kill the lights

Poppy · Oct 7, 2015

Michael smirked and jingled Damon's keys in front of his face before, being intimately familiar with deviant car sex, switching their positions and putting Damon down on the passenger seat, and then slipping into the driver's seat himself with minimal leg room awkwardness. Damon's car wasn't like his black Cadillac with its plush leather seats and high-end steering and navigational system but it'll do.

The mix's song switched to The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani as Michael got the car out of its pseudo parking space and drove into the Strip.

Everybody knew the Strip was just a fancier, more legal government-approved Underground. Decadence for the rich folk; dirty work for the poor. Here, there was love and good feelings in every corner, if you've got the money for it. Out of all the establishments here, Sierra Madre stood out like a shining golden sun at the very end. They passed by Club Jasmina and Club Gambit, and hellish Gomorrah with its ridiculously long waiting line. Michael turned a corner into the lesser known parts of The Strip.

Michael parked the car in front of a worn-down electronics shop a block away from the Oasis, exiting the vehicle and gesturing for Damon to follow. The parking spot was strategic; it was near regular police routes and a respectable business, so it wouldn't get high-jacked easily. Michael also didn't want to risk it getting damaged because of possible antics. He could easily buy Damon a newer, better car, but just because he can doesn't mean he should.

They stood in front of the entrance, and Michael had to sigh at how the universe seemed to be conspiring against him. It seemed that, in the five years he'd never visited this place, some douchebags squeezed a building right next to the Oasis, and the space in between could barely squeeze in cats. Michael looked at Damon with a shrug.

"I guess we're going inside."

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Nov 8, 2015

Damon sank, resigned, into the passenger seat. He closed his eyes, listening to his car start, feeling the hum of the engine as well as the mixtape. Didn't think much, simply existed. Absolutely forgot to wear a carseat. How scandalous. Eating people alive was once thing, but not paying attention to proper car safety rules? Heaven forbid. He smiled, in a pleasant state and… letting it sit, peacefully, for a while.

They didn't talk too much, not with Mike focusing on driving, Damon taking a break, and the music taking up the perfect amount of space. But the nightmare opened his eyes after a while to watch the other. Still didn't let his mind truly start into anything. He gazed and quietly observed, like he'd been doing the whole time they'd been on this little crime adventure- and although half of it he'd been curious, always making notes, wondering what exactly was going on with this man, other than what was obvious or assumed… in the purest state of things, Damon's train of thought actually just went 'haha, what a nerd, I love this fucking nerd'.

Aw, man. Embarrassing. Damon slouched further in his spot. He really did hope things would get nice and violent again, lest he drown in sappy and self-deprecating energy.

The Strip was beautiful. Sometimes, Damon wondered if it'd stay that way forever, or if the corruption would poison it all in the end. He didn't want any of this to end, any of it, but if it did, it'd be better to go out with a bang.

Damon stretched when they arrived, leaving his car in a safer, out of the way spot (which he was thankful for- he liked his personal ride just fine, it'd served him well over the years, and he had a lot of good memories associated with it), and followed his partner in crime.

Oasis seemed smaller, somehow. Was that because they were sizing it up, or because it'd been so long since Damon had looked twice at the place? When you set up shop here, you had to always be adapting, growing, to survive. Oasis didn't seem to have done much of that. All this was a worthy sendoff for a mediocre place with some vague nostalgia, he decided.

Damon offered Mike a slightly crooked, very honest grin. "This'll be fun. We'll make it fun."

Poppy · Nov 9, 2015

Michael patted his partner on the shoulder and went ahead into the belly of the beast.

God, this place was a pit. He remembered it was a bit better before. All right, maybe "better" wasn't actually the word for it. He mostly remembered the booze, but he could swear it wasn't as much of a hole as it was today. He pulled Damon into the dance floor as he casually surveyed the area, dancing along with the loud, thrumming club beats. This sure would be nice if he had alcohol in him and maybe kiss a little. Aw, well. Business over pleasure.

Security was tight tonight. There were three security men positioned at the entrance, and two near the stairs. They were probably expecting trouble with the crate. A cliche buff bouncer was listening into his ear piece and talking in hushed tones, sending reports about suspicious people to, possibly, other cliche buff bouncers.

He needed a way through the stairs without being detected, at least enough where he could get into the office, grab the crate and get the hell out with the smallest number of guns possible aimed at his head.

There was no doubt Damon was following his line of vision. He saw his concerns. He just needed to lay out the plan.

He grinned at his date.

"Dame, can you turn this dance floor into a horror house?"

