Rupert watched through the gloom as the kid in the middle of the floor slumped backwards, the needle quivering in his arm. He forced down his instinctive panic, the immediate urge to run to the boy. He looked dead. Rupert clenched his fists, curled the panic inwards, curbed his instincts. They were there to get a job done, not to rescue some thankless junkie. Nevertheless, he felt relief flood him as he finally made out the boy's shallow breathing and relaxed into the pillar he was leaning against, appearing to allow the deep thud of the bass playing throughout the warehouse to relax him into a trance. Lazily, he turned to study the girl who thought he hadn't noticed her. His gaze raked her in seconds and he was about to turn away, dismissing her as yet another wannabe Wicca when the look in her eyes made him pause. She looked...hungry. He grinned at her, a sudden disconcerting flash of white teeth in the darkness of the old warehouse. The look in her eyes sharpened and she took a step closer.
"You know who I am." He had to strain to hear her over the endless thump of the bass that pounded through the room. Her voice was cultured and sounded amused.
"I know what you are." he replied, his own voice barely more than a growl. She laughed.
"And yet you're still not running. You've got guts." She paused as her faced morphed into the horrifying ridged mask of a vampire. "Want to see them?"
Rupert sighed inwardly. He'd been hoping for a little more than the rather worn routine of entice, threaten, attack, repeat which appeared to be all that the Oxford vampires were able to manage. It was almost too easy, he thought, stepping aside as she rushed him and then plunging the stake from his sleeve through her back and into her heart. Where was the challenge, the danger? Dammit, where was the fun? He brushed her dust from the shoulders of his jacket, his most prized possession, despite its rather battered and scarred condition, and glanced around the warehouse, taking in the positions of the rest of his group. Thomas on his left and James a little further. Deirdre on his right and David…fuck. Grabbing his stake from where it had fallen he ran towards where David was struggling with a group of vampires. He cursed as he ran. David never bloody listened. Stupid fuck deserved whatever he got but he was still in Rupert's charge and so under his protection. Colliding with the group, Rupert had smashed his stake into the back of the first vampire before he noticed that one of them had David and was dragging his head back, exposing his throat and bending in for the kill…and then was nothing but dust. He made out Thomas through the dust and grinned at him. He was the youngest of Rupert's little group of hunters but had definite potential and a thirst for the fight that was positively terrifying. Rupert turned, bringing his stake up in readiness and found nothing but air; the other vampires had evidently fled. In fact the entire warehouse seemed empty. He waved an arm at James.
"Turn that crap off!" He yelled. James nodded and yanked at a bundle of wires, abruptly cutting off the music. "Everyone okay?" He asked. They nodded, David looking shaken. He would have to talk to the boy about his endless meaningless heroics. He could have died, then and there, on the filthy concrete floor of a crack house. Rupert felt suddenly ill, realising with a jolt exactly why this was expressly forbidden by the Watchers Council. But they couldn't just sit back and do nothing, knowing that those creatures were out there, knowing that they could really make a difference. Mentally, he shook himself. It was no use getting maudlin. "I reckon that's enough for tonight. Home?"
They were making their way back towards the door, careful not to let their guard down when Rupert remembered the kid he'd been watching earlier. The rest of the room appeared to be empty, addicts, dealers and vamps making themselves scarce at the first sign of organised violence, but the boy was still unconscious. Rupert sighed and walked over to him. They could hardly leave him here now. He looked down at the boy and gasped. He was…beautiful. Dark lashes on impossibly high cheekbones, lips red and full, like a girl's, soft dark curls falling over a pale forehead and yet a determined set to his jaw that prevented him from being too feminine. Rupert reached down to stroke the curls away. He was almost angelic in his perfection. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to protect this one, to keep him safe always.
"Rupert? What on earth are you doing?" Deirdre's squeak made him jump backwards, pulling his hand away as if he had been burnt.
"Deidre, we can't just leave him here. What if they come back?" He heard himself, pathetic, practically begging, and winced. What had he become? She sniffed.
"I suppose not." There was a drawn out pause before she continued, as she made her displeasure clear. "Where is he going to stay? You're all in halls. It's going to be hard enough to get you all back in without awkward questions, let alone him. He doesn't look like he'll wake up for days." As if to deliberately mock her, the boy chose that moment to grab the front of Rupert's t-shirt.
"Janus, ego subsisto, ut umquam, vestri fidelis, degenero filius"
"What did you just say?" whispered Rupert. The boy did not answer him, his eyes once more glazed and his hold on Rupert's t-shirt slipping. Rupert shook him, hard, and growled his question again. There was no response from the boy. Deidre was still talking.
"I suppose you're going to ask me to put him up and really I think it's a bit much. I mean, honestly, look at him. He looks like a cheap rent boy. I…I…" She trailed off under the force of Rupert's glare. "I mean, of course he can stay, I wouldn't dream of leaving him here, it's just…" She trailed off again, sighed and gingerly tugged on one of the boy's arms. "Let's get him home then."