The Ring [Open]

[Quin Contiello]

The Earth spun on its axis, and Tarquin’s head spun along with it. It’s as if his past was catching up with him, or all that time he’d missed was gathering together in a storm around him, ready to overwhelm him. So far, it had been easy to remain ignorant. Curiosity and the thirst for knowledge of this new era had kept his miseries at bay. But every now and again he was overcome with loneliness. A feckless energy would invigorate him, at this point, as if putting himself in danger and re-living his constant fear of death might alleviate the constant numbness.

It wasn’t in his nature to go looking for a fight. It was in his nature to be thrown into the midst of a fight, told that he must fight if he wanted to live. It had become a job, and something that he’d grown proud of. He’d been a performer in a ring of blood and death.

It almost made him laugh. He’d never left that ring of death. He still had to kill to survive. The only thing that had changed was that he did not have any spectators.

Maybe he missed them. Maybe that’s why he found himself here.

The men gathered around him regarded him with derision and wariness. They did not think that a guy dressed in Versace boots and coat could do them any damage. They immediately assumed he was some lame office worker with spindly arms and nothing going for him. But they were wary of the cold look in his bright eyes, and his stolid height. But they were all here for the same thing, and they didn’t care whether he was the one to do the beating or the one to be beat.

Tarquin circled the little ring, watching the men inside as their knuckled cracked against jaws, elbows slapped against ribs, blood and teeth spattering and clattering to the grimy ground of the abandoned parking lot. There was one man, solid in build and short of height who’d dominated that ring for the last five opponents. It was this man who Tarquin would challenge. It was this man who he would defeat.

With a calm intent, Tarquin shed his upper body of its garments, laying them over the hood of a nearby car. He toed off his shoes and stepped into the ring as soon as the last beaten opponent had been dragged away.

The men who’d gathered realised Tarquin wasn’t some worthless businessman. No worthless businessman was quite so toned, nor quite as scarred. But Tarquin’s opponent showed no fear or curiosity. His eyes glimmered with a confidence that only victorious men possessed, and it only made Tarquin want to beat it from him.

The two circled the ring once or twice, dancing upon their feet as each sized the other up. Tarquin smirked, then. He’d have preferred to have a sword in his hand, but he had to work with what he was given.

Like a scorpion, Tarquin shifted on his right foot, before dropping to the left, causing his opponent to confuse himself and drop his defences momentarily. Tarquin took the opportunity to deliver a sharp uppercut, to the delight of the onlookers. This was not really what Tarquin was looking for; it was too easy, and he did not fear anything from this bumbling human. But it was fun, nonetheless. And the shouts of the men surrounding them fuelled Tarquin. It took him back to his past. They cheered him on, chanted their desires.

Oh yes, this was indeed a perfect way to pass the time, to soothe the numbness.

[Adeline]

What sort of barbarians lived like this?! It was always cereal and no milk, or milk, and no cereal. Heaven knew Adeline wasn’t good for cooking much else. Still, the ratios have been off from day one, as they always were, and it wasn’t really Adeline’s fault. It weren’t as though she were about to break out a measuring cup just to have a bowl full of cereal. Still, heaven knew when a woman was hungry, they needed food then and there.

So with a bowl bereft of fruit loops Adeline pulls on those oxford heels. Her winter shoes, or it seems that way, all while shooting a glare toward that deceptive box, which seemed to host naught but a bag with fruit flavored crumbles laying within the very bottom of that sack. Oh, sure, there was a small, colored O clinging for its dear life to one rumple in the packaging, one here, and another there. Definitely not enough to make up a full bowl of the stuff.

And why was she eating so late? Well, who’s business was that really? It was Adeline’s and Adeline’s own, and if she felt inclined to enjoy a fine bowl of fruit flavored cereal then that was her own prerogative. Certainly the convenience store worker wouldn’t ask any questions. It was easy to make the assumption that Addi worked some sort of late shift, and only found time for menial tasks as grocery shopping at such ungodly hours. Many people were much the same. She truly felt for those folks in that moment, though those people probably had families to care for. Families who weren’t getting along on sugar smacks, and coco krispies.

