[Complete] Titles are overrated

[Bryce Lamkin]

The transit was crowded, but her lack of height worked to her advantage as she wiggled her way between tightly packed bodies. It was going to be a short ride she reminded herself, unable to breathe properly as someone’s elbow prodded at her side and another passenger pressed heavily into her. Bryce huffed, clutching onto her belongings in her pocket’s as she stared up at the brightly lit ceiling in hopes of alleviating the claustrophobia.

Erato Station. Erato Station. The female voice crackled through the speakers above, lights flickering in such a fashion that anyone with epileptic tendencies would surely react to with a violent seizure. Bryce tore her eyes away and glanced towards the door as the crowds began to shift. She mouthed a string of swear words as someone stepped on her foot, and tried to move towards the side, against a wall, where she wouldn’t be stampeded upon by the exiting and entering masses.

Cowering against a corner, she turned her back somewhat to the crowd, shoulder pressed into the wall as leaned her hip heavily into the corner of wall and those dividers keeping her from falling into someone’s lap. The doors opened and a gush of warm air hit her square in the face, causing her to squint as she turned away—the smells were awfully pungent. Keeping her eyes closed, she waited for the commotion to cease and the doors to close. When they did, she looked up at the person who was now pressed against her warily. Not human, she instantly thought to herself, muscles tensing as she glanced up at the back of their head.

[Changed the post for the sake of slight originality]

[/JUSTIFY]

[Sammy-boy]

The six foot three inch man felt like the sleeping sardines in that poem by Shel Silverstein, where they're all snugged up tight. What was that poem called? 'Sleeping Sardines'? Except the part where he wasn't sleeping. Two forty-eight in the AM and he wasn't sleeping. Ever since he'd tried to cut back on drinking, he never slept. He hardly slept before that, but at least when he was drinking, he slept a little bit. His thick black hair made him look like he rolled out of bed five minutes ago. He had. But he hadn't been sleeping. No. He hadn't been sleeping.

A distinctly female voice buzzed in the back of his head. He wasn't sure if anybody else could hear it. Sometimes he dreamt with his eyes open. Sometimes his eyes closed and he didn't realize it. She sounded like she was speaking over a really old radio. The kind one of his friends had owned in the fifties. Static crackled in his ears.

"While insomnia is a nighttime problem, it may cause daytime issues, as well. People with insomnia often complain about: fatigue and daytime sleepiness, moodiness, irritability or anger, lack of concentration and poor memory, upset stomach, mistakes or a c c i d e n t s a t w o--" The little voice in the back of his head cut off mid-symptom and his bleary, bloodshot eyes shot open.

He turned his head a little bit. You know that feeling you get when somebody's watching you? That goose-bumps-on-the-arms generally bad feeling that makes the back of your throat dry? Makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck? No? You don't? It must've been the Perception. The skin on the bridge of his nose crinkled up as muscles flexed in his face.

Sniff.... Sniff.... Sniff....

He'd never smelled another Werewolf. He'd never even met another Werewolf. Or did they prefer to be called 'Lycan'? Regardless, this train smelled like dog. Was that what he smelled like? He lifted the sleeve of his worn-out brown leather jacket to his face. It was so close that it brushed up against his lips and the stubble on his chin. He inhaled deeply. No. It didn't smell like dog. It smelled like.... Cigarettes.

[Bryce Lamkin]

Bryce had no reason to believe establishing contact would bring her harm; part of her was well aware she was being slightly naïve in being so positive. What would she do though? She couldn’t possibly stop meeting new people for the sake of safety—surely she would lose her mind if such were the drawbacks of immortality. This particular werewolf didn’t care much for eternal life anyways; it was a concept she couldn’t wrap her mind around and found no interest in if there was nothing to live for. Of course she had Sebastian who she loved dearly and the bloodline seemed to be expanding at an exponential rate, but Bryce had always lived as an extrovert and saw no reason to be if she could not retain her openness towards new acquaintances. So, in an attempt to establish contact, she reached upwards and prodded him lightly above the shoulder blade. Height was not to her advantage and given the tight conditions she didn’t have the space to reach higher. The stranger was well over a foot taller than her, like Sebastian, but his form was far more svelte.

