Dusk was an hour past, and the subway was gradually emptying. The loud murmur of conversationed seemed to be soley based on each person's day. For one, I suppose you could call person if you are the unexperienced with his type, the day could not be shared for he did not live it. No, his days were spent looming in the shut down areas of the metro line, sitting on the catwalks, or lurking in the sewers. But now was Jonah's time to thrive.

He walked upon the raised platform, shut off to civilians and anyone who wasn't an engineer. The tracks were to his side and only four feet down, a wrong step could mean coming to a gruesome end. Jonah had already suffered a grotesque death and so was in no state of worry, besides, with his knowledge of the layout of these tunnels it wasn't likely he'd misplace his foot.

A scream, emitted speeding metal mounted onto the steel grids, announced the coming of the most recent metro train. He made no move to conceal himself, simply kept walking. Through the lighted windows he saw two or three faces look out at him, that of an old man was a look of appallment and disagreeing, a young woman seemed to narrow her eyes and suddenly wear an odd smile (most likely trying to pull of a look of sexiness and seduction Jonah thought). In fifteen second the train was gone.

The dull flickering of street lamps flooded the tunnel as an entrance to the living world seemed to materialize. Jonah jumped down on to the tracks, balancing himself with ease on one of the rails. He crammed his fists in his leather breeches, and threw his head back. A breeze combed through his chin length brunette hair and caused his black button up shirt to flutter about.

Outside, iron fences were on either side of him (large gaps where the fence had been cut was not unusual to see in them), the ground not laid with the metro tracks was littered and the grass dead. There were broken down cars here and there, some in scraps and some for sale.

Jonah open his eyes as he heard approaching sounds of laughter and high heels, along with the smell of an atrocious cologne and perfume he would expect to be found worn by a senior woman. A short and yet slender girl with brightly pink painted lips and large hoop earrings and a tall and muscular man were walking along the fence line. The woman’s laughter stopped as she saw Jonah on the other side of the fence, and she began skipping frantically trying keep up with him and pull her bouncer boyfriend along too.

“Hawvey!! Baby, dats da guy! He’s da one dat left wit Diane!” The woman had a strong New Yorkern accent and was smacking her bubblegum loudly as she pointed accusingly at Jonah. “Ha! Ya won’t be able at lie outta dis, now will yas? …Model’n agent my ass!”

Harvey shook his arm free of the woman and cracked his knuckles as he stood just by the fence.
Jonah chortled and smirked, stepping to the dry ground and strutting to the fence, looking at Harvey in the face. Harvey sneered. “What, you think what you did to Diane’s funny? Yea, we know it was you… Tracey baby stay back.. I don’t care fence or not dis pretty boy is going down.” The woman didn’t seem to listen and stood at Harvey’s side, smacking that gum around in her wide mouth.

Within a second, and quick movements (that could not be comprehended by the human eye) made on Jonah’s part, the demon’s hands and torn an opening in the barbed wire fence and he was mutilating Harvey’s neck. Blood flowed rapidly down the man’s chest as Jonah kept a tight grip on his victim’s convulsing body. Tracey screamed, and turned, running and flailing her arms. Jonah released Harvey and his corpse lay in a heap on the ground.

Just as fast as his hands had made a big enough gap to attack the muscular man, Jonah was through the fence and in a blink of an eye pinning the frantic girl. Her face was contorted and she was crying, pleaing for him to let her go. Her pleads made no effect on him and he buried his blood covered face in her bossom, devouring her flesh and blood. The mauling was so sloppily done that by the time he had finished her neck and chest could not be recognized as what they once were.

"Hm. A bit overdone, don't you think?" A soft voice likely of an accent Jonah would not recognize spoke the query from the approximate direction of one of the useless metro cars, the speaker himself quite visible due to his perch atop it. While the angle of the moonlight prevented the finer details of his clothing and expression to be seen, an overall impression could be gathered from his gently billowing white shirt, dark slacks, and bare feet. His hair, shoulder-length with a soft wave to its design, wreathed his surreally pale face in a medium brown halo.

