and her mind doesn't work the way that the rational mind works.
The beeping of the truck in reverse as it backs into the warehouse is like an alarm for the gang inside. They flock to the truck and Cat scowls. Shooing them away with a quick flash of fingers and fangs. She's promised them Mecca. Heaven. A world without their own Others (though she couldn't imagine why they would want that...) and peace.
And she plans on delivering, just not right ...now.
Right now she has Patrick guide them into unloading the truck. Stacking the gasoline in a back locked and ventilated room away from the fireworks they stocked up on after the nation celebrated their two-hundred-something birthday. Cat wasn't impressed with this. her sire was older than this country and she wasn't far behind.
No one sat off fireworks for them on their re-birthdays.
"Pizza and punch!" She declared as one of the men carried boxes of pizza to a nearby table. She went to another. Bit into her wrist and held it over small red Solo cups. Letting her vitae drain into each one of the ten. "But, medicine first. We always must take our medicine or we will be ill. I cannot take care of you if you don't take your medicine. You can't have any pudding if you don't take your medicine."
There's pushing and shoving and grumbling before the lot of them settle into a semi-straight and orderly line to get their medicine so they can have their punch and pizza and best of all their pudding.