Whatever, though, it weren’t as though Adeline had anything better to do with her time than make that short walk from her apartment complex down the block and across the street and through some generally empty parking lot. Could it be considered dangerous to make this trek? Well, that’s what she’d heard, though Adeline had yet to have some sort of permanently scarring experience. Sure, there was the time at the bar where she’d near been molested, but all had turned out fine. She’d been out late within this town before. Adeline was a woman with no fear.

So with a small handful of cash tucked into her back pocket Adeline sets out on her own sort of adventure. The trip down the block? Mundane. Across the street? Absolutely boring. Though that short saunter across the parking lot she believed to have been near abandoned? Now that was something else.

Everything told Adeline that she should simply turn around, and go home. Have a glass of milk, and maybe find something else to quiet the gurgling within her stomach. Those school wide announcements in elementary told her to turn around, as did the similar announcements in high school, not to mention the speeches she’d been treated to by her father. She should go. The grunting, the sound of fists packing hard upon flesh, and the vague tang of sweat and blood within the air.

Nah, not Adeline.

Now it wasn’t so much about sustenance as it was about sating her curiosity. Ever forward that Alaskan Native. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to creep up on the edge of that ring of shouting and jeering men. Just a peek, after all.

Silently Adeline lifts the collar of her jacket, though that may hide the fact that she’s a woman, you know, just in case.

[Quin Contiello]

They danced for a few more minutes. Tarquin led his opponent on, made him think that he had a chance. But Tarquin was not acting to his full potential. Yes, he felt bare without a shield and a sword, but he had lost both in battle before. It was no big deal. Every now and again he delivered a swift blow; giving the man opposite him a black eye, a cracked rib, a limp. Sometimes, Tarquin himself allowed a hit, but it only did his opponent harm. Tarquin’s skin, over time, had become like marble. Hard and cold to the touch. It can’t have been a pleasant thing to punch, and with force.

When Tarquin finally grew tired, he decided he’d start ending things.

He was not physically or mentally tired, but he was tired of the charade. He was tired of fighting an opponent that he could squash whenever he wanted. He wanted someone who’d be a challenge. So in a way, he had been defeated. He would finish this, and that he would go back to his life as it had been. This whole excursion would have been for naught. Though he knew he’d probably come back. Would always come back, in search of that elusive challenge. Maybe, one of these nights, he’d find himself up against another vampire, and then playing field would be even.

For now, however, he dealt several swift blows to his opponent’s abdomen. The guy’s hands were flailing; he was losing his balance, losing his wits, and did not know which way was up. One final blow to the man’s jaw (he may very well have loosened a couple of teeth) and the guy was flying sideways and backwards into the crowd.

Tarquin was not worried for them, either. It would be quite amusing to see them get bowled over by another human being. And Tarquin was very ready to chuckle his amusement, too, until he caught sight of the slender curve of a cheek. Too slender to be masculine, too slender to be found among this tough crowd, no matter how feminine the men these days chose to be.

Tarquin shouldn’t have cared, but his traditional values still stood true. A real woman shouldn’t be amongst such a crowd or witness to such an environment. A real woman definitely didn’t deserve to be knocked onto her backside by a bloodied and beaten pulp of a man. At the last second Tarquin reached forward for his flailing opponent, as if to stop him mid-air and send him in some other direction. But it was to no avail. Tarquin was too late, and events had already been set in motion.

He could only watch, and hope that she got out of the way in time.

[Adeline]

Adeline had seen a thing or two in her time. She’d been from coast to coast, not to mention those two pesky little states - Alaska, and Hawaii - that didn’t seem to be much a part of anything. She’d been all over the place, and had only witnessed one fight throughout her lifetime, and this was the second one she’d witnessed, the first being weeks ago when she’d first met Julian. Did that even count as a fight though? That boy had put his opponent down faster than he could have laid a hand on her.

This, though, this was a fight. The kind you saw in the movies, not just some sort of standard bar-brawl. And while that ex-boxer had been impressive, this was equally impressive, though for different sorts of reasons. It was strange how men could gather and cheer at such a, well… a barbaric act, though it were a football game, and Adeline was impressed by the following these two men had garnered. Was this a weekly thing for them? Next week, if she came back here could she find a different couple within the center of that circle? It was possible, though from now on it was more than likely that Adeline would avoid running out of milk at this time from hereon out. It was a mess which could be easily avoided.

