A/N: Just a warning that Edge gets a little... Rated R in this chapter; nothing explicit mind you, but the implications and references are there. There's also drinking and drug use (marijuana) if you happen to be uncomfortable by that.
I've been undecided if I should up this fic to M for these reasons; I'm always horrible at judging content warnings and rating. Do let me know if this warrants an M.
Chapter 4: It's the Nighttime That Flatters
~CHRISTIAN~
Muffled bass rocked the walls of the narrow cubicle Edge, Christian, and Gangrel filed into. Shutting out the last glimpse of outside light as Gangrel closed the door behind him, they were left with only the soft glow of neon signs at either side of them to guide them further in. Nestled among clusters of band posters, event flyers, and advertisements, Christian took a moment to read them.
EMPIRE.
OPEN FROM DUSK 'TIL DAWN.
COCKTAILS AND LIVE SHOWS.
PLEASE DON'T DO GARLIC IN THE BATHROOM.
The last one sent him and Edge into a spell of confused snickering. Pointing, Christian turned to Gangrel. "Oh no, looks like they caught you last time."
Gangrel feigned frustration, crossing his arms and huffing in defeat. "Dammit. Now I'll need to search for a more discreet place to do all this good McCormick I got off my dealer today."
With a collective chuckle shared by the trio, Christian took up caboose behind Edge while they followed Gangrel down a cramped flight of stairs. The neon and papers followed alongside them in sparser quantity; in his observation Christian soon noticed much of it was just there to conceal widening cracks along the drywall. Some graffiti, too.
MISSING - Have you seen this person?
Christian felt a lump in his throat when his eyes locked onto those of a stranger's trapped in a grainy photo. And he started seeing more of them, too, after discerning the first - many half-covered by more innocent posters, a few looking to be at least a decade old. It was at this moment his shoes started to become acutely more fascinating.
Not that it mattered for long. A right turn into another short hallway - an easy but hesitant step past a guy slumped on the floor and reeking of whiskey. Soon enough they met the final door. It stood ajar, shafts of strobing blue-green light piercing through the slant, cutting the umber of the passageway. A tantalizing glimpse of what awaited on the other side.
Christian would be lying if he said he wasn't excited. He never really pictured himself as someone to go clubbing - didn't have the mind or desire to. This would be a new atmosphere, a different experience, and anything like that sounded like a good way to end a day of relative monotony. And he felt it safe to assume Edge still shared those thoughts; staring at the back of his head may not give him a good read on his sibling's expression but his posture already seemed more relaxed than earlier. Good. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to worry about a repeat of earlier in the evening. Not that Christian will completely cease his hovering. Just in case.
Glimpse became open gaze - dull thrum became a quaking roar. The heart of the club in all its glitz and grunge opened to them with a smooth push of the final door.
Past the threshold the three men soon found themselves engulfed. Packed from the first step outwards, bodies jiving to the rhythm of the booming music threatened to pull the trio apart. Gangrel motioned for the brothers to stay closer; Edge and Christian had to practically push their way through, to where they followed their strange acquaintance to the adjacent half of the room. Here the dance floor ended. Instead, they weaved around a section of occupied tables and booths until they found a place to put themselves at the bar beyond it all.
"Gangrel! Welcome back! Been too long since you've popped in." A squeaky mid-atlantic accent was not the kind of voice Christian expected to come out of the bartender, who by all means appeared to be the picture you'd likely find when looking up 'depressed goth' in the dictionary. As Edge and Christian slid into stools, Gangrel made a show of taking her bony, black-nailed hand and giving it a peck.
"As you know, Helen, I tend to drift around a lot. But at least you look as lovely as last time - haven't aged a day, I'd say!" he said.
"Hah! Funny guy. Always nice to serve a gentleman," Helen tittered. She paid heed to the brothers as she resumed her idle cleaning of the counter; her gaze flicked between them, then Gangrel. Then back to them. Back and forth. "And who are these two? This a family outing?"
Gangrel laughed.
"Oh no... they're acquaintances of mine. I was hoping to get them out to live a little."
"Yeaah, you two are lookin' a little high-strung. Hopefully the Empire will fix that for you. What kinda juice you think could loosen you up?"
"... Um..."
