Our William, he's a good-meaning sort. He doesn't hurt people and hasn't for years...at least, people who are not consensual in the act. Sure, he beats people with chairs and baseball bats and garbage cans and he raises people up into the air by their throat so he can slam them down on their back. He delivers kicks and stomps and punches and overhand slaps hard enough to redden peoples' chests on a regular basis, but that's all part of the game when you're in professional wrestling. Despite his enormous size, his frightening visage and his ability to intimidate, he's not a violent man.
Not anymore.
However, when he sees things going on that he doesn't understand, when he's following this strange androgynous creature and not realizing why and he sees that Mercy--this small, feral woman who he thinks is a vampire--is about to be attacked he steps into action. It's only right. Even if they're monsters and dead things and whatever they might be, she's a woman being ganged up on by what may be a man and a woman or just two men. As he would say if he'd had the chance to comment, That shit ain't right.
So he first tried to make the odds even. He picked up the closest thing in two hands and lobbed it at the strange man who had told him to go with Mercy in the first place sometime earlier. He heard a satisfying crunch and was already turning to separate Mercy and the other person when the cart came back with even more force than he'd thrown it, impossibly. He staggers back and, still not believing things, he decides it's time to run so he grabs at his little feral friend (not-friend) and tries to run. But even his prodigious might can't separate them, and then a kick comes out of nowhere, impacting hard into a face that was already ruined long ago.
William knows how to fall, but only when he's expecting it and he doesn't expect this. So when he hits the ground it's not on his back, spread out over the most space to minimize damage. He lands hard on his side. And he doesn't have much time to react before another kick is coming at him. He rolls back, instinctually, and narrowly avoids it. And then he stares as a wooden weapon is plunged into the Gangrel's back, the woman he feared and didn't understand but somehow felt the urge to protect. Because she was a woman. You don't hit women. Ever.
Now, the focus is no longer on him, as the two remaining vampires are locked in a battle of minds that--again--William doesn't understand. The giant is running on instinct at this point, beaten to near-unconsciousness with just two blows. In his mind Mercy is already dead (that's how you kill vampires isn't it? A stake through the heart?) and so he rolls into a crawling position. Desperation has taken over; his mind threatens to submerge in pain. But he still scrambles, gasping for air, blood leaking from his nose and a spot on his forehead where the shopping cart hit.
The crawling doesn't last for long, nor does the consciousness. He makes it further than you might expect...desperation can get you a long way. He's crawling with his last ounces of strength for the K-Mart and he's almost to the neon glow of that giant red K when smaller hands than should be capable of it grab him, drag him back. He passes out somewhere along the way back to the car and dead weight is tossed in the back of the car.
It isn't until the second, headless body falls on him that he is jostled back into blurry unconsciousness. He's the foundation in a grotesque pile in the back of the car, and everything (EVERYTHING) hurts. He groans lightly, tries to move and realizes that he's weighed down. And then he
remembers.
Panic threatens to step in and drive him into a flurry of frantic action, but a cooler head prevails. He dealt with bad problems in prison, and he takes several moments and breathes, staying very still as he tries to think. He comes up with a plan. It's not a good plan; it could very well mean his death. But it's the best thing he's got.
So he waits. Though his flesh crawls with every pat-pat-pat of blood and gore that seeps through the pile of flesh and bone to hit his back, his stomach threatens to unload the alcohol and meat that made up his last meal from the smell and the conversation over a cell phone makes him deeply afraid--not the words, just the voice alone--he waits. William is not the strongest-willed man on the planet, but he is a man of some measure of control and he is not the kind to be paralyzed with fear. When you're at your lowest (and this is a low in William's already-tragic life, though probably not his lowest in the near future), you either fold up and wait for death or you find your reserves. And that's what he does.
It's a difficult thing to judge, you know. You have to time it very, very carefully when you decide to leap from a moving car in an attempt to escape. Too slow and the driver (and passenger) can slow down and get you before you can run away. Too fast and--well, you're going to die. William is no expert in jumping out of cars, and either is entirely possible. But he has to try.
He gathers his will when he thinks the time is right. He carefully moves, being as quiet as possible, and uses the fact that one is driving and the other is distracted on the phone to slough the bodies as far off him as possible without attracting attention. He reaches out, carefully, for the care door. And then, in a combined force of will and action, he bursts forward. The car door is thrown open and he leaps, tucking into a roll as he tries to hit the ground as safely as possible.
He's nearly unconscious. This act may well push him into a fully-such state or worse. He certainly can't get far once he's on the ground if he can get anywhere at all. But William has a choice. And between choosing passive death or an active (if infinitesimal) chance at life, he's taking his fate into his own hands.
