"There's blood in the streets it's up to my ankles…"
The song held a greater truth to the scene before them as Paul stepped aside, allowing David to enter the cheaply forged restroom, steeped in dirty, used towels, sand and urine from all corners pasty, forbidding walls. The only splash of color came from the dark, red stream that trailed out slowly from beneath the last stall, collecting itself within every nook and crack along the floor. Blotted here and there by footprints that had already stepped in and out of the mess, leading back to blonde rocker who stood against the wall, singing the estranged ballad of Jim Morrisons' childhood. They'd all heard it at least a hundred times by now, thanks to the new boom box he'd acquired---eloquently named the Rock Box---and a dozen Doors tapes.
"There's blood in the streets it's up to my knees…"
Fingers tightened within black gloves, a look of disgust crossing his face though he would never be satisfied until he moved over to the dank stall and peered inside at the gruesome presence within. The girl, Melissa, dead by now and her corpse all but fermenting in the hot, summer heat. He hadn't liked her, of course. She was the kind of girl who fantasized without consequence. The kind that fell easily into the fads and wanted what she couldn't understand. David had attempted to give her what she'd always wanted and thus, had been promptly rejected by this suicide.
"There's blood in the streets in the town of Chicago---"
"You were suppose to have been watching her!" A snarl in his youngest brother's direction, causing those eyes to blink and come out of the trance he'd currently fallen in. David made it a rule never to invade the creature's mind unless absolutely necessary. His thoughts were burdened with the lyrics of his favorite songs, god-icons of Rock and beats that his body kept in constant rhythm with.
The rocker's eyes blinked once more before brows furrowed and a snarl replaced the once placid voice. "She said she needed to piss, David. What the fuck was I suppose to tell her, 'go right here in front of everyone?' "
For the youngest, the kid had fight in him. A sense of rebellion that would likely never be quenched, no matter how many security guards or cops he managed to kill behind David's back. Paul was a wild card by all accounts, though as the moments passed and David's own glare increased, he would begrudgingly back down.
"She was annoying anyway, man. You could have picked someone else that was a little more… shit, I don't know. Open," Paul said, eyes grazing the floor towards the stream of blood.
Though, in his own way, Paul was apologizing, David couldn't resist a final snap.
"Like those tramps you find beneath the pier, Paul? One of those real classy girls?"
Something between hurt and anger crossed the young one's face but before he could let either ride him for too long, shoulders slumped forward in a shrug.
Scoffing, he turned back towards the stall, watching the small trickles of blood grow slower and slower as the rolled against the pattern of the floor. It was cooling, growing thicker as it began to clump and dry. He could almost taste her on the air around them, and mixed with sour bacteria soap and urine, it wasn't a good combination. She hadn't been much in terms of an "accommodating" thrall, but vampires were naturally greedy and her life was suppose to end at his hands, not her own.
A glance back at Paul, gaining another shrug before he would start towards the stall.
The infectious smell grew worse as he neared it; deep blood… the kind that was pumped through the heart and a major arteries. Hand pressed against the stall door, forcing it open and for a single moment, David was truly and genuinely shocked.
The girl was sitting hunched upon the stall. In a way the looked almost as though she were still alive, though her body must have been drained quickly and death cooled the limbs to a point of stiffness that couldn't work her away from such a strange and disturbing position.
She'd cut her throat.
David had only seen the phenomenon once before but even then, he'd still refused to believe it wasn't by someone else's help. There was no need for speculation here, however, as the razor was still held by both hands that had reached up and slit the blade all the way through the muscle. The girl must have died close to instantly.
It wasn't a comforting thought.
"I told you, man. Just fucking sick…" Paul called to him from the safety of the exit.
Fingers grew tense once more, white-knuckled as he fought off the rage that was building in his chest. Honestly, he hadn't cared about her. But the attachment was still there and the idea that he might actually make the girl into a vampire, just for shits and giggles and pissing off Max all the more. Hell, the elder had mentioned the prospect of a sister, someone to keep the cave mildly clean and with fresh entertainment that wasn't the same crude and perverse jokes that Paul could come up with on a moment's notice.
That she had died here instead of by his own fangs was not only and insult to his power, it was an insult to David as well. The idea that he was perhaps… loosing his touch.
Storming from the stall, a power-pass was made towards Paul who had backed out of the exit but not quickly enough to avoid the white, hot light that burned deep within his body, paralyzing him almost completely. Or at least long enough for David to catch him and clutch that skinny throat beneath grinding fingers.
"After all of the time I put into her, you let her go off and kill herself?!" he hissed between clenched teeth.
Once the effects of his power subsided, Paul would reach up, grinding into the man's arm with his own claws and tearing the fabric of his black trench coat, thrashing and trying desperately to escape.
"Dude! She's fucking… sick… in the head…. You didn't.. care that much!" Paul rasped as blonde locks fell in front of those widening eyes.
"That's not the point!" he spat back at Paul, squeezing all the harder and wanting to feel the man's body wither.
No, he wouldn't die from lack of oxygen but that didn't mean he could escape the pain of a crushed esophagus.
As the rocker's claws dug deeper however, he would feel the slight knick of them against his bone and one final, grueling twist, would have the young creature on the ground, spitting up blood and cursing David with every pore of his body.
"You… fucking… bastard…" he gasped, in between gurgles of blood.
David was uncompromising as he stared down at the man, feeling the rage subside somewhat, but not enough to spare Paul any less of his cruelty.
"I told you to watch her closely and you couldn't even do that," he growled, kicking his boot towards the man to which Paul would swipe at with those same, blood-stained claws.
Waiting until the rocker's eyes found their courage to stare up through the messy array of those wilting locks, a smile of pure sinister evil would spread across David's face.
"I guess I'm going to have to make sure it doesn't happen again."