Christian opened his mouth only to close it. He was a bit taken aback by her passing remark, wondering how a comparison could be drawn. Just their hair, he guessed? Then he was left indecisive on what to order. Their sizeable selection was in shining display, stretching the length of the bar. Brandy. Whiskey. Gin. Vodka. Rum... he usually just had beer. But still there were many brands of beer, craft or otherwise, taking up one shelf.
"What's the... least expensive? -"
"Please," Gangrel clicked his tongue, "No need to be frugal. Pick whatever you wish."
"Yeah but we only have -"
"I didn't say anything about you boys using your money, did I?"
Christian blinked at Gangrel, disbelieving. Not only did this guy weasel them out of repercussions the night before - not only personally went to see their show - but was treating them to a club and drinks on his wallet? Maybe he just wasn't used to courtesy, but this was starting to make him feel strange... a strange, guilty sensation... either way, though, he was also grateful.
"Thanks, Gangrel. We'll owe it to you," Christian smiled. "Right, Edge?"
An elbow in the ribs stirred Edge from his silence. "Yup, yup. Just write up a bill for us."
So Christian ended up choosing some kind of local craft beer with some radical name that immediately drifted from his mind when Helen poured it to a foaming head in a glass.
Edge was currently still deciding. The younger blonde could practically see the gears turning.
"Uh... what mix drinks you usually serve?"
"Well, there's always our specials. Today's is A Lonely Island Lost in the Middle of a Foggy Sea."
Edge blinked. "Jesus Christ."
"What a name." Christian agreed.
"A mouthful, ain't it? Hmm... y'know, actually, I take you as a Sex on the Beach kinda fellow."
That must've got Edge really thinking. Grinning coyly, he leaned sideways against the counter, arm sliding upon her newly polished counter. "In more ways than one, honey. Serve it up."
Not impressed. Helen returned to Gangrel. "Mmmhm, sure thing pal... and you, Gangrel? Ya want the usual, or has your palette changed?"
"If it had, I still couldn't pass up the way you make it." He said. Neon light glinted off his fangs, and Helen matched the smile. Charming.
The woman moved like clockwork, leaving the three men to talk amongst themselves. Gangrel swerved in his stool to face the life of the club; Edge followed suit, shooting the fanged man a displeased look too exaggerated to be taken as genuine.
"Hey man, where do you get off?"
"What do you mean?"
"She totally blew me off! Yet you charm her pants off with your old fuddy-duddy manners."
Gangrel snorted and rolled his eyes. "Alright? I'm sorry women have standards?"
An opportunity to bully Edge? Christian smelled blood in the water. Easier talking than worrying about Edge's health. He spoke after taking a sip of beer, "And you gotta admit that attempt so reeked! A toddler can make stronger one-liners. You've been out of the game too long."
Christian heard the hinges of Edge's seat squeak; he must've just dramatically swerved to face him. "As if you've ever been in the game?"
"I had a girlfriend."
"If that's what you wanna call Rhyno, sure, but you're definitely not the one wearing the pants in that relationship."
... That prick.
Now he was the one turning to confront the taller blonde. He didn't realize until last second he impulsively wore a pout, arms crossing. Edge, laughing, nudged Gangrel.
"Now look at that face, Grel! He's just proving my point!"
"Well, even in some alternate universe where that's actually a thing, I'm sure it would still have more integrity than the whole 'squeeze of the week' deal you had going on in high school."
Edge matched Christian's expression with one of condescension. He never broke eye contact even as Helen slid over his Sex on the Beach. "Maybe I'm not looking for integrity. Maybe I just want fast and loose."
"So goes the life of the Canadian Gigolo." This was Gangrel's response. Christian nearly spit his beer.
"I'm not a Gigolo."
"Tell that to Mrs.Beaumont. No way you could suddenly ace math overnight without a little... bartering." Christian said.
"First of all -" Edge paused, finger lifted as he calculated a good defense. "Fuck you, I was at least legal age at that point."
'Still creepy..." But his brother returned to Gangrel before Christian could voice the thought.
"Second. What about you, lady killer? I bet you have at least a few centuries of fooling around under your belt."
Gangrel had now received his own drink - to no one's surprise, some deep red concoction within a glass chalice. He took the time to savor it. A throaty chuckle, muffled by the liquid, followed; a few drops trickled down his chin.
"Believe me, my dear Edge," He started. "I could just point and say 'that one' and have pick of whatever woman I want. But, I'm quite happy as a married man."
Automatically Christian's eyes went to Gangrel's hands. Not a ring in sight.