Adeline’s lips purse, then, and her pretty head tips to peer offward. A momentary lapse in judgment, or perhaps a lapse in attention is a more apropriate turn of phrase. Either way, it seemed to be the wrong time to have lost her focus and that circle of men is soon enough parting only for another rough and tumble gentleman to come baring down upon her.

“Shit,” Adeline panics, her hands flying outwards in initial attempt to push this man away from her. It’s a feeble attempt to say the least, after all, it was more than likely that he weighed twice as much as Adeline herself did. Those high heels didn’t help much, either. Now sweat slick hands fall back to catch herself upon the concrete. It’s rough under her touch, and against her backside, with any luck there wouldn’t be any blood drawn.

“Fuck,” she grunts, and then, “Get the fuck off me,” her eyes pinch shut and marred hands pull away from the graveled ground to push at the gentleman situated oh so gracelessly atop her. Her palms stung against bare flesh, and burned as she attempted not only to shove him off, but more appropriately tug herself from beneath this man.

And to think, all she’d wanted was a half gallon of milk.

Poor Adeline. Still, it wasn’t enough to deter this mouthy brunette, and soon enough she’s pulling herself back upwards and onto wobbly heels. Were they broken? A quick glance downward confirmed that all was fine with those shoes. Had she twisted an ankle on the way down? It’s possible, though Addi couldn’t properly recall that sensation.

“I’m gonna… go,” she decides with a firm nod, her lips pull to a grimace, her fingers snap and she gestures toward the convenience store across the parking lot. Adeline takes that first step to cross that open circle, and there’s that sweet sting of pain within her left ankle, accompanied by an unexpected limp. Still, the ever independent Adeline Cersei Graham hobbles onwards, brushing her palms upon the rise of her backside, checking to be sure her money was still in place.

It was. At least something was going right this eve.

[Quin Contiello]

At the first the men weren’t too worried that their comrade had knocked another to the ground. They cheered and whistled and laughed—just another incident to make this night entertaining. Entertainment, that’s what the majority of them were after. But the cheering and general hubbub died down as the men in the immediate vicinity realised there was a woman amongst them. The immediate men whispered backward, until the whole crowd was aware of what was happening. All the attention was upon the woman, and the rest of them failed to notice as Tarquin slipped between them and toward his belongings.

The woman tried to push the man from off of her, and no one tried to help her. Bunch of moronic apes, they were. And the particular ape that Tarquin had sent flying in the woman’s direction hardly knew what was happening... he was trying to manoeuvre himself away from her due to her insistent swearing, but he was no doubt making it harder for her.

When she was finally out from beneath him, he rolled over and tried, very very slowly, to get to his feet. There was no apology forthcoming from him, however. He was too busy mooning over his wounds—spitting out blood onto the pavement.

The woman regained her balance and told the group that she was going to go. All the while, Tarquin had pulled his shoes back on and pulled both shirt and jacket back onto the upper half of his body. The buttons he started to do up, but abandoned the attempt half way. Buttons—they always got the better of him.

Tarquin hadn’t really intended on following her. But he could see the wolfish look in the eyes of some of the men, and it was Tarquin’s fault that she was now limping. Granted, she shouldn’t have been there, and it should have been one of the other men who were limping. It could have been fate that threw her in that circle at that particular time. Whatever the case, Tarquin had nothing else to do with his night, and he was over battling with mere mortals.

So he sped to catch up to the woman, long strides reaching her in a short amount of time.

Ah...that man, he was my fault. He said, smiling sheepishly.

I apologise.

[Adeline]

Adeline winces. Just walk it off, it truly wasn’t a big deal. Addi wouldn’t say she was a tom boy - though she’d been told she was time after time, and heard murmurings of such from people she’d barely known - but Adeline, more often than not, would not confess to being such a thing. Still, tom boy or not, Adeline had been known in her youth to take a tumble or two, and there was no doubt that she’d been hurt worse than this before.

