Sighing to herself, Sanguaze knew she should have kept her mouth shut when one of the girls had asked her if she had singing experience, but of course she had to have said yes and landed herself in yet another situation. Picking up the mineral water with lime she had ordered from the mini bar just before all this commotion had erupted, she brought the glass to her lips, sipping back a draught of the water before letting out a now quenched sigh and placing the empty container back on the counter top. If she hadn't known better it had almost seemed like the water had tasted off, almost metallic but instead she passed it off of her being over suspicious and that the tang was most likely because she had lime juice in the water itself.
Focusing now on the clothing she had been given, Sanguaze quickly discarded the red garment she had been wearing before inspecting the apparent black leather attired she was now apparently meant to wear onstage. It was a full black leather ensemble, open back leather halter top with a low cut bust line along the front, a mini skirt with studded belt and hand cuffs clipped to the left hand side, accompanied by thigh height leather boots with spikes that ran along the ankle and upper rim of each boot. Well, at least it wasn't pink, and really it quite suited Sanguaze's wilder side. It only took a few minutes surprisingly to slip into it all before she opened the door to her room and padded outside towards the accessory bin across the hall.
She had slipped the attention of a few of the girls who had been determined to give her a full blown makeover as she raided the accessories, coming out with a large leather spiked collar which was now fastened firmly around her neckline along with several assorted glow bracelets which now laced her boots and arm lengths. Then just on her way out towards the stage area Sanguaze found herself mugged on her attempt and found herself seated in a chair as a few of the girls loomed over her, dabbing dark eye liner and makeup across her face. It took about 10 minutes for the girls to stop fussing, and by that time Sanguaze had seemingly zoned out, her senses feeling like they were slowly catching on fire as her hormones seemed to start to bubble over as she fidgeted agitatedly. Finally she couldn't take it any longer and launched herself out of the change room towards the stage.
Then she changed the song. If they wanted her to be a last minute singer, the band would have to play something she at least knew and the first thing, ironically as it would be was the late 20th century song 'Crashed' by Chris Daughtry. Sanguaze had about twenty minutes or so to practice with her makeshift band before time seemed to slip by and she found herself listening to the announcer explain there was a change in singers before bounding up onto the pitch black stage and positioning herself for the lights to rise on her frame.
John watched Sanguaze with a weathered eye as he headed off to his perch. It was a good crowd at the club and John was pleased by this and trod off with a slight bounce to his step. Making his way upstairs, he plopped onto his chair and surveyed the club. Nerys and Sanguaze had disappeared from his view, but that was fine. He trusted Nerys to take care of the blonde. He knew she didn't trust him. How could she? He couldn't begin to explain why he was being so giving towards Sanguaze. It was completely unlike him to do so. All he knew was that he trusted his gut feelings and this time his gut was telling, no screaming at him to protect her. His gut rarely led him astray. Someone tapped him on his shoulder and Seb was standing beside him.
Seb was a big lad with dark hair and eyes. He was wide and muscular and if John thought he could convince the man without losing a limb, he would so do him. Maybe if he got him drunk enough…hmmmm… "Sir?" Seb asked, noticing the way John was staring at him. The bouncer shifted uncomfortably from heel to heel.
John smiled and stood up. Though he was a full head shorter than Seb, he did seem to intimidate the stronger man. Perhaps it was the sword. "What's up, Seb?" John asked, taking a step forward, wicked smile still on his lips.
Seb took an involuntary step backward. "Sir, there's a Torchwood person here. At the bar."
John's smile fell. "Shit!" he exclaimed and turned toward the view of the whole club. His eyes fell directly onto the back of Owen Harper's head. "Bloody buggering hell!"
It was so hot in here. If he didn't know any better, Owen would have said it felt humid. He lifted a finger to his collar and loosened it a little more, remembering for the first time some of the limited perks he'd had when he'd been the walking dead. The air in the club was oppressive, especially to a man that had only just shaken off the chill of the darkness. This was almost certainly the most sensitive he'd ever felt, in more ways than one. Besides, Owen probably would have felt uncomfortable at room temperature right now. Black Ice was practically steaming with body heat and swimming in sweat. He could pick up the distinct stench of crack and a hint of weed - what a lovely combination, especially when mixed with generous lashings of tobacco and more kinds of alcohol than even Owen could name.