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Nov 9, 2015

Damon followed Mike in, and was quickly drenched in all sorts of feelings only trashy nightclubs could leave so strongly. Desperation, gross but interesting energy in general, lust and sweat and filth that was barely refined enough to work in the Strip. Obscene, you might even go so far to call it. He breathed it in and let it infect him a bit. He had nothing to lose, and was making the best out of everything thrown at him tonight.

Business mixed with pleasure so perfectly for Damon, with the nasty energy this setting gave him, and the flashes of feeling in his eyes and chest when he danced with Mike.

These people, they were almost being smart, probably very proud of themselves and their little stunt. But they were still complete idiots, no matter what, and the almost smart moments only dug that hole deeper. What a shocker. Damon wasn't intimidated by any of this- the two of them? They'd been through way worse, and still come out on top. This would be a piece of cake- and no, he definitely wasn't jinxing it with thoughts like that. He just knew this was going to keep being a good time. Really good. And knowing all that just left the nightmare in a happier and happier state.

The grin Mike gave him only confirmed things more, as well as what was immediately asked after. And oh, doc... he couldn't refuse a face like that, even if he'd wanted to.

"Do you even need to ask?" Damon said and, perhaps against better judgement, leaned up to steal a kiss. He smiled, sharp on the outside, soft on the inside. "Get ready to start moving, gorgeous."

He backed up a bit first, positioning himself very much in the middle of things. He breathed in again. Felt at the fears of strangers around him. Then, he burst out all at once, suddenly taking up a lot more space and becoming a fucking clusterfuck beacon of panic. There was screaming mixed in with the animalistic, beating music now, chaos all around him, guards running about like alarmed bugs, people either fleeing or trying to figure out how to deal with his monstrous form and fear magic, he was also pretty sure he'd bitten at least one person, and, and--

He lived for this shit, haha.

Be safe, dear doctor, while your lovesick boogeyman harasses the riffraff for you.

Poppy · Nov 9, 2015

A kiss for good luck! How sweet.

As soon as the waves of chaos and panic began, Michael ducked out of the crowd and up the stairs, bouncers tweedledee, tweedledum and tweedledumber none the wiser. The second floor was lit with fluorescent lights, and it didn't have too many rooms that he'd be confused where the main office was. The whole trek to the office was easy. On the way, he could hear the muffled, terrifying screaming and, with no small amount of fondness, he thought, aw, that's my favorite nightmare monster terrorizing everybody out there.

He reached the office. When he turned the knob he was surprised it was open.

He wasn't surprised there was somebody inside.

A guy dressed very much like a white Prince, purple suit traded for pink, was petting a black cat like a Bond villain. Behind him were a couple of goons. It was all very dramatic. He had to applaud his taste in tall, black leather chairs. And the aquarium tank behind him? What a nice touch.

"Well, well, well. I didn't realize Baltimore would be desperate enough to send someone to retrieve his goods. I have to tell you, you're too la —"

Bang.

Shooting the big bad first instead of his bodyguards was probably not the best idea, but fuck it, the guy was annoying. Mike always wondered why most heroes in action movies don't just do that while they were doing their dramatic speeches. It would save the hero so much time. If the movie needed filler, he didn't know, maybe just slap a sex scene in there and call it a day.

The goons pulled out their guns and started shooting at him. Mike got one guy right in the head, but the fire was too thick for him to finish the other one off, so he ducked to the side. When the second guy came out, Mike, ugh, stuck his hand into his chest, phasing through matter.

Michael winced, looking absolutely disgusted with this turn of events. "Ew," he said, before he formed a fist and forced the guy's powers to turn unstable. He pushed him aside and left the guy alone as he, er.

Let's not talk about that. The important part was that he was gone-zo.

Michael ran inside, grabbed the crate, and went back to the dance floor.

Holy crap! This level five danger zone shot up to a sharp eleven on a one to ten scale. The dance floor was mostly empty with a few bodies on the floor. Michael was unsure if they were dead or just passed out, and really, he didn't care. He was too busy ducking behind the bar counter for safety as the two remaining bouncers shot at them. Should he just let Damon handle this? Ah, probably. In his defense, he was a squishy human, and he was very likely to die if he popped his head out to join the crossfire. Once he got paid, he could just show his appreciation in other ways. Do something nice.

Michael lit a cigarette and waited until he was safe.

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Nov 10, 2015

The guards couldn't start shooting just yet, not with the crowd, but he saw the guns they were pulling out, and knew they wouldn't hesitate once it was a bit less populated in here. Damn, everyone started getting so simple minded once a horrifying abomination appeared in front of them- Mike had no problem getting past the distracted, shitty excuse for security here. Once the doctor was out of Damon's line of sight, safe from possible friendly fire, the party really got going.