Yo !
It was perhaps a testament to her age, both in human and werewolf years. The choice of words Bryce often used were not a choice, but simply, well, it was what came naturally. Certainly there were those who recoiled from her, uneasy regarding the casualty she offered. Being easy-going and friendly had earned her quite a circle of friends back home, and she came from a relatively large family where privacy and reserve were a rare sight to behold. Her tone was casual; her voice almost had a preppy singsong ring to it. Bryce was no bimbo, she had been destined to be part of the next generation of astronauts when the shit hit the fan; but rarely did her demeanour suggest the nerd she truly was. And so, with simplicity that reflected modernity, she tilted her head as she offered the stranger a smile.

She’d be damned if she would not at least try and reconstruct a circle of acquaintances and friends. It wasn’t a need to be liked that motivated her to be so forward, it was the need to be surrounded by variety—and this was the first werewolf outside of her bloodline that she came across.

[Sammy-boy]

When he felt somebody prodding at his shoulder, his head completed its turning, and his stormcloud gaze locked on a rather... short female. One of his eyebrows perked up--the prelude to a question. "You here for the ride?" His voice was raspy and soft; it was a perfect match for his dishelved hair and muted eyes. He produced a ski mask from one of his pockets and started pulling it down over his face.

Some people just rub other people the wrong way. Some people are rubbed wrong by every person that comes into contact with them. Grin was the second of these. Some people are the type of people that looked at another person and said to themselves, 'there's something I don't like about this person's face,' and then they punch them, be it verbally or physically. Grin was that type of person. He'd been referred to as 'grumpy' by various people. So, it struck him as odd when there wasn't anything in particular that he disliked about her... maybe her eyes were set a little far apart, but he wasn't going to hold grudges for being born deformed. He adjusted his mask and nodded his head. Something else came out of his pocket... a bag. A burlap sack.

Unannounced, he pulled a gun out of his coat and started waving it around. "ALRIGHT. EVERYBODY PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR. THIS IS A HOLD UP. GIVE ME ALL OF YOUR DAMNED MONEY. I want necklaces, rings, and wallets!" Nobody seemed to listen. He fired the weapon two times into the roof of the train. People's hands started shooting up in all directions.

An older woman nearby started screaming, and Grin turned his gun on her. "Stop that. It's just agitating. Didn't anybody ever tell you not to draw attention to yourself during a stick-up? That's a good way to get taken hostage... As a matter of fact..." he shoved his way through the crowd, knocking a few people off balance, and grabbed the old woman by her hand. She was easy to drag into his chest. The cold barrel of the metallic black gun he held shoved up against her temple, and he released her hand. His thick elbow and forearm wrapped around her throat gently, just to keep her still. He could smell urine. Had she wet herself? Some of the desparate measures people take to get rid of debt, huh?

[Bryce Lamkin]

Bryce rose an eyebrow at his response, eyeing him with slight bemusement as he produced a mask. Having focused her attention on him, she saw the gun barrel before he started yelling, eyes widening as her breath caught in her throat. For a second she stood with her lips parted in surprise, unsure what to make of the situation. The firing of the weapon caused her to snap her jaw shut, ears ringing as metal penetrating metal sounded above—then the screaming. Already prone to claustrophobia and panic—tendencies she’d developed only after being captured and escaping, and surely not characteristics searched for in future astronauts—Bryce immediately tensed. Her eyes were fixed on his form only briefly, and then her attention too was grabbed by the screaming woman. Once more, his actions knocked the air out of her as he took the woman hostage.