Speaking of which, where was his order? The barmaids were usually quite snappy with deliveries in these places, and this red-head hadn't looked to be an exception the rule. Owen lifted his eye-line from his empty glasses to find her eyeing him in a strange manner. He couldn't tell whether she was wary, demeaning or completely pissed off... but it wasn't a pleasant stare, not at all. So much for the friendly service eh? Allowing his hands to cup around his empty glasses, he slid them along the table to her, which was enough to break her from her glare. Her reactions were lightning quick as she caught them expertly and had the refills within seconds. With a stinging smile she sent them sliding down the wooden surface to Owen at double the speed, perhaps testing him, perhaps just wanting the contents to spill down his trousers. There was something about that woman that was intimidating, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He caught them neatly and took his eyes away from her - he wasn't going to rise to anything tonight. He was just going to get obscenely pissed and stagger off to The Hub to collapse on the sofa. A fine night out.
A little commotion on the main stage was enough to cause him to look in it's direction. They seemed to be getting ready for a new performer. This place was strange. Dancing girls, tables, a bar, banging dance music and live singers? They should really pick a theme and stick with it. At the moment, this place seemed to have an 'anything goes' sort of attitude. The success seemed to be based on how many eardrums the music could shatter, how many laws they could break and how many cubicles of the toilets were occupied by couples shagging. Owen figured he might have to spread the word about Black Ice, and not to the police. Jack would like it here, and the bar-staff would probably be a damn sight nicer to the 'Captain'. Owen stopping himself from sighing by throwing one of his shots down his neck and slamming the glass back on the bar. No-body could hear the slam of the glass as it cracked, and even if they could- they didn't give a toss. He would bet that he was tame compared to the thugs they normally had in. Still, he remembered the heavies at the door giving him an eye as he walked in. It was strange that on the one night he wasn't out to cause trouble - he was picking up the attention of the bouncers. Weird.
"Do you want me to make him leave, Sir?" Seb asked, his tone of voice changing from nervous to excited.
John almost wanted to walk up to him and kiss him. The subtle change in Seb's voice caused a curl of excitement to wrap around John's loins. Spending all that time with Sanguaze had him a bit overzealous. Seb was practically the icing on the cake. He would have just called Nerys up here but he had put her to task.
The worst part, he couldn't have Seb. Seb was 'straight'. Straighter than straight. Stupid twenty first century and their bloody minded thoughts on sexuality. So, he would have to find some bird or he would have to take care of this himself. Either way, he couldn't deal with it at the moment.
Bloody Torchwood in his house. He wanted to just shoot Harper right from here. The problem with that, Jack would probably do some real damage to him and he didn't need his club to go south because of a shooting. Harper would probably just rise from the grave on the third day anyway.
He needed to find Sanguaze and make sure she was safe. He needed… He spied Nerys at the bar, serving Harper. "Oh, what a brilliant woman she is," John said, pointing out Nerys to Seb. He knew Nerys would take care of the idiot and keep him from Sanguaze. He had no fears of that.
Seb had come up behind him and was looking over his shoulder at Nerys.
John turned and came practically nose to nose with the younger man.
Seb began to breathe heavy but was unable to back away. There was a wall behind him, blocking his escape.
John lifted his hand and touched one of Seb's arms, gently squeezing. "Strong lad, you are," he said, his voice heady and thick.
"I- I workout a lot," Seb stuttered.
John smiled and leaned up onto his toes. "I bet you do," he said, attempting to claim Seb's lips when the music downstairs changed and John turned back to see what was going on. Behind him, he could hear Seb making an escape to the door. John didn't care. Seb wouldn't quit, this job paid too much. Besides, it wasn't like he was fighting all that hard to not get caught in the spider's web. John would play with that fly later. For now, he needed to know who was screwing with the music. He turned to leave, his intentions were to go downstairs and see who was mucking about and promptly have them fired, but a voice caused him to stop in his tracks.
Owen couldn't see the stage that well from where he was. He was much closer to the door, and so was probably the furthest away from it as he could have been. Plus, the dry ice and the lighting effects didn't help. Neither did the bouncing bodies blocking his view. Oh well, he wasn't here for the entertainment. He was here to forget, and that's what he'd do. His eyes rested on his last drink of this round. God only knows what he was drinking. The liquid was a strange hue, but had a little sediment at the bottom that told him that it was probably more brown than black. He would need to find out the name of it though. Despite the nasty taste and the sting as it hit his throat - it was doing it's job. Already, after three shots he was starting to feel the effects creeping over his body. It must have been really strong stuff, plus drinking on an empty stomach wasn't helping, as was shooting them down like his life depended on it. And, at this moment - it did.
