If one were to look at a map of Southern California and tried to locate the town of Sunnydale, they wouldn't find it easily. On many maps, the town is usually considered part of Gotham City, that third great city of California. Barely one mile separates the town of 20,000 from the city of almost 2 million. That road isn't even a highway as it is a street with nothing on it. Called 'No Man's Land' by residents of both cities, there are only streetlights along it, nothing else. No houses, no stores, no bars or rest stops. No police patrolled it, and neither city owned it. It was an empty little spot between what was supposed to be a small, exclusive little town, and what many considered one of the most unique cities in America.
Gotham City was an East Coast city that somehow found its way to California. Unlike Los Angeles or San Francisco, which were built out, Gotham was built up. Its skyscrapers had defied earthquakes, fires and floods for almost 200 years. It was one of the most well known cites in the United States, infamous for the crime rate and the incredible wealth it generated. Second only to New York in high finance, it also boasted the largest and most diversified industrial complex on the West Coast. While stockbrokers and bankers made a killing on the floors of the Gotham Stock Exchange, workers killed themselves producing everything from cars and jet engines to industrial chemicals and fertilizers.
Being so unique had its drawbacks though. The highest violent crime rate in the country was another of Gotham's claim to fame. Since the turn of 20th Century, organized crime had held incredible influence over the bustling city. During prohibition the city had been a battleground for competing crime families and syndicates. While open warfare was rare now, there was a constant undercurrent of danger that filled the city, especially at night. The criminal underground of Gotham City was the real power in the area, its influence stretching like dark tentacles of corruption and decay across the entire city and all across the country. The bosses of Gotham weren't the elected officials and the police, they were the heads of crime families and the legions of thugs and street punks under their employ.
The inhabitants of the city had come to accept the way of things, becoming almost indifferent to the turf wars that would erupt occasionally. While there were still good men and women trying to make the city a better place to live, they were just a handful compared to the thousands that closed their eyes, or the hundreds that were on the take. Corruption was rampet in City Hall and Police Headquarters, where public servants beyond count did the bidding of crime lords, tired of fighting for an apparently lost cause and deciding to get a piece for themselves.
It was in this climate that the people of Sunnydale felt rightly proud of their tiny place on the map. While many people thought that Sunnydale was in fact part of Gotham, anyone from that little town would be happy to tell them that they were, in fact, not. Sunnydale had its own police and fire departments. Sunnydale Memorial Hospital may have been small, but it was just as equipped as its larger Gotham counterparts. The town boasted its own grade, junior and high schools, the latter of which was considered one of the best in the country. Sunnydale High School would only except students from families living in the town, which in practicality made it more exclusive then many private schools.
On the very outskirts of Sunnydale, well outside the town limits, was a castle. Harris Manor had been transported stone by massive stone from England. Completely restored to its 16th century grandeur, the impressive structure that had once stood guard at York, was now nestled in the high hills of Southern California. After the Harris' had died, many had expected that Harris Enterprises would petition to have the castle turned into a historical landmark and tourist site. That hadn't happened of course, when a young Alexander Harris, still morning his parents absolutely refused to part with his home. While the three trustees of the Harris estate could have done it anyway, they'd decided to abide by the young boy's wishes. All but one of the trustees had expected that eventually Xander would tire of being practically alone in the foreboding mansion.
That former trustee and legal guardian to the boy until a few months ago was now dusting the frame of a Rembrant that hung in the main hallway of Harris Manor. Alfred Pennyworth had quite a few 'former' titles to him. Soldier and spy, hero and, in some sadder circumstances beyond his control, villain. Though, for almost 30 years, he'd been the primary caretaker to this huge home, and caregiver to Alexander Harris.
Alfred often thought on the blind luck that had led him to that Gotham apartment all those years ago, answering an advert for a butler in a paper. His first meeting with Dr. and Mrs. Harris, and how they're kindness and excitement for the home they were having built in the hills had made an impression on him. Though he'd never intended or even imagined that he would stay with them so long, he had taken to the young couple quickly, and they to him.
He would regale young Xander with their informality of the first years, how they treated him, not as a paid servant, but as a member of the family, even in front of company. How Richard Harris had balked at being called 'Master' for the first time. The couple had never really gotten comfortable with the titles. They'd eventually consented, at least in public. In private, Alfred was family.