Nervously eyeing the crowd, Bryce waited to see how things developed. The bystander effect seemed to be taking place, and the mortals around them were either complying or too distracted by the scene to do anything other than stare. This didn’t make sense to her. Why would an immortal, gifted with agility and charisma, would use such a primitive method? Surely this stranger would be far less prone to consequences if he conducted such shady acts with a little more discretion, no? But who was she to judge, she used thievery often, so her hands were tainted as well, just not with blood. The stealing itself didn't bother her, strangely enough, it was his attitude.

They were trapped; the train was still moving and would be for a few more minutes unless the conductor stopped it. How exactly was this guy going to escape, she didn’t know. Her eyes scanned the crowded compartment, noticing the screens of cell phones lit; with this much technology there could be consequences when they pulled into the station. What would he do then? Shoot people? Was he going to shoot the woman?

Bryce shuddered at the thought. She didn’t want to be part of this, but being of the same species made her feel equally tainted. This was low. Furrowing her brow, she sensed fear all around her and tensed her jaw in attempts to mask her as she called out.

Is the gun really necessary?

Stepping forward, she narrowed her eyes as the crowd between him and her stepped out of the way, pressing into the sides of the compartment. Tilting her head, she hooked her thumbs on the outside of her sweatshirt’s pouch, forcing her voice into his mind: Couldn’t you just go about it how we all do?

What the fuck was she doing? She was no Peter Parker.

[Sammy-boy]

Was the gun necessary? Yes. The gun was quite necessary. Quite. Why wasn't he going about it like the typical 'immortal'? With quiet steps and quiet hands on quiet streets in the nighttime? Because desperate times called for desperate measures, as that old, old saying went. And he was a desperate man in desperate need of money. He had a deadline, and he'd never make it by being sneaky and underhanded, so he opted for loud, bold, and bossy. Instead of telling her that, though, he pushed his own thoughts into her head.I have my reasons. Why do you care? "Now gather around, people, and start dropping your valuables into the sack. That's it, that's it. Keep 'em comin', ladies and gentleman. Shuffle on. Move out of each others' way so that other people can get through." He also didn't bother to tell her that the gun had only had two bullets in it, shoved in the chamber especially for grabbing the passengers' attentions. Now? He was going on pure bluff, which wasn't so bad because Grin was one hell of a bluffer--he lied with all the coolness of a true psychotic, and sought out stimulation in the same manner.

Give it about ten minutes and I'll be out of here. Grin continued holding the little old woman firmly. She wasn't struggling, but he could feel her little bones shaking. Her white bun pressed against his chest as he jangled the bag around to test its weight. He wasn't sure if this was anywhere near 200K, but he was hoping that it covered some of what he had to pay. "You got any gum, old woman?" Her hand quivered as she fished around inside of her tiny leather bag. Eventually, she produced a pack of chewing gum. "Drop it in the bag." She did so, and he began heading toward the back of the train with her. One step at a time, he went... not rushing himself, pacing himself. There was still a while, yet, before this train came to a stop, and there was no reason to let being in a rush get the better of him.... no reason at all.

[Bryce Lamkin]

Bryce pressed her lips into a thin line as his words penetrated her psyche. What reasons could he have that would justify such stupidity? Surely he could have used his abilities to garner money from a bank as opposed to terrorize these poor souls, not to mention that the bigger fish were probably not going to ride on the public transit. Glancing as the people moved around and shuffled for their belongings, dropping wallets and valuables into his sack, her eyes narrowed further. Incredulous, she stalked after him as he moved to the back of the compartment, going against traffic. A young man groped her elbow and beckoning her to fall back, but she shrugged him off whilst giving him a condescending glare.

Pulling out her wallet, a cheap cloth one with the batman symbol sown into it in bright yellow, she called out to him again. Aren’t you forgetting something?