What could be viewed of his soft and rather handsome features showed them to be pulled into a guise of disgusted humour. His gaze travelled from the two mauled bodies to settle on the other vampire, the corner of his lips now curling up into a wry little smile. "Then again, I suppose you wouldn't."

A smile haunted Jonah's face as blood dripped from his cold, white skin and spattered like red rain on the ground. He lifted himself to a crouch over the dead woman and turned his head so he could see over his shoulder at the other who reeked of old death.

"Ancient, you should know better, that to my kin over done is not a possibility.." Came his words with a chuckle intwined with them.

The Ancient present had been the first Jonah had encountered for some time, and certainly was a new face to him. Ancients, Jonah knew, were conservitive with their kills and the kind to have enough pride in themselves that they believed they were the authority above all of those rejected by the Heaven and Hells.

Jonah chuckled softly once more, stood and removed a small camera from his pocket, tacking a quick snap shot of the mutilated girl. He turned on his heel, kicking dust on to the corpse, clicked his camera and took a picture of the bouncer Harvey before he looked to Marcus once more as he put away his camera.

"Who are you, Ancient, and what buisness do you have to be spying on me?" His smile had faded now to a look of seriousness for he wasn't keen on being watched by the old one.


(sorry for my absence, i still wanna rp here, highschool as just been hectic)

"I bring word from the leader of the Amman," the Ancient replied smoothly, slipping from the edge of the skeletal rail car and to the combined grunge of the earth it rested on with the ease of a heron diving for fish. He picked his way across the graveyard of the lot, his hands resting in his pockets and his stride loose and casual.

He paused a meter or so away, and propped his lean frame against another abandoned metro, his arm bracing his head away from the metal as he observed Jonah with a tracing of a smile. "He has heard word that you have been particularly sloppy of late with your manner of feeding. He does not care that you mutilate the bodies, so long as you do it somewhere private. Why not bring your twisted artwork into a professional studio, hm?"

Jonah chuckled as he crouched down once more now rumagging through the bulky corpse's pockets and pulling a blood soaked wallet from the chest pocket. "Ah..I assume that this is about the blonde..yes what was her name?" He flipped through the wallet, pulling blood stained wads of cash from it. After pocketing the loot he sighed and looked up to the Ancient with a smile. "For the life of me I can't recall her name..but oh well just a snack that scurried away, a name makes no difference..."

He stood and rolled the corpse onto its front, using the toe of his shoe. From the back pocket he quickly retreived a box of smokes and a lighter. Jonah stood once more, placing a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. Through slightly parted lips (keeping one side closed as to hold the cigaerette) he spoke. "A private studio? Ah but then how is my work to be appreciated and looked upon with awe? What good is my work when it cannot be shared with the eyes of living?"

"I can assure you that it is not with awe that mortal eyes behold your work, unless revulsion has become a synonym for such a term without my knowing," the Ancient sighed, trailing his smooth fingertips along the border one of many rust-eaten holes in the corpse of the car. He glanced up again, pale green eyes regarding Jonah casually as he flicked the rust flakes off of his pale skin. The remains of old metal fluttered to the ground, their hue matching that of the drying blood surrounding the mutilated bodies.

"While Marcus does not enjoy lowering himself to the level of threats, there is a second message that he requested I pass along to you, if the subtler tones of the first did not make their way past your self-serving ears. It is thus: Tidy up your habits, or he shall make a masterpiece of your torn and twisted body."

The Ancient yawned slightly, barely masking it with the back of his graceful hand. "Well, I believe that was all. Good evening to you Jonah, leader of the Tarepha."

"Yea, sure, why not.." Jonah grunted and took the cigarette between his index and middle finger, and with the same hand made a rolling gesture (perhaps the kind you'd see in the old days as a greeting or farewell, though his was much less enthusiastic.) And with the empty gesture Jonah gave a nod and smile. "And you, old man."

The cigarette was puffed once more, before drawn from his mouth, inspected and then flicked to the ground in distaste. Jonah wiped his face on his sleeve and pocketed his fists. He regaurded his surroundings before giving the Amman one last glance and turning to take his own leave.