Having no family of his own, or at least none that he had spoken to in decades, Alfred had felt privileged to have been embraced by this family. When the elder Harris' had died and their will made him Xander's guardian and part trustee of the boy's estate he had been awestruck at their trust in giving them their only child to raise. He'd taken that responsibility with a seriousness that sometimes even frightened him. Fiercely protective of the child, Alfred had done everything he could to safeguard Xander, and what he saw as the long-term interests of the boy.
Alfred was not a man easily impressed. Years of intrigue under Her Majesty's Government and decades of experience rubbing elbows with the most elite of high society, had given the old spy a certain perspective on people. But from the moment Alexander Harris had spoken his first words, the boy had continually impressed him. His energy and interest in everything around him. His mind, even at that early age had astounded Alfred. As a child, Xander had shown that even then, when he set his mind to something, whether it was learning to play the piano or learning Latin, he would do it with a single minded determination that often disturbed others around him. He would throw himself into something with no thought to anything else. Alfred had recognized it for what it was; hunger. Hunger for knowledge, for skills, details about everything and anything.
After his parents had died, Xander changed in many ways. He'd become more quite and withdrawn. He would disappear for days at a time, and then show up at their doorstep, bruised and dirty. Alfred never asked where he'd been or what he'd done. The trust between the two, remarkable before the Harris' deaths, was now unbreakable. Secrets were unknown between them. If there was a question, it was answered. It was only Alfred's years of training as both a butler and a government agent that kept his questions to a minimum. He'd learned long ago that Xander would speak when he needed to.
That was how he'd learned of Xander's…crusade. Alfred had watched silently as the years passed. Watched as Xander's interests had shifted from things like music and art, to more…practical things. Like chemistry and metallurgy. Geography and natural sciences. Forensics science and physics. Trips that would lasts months to far remote places in Asia, South America and Africa.
He'd watched as Xander forged his body into a tool. A weapon. He didn't workout for vanity. Didn't train to impress people. Alfred watched without comment as Xander would train himself in dozens of fighting arts. From the most elegant of marital arts to the most grueling forms of street fighting, Alfred had simply cleaned up the bloody towels and sweat stained clothes, never questioning why his young charge was pushing himself toward.
Alfred had known that Xander did nothing without an eye on the larger picture. The boy always thought at least 5 steps ahead of everyone else. Xander Harris was control-obsessed. He needed order. Where there wasn't order, he felt drawn to bring order. Alfred had seen him watching the news, a clenched jaw the only visible sign of his…need. To do something. Anything. It was an almost physical reaction.
So when Xander came to him one night 2 years ago and told him his plan, Alfred finally understood. His first reaction has been to try to talk the boy out of it. A one man crusade against crime? Becoming what was basically a vigilante. It was insane. Unthinkable for a boy not yet old enough to vote, to wage a war without end. Instead, he'd simply asked how he could be of service.
It was that night Batman went from an idea to a reality.
The creation had been slow. It had had to be. There had to be no record of anything. Tools had to be made, bought, and more then a few times, invented from scratch. Machines and computers needed to be found and built. And then there was the Cave…
Sighing to himself, Alfred gazed up at the Remebrant. But now it was all in place. The trail untraceable. And Batman was beginning to make his presence known, not only in Gotham City, but here in Sunnydale as well. The campaign had begun.
His contemplation was interrupted by the familiar sound of a motorcycle engine's growl as it approached. Setting down his feather-duster on an end table, Alfred was waiting by the front door before his charge put his hand on the doorknob, a glass of juice in his hands. "Master Xander," Alfred said in greeting, being relieved of the glass and receiving Xander's motorcycle helmet in its place. "Informative day at school, I trust."
"No."
Xander was a man of few words on a good day, so it was more the tone of his voice that made Alfred raise an eyebrow. Placing the black helmet down on small end table by the front door, he followed the young man as he walked with determination across the main hall. "I'm sure tomorrow will be better, sir."
"Doubtful."
Alfred watched with concealed concern as Xander removed his leather jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. "Dinner will be served at six o'clock," the butler said as he quickly picked up the jacket and draped it over his arm. "I assume you will want it served in the Cave?"
"Change of plans." Xander continued through the house with Alfred following faithfully at a distance. "I won't be starting my patrol at eight." Walking into his study, the boy didn't stop to even look at his servant. "I have to make an appearance at the Bronze."
"I see, sir." Alfred watched as Xander stopped at his desk for a moment. "I trust Ms. Rosenburg's request has not unduly disrupted your plans."
"Actually it was Cordelia who asked."
"I see, sir." It was only Alfred's years of experience at hiding his emotions that stopped a smile from crossing his features.