Tilting her head, she held up her wallet and shook slightly, giving him a half smile. There were a few bucks left over from her quest fee which she had only slightly overestimated, but her leather boots were worth more than what was in the wallet. Slowly, she dragged her tongue over her lower lip and wiggled her raised eyebrow tauntingly. Her gaze dropped to the grandmother before flicking up to him.

Oh, she had every intention.
Bryce twisted her wrist, snapping it as her wallet flew face-bound towards him.

C’mon boy, Fetch!

Perhaps if she brought the attention to herself, the old lady would be old news.
Bullets would hurt, but they wouldn't kill her.

[Sammy-boy]

He'd never been the smartest person, and really wasn't the type to 'plot' things. He did things on impulse. This entire thing? Had been on impulse. The fullness of his 'plot'ing was... 'Okay. We aren't going to kill anybody. That's the deal. No unnecessary killing.' And that's about all the planning he'd done before putting two attention-grabbers into his shitty little pea-shooter, grabbing a mask, and then hopping on the first train that he saw. His stupidity, itself, could be blamed fully on two things:

A) He was running on roughly three hours of sleep per week, depending on if he was drinking, or not.

B) He hadn't been drinking, lately, meaning alcohol withdrawal symptoms. (He was sure that, after this incident, the drinking would pick back up to its normal rate. As a matter of fact, he was beyond sure. This was way too much stress to go through for a little cash.)

Sometimes things worked to his advantage, and sometimes they didn't. More the latter than the former. One thing was certain, though, he always blamed anything that happened on luck... And right now? As a wallet was hurdling toward his face? He was blaming it on his bad luck. [Which you and I would probably see as a complete lack of planning on his part.]

It hit him square in the nose and he made an 'oof' sound. His grip on the old lady loosened and his hand shot up to his face to grip at the center of it, giving her just enough leeway to make a break for it. And she did. She broke free and wobbled as fast as her little old legs would allow her to wobble. And Grin was short one hostage.

Who did this bitch think she was? Wasn't she being hypocritical. All the money that came from anywhere in this City was fucking stolen from humans or other Vampires and Werewolves. Every single Vampire and Werewolf stole to get what they wanted... or picked their coin off of the corpses of their victims. And wasn't murder worse than stealing? That was the way that it was, here. She stole. She killed. He knew she stole. That or she bummed her money off of her Sire, who stole to get his money. Therefore, she'd be living off of the benefits of stolen money.

Grin hated heroes. Especially hypocritical heroes.

He had to keep himself calm. Adrenaline levels had to be kept low. He couldn't let this excite him. He couldn't let this control him. He pulled in the metaphorical reigns on the anger that was swelling up somewhere near his sternum. Breath was even and slow, albeit heavy, as it hummed out of his now-bloodied nose. His voice was sickeningly controlled when it invaded her head... all except for the word 'fuck' which was spat with as much venom as he could muster. Who the FUCK do you think you are?

[Bryce Lamkin]

Yeah, that was not a smart move. At least that was the conclusion she came upon when the wallet hit him and the old lady tottered away. In Bryce’s mind this guy should have caught the wallet in his hand and crushed it before her eyes in order to instill the same hesitance she now felt without being subjected to such a show. With the hostage freed and no imminent danger other than the firearm, the decision to act had lost any justification she had initially had for it. Well, in a way this was what she wanted; now the attention was all on her. Lucky, Bryce.

Inhaling sharply, she pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows, in a way imitating Sebastian when he put on his clueless / innocent act. This was not a time to be a goofball, but her grimace allowed her to be silent for a while longer as she searched her mind for a suitable answer. Comedy would not get her out of this, but charisma just might.

Listen, you are a skilled guy, she was going to say smart, but the adjective stuck to her molars, forcing her to use an alternate word. Either way, she assumed he was skilled for he was fully powered. Reaching out to him with her intangible charm, she hoped to appease him as her lips drew up into a smile. Not even she could determine what side she played on, part of her psyche completely flabbergasted by what followed.