The faint sound of the crowd moaning kicked in pretty much as soon as the music flipped over to something that was apparently against the grain in Black Ice. To him, it was a welcome break. The music wasn't something that he recognized, but at least it wasn't trying to beat his brain to a bloody pulp. Tipping his head back a little, Owen downed another shot. He grimaced a little as he put the glass back down on the bar (a little more carefully this time). That one had come with real bite. The alcohol had probably stripped the lining from his throat, he wouldn't be surprised, and his body was complaining. Growling a little internally at the burn, he let his fingers play with the empties. He would wait a little before ordering anything else. Perhaps he'd go for something else next time - mixing his drink was a much cheaper way of getting paralytic.
He hadn't heard the announcer at all, perhaps he'd finally succeeded in zoning himself out to the world around him.
Sanguaze back was turned from the audience. The lights were down. There was silence. Then the band kicked in and the lights rose, revealing her frozen figure which seemed to come to life slowly turning to face the stunned audience before her, as she made her way down the T-frame walkway. It was a raver club, and for a moment there was abrupt protest in the style of the song, which seemed soon to be silenced as Sanguaze's head rose up as her figure was reflected on two large promo screens on either side of the walls of the stage and she opened her mouth wide inhaling deeply. Then she sung, her voice resonating solidly off the whole complexes wall, knocking any jeers into silence as the first line of the song rung out pure an un-altered into the head mic strapped to her ear.
"Well I was moving at the speed of sound.
Head-spinning, couldn't find my way around, and
Didn't know that I was going down."
John was speechless as Blondie sang her heart out. He leaned against the railing and listened. If he believed he had a heart of his own, it would probably be bursting. She was definitely an enigma, this Sanguaze Masagzu. He took a couple steps back and sat in his chair, leaning forward and just drank in the notes and words of her song. He'd probably heard the song somewhere before, but he'd never heard it sung like this.
If she thought that this was her audition, than she got the part. She would be their new singer. The people who had been writhing on the dance floor were still moving slightly, but they seemed to be entranced by her song, much the way he was. Perhaps it was something in the way she sang, or something that came along with being from the future. Either way, they were hers and John had no fear of them all returning to hear Sanguaze sing.
Then a thought struck him and he froze. Harper was still at the bar. He looked over to the bar to see the man. He felt very sick at the thought of Harper seeing Sanguaze onstage and trying to do something stupid in his club. He checked his person for all his weapons and headed back downstairs to make sure that Sanguaze was safe from Harper when she came off the stage.
"Where I've been, well it's all a blur.
What I was looking for, I'm not sure.
Too late and didn't see it coming.
Yeah, yeah."
And Sanguaze sung. Oh how she gave herself to the music completely in just those opening phrases, the troubles that were overwhelming her mind, seemingly put to the side just for these precious few minutes. It was like the entire warehouse's population seemed to just slow to a crawl at her voice, a rabbit entranced by the rearing vipers stare, ignoring the utter wild abandon and danger that the hunter carried.
Perhaps not.
His head shot up immediately, his eyes trying desperately to focus on the stage. He knew that voice, it was ingrained in him so deep that he doubted he'd ever shake it free. She was here, Sanguaze was here, and what's more - she was the bloody hired singer! Not for one moment had Black Ice seemed innocent, but no way had Owen expected them to be employing aliens, especially not ones to have a tendency to dump Torchwood Operatives into Cardiff Bay! He'd got a score to settle with Sanguaze Masagzu, and he didn't care if he made a scene. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever cared.
"And then Icrashed into you,
And I went up in flames.
Could've been the death of me,
But then you breathed your breath in me.
And I crashed into you,
Like a runaway train.
You will consume me,
But I can't walk away."
Her body was moving again, forward down the catwalk, spiked heels sounding smartly off the flooring as her stride extended into a powerful pace propelling her to the center of the T. Left hand shooting out, it slowly moved across her body in a sweeping motion, right to left, it held position sticking straight out, palm cocked up facing the crowd as she rose her face towards the ceiling. She was spreading a wild fire of entrancement as her voice locked in the crowd's attention, her heart now being put fully into the words of the music she was belting out loud and clear.
"Somehow, I couldn't stop myself.
I just wanted to know how it felt.
Too strong, I couldn't hold on.
Yeah, yeah.
Now I'm just tryin' to make some sense
Out of how and why this happened.
Where we're heading, there's just no knowing.
Yeah, yeah."