"Oh yeah? Who's the ball and chain?" Edge questioned.
"Does the name Luna Vachon sound familiar to you?"
Edge and Christian exchanged glances. Really? It couldn't be...
"Paul Vachon's daughter?" Their response was simultaneous.
Gangrel nodded.
"Wait. So that..."
"... Means you boys' promoter is my father-in-law. Unfortunately."
Some pieces fell into place at that moment. Gangrel's recognition of the Suicide Blondes yesterday; his presence at their event today. Christian doubted Paul was touting praises of them behind their backs, but the family connection must give Gangrel some inclination to be in the loop.
Small world indeed, huh?
"What I'd give to be a fly in the wall at those Thankgivings..." Edge murmured. He shook his drink idly, facing the crowd again. Christian compared the look his brother had to a bird surveying for it's next meal. "... How is Luna anyway? Like, how is she like? From how Paul mentions her they aren't on the best terms..."
Christian mimicked Edge. While also passively admiring some of the ladies on the dance floor, he moreso absorbed the general ambience. The energy. The life. Ironically, it relaxed him. "Yeah, I don't think Luna's ever even popped in at Paul's events. Not since we've been employed there, at least."
"I've been blessed to not be invited on any Vachon family outings and I'd rather keep it that way. One of them is enough," Gangrel started. "I'm not sure how much you two may have watched of her in the WWF, but how she is between the robes isn't too different from reality."
"We've seen her, yeah... I still have nightmares of her hunting me for sport." Joked Christian. Half-joked. Maybe.
But wouldn't that murderous snarl and gravel-and-razorblades voice give any man pause?
Not Gangrel apparently. His next laugh was full-bodied, not choked down by his beverage this time. "My thoughts whenever we have an argument... however. I will say Luna can also be one of the sweetest people you'd ever meet."
"How's that?"
"That's exactly it, Edge. Most people question her demeanor based on first impressions, and don't give her a chance."
"That's... sad." Christian mused.
And to think him and Edge might've been on the verge of acting the same to Gangrel. This Gangrel seemed much different than the one they first met; more affable, down-to-earth, rather than dubious and offputting. He pondered whether the club also worked its effect on him - or are they just easing into his peculiar company? The youngest blonde felt himself wanting to inquire Gangrel more. Ask about the Vampire Warrior. His experience in the business. Maybe even exchange pointers.
Edge's interest, meanwhile, fixed unto something particular within the mass of bouncing bodies. Next thing Christian knew a half-empty Sex on the Beach was practically slammed upon the counter and - unlike his brutal movement - the taller man wore an ear-to-ear grin at Christian. His thumb was pointed over his shoulder at something. All he had to say for his intense actions were, "Hey. Check out that babe."
Christian leaned sideways. A parting in the crowd revealed quite an attractive young woman, bounding over to an empty table.
"Think I may have some luck tonight?" Edge continued.
"Judging from what happened just an hour or so ago? Not really," Replied Christian. It struck him as strange that Edge's demeanor had completely flipped. Did Gangrel and his' teasing give him drive to do this? Nevertheless, the sight of his brother actually enjoying himself made him smile.
"Oh wait. That's right, I forgot..." Clenching his fingers together, Edge made his best puppy eyes, his most pitiful childish whine. "Mummy, do I have your permission to talk to dat girl? Promise I won't hallucinate again."
Easy laughter between them. "You better not, 'cause there's no way I'm being a voyeur just to make sure."
"Ohh. So you do believe in my chances."
"Your chances to awesomely fail - of which I'd find sadistic pleasure in were I a witness."
"... Freak. Watch me go -"
Yet Edge's woman quest came to a halt - Gangrel took hold of his arm as soon as he rose to his feet.
"Wait."
In a classic Edge display of edge, he jerked his arm from Gangrel's grip, snapping, "What now?"
Unperturbed, Gangrel fished into his jacket pocket. From it he produced a necklace. It was a black velvet band, short like a choker, bearing a metallic emblem Christian could only vaguely describe as a set of fangs enclosed in a circle. He held it out to Edge.
"Take it. Wear it so it's clearly seen." Said the fanged man.
"Why?" Edge asked.
"A few of the regulars here are more... unsavory types," Gangrel said. "That pendant shows you're with me - and if they know what's good for them they'd give pause, if not back off completely."
Something... something about that sounded wrong. It didn't seem like some obvious 'stranger danger' warning. And why would a necklace of all things stop some rando with bad intentions? Was this how goth clubs operated, or something?