His mother would be proud if she knew, if she could ever know. Our William, he's a good man.
[[Willpower blown to ignore wound penalties long enough to make his leap. I'm open to whatever rolls y'all may want for him to try this!]]
Not anymore.
However, when he sees things going on that he doesn't understand, when he's following this strange androgynous creature and not realizing why and he sees that Mercy--this small, feral woman who he thinks is a vampire--is about to be attacked he steps into action. It's only right. Even if they're monsters and dead things and whatever they might be, she's a woman being ganged up on by what may be a man and a woman or just two men. As he would say if he'd had the chance to comment, That shit ain't right.
So he first tried to make the odds even. He picked up the closest thing in two hands and lobbed it at the strange man who had told him to go with Mercy in the first place sometime earlier. He heard a satisfying crunch and was already turning to separate Mercy and the other person when the cart came back with even more force than he'd thrown it, impossibly. He staggers back and, still not believing things, he decides it's time to run so he grabs at his little feral friend (not-friend) and tries to run. But even his prodigious might can't separate them, and then a kick comes out of nowhere, impacting hard into a face that was already ruined long ago.
William knows how to fall, but only when he's expecting it and he doesn't expect this. So when he hits the ground it's not on his back, spread out over the most space to minimize damage. He lands hard on his side. And he doesn't have much time to react before another kick is coming at him. He rolls back, instinctually, and narrowly avoids it. And then he stares as a wooden weapon is plunged into the Gangrel's back, the woman he feared and didn't understand but somehow felt the urge to protect. Because she was a woman. You don't hit women. Ever.
Now, the focus is no longer on him, as the two remaining vampires are locked in a battle of minds that--again--William doesn't understand. The giant is running on instinct at this point, beaten to near-unconsciousness with just two blows. In his mind Mercy is already dead (that's how you kill vampires isn't it? A stake through the heart?) and so he rolls into a crawling position. Desperation has taken over; his mind threatens to submerge in pain. But he still scrambles, gasping for air, blood leaking from his nose and a spot on his forehead where the shopping cart hit.
The crawling doesn't last for long, nor does the consciousness. He makes it further than you might expect...desperation can get you a long way. He's crawling with his last ounces of strength for the K-Mart and he's almost to the neon glow of that giant red K when smaller hands than should be capable of it grab him, drag him back. He passes out somewhere along the way back to the car and dead weight is tossed in the back of the car.
It isn't until the second, headless body falls on him that he is jostled back into blurry unconsciousness. He's the foundation in a grotesque pile in the back of the car, and everything (EVERYTHING) hurts. He groans lightly, tries to move and realizes that he's weighed down. And then he
remembers.
Panic threatens to step in and drive him into a flurry of frantic action, but a cooler head prevails. He dealt with bad problems in prison, and he takes several moments and breathes, staying very still as he tries to think. He comes up with a plan. It's not a good plan; it could very well mean his death. But it's the best thing he's got.
So he waits. Though his flesh crawls with every pat-pat-pat of blood and gore that seeps through the pile of flesh and bone to hit his back, his stomach threatens to unload the alcohol and meat that made up his last meal from the smell and the conversation over a cell phone makes him deeply afraid--not the words, just the voice alone--he waits. William is not the strongest-willed man on the planet, but he is a man of some measure of control and he is not the kind to be paralyzed with fear. When you're at your lowest (and this is a low in William's already-tragic life, though probably not his lowest in the near future), you either fold up and wait for death or you find your reserves. And that's what he does.
It's a difficult thing to judge, you know. You have to time it very, very carefully when you decide to leap from a moving car in an attempt to escape. Too slow and the driver (and passenger) can slow down and get you before you can run away. Too fast and--well, you're going to die. William is no expert in jumping out of cars, and either is entirely possible. But he has to try.
He gathers his will when he thinks the time is right. He carefully moves, being as quiet as possible, and uses the fact that one is driving and the other is distracted on the phone to slough the bodies as far off him as possible without attracting attention. He reaches out, carefully, for the care door. And then, in a combined force of will and action, he bursts forward. The car door is thrown open and he leaps, tucking into a roll as he tries to hit the ground as safely as possible.
He's nearly unconscious. This act may well push him into a fully-such state or worse. He certainly can't get far once he's on the ground if he can get anywhere at all. But William has a choice. And between choosing passive death or an active (if infinitesimal) chance at life, he's taking his fate into his own hands.
His mother would be proud if she knew, if she could ever know. Our William, he's a good man.
[[Willpower blown to ignore wound penalties long enough to make his leap. I'm open to whatever rolls y'all may want for him to try this!]]
"The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."