"I'll have dinner at seven thirty, if it's not too much trouble." Apparently finding what he was looking for, Xander turned from his desk and headed through the study and down another hallway, his eyes focused on the piece of paper he held.
"No trouble at all, sir." Following him, Alfred nimbly picked up the empty juice glass as Xander placed it on a passing desk. "Will there be anything else?"
"Yes. Could you make sure that the Vauxville is gassed up? I may need to give Cordy, Willow or Buffy a ride home from the Bronze. Cordy refuses to wear a helmet, Willow is scared out of her wits on the bike and…well, I'm not sure what Buffy's opinion is, but if it's like any of the other women in this town, she'll won't want to get on it."
"Buffy? You've made a new friend?" Alfred was proud that he'd managed to keep the surprise out of his voice.
"What? No." Xander stopped and raised his head from his notes to look at his friend with a frown. "She just started moved here. Willow's taken her under her wing, apparently. I don't think she likes me very much." A small smile flashed across Xander's features.
"I'm sure it is a temporary situation that will be soon be rectified, sir." Alfred allowed himself a small smile of his own as he noticed Xander's eyes cloud over in thought.
"She's…interesting." With almost a physical start, Xander's face shifted back into its usual neutral expression. "Thank you, Alfred. I'll be in the Cave if you need me."
Alfred watched Xander walk purposely toward down the hallway toward the library, where the entrance to the Cave was. "Of course, sir."
Knowing that the boy would spend the time between then and the time he had to leave to meet his friends, down in the Cave, preparing and working, Alfred sighed. Turning, jacket and glass in his hands, the butler went to prepare the Vauxville for tonight, before he retired to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
…___…___…
On first impressions, many found it strange that in what was traditionally a vampire dominated syndicate, at least the upper echelons, the second most powerful figure in the organization was a mortal human. Of course, after meeting him, most people quickly understood why.
Jack Rapier was one of the smartest, most deadly creatures walking on two legs, soul or no soul. His mind was an archive of information. From art, history and fashion, to other more practical fields such as chemistry, explosives and the best way to skin a man alive. The only fault that Jack had, was that he was utterly insane, which in his field of work, wasn't exactly a handicap. Most didn't realize that under the utterly cool and suave exterior, was a madman the like of which humanity thankfully creates only rarely. When the mask of humanity cracked, monsters backed away and smart men ran.
And it was that cool façade that was showing now, as Jack listlessly watched a press conference watched the 6 o'clock news, which was showing the highlights of a press conference. His features are surpassingly delicate, almost feminine in its beauty. Ice blue eyes seemed a million miles away as they gazed at the TV. Dressed in a gangsterish dark purple suit that would invite comment if worn by anyone else, Jack radiated arrogance and ease, manipulating a deck of cards with a one-handed shuffle with amazing finesse.
"Together we can make Gotham City a safe place for decent people to live and work and play," the talking head of Lindsey McDonald, Gotham's newest Assistant DA, said to a crowd of supporters and media.
Jack sets the cards on the table and taps them twice and lifts the first four cards off the top. All of them Jacks, each of them with a .22 caliber bullet hole through the center. "Decent people shouldn't live here," he says to the television. "They'd be much happier someplace else."
Jack keeps watching the TV with cold eyes, while a dark-haired woman glides over and snuggled against him. Lilah Morgan, 28, beautiful and Vincent Trick's kept woman, leans down and kisses Jack's ear. "Anything new?" she asks, her voice seductive and quiet.
Jack shrugs, his eyes still on the television. "The usual gas. If this clown could lay a hand on Trick... I would've had to kill him by now"
Picking up Jack's necktie from off the back of the chair, Lilah straddles him and playfully beings to tie it around his neck. "If Trick knew about us…he'd probably have you killed."
Apparently uninterested in her affections, Jack's eyes keep going from the television to his reflection in a near by vanity mirror. "Don't flatter yourself, angel. He's a tired old vampire. He can't run this city without me." Looking up at Lilah with contempt in his eyes, he gives her a half smile. "And besides, he doesn't know."
Consulting his watch, Jack stands up, forcing Lilah to get off him quickly, and reaches for his topcoat. Standing in front of the vanity, he runs a hand through sculpted hair, and checks out his ensemble. Placing hands on both of his shoulders, Lilah stands behind him and smiles. "You look just fine, Jack."
Craning his neck, Jack looks over his shoulder and gives her a look mixed with annoyance and pure confidence. "I didn't ask."
Shrugging her hands off him, Jack walks away from Lilah and leaves the apartment without a backward glance.