Both arms shot up, the beat in the song shifting slightly intensifying, the more casual tone picking up an almost techno feel that still managed to retain a sense of awe and attraction. The thrumming was picking up, as she stepped to her right striding down that side of the stage, strobe lights shattering the darkness, creating a paralytic atmosphere. Her motions initially were fluidic, but seemed jagged and erratic through the inconsistent lighting as her temperature unknown to everyone was slowly starting to rise. Something wasn't right, she could taste the lingering metal tang that she had picked up from her drink earlier still stained across her lips as Sanguzae strained to focus on the lyrics of the song coming out of her mouth.
Pushing his hands against the bar, Owen leapt up from his bar stool and raced towards the crowd. Thankfully, the unfamiliar song had stopped some of the movement and he was able to pick his way through a lot easier. Well, when he said pick... he meant push - sharply. The alcohol coursing through his veins had lost him any manners that he might have otherwise had, which wasn't a lot in the first place. His hands threw bodies to the side as he stormed through the crowd, occasionally popping his head up to see whether she'd spotted him. It didn't really matter if she had, he wasn't going to let her go a second time...well... third if you count Jack's little lock-up attempt. Finally he made his way to the door than led backstage. He had a gun, he'd borrowed a spare one from the armory, and now that he wasn't so fragile anymore, there was no need for him to be careful. Dipping into his pocket, he fished out his stupid second-rate glock. He hated the way it felt in his hand, there'd got to be a better replacement kicking around The Hub somewhere. He made a rushed mental note to ask Ianto - that was if the Welshman had gotten over his supposed man-flu yet.
"And then I crashed into you,
And I went up in flames.
Could've been the death of me,
But then you breathed your breath in me.
And I crashed into you,
Like a runaway train.
You will consume me,
But I can't walk away."
Her vision felt as it was on fire, her muscles twitching irritively as she attempted to not look like she was visibly crawling out of her skin, not that it would really matter anyway, the crowd here was anything but sober saints. Finishing her stride across both sides of the T-frame, her mind was screaming at her as she suppressed an almost painful urge to scream and instead fueled it into more raw power to the lyrics of the song. Sanguaze was just about to turn away from the crowd which was now in hysterics over the music change, when out of the corner of her blurring vision she caught sight of him. Owen. For fucks sake, he couldn't seem to get off her case could he, and by the looks of him he was heading for backstage. Joy.
The door was guarded, and they knew he was coming. A few members of the crowd had gasped as he'd taken out his gun. It was a typical reaction from the public, they received it wherever they went and it was barely ever a problem. Holding his gun in both hands, he kept it pointed to the floor on his right side, just beside his feet - out the way but still close enough to pull into action if he needed to use it. Owen strode over to the two men, both taller than him, and quite a lot heavier, but Owen was wearing his Torchwood expression. The entire team had a particular expression that they used on missions, it was one of pure confidence, authority and a healthy dash of seriousness. Those on the receiving end generally understood that if they messed with these people - a bullet would probably imbed itself in some part of their anatomy.
"Torchwood." He barked at the guards. "Get that door open." They hesitated, and Owen lifted his gun, assessing the weaker one of the pair and aiming straight for his heart. "Now!" The guard broke and fumbled with the lock - the key slipped through his sweating palms and onto the floor. Rolling his eyes, Owen tilted his body so that his shoulder aimed for the door, he didn't have time for this shit. He rammed the door hard, causing the surprisingly weak hinges to break and allow him to fall through to the backstage area in a James Bond style manner.
It was dark and strangely crowded. Somehow though, the sound of Owen breaking through the door with a gun in his grasp was enough to send the gaggles of performing girls scattering - accompanied by high-pitched screams which made him wince a little. Collecting himself, he ran for the stage-exit, following the sound of the music as best he could. It wasn't difficult to find, but again (as seemed usual in his place) the entrance was blocked by two heavies. They seemed to be protecting her in particular. The security guards hadn't cared one iota for the other girls Owen had scared away just seconds ago. No-one was approaching him, they hadn't been told to take him out - not yet anyway. They were allowing him to come to them, and that made him slightly nervous. All their efforts were focused on blocking anyone from Sanguaze. Did they know what she was? Or did she class as special in their books for some other reason? What kind of favors did she have with the boss and who the hell were they? So many questions, all of which would be answered as soon he'd gotten hold of Sanguaze.
He marched up to the two men with his gun already switching aim between their heads, right between the eyes. This time he meant business, and he would make sure they knew it. "Right lads, this is Torchwood."His voice grew louder and more aggressive the more he spoke, his hands snatched the gun sharply up and down once, to remind them that it was there, loaded and pointed at them from the hands of a determined man. A determined man who wa sangry and slightly pissed.