Still, children were use to getting hurt, or so it seemed. She’d watched toddlers bash their soft little heads upon the lips of tables and keep on a’runnin’. Adults, however, more often than not, possessed some semblance of grace and coordination to the point where most ledges, corners, and bumps and bruises could be avoided. And getting hurt as a grown up was, well, jarring at best, traumatic at worst. Whatever, though, girls seemed to twist their ankles over high heels all the time, Addi was no exception, and her current circumstance was only a slight abnormal.

Okay, it was really abnormal. All the more reason to hightail it out of there.

Though it couldn’t be that simple, of course. Adeline hears those cat-calls, and all she can do is tug upon the hem of her jacket to sidle it downwards upon her backside. Seemed this city was nothing but trouble for her. Perhaps moving would be a good idea, then again, she’d just gotten around to unpacking those boxes which had lined her walls for seemingly an eternity. Repacking would be quite the downer, not to mention a burden Adeline wasn’t quite ready to succumb to.

There’s the sound of footsteps, and such is accompanied with a fluttering sense of panic within her chest. If there’s one thing Addi doesn’t truly know how to do, it’s throw a punch, or get into a proper fight. Maybe some lessons would do her good, though it was a little too late to have regrets over not. Though it seemed she was safe, for the moment, as this man was the source of all the commotion.

“Ah,” Miss Graham mutters with a wrinkle to her nose, those freckles of hers bunching unpleasantly, “It’s fine,” she finally decides, before, “You gave him quite the shove, didn’t you?” Adeline teases, biting to her lower lip softly. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t find this all a slight shifty, could she trust this man? Perhaps, perhaps not, she’d find out soon enough.

“Well, I’m heading to the convenience store,” the small girl confesses, slapping her hand upon her backside to knock away the lingering debris before she finds herself tugging upon the leg of those jeans to observe her ankle in an adaptively nonchalant manner. It hurt like a bitch. “You can tag along, if you want, or carry me there, since this is your fault,” Adeline mutters, her tone teasing, if only slightly so.

Being toted about town - yet another plus of keeping a lover around.

[Quin Contiello]

Tarquin is just a man, to all the men behind him. And in their minds he’s the lucky one—the one that got in first. There was an untold etiquette amongst these kinds of men. Tarquin had, in a way, staked his claim. Though they catcalled behind them, they would not try to approach this girl. Not unless Tarquin left her alone.

Why was he following her, anyway? He’d apologised, though for no apparent reason. Maybe it was to satisfy his boredom. Something could come of this woman, this human woman. Even if, in the end, she became a meal. It was strange to look upon the face of a human and not recognise anything familiar within it. She could be just be a bag of blood. Maybe that would change. It didn’t matter. He was tagging along beside her now, and she was even inviting him to continue doing so.

Well he wasn’t going to dismiss the invitation.

And even though he knew her last words were said in jest (that tone of voice it had taken him quite a while to understand as jest), he shrugged his shoulders and chose to take her literally. Never had he ever really pretended to be a gentleman. A warrior, a man trained only for interaction in the ring, could never really become a gentleman.

So in one swift movement he’d crouched, sweeping his arm against her legs to unbalance her while his other was held up to catch her body as it fell earthward. She was but a feather weight in his arms. He may as well have been carrying a pillow, or a plastic, hollow rendition of a human. The movement was accompanied by renewed whistles from the men behind them, but Tarquin ignored them. It probably wasn’t a good thing that those men saw him as one of their own—more beast than man, giving into the wilder instincts of humanity.

But he wasn’t human, and his beastly instincts had completely different consequences.

If it will help, I will carry you. He said, feigning ignorance.

In his arms he cradled a human body, its warmth burning against the coolness of his own skin. He grinned down at the girl, though not because he was laughing at the situation, but because he was imagining Amandine’s reaction to his actions. The woman was prone to jealousy.

My name is Tarquin. He said as his steps brought them closer and closer to the convenience store. May as well introduce himself if he’s going to be indulging in such proximity with the human.

[Adeline]

Was this honestly happening to her? It was an odd sort of night to begin with, and now she found herself being caught up into this man’s arms, though he were some sort of knight in shining armor. And Adeline would be lying if she found this all to be the norm. It most certainly wasn’t, and still, here she was. Caught up within, well, some knight in shining armor’s arms. Only she imagined he wasn’t any sort of knight, nor was he sporting armor.