A.N- You may have recognized that last scene as from the movie. I'm adapting a few of the early scenes from the movie, which I thought was amazing, for the story. Only a few, and only ones pertaining to Jack. This isn't an adaption of the movie. I just thought that they did a great job with introducing Jack's character, that I decided not to fix a thing if it ain't broke.
Gotham City was an East Coast city that somehow found its way to California. Unlike Los Angeles or San Francisco, which were built out, Gotham was built up. Its skyscrapers had defied earthquakes, fires and floods for almost 200 years. It was one of the most well known cites in the United States, infamous for the crime rate and the incredible wealth it generated. Second only to New York in high finance, it also boasted the largest and most diversified industrial complex on the West Coast. While stockbrokers and bankers made a killing on the floors of the Gotham Stock Exchange, workers killed themselves producing everything from cars and jet engines to industrial chemicals and fertilizers.
Being so unique had its drawbacks though. The highest violent crime rate in the country was another of Gotham's claim to fame. Since the turn of 20th Century, organized crime had held incredible influence over the bustling city. During prohibition the city had been a battleground for competing crime families and syndicates. While open warfare was rare now, there was a constant undercurrent of danger that filled the city, especially at night. The criminal underground of Gotham City was the real power in the area, its influence stretching like dark tentacles of corruption and decay across the entire city and all across the country. The bosses of Gotham weren't the elected officials and the police, they were the heads of crime families and the legions of thugs and street punks under their employ.
The inhabitants of the city had come to accept the way of things, becoming almost indifferent to the turf wars that would erupt occasionally. While there were still good men and women trying to make the city a better place to live, they were just a handful compared to the thousands that closed their eyes, or the hundreds that were on the take. Corruption was rampet in City Hall and Police Headquarters, where public servants beyond count did the bidding of crime lords, tired of fighting for an apparently lost cause and deciding to get a piece for themselves.
It was in this climate that the people of Sunnydale felt rightly proud of their tiny place on the map. While many people thought that Sunnydale was in fact part of Gotham, anyone from that little town would be happy to tell them that they were, in fact, not. Sunnydale had its own police and fire departments. Sunnydale Memorial Hospital may have been small, but it was just as equipped as its larger Gotham counterparts. The town boasted its own grade, junior and high schools, the latter of which was considered one of the best in the country. Sunnydale High School would only except students from families living in the town, which in practicality made it more exclusive then many private schools.
On the very outskirts of Sunnydale, well outside the town limits, was a castle. Harris Manor had been transported stone by massive stone from England. Completely restored to its 16th century grandeur, the impressive structure that had once stood guard at York, was now nestled in the high hills of Southern California. After the Harris' had died, many had expected that Harris Enterprises would petition to have the castle turned into a historical landmark and tourist site. That hadn't happened of course, when a young Alexander Harris, still morning his parents absolutely refused to part with his home. While the three trustees of the Harris estate could have done it anyway, they'd decided to abide by the young boy's wishes. All but one of the trustees had expected that eventually Xander would tire of being practically alone in the foreboding mansion.
That former trustee and legal guardian to the boy until a few months ago was now dusting the frame of a Rembrant that hung in the main hallway of Harris Manor. Alfred Pennyworth had quite a few 'former' titles to him. Soldier and spy, hero and, in some sadder circumstances beyond his control, villain. Though, for almost 30 years, he'd been the primary caretaker to this huge home, and caregiver to Alexander Harris.
Alfred often thought on the blind luck that had led him to that Gotham apartment all those years ago, answering an advert for a butler in a paper. His first meeting with Dr. and Mrs. Harris, and how they're kindness and excitement for the home they were having built in the hills had made an impression on him. Though he'd never intended or even imagined that he would stay with them so long, he had taken to the young couple quickly, and they to him.
He would regale young Xander with their informality of the first years, how they treated him, not as a paid servant, but as a member of the family, even in front of company. How Richard Harris had balked at being called 'Master' for the first time. The couple had never really gotten comfortable with the titles. They'd eventually consented, at least in public. In private, Alfred was family.
Having no family of his own, or at least none that he had spoken to in decades, Alfred had felt privileged to have been embraced by this family. When the elder Harris' had died and their will made him Xander's guardian and part trustee of the boy's estate he had been awestruck at their trust in giving them their only child to raise. He'd taken that responsibility with a seriousness that sometimes even frightened him. Fiercely protective of the child, Alfred had done everything he could to safeguard Xander, and what he saw as the long-term interests of the boy.