"Are you going to be good boys and get her off that stage and back here? Or do I have to count down from three like fucking Super nanny?" God, he'd watched some shit on telly when he'd been walking dead. He raised his eyebrows a little, willing them to test him out. He was really in the mood to give Ianto some deaths to cover up in the morning.
John rushed down the stairs and crossed the club in record time. He needed to get backstage before Harper and from what he could see, he wasn't going to make it. To make matters worse, the normally writhing crowd was still writhing, but whereas it was normally like trying to walk through treacle it was now like trying to walk through a cement wall. He, himself was guilty of pausing to watch. She was amazing, wonderful. John knew he could fall for her if not for his promise to never fall for anyone ever again. It hurts his heart and he liked to believe he didn't possess one.
He pulled his sight from the stage in time to see Harper nosing around the entrance to backstage. He swore under his breath and turned toward the other side of the stage. It was the long way around but if the boy sat the door were on their game he would have plenty of time to get back there before Harper.
Sanguaze attention however was ripped from Owen sharply as another wash of nausea spread across her entire body as she turned from the crowd signalling the band to cut and merge into another song as she found herself quickly but professionally darting off the stage front as another girl went on to take her place. She shouldn't have come here, it had been a mistake. Stupid, stupid idiot. What has John done to you, you need to get whatever was in that drink out of your system. She was quite delirious at this point, pushing past the bodyguards who were trying to hold her back to tell her something in a slightly urgent tone, but she was having none of it. As fortunes have it, she took the right fork in the hallway towards the washrooms and not the latter which would have brought her face first with one pissed Doctor Harper.
Shaking visibly her body lined with a thin film of sweat at this point as she grabbed a salt shaker from a snack rack in a break room feverously before slamming into the girls washroom leaving a large dent in the door in the process. There was a loud yelp of surprise and a brief scuffle as one of the girls scooted out of her way nervously, dragging a bouncer along pants half down out of the bathroom leaving Sanguaze utterly alone. It didn't matter, nothing mattered except the situation at hand. Snatching a half empty whiskey glass from the counter she dumped the content down the sink, wrenching the tap on cold, and smashing the head of the salt shaker against the counter top, dropped the contents into the glass. Wasting no time, the glass was then filled to the brim as she sloshed the contents everywhere, drawing the container to her lips and taking several long draughts of it before the cup hit the tiled floor with a loud shattering crash.
Then came the gut clenching noise of the contents of her stomach emptying straight into the sink in front of her as she found herself grasping the porcelain edges, heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. It hadn't helped. She knew it wasn't really poison, in fact she was pretty sure it wasn't a human made substance itself, for what she could make out from her delirious state, it was firing up all of her senses into overdrive along with increasing her hormone level, or in club sense 'getting her mojo on', think Ecstasy except ten times stronger and alien. Guess its just lucky Sanguaze has a brilliant immune system or at this rate she probably would have been dead. Someone didn't like her.
John made it around the stage and saw Sanguaze stepping off the stage. There was a slight breeze from the central air that brought him a whiff of her pheromones. He froze. Something wasn't right. Her scent was off. He suddenly bolted through the door and began to race through the maze of hallways to make it to the stage entrance. He was too late, she wasn't there. He turned left and right in a panic, eyes searching for her blonde mane. He headed toward the opposite door when a sound made him pause. He took a deep breath and inhaled. Sanguaze was making a retching sound from inside the ladies loo. He sighed only in slight relief. He knew where she was, Harper hadn't gotten to her first. Unfortunately, he had no idea what was wrong with her.
Sanguaze might have stayed there glued to her reflection in the mirror if she hadn't heard his footsteps coming in a slightly hurried pace down towards where her location was, and she snapped. Storming out of the bathroom her eyes dilated dangerously into cat like slits as she locked her sights on one Captain John Hart. She was absolutely bristling as she approached him, clearly not in the best state of mind as she took a vicious swipe in his direction, before unbalancing (a rarity for someone as agile as her) and finding herself pressed face first up against one of the walls thanks to gravity. Turning, her back pressed against the wall as she tried to look him down with a serious angered tone, but all that was managed was a sharp groan as she tilted her head upwards, pressing her head against the wall and shut her eyes.
God, this coming back to life malarkey was tough. It was starting to feel like a really crap soap opera with ridiculously twisted story-lines. This wasn't your average boy meets girl... This was - alien girl raises zombie boy from the dead, nearly dies herself, gets saved by zombie boy who and then runs away...zombie boy nearly gets drowned... alien girl gets job in sleezy club... yadayada yada. Perhaps it wasn't like a soap after all, this was way too complicated for their audiences to grasp. This little story had Torchwood stamped all over it. In fact, Owen's life had Torchwood stamped all over it. It had screwed him over so much that he didn't know which way was up anymore. But it was his lifeline. If Jack hadn't put him back on the payroll, Owen might well have thrown himself off a roof - Sam Tyler, Life on Mars style, and see if he could go back in time a few month to start over again.