Christian figured the lump that now settled in his throat wouldn't go down unless he voiced those concerns.
"Err... and what exactly is that gonna protect him from?..."
"Yeah, am I like... walking into a war zone or something?"
Gangrel sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's just an extra precaution. I'm sure you've noticed this is a club tailored out of a derelict building - not exactly attractive to many moral people. However... it is exclusive, and I already have a respected standing among most of those people. So - they see the symbol, which denotes your association with me - they should know you're protected."
Edge was nodding along to the explanation enough so that he was practically a bobblehead sculpted with a face of shock and awe.
"Okay! So we just learned tonight that you're a well known drug lord or something, aaand you lured us into a VIP den of possible thieves and crackheads. Nice!" He said.
"Think what you will... just wear it."
The taller man relented. He snatched the necklace away, before opening his fist to further inspect it. In that moment Christian watched something most curious befall his brother. It was just a flash; quick to come and go just like the strobing lights above them. And maybe that fact was the reason he saw it, a trick of the light, that made Christian wonder if he'd only imagined Edge smiling softly at the symbol, grazing a thumb around its outline in a gentle and dare he say... loving way.
... Yeah. He definitely imagined it. Woo, was his beer surprisingly potent. Edge tossed his hair out of the way and put on the choker with his usual intensity.
"Alright. Locked and loaded. Now if you boys excuse me - I'm gonna go get laid!"
Christian and Gangrel were left keeping an eye on Edge from the bar as he strode away with confidence. Gangrel was snickering. It was contagious.
"Real piece of work, isn't he?" Christian asked, stifling his laugh between drinks.
"Takes all kinds..." Said the older man. "Yet I see you two are very close, despite that."
"Yeah?" He felt that was obvious. "We always are. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
... Oops? Of course that one word might open up some questions. Thankfully a little "ah, it's nothing" led to no pressing, and Christian went back to observing the wild Edge in his natural habitat. He was actually chatting animatedly with the woman now. The older brother appeared lively. When the chick coyly trailed her fingers across his cheek, and they stood up to integrate into the dance floor, Christian pondered if he too should act like a dipshit to woo women over.
"Are you going to join in on anything?" Gangrel finally asked. Not mad, just curious.
Christian glanced back briefly. Of course, he's been considering... but... "I'm not too big on casual hook ups, honestly."
"Nothing wrong with that. How about dance? Any interest in that?"
"May-" Oop. Nope. Stopping yourself right there, Christian. Nope, "Totally not. Trust me, my moves are heinous. Like. Complete heinosity..."
"What makes you so sure? Your hesitance indicates you'd enjoy it, if nothing else." Gangrel replied.
Sigh. Well, Christian put this on himself. He didn't dare to face his fellow wrestler a second time in case he was being accosted by that strange probing stare again; he had a funny feeling at his temple that was the case, and it'd only further the nosedive his composure was currently taking.
"It's just... eh... I'd be looking like a total dipwad in front of dozens of people..." He trailed off; excused it by downing the rest of his drink.
"No offense, but I didn't take you for someone afraid of standing out."
"How'd you figure?"
"Heh. Those gaudy sunglasses are a start."
Even if a light tease, Christian felt himself flush with indignation. He grabbed his beloved shades from the top of his head and dropped them over his eyes. In protest? Perhaps. "Hey! Don't diss the Big Bad Bloo-Doo Daddies, man. Grandma Edna said they're lucky."
Whatever response Gangrel had for that was pushed down by his chuckling.
"... I'm serious! Good things just came to her way when she wore them." Christian said.
"Good! Then you shouldn't have anything to fear wearing them."
"Maybe I shouldn't!"
Christian almost immediately ate those words as a sudden slap to his back nearly sent him tumbling out of his stool. Damn! That was stiff.
"Then go! I'll even join you. You can't possibly be worse than me." Exclaimed Gangrel.
"... Really? I didn't think you'd be interested in that."
"And how do you figure, now?" At the sound of the fanged man rising to his feet, Christian turned to him. He was wiping the remnants of his drink from his chin, before stretching. "I've been known to get down and funky with my bad self from time to time. I'm particularly good at swing."
Now Christian was laughing. He didn't need that mental image!