Damon was inky black, eyes, tendrils, and teeth, all aggressive and thrashing wildly about, taking up so much more space than than he had before, upon the room like a thick, heavy smoke and eating away at the inhabitants. Mainly in the fear sense, but also in that he just snatched up a guard and took off his head without a second thought. And hey, maybe it would've been more efficient to just swallow the whole body down, but throwing down a headless corpse in front of a bunch of people? It did wonders! Like a ragdoll, but with more fun wet crunching sounds.

That was that, apparently, because even though not all the guests were out of the way, bullet hell started.

Hilarious.

Some of those trying to fuck him up did have powers, though. One guy was coming at him with fire, the other was some kind of shapeshifter- but that one was out of commission, having a bit of a mental breakdown on the floor. The previous mindless dancers that hadn't gotten out of the way by now were dead, since even though Damon could handle all this, they really couldn't. And he hadn't expected any more from the club that was barely hanging on in the Strip.

This might just be what fully takes them out. A gift for everyone, Damon guessed.

Mike popped back in just as Damon was raking claws down fire guy's stomach for the hell of it. Two out of the five guards were left. It was three a second ago, but hey, this asshole was pretty fragile once you actually caught him, and shredded like ribbons. Good riddance to fire. The shapeshifter who'd never got a chance to do anything was even further gone now. Wasn't even twitching. Whatever! Headless ragdoll had, not surprisingly, stayed exactly where Damon put it. Speaking of that… he guessed it was time to wrap it up.

Damon shrank back to his usual form, shaking himself off a bit and laughing. Would definitely need the towels again. Stained red and dripping.

He walked over to the headless corpse while bullets riddled and went through him, then picked it up and threw it again without warning or delicacy. The sack of flesh bowled over the two left over goons, and Damon followed soon after, because monster speed was fantastic. He stole a bigger gun from the floor on the way over, and while one guy was throwing up on himself and the other was trying to push the heavy body away from 'em-

Damon let the gun go off, through the deadweight (haha, get it?) and into the men stuck under it. For the most part, Damon didn't care about guns. But every once in a while, emptying endless shots into every inch of some poor mortal fuck… it had its charm. Just as a weekend treat, y'know?

Damon ditched the gun after making sure everyone probably wasn't going to come back to annoy him. Always had to double check, and even with that, there were zombies and people who could return from being dead. He just really doubted anything like that from a place like this. Even if there was someone like that here, hopefully they'd be out for a while from the stress and fear. Because as entertaining as all this was, the nightmare wasn't here just for his own amusement. He was here for Mike.

Damon went over to the bar and sat on a stool, leaning against and peeking slightly over the counter. "Hey, doc. All clear."

Poppy · Nov 13, 2015

Michael looked over the club one last time. Man, Oasis, he would've loved another night drinking your shitty beer, but you don't play with the big bads and expect to come out unscathed. It was just common sense. Damages: At least ten dead, blood fresh on the floor. Broken windows, broken equipment, broken everything. Jason Derulo remixes in the background, the postmodern requiem.

Rest in fucking peace, Oasis.

Tomorrow, this was going to become an investigation, a tragedy ripe for the papers. Next month, this was going to sell for cheap real estate, and something bigger and better was going to rise from its ashes. It was the Strip. As long as the city was alive, there was going to be desperate people, and as long as there were desperate people, there was going to be profit. Capitalism was a fast-acting opportunist that never lets sleeping ghosts lie.

It was just how things worked.

Michael put his cigarette out on the shitty stained carpet and grinned up at Damon fondly. This was the expected outcome of their venture, of course. Him and Dame together were unstoppable, and they always came out on top. Always.

He hoisted himself up, picked up what they came here for, clasped Damon on the shoulder to acknowledge a job well done, and on his way out, ripped out a small flyer about last month's Octoberfest from the club bulletin board and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. For old time's sake.

He turned off the lights.

It was nearing sunrise. By the hardworking worker's standards, it was already morning. Some people were opening up their shops.

Damon's car was parked in front of an alleyway, and Damon and Mike were right in front of the buyer. After a few harsh works exchanged, the crate was in the buyer's arms and a brief case was in Mike's. Michael checked and double checked the money. Gotta make sure these weren't fakes. It was all good, but...

He looked flatly at the buyer.

"Seems kinda light, considering you fucking lied to me. I wonder what Baltimore would do if I didn't fix your mistakes, hm? Or..." He tilted his head at Damon. "I wonder what the cops would do. God, illegal transactions at an alleyway? Sort of incriminating, don't you think?"