Actually, perhaps he needed to find himself a roof right now. He'd welcome going back a bit and setting a few things right. Perhaps not dying at all would be a start, shooting Copley right between the eyes before the bastard had a chance to take him out first. Then none of this would be happening. There wouldn't be that emotional pull that fired him from his bar stool quicker than a bullet from a gun and forced him to do the James Bond routine backstage to get where he was now. Which was standing in front of two heavies backstage, whilst shouting his mouth off. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins as he breathed through gritted teeth. His eyes scrunched into narrow slits as he stared down the guards. His aim didn't waver an inch on his borrowed weapon, despite the fact that he now had two hands on the gun, just to bring home his point. He could see in the facial expressions of the bouncers, that they were weighing up whether to take him seriously or pound him into the ground. Owen cocked back the safety and saw a little sweat start to form on their brows. He smiled, he'd got them.
It was then that a bunch of girls came scuttling down the corridor, chattering to each other in a distracted manner. They caught his eye, probably because they were wearing next to nothing, but he quickly flicked his attention back to the guards. He was about to dismiss them completely until they brushed past him, completely undeterred by a man with a gun, and he caught a little of their conversation.
'...yeah it was the new girl'
'What, she can't handle a bit of booze?
'From what I hear, it was more than a shot of Jack D'
'Fuck, really? The boss won't like that, he said she was to be looked after'
'Best tell Nerys, before she has us all down for it'
They rounded the corner and disappeared from view, the 'click clack' of their heels becoming fainter as they continued down the corridor. They hadn't even glanced in the direction of the Torchwood Officer pointing a gun at two guys. 'What sort of a place is this?' Owen felt himself wondering in mild disgust as he turned his full attention back to the matter in hand. From over the heads of the bouncers, his eyes were keen enough to see a shadow of a figure stride quickly past and through a door to the left of the area where Owen found himself stranded. He could tell the shape had been male, but that was about it - the dim lighting had prevented him from seeing any detail. He'd had enough of this. It was time to get past dumb and dumber whether they liked it or not. God knows what those girls had been talking about, but he'd grasped enough to know that Sanguaze was in some kind of trouble, and if he knew her, he wouldn't have expected anything less than dramatic.
The door to the loo flew open and Sanguaze stared at him. She didn't look well, a sheen of sweat clung to her skin and her eyes looked almost as wild as they had on the docks. She charged over to him and threw a punch. It glanced off his shoulder as she staggered and leaned against the wall.
"What the hell?" he exclaimed, just watching her. He inhaled once more. "You're off. Who did this to you?" he asked, but there was no time for an answer. She turned and sighed. It was a low guttural sound, almost seductive. The sound went straight to his already intrigued groin. He pushed the thoughts aside, willing his body to behave. This wasn't the time and he surely didn't want to do this with her now. Not that he didn't want her, he wanted practically everyone. It was just that he was trying so hard to gain her trust, taking advantage of her state of being would wipe away any chances of that happening.
Sanguaze could taste his hormones; smell the strong scent of another male all over him, and the rising arousal level he was unintentionally emitting towards the female in front of her. This was wrong, every fibre in her was telling her to run, far, far, away, that it was his fault she was loosing the ability to control her physical and mental functions, but it was all she could do to fight off her ingrained need to fuck. Kinda blunt? Well sorry to burst your chastity bubble, but that has always been and always be the primal driving motive to human life,to procreate. It just happened to be quite a lot stronger in her kind because of the feral genes, even the 21st century term 'bestiality' couldn't cover even the basics of anthromorphian courtship, never mind sex.
Lifting his gun to the ceiling, Owen shot a bullet at the ceiling, causing the guards' attention to leave him for just long enough for him to slip his light frame past them and into the darkness beyond. There was no point in running, he really had no idea where he was going. Instead, he glanced back at the bouncers to check they weren't close, before heading for the end of the corridor and to the left - in pursuit of the shadowed figure. It was relatively quiet back here, only the thundering bass of the music was audible, it must have had some serious sound-proofing. Everyone had dispersed now, though he could hear a small commotion behind him, he must have burst a pipe or something with his shot - nothing else would be keeping those men off his tail for this long. Owen breathed a sigh of light relief before he swung his body around the corner. His eyes couldn't believe what he saw.