Alfred was not a man easily impressed. Years of intrigue under Her Majesty's Government and decades of experience rubbing elbows with the most elite of high society, had given the old spy a certain perspective on people. But from the moment Alexander Harris had spoken his first words, the boy had continually impressed him. His energy and interest in everything around him. His mind, even at that early age had astounded Alfred. As a child, Xander had shown that even then, when he set his mind to something, whether it was learning to play the piano or learning Latin, he would do it with a single minded determination that often disturbed others around him. He would throw himself into something with no thought to anything else. Alfred had recognized it for what it was; hunger. Hunger for knowledge, for skills, details about everything and anything.
After his parents had died, Xander changed in many ways. He'd become more quite and withdrawn. He would disappear for days at a time, and then show up at their doorstep, bruised and dirty. Alfred never asked where he'd been or what he'd done. The trust between the two, remarkable before the Harris' deaths, was now unbreakable. Secrets were unknown between them. If there was a question, it was answered. It was only Alfred's years of training as both a butler and a government agent that kept his questions to a minimum. He'd learned long ago that Xander would speak when he needed to.
That was how he'd learned of Xander's…crusade. Alfred had watched silently as the years passed. Watched as Xander's interests had shifted from things like music and art, to more…practical things. Like chemistry and metallurgy. Geography and natural sciences. Forensics science and physics. Trips that would lasts months to far remote places in Asia, South America and Africa.
He'd watched as Xander forged his body into a tool. A weapon. He didn't workout for vanity. Didn't train to impress people. Alfred watched without comment as Xander would train himself in dozens of fighting arts. From the most elegant of marital arts to the most grueling forms of street fighting, Alfred had simply cleaned up the bloody towels and sweat stained clothes, never questioning why his young charge was pushing himself toward.
Alfred had known that Xander did nothing without an eye on the larger picture. The boy always thought at least 5 steps ahead of everyone else. Xander Harris was control-obsessed. He needed order. Where there wasn't order, he felt drawn to bring order. Alfred had seen him watching the news, a clenched jaw the only visible sign of his…need. To do something. Anything. It was an almost physical reaction.
So when Xander came to him one night 2 years ago and told him his plan, Alfred finally understood. His first reaction has been to try to talk the boy out of it. A one man crusade against crime? Becoming what was basically a vigilante. It was insane. Unthinkable for a boy not yet old enough to vote, to wage a war without end. Instead, he'd simply asked how he could be of service.
It was that night Batman went from an idea to a reality.
The creation had been slow. It had had to be. There had to be no record of anything. Tools had to be made, bought, and more then a few times, invented from scratch. Machines and computers needed to be found and built. And then there was the Cave…
Sighing to himself, Alfred gazed up at the Remebrant. But now it was all in place. The trail untraceable. And Batman was beginning to make his presence known, not only in Gotham City, but here in Sunnydale as well. The campaign had begun.
His contemplation was interrupted by the familiar sound of a motorcycle engine's growl as it approached. Setting down his feather-duster on an end table, Alfred was waiting by the front door before his charge put his hand on the doorknob, a glass of juice in his hands. "Master Xander," Alfred said in greeting, being relieved of the glass and receiving Xander's motorcycle helmet in its place. "Informative day at school, I trust."
"No."
Xander was a man of few words on a good day, so it was more the tone of his voice that made Alfred raise an eyebrow. Placing the black helmet down on small end table by the front door, he followed the young man as he walked with determination across the main hall. "I'm sure tomorrow will be better, sir."
"Doubtful."
Alfred watched with concealed concern as Xander removed his leather jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. "Dinner will be served at six o'clock," the butler said as he quickly picked up the jacket and draped it over his arm. "I assume you will want it served in the Cave?"
"Change of plans." Xander continued through the house with Alfred following faithfully at a distance. "I won't be starting my patrol at eight." Walking into his study, the boy didn't stop to even look at his servant. "I have to make an appearance at the Bronze."
"I see, sir." Alfred watched as Xander stopped at his desk for a moment. "I trust Ms. Rosenburg's request has not unduly disrupted your plans."
"Actually it was Cordelia who asked."
"I see, sir." It was only Alfred's years of experience at hiding his emotions that stopped a smile from crossing his features.
"I'll have dinner at seven thirty, if it's not too much trouble." Apparently finding what he was looking for, Xander turned from his desk and headed through the study and down another hallway, his eyes focused on the piece of paper he held.
"No trouble at all, sir." Following him, Alfred nimbly picked up the empty juice glass as Xander placed it on a passing desk. "Will there be anything else?"