Shadows, Charisma, Celerity... Banks. She shrugged her shoulder slightly, her voice trailing off suggestively.

It seemed relatively daft to take part in such haphazard hold-ups for the prospects were negative—the potential gain was nowhere near justifiable when the potential consequences (costs) were taken into account. The mathematician within did calculations, and as she did them she began to realize her suggestion did have a certain appeal to it. Robbing a bank required a fair amount of planning surely, but the rewards to reap were worth the effort. Tens of thousands in a matter of minutes, where as it would take far too long to gather that much money from stealing alone!

Tilting her head, she approached him in silence as she slipped her hands into the pouch of her sweatshirt. She glanced over her shoulder at the crowd as the speakers crackled once more: Polyhymnia Station. Polyhymnia Station. Her step was light, as her aloof demeanor a façade, All I’m saying is, man, is that there are far more fruitful ways of going about this.

Oh, this was wrong in so many ways.

[Sammy-boy]

Little did she know that comedy would've worked wonders on a man whose mind was far too overworked and far more spacey than she ever could've imagined. Her attempt at petting his ego did nothing for him. He was too angry for him to be put off the scent by her stroking his insides. At least if she'd cracked a joke, it would've shocked him into laughter. Her coming at him with this 'listen, you are a skilled guy' approach wasn't at all surprising, especially if she'd been intimidated by him getting mad. He didn't reply to anything that she'd said. Instead, his dark eyebrows heavily furrowed and his head tilted forward. Skilled guy. Was she patroizing him?

Red was creeping up his shoulders toward his jaw, and making his ears burn. He could feel a thin sheen of persperation on his back. He tried to look calmer than he was.

The speakers started crackling, and his head jerked toward them. He'd let it take too long to get in and get out of the train. He couldn't stay for her idle chatter.

He took the final three steps backward. His now old-woman-free hand and arm felt behind himself for the door. The hand that clutched the bag moved to his mouth, and he stuffed as much of the cloth as he could between his teeth.

After giving her a snort and a snarl, he opened the back door up and jumped. His body hit the ground rolling... jerking. Growing. Contorting. Cracking. Twisting. Writhing. Ripping.

The monstrous black beast melted into the shadows in a matter of seconds, it's thunderous gait drowned out by the sound of trains and screaming.

[Bryce Lamkin]

It had surely been a lapse of reason, or judgement, to be so forward with the nameless criminal. Bryce watched as he transferred the bag from his hand to his mouth and narrowed her eyes. With pursed lips, she watched as he backtracked towards the door, his planned trajectory evident as he freed his hand to blindly grope at the lever. He was going to jump out in order to evade consequences at the approaching station, which put a damper on things. Perhaps she had acted in such a way in order to add some action to her life, or perhaps it was merely stupidity that had accounted, luckily, to nothing. The brunette wasn’t sure yet of which it was, but she would not allow herself to ponder any further. Anyways, who could focus on internal monologue when so many people were screaming.

Gritting her teeth together, she kept her eyes on the disappearing figure as the metal door clanked loudly back and forth. A gush of wind caused her to squint up until the train came to a halt at said station, and by the time the sudden stop nearly launched her out that same door, the figure was no longer in sight. Bryce wasn’t about to go chasing after him either, so instead she reached down and snapped her wallet off the ground, internally quite pleased that it was still in her possession. Before anyone could spread the news to awaiting passengers and/or security personnel, the werewolf slipped past the crowds as soon as the doors slid open, then disappeared amongst the myriad of faces. Today had certainly been an experience, but she would have to give it some time before being able to make a final conclusion regarding her thoughts on the matter.

On her way out of the station, she ventured towards the bank right across from it, claiming and empty ATM machine to deposit the liquid three-thousand and six which she had overdrawn hours prior to pay her fee for her final quest. As she typed in her code, she pondered what had driven the man to do what he did, but the thought was fleeting.