That was a threat. He knew that was a threat. Michael grinned as he threw at least five more stacks of dollars into the briefcase before grumbling about 'stupid fucking businessmen, never gonna make deals with them again' and walking off into the empty streets with his goods.

Michael snapped the briefcase shut and smiled at Damon.

"So, I don't know about you, but shady alley deals really gets my engine going."

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Nov 13, 2015

Man, they'd really done a number on this place. Damon might have to take things a bit more easy for a while after this stunt. He was pretty invulnerable, in more senses than one, but he wasn't a goddamn idiot. Not in this area of life, anyway. The heavy fear magic that had been hanging in the air before was fading, drawing itself back into him, nice and compact. He sniffed around a bit more, still nudging bodies as he passed them, feeling at magical traces. His was fading fast, without the intent holding it there, nor any living minds to claw at and settle into. Reality was so odd around things like him. It wasn't like there weren't other clues making him suspicious, but magic was a big one. Other things were much easier to shrug off, ignore, make a deal for. Wouldn't be the first time, not by far- and Oasis was better off gone in the long run.

He did wonder if he'd get the chance to visit his own crime scene, though, and smiled at the thought. That was always entertaining.

Damon rested his chin in a hand and returned Mike's fond expression. His grin may or may not have been slightly more dorky- but nobody needed to dwell on that. Besides. It was hard to read 'huge dork' when someone was covered in blood, wasn't it?

Good riddance, Oasis. You were fun while you lasted.

After that, Damon didn't look back.

***

End of the line for this little adventure. Damon, once again cleaned up (and going through so many spare outfits, but that wasn't a surprise), stood beside Mike. The nightmare was quiet for the most part, only a ride along for the deal, but smiling widely and making plenty of eye contact with the fuck-up buyer. He especially leered when Mike was busy making sure the cash was legit.

He stifled his urge to laugh at the mention of police, his being casually placed into things for intimidation, instead offering a friendly little wave. There we go, Mike had the little shit caught, and more importantly, his money. "Bye civillian, have a nice day," Damon called out lazily to the guy's retreating back. Nah. Definitely wouldn't lose sleep over not seeing him again.

Damon turned back to his best friend, not holding back the lighthearted laughter anymore. He tilted his head up to look at the other, leaning into him with the start of a purr. "Babe, I doubt there's much you don't know about my tastes at this point."

"Still, though," he hummed, gaze drifting over his doctor as he spoke, appreciative even absently. "What do you have in mind?" Car? Damon's apartment? Because the nightmare didn't have too much preference after making eyes at Mike all night- both in a sexual light and in the 'I'm in love with my best friend like a huge loser' way.

Christ. Damon flushed a bit. Feelings were hard. He's been screwed for years, so just fuck him already.

Poppy · Nov 13, 2015

Michael took a few moments to appreciate the weight of the briefcase in his hand. How much was this even? A hundred thousand? Two hundred? God, that was a lot of money. He loved that. Maybe he was a bit shallow on that front, but if there was ever anything Michael loved, it was money — making, spending, kissing on top of. The works.

He also happened to love the look Damon was giving him right then. Being the self-absorbed, oblivious guy that he was, he was completely unaware of any implications behind what the look might imply. Instead, he took Damon's hand, smiled like a million bucks, and said, "You'll see."

They got into the car and drove into the sunrise.

And just like everything that happened last night, the day was theirs for the taking.

Poppy · Dec 2, 2015

Gomorrah

The crate was placed on Mikhainon's table, and not soon after, the courier dropped onto the floor, limbs weak. What did he tell them about delivery instructions?

"Took you all long enough," he said, and the rest of them shrunk. They didn't really want to test Gabriel Baltimore's infamous short temper, especially not with that crowbar in his hands. He shooed them all out of the VIP room. They'll get their cash later. It was all that mattered to those fools.

Psh. As if money could save them from an early grave.

Enough of pointless thoughts about worthless people. The duke of hell pried the crate open, and all at once, raw eldritch energy spilled into the room. His mind was guarded from such intrusions, but his physically body could feel the dark energy brushing uncomfortably against his fleshy skin. He fondly thought about how it all felt like his lovely Basil.

He took the Necronomicon out of its confines. Pressing it against his chest, he pulled down the raven, and the painting facing the bookcase shone with his symbol and opened the stairwell to his collection of magical items, hellish sulfur mixing with eldritch fog. Duke Mikhainon placed it in a locked box for safekeeping.

Now that that was done, other preparations needed to be made.

He would get to taste his new powers soon.

end

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kill the lights

Poppy

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Tom Marvolo Riddle

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the dark lord

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Poppy

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Poppy

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