"Yes. Could you make sure that the Vauxville is gassed up? I may need to give Cordy, Willow or Buffy a ride home from the Bronze. Cordy refuses to wear a helmet, Willow is scared out of her wits on the bike and…well, I'm not sure what Buffy's opinion is, but if it's like any of the other women in this town, she'll won't want to get on it."
"Buffy? You've made a new friend?" Alfred was proud that he'd managed to keep the surprise out of his voice.
"What? No." Xander stopped and raised his head from his notes to look at his friend with a frown. "She just started moved here. Willow's taken her under her wing, apparently. I don't think she likes me very much." A small smile flashed across Xander's features.
"I'm sure it is a temporary situation that will be soon be rectified, sir." Alfred allowed himself a small smile of his own as he noticed Xander's eyes cloud over in thought.
"She's…interesting." With almost a physical start, Xander's face shifted back into its usual neutral expression. "Thank you, Alfred. I'll be in the Cave if you need me."
Alfred watched Xander walk purposely toward down the hallway toward the library, where the entrance to the Cave was. "Of course, sir."
Knowing that the boy would spend the time between then and the time he had to leave to meet his friends, down in the Cave, preparing and working, Alfred sighed. Turning, jacket and glass in his hands, the butler went to prepare the Vauxville for tonight, before he retired to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
…___…___…
On first impressions, many found it strange that in what was traditionally a vampire dominated syndicate, at least the upper echelons, the second most powerful figure in the organization was a mortal human. Of course, after meeting him, most people quickly understood why.
Jack Rapier was one of the smartest, most deadly creatures walking on two legs, soul or no soul. His mind was an archive of information. From art, history and fashion, to other more practical fields such as chemistry, explosives and the best way to skin a man alive. The only fault that Jack had, was that he was utterly insane, which in his field of work, wasn't exactly a handicap. Most didn't realize that under the utterly cool and suave exterior, was a madman the like of which humanity thankfully creates only rarely. When the mask of humanity cracked, monsters backed away and smart men ran.
And it was that cool façade that was showing now, as Jack listlessly watched a press conference watched the 6 o'clock news, which was showing the highlights of a press conference. His features are surpassingly delicate, almost feminine in its beauty. Ice blue eyes seemed a million miles away as they gazed at the TV. Dressed in a gangsterish dark purple suit that would invite comment if worn by anyone else, Jack radiated arrogance and ease, manipulating a deck of cards with a one-handed shuffle with amazing finesse.
"Together we can make Gotham City a safe place for decent people to live and work and play," the talking head of Lindsey McDonald, Gotham's newest Assistant DA, said to a crowd of supporters and media.
Jack sets the cards on the table and taps them twice and lifts the first four cards off the top. All of them Jacks, each of them with a .22 caliber bullet hole through the center. "Decent people shouldn't live here," he says to the television. "They'd be much happier someplace else."
Jack keeps watching the TV with cold eyes, while a dark-haired woman glides over and snuggled against him. Lilah Morgan, 28, beautiful and Vincent Trick's kept woman, leans down and kisses Jack's ear. "Anything new?" she asks, her voice seductive and quiet.
Jack shrugs, his eyes still on the television. "The usual gas. If this clown could lay a hand on Trick... I would've had to kill him by now"
Picking up Jack's necktie from off the back of the chair, Lilah straddles him and playfully beings to tie it around his neck. "If Trick knew about us…he'd probably have you killed."
Apparently uninterested in her affections, Jack's eyes keep going from the television to his reflection in a near by vanity mirror. "Don't flatter yourself, angel. He's a tired old vampire. He can't run this city without me." Looking up at Lilah with contempt in his eyes, he gives her a half smile. "And besides, he doesn't know."
Consulting his watch, Jack stands up, forcing Lilah to get off him quickly, and reaches for his topcoat. Standing in front of the vanity, he runs a hand through sculpted hair, and checks out his ensemble. Placing hands on both of his shoulders, Lilah stands behind him and smiles. "You look just fine, Jack."
Craning his neck, Jack looks over his shoulder and gives her a look mixed with annoyance and pure confidence. "I didn't ask."
Shrugging her hands off him, Jack walks away from Lilah and leaves the apartment without a backward glance.
A.N- You may have recognized that last scene as from the movie. I'm adapting a few of the early scenes from the movie, which I thought was amazing, for the story. Only a few, and only ones pertaining to Jack. This isn't an adaption of the movie. I just thought that they did a great job with introducing Jack's character, that I decided not to fix a thing if it ain't broke.