"What have you done to me" It came out in a strained groan as everything around her seemed to pulse as she grasped desperately to her last strains of restraints, panting audibly, palms curled into balled up fists as her nails drew blood from her palms. Then she heard the shouting and the threats, and the sound of one individual pushing by protesting bouncers, something John probably wouldn't hear in such excruciating detail that she was feeling now, and her eyes snapped open. There was no real sense of control left in her body, it was clearly visible as Sanguaze made minimal effort to compose herself before speaking in a slurred rush.
John blinked. "What? I haven't done anything." He savagely cast his eyes around the hall and saw a dirty blonde watching. He narrowed his eyes at her and she smirked. If she was lucky, Nerys would fire her. Assuming John just didn't kill her himself.
"Play possum." It wasn't like Sanguaze would have been able to stop herself even if she wanted to, which at this point wasn't even in her mind as the chemical was now embedding itself thoroughly in her bloodstream, running rampant like a child on a sugar high. Her hands tightened roughly around John's jacket lapels, or perhaps he grabbed her it wasn't really clear at this point, as Sanguaze found her pinned flush against the wall as she pressed her feverish forehead against his own, her vision only shifting once as she could hear Owen rounding the corner.
Her rationally was shed like an old skin, as her lips latched onto his own in a completely uncontrolled fashion, as she let out a very loud audible noise rise from the bottom of her throat. It wasn't really clear if it was just a vocalization habit of hers, or whether it had been done to goad on a particular onlooker, but she wasn't about to deny that for even those few moments she wasn't enjoying herself, because she was. She wasn't fighting back, it was wrong, but her mind was dancing to a completely different tune, as she finally relinquished herself from the lip lock letting out a drawled out gasp, leaning her lips near his ear.
John didn't have time to react. Her hands shot out and grabbed his jacket, pulling him toward her. He couldn't even resist, even if he had wanted to. As his initial shock began to abate, he leaned into the kiss. He felt the need in her mouth, his own matching it. He knew he was going to lose his battle of wills. Behind him, he could hear Harper getting close. Bloody buzz-kill, he thought, as he fought a silent war with his hands. He kept them clenched at his sides willing them to not reach out to touch her burning body.
She moaned and he felt his knees buckle. Oh Christ, how badly he wanted to give in and let his libido take control. She was driving him beyond all rational thought when she finally released him from their kiss and leaned into his ear.
"Sorry, lover. Best to act caught in the moment, rather then the heralding boss." Was all she said as she darted from her loosened position against the wall, behind John away from Owen and darted headlong towards the fire exit. Slamming the door open she stumbled out into what was a very narrow alleyway, just about a shoulder's length and a half in diameter as she pressed her forehead against one of the grimy walls panting unstably.
John turned, spied Harper and growled audibly before following Sanguaze out the door and into the alleyway. He watched as she leaned against the wall, her breathing erratic. The cool night air didn't seem to faze her, though it did give him a chill. He walked over to her, reaching out a hand to brush her hair from her face. "Not as stupid as I look, darling. Harper will see what he wants to see, regardless of how much tongue was involved." He gave her a weak smile that fell immediately. The breeze kicked up her scent and he could tell she was really not well.
If someone hadn't pick up by now that Sanguaze was ill it should have been quite obvious only a few moments that she had crossed the thresh hold from inner to outer, Sanguaze found herself retching an almost transparent congested filmy purple liquid with a sickening noise against the grimy brickary in front of her. Everything in her mind was a-wash with a haze, a nauseating sensation that no matter how many time you stuck your hand down your throat or cleared out the corner store's entire stock of peptobismol it seemed to just ingrain itself further. Now if Sanguaze wasn't in the state she was now, she would have torn John's club down nail by nail with her bare hands and stake whatever bloodthirsty vampire had tried to kill this werewolf with a shiney silver bullet. Not that Sanguaze was really an expert on 21st century pop-culture.
John had said something but it hadn't registered as her body shook, her guttered spasms temporarily muting out the first phrase that had exited his mouth, and instead had her ears ringing as she banged her head not so gently against the surface in front of her. He had moved a strand of hair that was clinging stickily to the surface of her forehead and temple, as she could feel his anger radiating in leaps as his emotions seemed to catch alight in a steadily growing infuriation. It hurt. She was grasping at straws now, her years of mental discipline and the ability to blot out the emotions of those around you was faltering, shattering into a million pieces. She was burning up in his rage, lust, fear. Oh God stop. Make him stop. No you can't, you cannot reveal your true nature, he is from the past.
