disclaimer: None of the characters - except, perhaps, the weedy professor and Richard Corinthian - in the following belong to me, but to CBS and the television show Moonlight.
notes: Why doesn't Moonlight have its own section yet? Just saying - we're kind of owning the Misc. Television Shows.
Anyway! Originally posted to the Moonlight Fics community on LJ. Written and set after the fourth episode (Fever), so any information from the fifth may and/or will be inaccurate or missing from this fic. It's a three-chapter arc (discounting prologue and epilogue) intended to play out like an episode - and it gets incredibly AU.
Enjoy the ride.
Everybody Wants To Rule The World
- prologue
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Television's got one thing right.
Night descends on the city, seeping through streets strewn with broken glass, torn papers, all the scattered debris that results from humanity. It snakes a finger of shadow through the alleys, where the men in boxes shiver and women warm their hands over fires burning in trash cans. Finally, stealing past one last corner, it falls prey to the blaring lights of a club.
For all the vampires in the world, there are slayers, too.
A throng circles the closest alley mouth, pushing inward. Their eyes are bright; their mouths are fanged.
There're even less of them than there are of us, and they ask a pretty steep price when they want to, but one way or another, they make themselves available. If you really want one, it's not hard to find them.
And it's a riot of bloody monochrome - the spattered black of blood under moonlight and bone-white skin, tossed with lurid emeralds and sparkling blues by the barren lamps and neon party lights.
Don't get me wrong. Your TV doesn't have all the facts straight. It's not always a pretty blonde with a stake. They can come in pretty much any package "crazy" is available in. And just as vampires don't burst into flames in the sun or hide from the shape of a cross, the weapons that the slayers use are... different.
Thrown here and there throughout the crowd, humans fight back, gripping machine guns and flamethrowers as the monsters advance. Their features are dissimilar - old, young, dark of complexion and finely freckled - but dragged into fierce similarity by the looks in their eyes: a cold certainty that borders on madness as they turn upon the very crowd.
Most of the slayers you find are the ones that have survived years in the field. They're professional.
And they're winning.
And a lot more dangerous.
Fighting their way through the broken remnants of vampires, some hold down the fort for a retreat while others open the door to a van and begin to pile in the bodies. One of the slayers grunts as the arm of a staked vampire flops out; his eyes skim over the monster's features as he shoves it back in.
It isn't unattractive, for a monster: glazed blue eyes, curly dark hair, and a mouth with fangs half-retracted, as if torn away in the middle of speech. The card in his pocket reads: "Mick St. John: PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS."
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to be continued
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feedback: is probably impossible, given how little there is to respond to in this part. The first chapter will be up in a few days.