Still, knight or not, and armor or not, it was awkward to say the least.

Would she be crossing some sort of line if she wrapped her arms about his neck? It seemed the right thing to do, though Adeline wasn’t sure. Wait, why did she even care? Adeline had been blessed at a young age with lady-balls. She was bold, and brash, and outspoken, and seemingly unafraid of anything life had thrown at her?

The worst thing that could happen would be him dropping her. Adeline mentally braces herself then, and lifted single arm to draw across his shoulders so she may hook her arms about his neck. All the while she simply watches this gentleman for some sort of reaction, those pretty dark eyes of hers wide and almost curious. With any luck all would go off without a hitch, and Adeline fancied herself lucky. Hell! Even meeting this gent was lucky, else who knows where she’d be right now with those cat calling men and their eyes seemingly always upon her.

“This is actually pretty fantastic,” Adeline confesses with a warm and widening sort of smile. Sure, this whole carting her about didn’t seem so necessary, after all, it’s not as though she’d broken her leg over that fall. Still, there was nothing wrong with this slight indulgence, after all, despite the clear stumbling in his English, Adeline was fairly sure that she’d well conveyed the fact that she’d only been joking. And this was optional for the two of them.

“Tarquin,” Adeline echoes, testing his name upon her mouth. Was all pronounced well? Close enough - no doubt she’d have some sort of nickname set up for him by the end of the night. “Adeline,” she introduces herself in a more appropriate reply.

“I think this is our stop,” Addi announces thereafter, first eyeing the convenience store, and then Tarquin. The two of them would no doubt be quite the sight waltzing into a simplistic convenience store with Addi tucked into his arms like some helpless damsel. Adeline seemed to be getting pretty good at playing the part.

“I just need to pick up some milk, maybe a gallon, the more time I spend here the more I eat like a college kid,” Adeline utters, half informing him, and half simply musing to herself aloud.

[Quin Contiello]

They’d reached the convenience store and Tarquin slowed to a halt in front of it. He probably could have manoeuvred her through the door without any casualties, but he wasn’t going to take the chance. Besides, as soon as she’d wrapped her arms around his neck he was overwhelmed with the scent of her—all musky in a womanly way, and beneath her personal scent there was the scent of her blood, which made Tarquin’s mouth metaphorically water. Sure, she could be his next victim, but not right here in plain view of the public.

In fact, if he did remain by her side for the remainder of the evening, or escort her back home after she’d bought her groceries, he had every inclination to make her his meal. It was probably a waste of money to let her buy her groceries first, but she wouldn’t know any better. Not yet. Little did she know that the relative comfort that Tarquin provided for her now was only a game. He was far more deadly than any of the men in the square behind them. They’d all lost interest by now, and had continued on with their fighting.

Tarquin frowned down at her as he released her and allowed her feet purchase upon the ground again. He had no idea what she meant by her reference to a college kid. He was vaguely aware of what a college was, though he hadn’t fully grasped what its full purpose was. Thus had no clue why she should be eating like a kid who lived there. Did they eat grass? Tarquin’s understanding of the world only went so far as ‘a baby goat’. But he realised that his understanding of English still had its flaws, and there was something he was missing. So he let the comment slide.

You go get milk. I will wait for you. Tarquin said. Regardless of the sadistic path his mind was taking, his exterior expression and actions remained the epitome of kindness and helpfulness. He was but a man trying to keep a woman safe from a large group of rowdy and uninhibited men.

While he waited for her, Tarquin turned his attention back to the abandoned parking lot and the men within it. He thought back to the little calendar that sat on the bench in the kitchen. Rima had bought it for him. She believed it might help him, at least a little, where his English was concerned. He only remembered today’s word now because of its suitability to the situation.

The word was fodder: people or things regarded as the necessary but expendable ingredient that makes a system or scheme work.

He chuckled to himself. Adeline would be the necessary but expendable ingredient that would make Tarquin work at his full capacity. It was fitting.

[Adeline]

Adeline was going to argue with him. A well placed “You really don’t have to,” but she didn’t, instead the young woman simply offers up a broadening grin before giving a nod of confirmation, “Alright,” Miss Graham agrees, border lining upon sounding all too eager, glad for some sort of company, if only until she got back to her apartment.