John ran his hand down her face and tilted her chin up to him. "Who did this to you, love?" he asked, not expecting an answer. Her skin was pale and off. Anger began to roil within him. His voice came out in a growl. "If Harper thinks he is going to come into my house and hurt you, he'll have to go through me."
"Stop, your hurting me!" Sanguaze couldn't help it, something deep down within her dormant genes from centuries past had broken free of its chains, as she found herself lashing out mentally those four words projected violently on a level that had not been seen in her species since the creation of her species. Telepathy. It had been bred out of her race as it was too much for the compatibility of a Human and Trygarian to mentally cope with, as they instead opted with holding onto the gift of empathic projection. Not tonight. No, the beast that had laid dormant for hundreds of years was lashing out with a scared and very primal instinct that had the potential to hit any mind within the vicinity or miss completely. It terrified her.
John dropped his hand and physically startled. He just basically said he would die for her. He didn't even know her and he felt so protective of her. He had never become this way for anyone, not even Jack. Yes, his feelings for Jack rival none that he had ever known, but Jack was on his own. He wouldn't have died for him. Hell, he killed Jack personally, multiple times. This was the first time that his natural feelings of self-preservation were ignored.
He wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees at this woman's feet. She just demanded such devotion. It was something about her, something that went beyond her scent or her kick-ass skills. She was special and he felt the need to protect her with every fibre of his being.
Sanguaze hadn't noticed John suddenly stiffen, or the sudden abrupt ending to his words, but she had felt the loss of heat from his hand as it drop to his side. It sent shiver of loss to the base of her spine, of pining, and a vile taste at the back of her throat which was being quickly drowned out by her fired up hormones. It was wrong, but so was this whole situation, this century, this time line.
Then he was there again, closer enough now to provoke a low growl from the base of her throat, the meaning unclear as to whether it was one of warning or desire. Perhaps it means the same thing when it comes to her. Warning, do not place fingers, toes or any appendage outside the ride at anytime, the framework is very sharp and the park is not responsible for anyone's limbs while on the premises. Thank you for riding Sanguaze's emotional roller coaster, and have a pleasant stay.
John touched her face again, this time testing her body temperature. He knew she naturally ran high from when he was walking with her earlier, but this was beyond all that. She was feverish, sweating and wobbly on her feet. He wanted to take her back to his warehouse. It wouldn't be as nice as his office in the club but it would be safer, especially with Harper trolling about the joint.
"Can you walk, love?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder
Sanguaze couldn't hold out much longer either way, and by misfortunes hand or a predetermined fate, not only moments after John had inquired after her Sanguaze's body jerked up into an upright position that would even put a billboard to shame. As just on schedule in the uncensored children's Sunday morning cartoon, out tip-towed Owen Harper with his metaphorical sawed off shotgun, ready to blow off the head of one 'wascally wabbit'.
"Oh you bastard!" Owen basically screamed his words, all with an angry growl to his voice as he watched Captain John disappear out of the door with Sanguaze. That man was everywhere, just like bloody weevils, and just like them, he belonged in the sewer. Picking up a run, Owen reached for the door handle just as he heard the booming voice of one of the guards over his shoulder. 'I don't think so mate.' The man towered over Owen, using his size to try to bully the gunman, but he wasn't dealing with a regular criminal - this was Torchwood. Owen opened the door a little, before looking back at the other man. "Well you know what... mate?" With a sharp movement, he pulled the door open, effectively slamming it into the bouncer's face. There was no mistaking the crunch of a broken nose as the man clutched his face in pain. "I do." And with that, Owen slipped through the door and out into a cold Cardiff night.
He stopped pacing over to them when he was a few yards away. A safe distance for Sanguaze he thought, she didn't look in any condition to defend herself if John decided to take a hostage. Still, the alleyway was narrow, and so there was nowhere to run other than backwards for John, Owen would not let him get past his way. He'd shoot him first, and there would be zero remorse. The man in front of him murdered Toshiko Sato, in his mind at least, and so he deserved to die. And that was before he even thought about what had happened to Sanguaze. "What the hell have you done to her?"
Then he saw them, and heard them. Well, he heard John's last bit of dribble and he nearly threw up in full view of the city. How dare that man call anyone love after what he'd done? Owen made his way over slowly, trying to calm down his body language but failing miserably - steam was practically coming out of his ears. His gun was pointed at John's head, and there was very little stopping him from pulling the trigger. He aimed his words at Sanguaze, but John was the one he was expecting a reaction from. "Don't get too close to him, you don't know where he's been and fuck knows what you'll catch."