Adeline would be greeted with the sound of music as she opened that convenience store door - one Kenny G song or another. Or at least something that sounded like it. It was truly all the same in Adeline’s opinion. Whatever it was, Adeline wouldn’t be exposed to it long, and she made damn sure of this by near scampering toward the back where the coolers were kept. Should she bother getting a gallon? What if she didn’t need it all? Perhaps a half gallon, though no doubt if she settled upon the latter she’d simply be making this very same trip within the near future.

So a gallon it was, and maybe a Snickers bar. Adeline’s none too shy as she reaches back to take up one of those candy bars just before swinging open the refrigerator door to snatch up a container of milk. A single eye pinches shut as she hoists the jug upwards and into her arms though she were toting about some sort of young child.

Soon enough Adeline finds herself hefting that container of milk to the countertop alongside the candy bar she’d picked up before rifling a few bills out. It was refreshing to know she’d have something to eat when she got home. Nothing good, but something nonetheless.

“Sorry I took so long,” Adeline murmurs, receipt in hand, and that jug of milk hoisted under arm. Sure, she’d only been within that convenience store for a short few minutes, but there was truly no need for him to keep standing around like he was. It was his choice though, he probably didn’t have anywhere better to be as it was.

“Are you coming home with me?” Adeline asks of him suddenly, lifting her gaze from the recipt to peer upon the gentleman’s handsome features. The small girl flicks over that small sheet of paper before simply stuffing such into the confines of her jean pocket, along side that candy bar she’d bothered to purchase - not that she needed either of them. But chocolate made people happy, no? At least sometimes it did. Even so, Adeline wouldn’t be eating it in front of him anyway, she did have a few manners after all.

No, instead she simply looks upon him expectantly, her reasonably wounded foot lifting from the concrete below lest she do some actual damage with naught but her own weight.

Poor, Pathetic Adeline.

[Quin Contiello]

While he waited, Tarquin continued to ponder why exactly it was that he continued to tag along with this human female. For a meal, yes, he’d already concluded as much. But why her, in particular? Why not one of the robust men from the group he’d just left? They’d be pumped with adrenaline and all kinds of iron and testosterone. But perhaps that simply was not Tarquin’s taste. No, he preferred oestrogen. It was softer on the palate. But why this particular female? Perhaps it was because she’d stumbled into his company. It was a ‘why not?’ kind of scenario. Physically, she didn’t appeal to him much. Tarquin preferred sharper features. Antonia’s ivory skin and shiny, ebony hair and set off her glaring blue eyes. She was all contrast, as was Amandine. Where Antonia was ice, Amandine was fire. It wasn’t only the sharp features of her countenance that appealed to Tarquin, it was the equally sharp features of her personality.

And though Adeline’s features might be perfectly acceptable, nigh absolutely gorgeous to some, Tarquin found them lacking. Of course, he wouldn’t consider her ugly or plain, no. They just weren’t for him.

But her looks had nothing to do with how she would taste. In fact, her soft looks had Tarquin assuming that her blood would be just as unassuming—like a fine, aged wine. Or a warm vanilla custard. The taste wouldn’t overwhelm, but it would be satisfying nonetheless.

Tarquin had lost himself completely in his train of thought, and had become like a statue standing outside of that convenience store. He’d leant upon the glass window, arms crossed noncommittally over his chest. So when Adeline finally emerged and apologised for taking so long, Tarquin simply shrugged his shoulders. Time was meaningless to one such as him. He was quite capable of sitting for hours and not twitching a muscle, and feel as if he’d only been sitting for a couple of minutes.

“With this group wandering the streets,” he said, gesturing to the crowd behind him, “I think you might like an escort, no?” He said, an amused smile colouring his features. He was setting himself apart from the rogues behind him. He was not bleeding like they were. The only sign that he had ever been a part of that scuffle was his shirt, which remained half unbuttoned at his chest.

“You do not live far, I think?” he queried. If she’d walked here for a bottle of milk, he could only assume she lived nearby. It seemed unlikely that she would have trekked too far for a simple necessity.