Then he surprised himself with how much enthusiasm he hopped out his seat. Ready to follow the fanged man into the crowd. His self-consciousness wasn't even an afterthought; whether it was their exchange or the liquid confidence settling in that changed his mind so completely wasn't clear even to him.
As long as he had a good time - did the reason really matter?
"Fine! Challenge accepted. I'll show you and all the other freaky goths here that I am the partaay!"
~EDGE~
This was good. This was real good. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Edge would say he had this in the bag all along. His smooth voice, his good looks, his toned physique... was he usually this assured? Not from any recent memory. Maybe years back when he was treating his high school days like Ridgemont High. But there was something about this club, the music and energy it emanated, that made him want to try again. Live a little.
And he was not regretting his choice once he was whisked away from the dancefloor, through a door near the stage where djs or musicians would perform on any other night. Then up a staircase and down a short hallway. A bit of a jaunt, sure, but a private studio room was what awaited at the end.
Edge felt like he should've said something either witty or questioning when he found himself tossed on his back into the plush comforter of the bed. It showed unexpected strength from this tiny woman. The frame also made such a ghastly creaking Edge wondered if the floor would be less of a hazard for what's about to follow. But no. He just snickered. And he felt like he should reciprocate some kind of movement when the woman pounced - pinning him down and locking him in a deep, fiery kiss.
But no. He let her go at him. He was liking this.
In a way, this was almost something he's wished he could obtain upon being a break-out superstar. A general carefree mentality, able to do and get what he wanted without thinking of consequence and what the next day might hold. Maybe a wish more suited to a rockstar, but hey - maybe he's listened to too many of them to tell the difference.
Not like it mattered. This point of his career held no fruits of this kind. He'd take what he could get tonight.
Time had slipped away from him. From some undefined point during their romp, Edge's mind had begun tumbling into a sort of hazy bliss. A feeling he might more bluntly describe as lightheadedness, so acute at it's peak he had felt ready to faint; though when mixed with the pleasure he imagined that was a danger he wouldn't mind falling to.
It left him picking up the pieces for the second time in a day as, with all said and done and the fog thinning, he came to realize it was only him now beneath the sheets. No weight pressed against him, no other heat besides what the bed provided.
Huh. When had that happened?
Edge struggled to pull the clumped blanket halfway off himself. The blast of cold that hit him was nearly enough to make him retreat back under it. He couldn't remember it being that chilly either - but there were simple conclusions he could chalk that up to.
There was no clear answer to why he soon spotted the chick that was seemingly with him not a minute before, reclothing with haste by the door. Her own gaze was that of a deer in headlights, afixed somewhere across the room.
"Hey?..." Edge ventured. His voice didn't sound right to him. Slurred. Distant. "You alright, babe?..."
She didn't answer. Didn't even acknowledge him. She was through the door before he could blink.
... Okay? Wham, bam, thank you ma'am...
Not like he'd expected breakfast in bed afterwards, but her behavior rubbed him the wrong way. Shame he couldn't pinpoint why that was at the moment. Sluggishly, he rolled his head in the direction she'd been staring -
Just a loveseat and an end table below a curtained window. An old remote was on the floor in front if it... was that on the floor the last time he had glanced that way?...
... Oh well.
No use overthinking. She gave him what he wanted, and gave it good. He was thankful, satisfied, and comfortably drained. If he wasn't concerned about a stranger trouncing through the door - or worse, what dark machinations Christian and Grel could get up to behind his back - he would fall asleep as he is.
The temperature in the room seemed to grow milder by the time he shuffled out of bed. A new pain replaced it, however - a stinging sensation at his neck. It wasn't unlike the feeling that needles left behind. Edge unconsciously reached up to feel it as he fought vertigo and groginess on his way to redressing.
Reentering the main room took longer than it should have, but Edge immediately wished he didn't return at all once met with the sight of Christian and Gangrel on the dance floor, an open space having been carved out for them by a semi-circle of onlookers.
The sight of Christian, break-dancing, with miraculous success.
The sight of Gangrel, doing a somehow graceful jig around him.
If he hadn't passed out before, Edge felt ready to now.
Should he just walk away like he didn't know them?
Too late for that - with a smooth whirl of his body Christian ended up facing his brother, lying on his side with an elbow propped and his head resting on his palm. His hair was frazzled and his beloved blue shades were dissarranged on his face to cover only one eye. Still, he beamed up at Edge. The two stared each other down like a Texas standoff.
"Sup lady killer," Said Christian.
"Sup lady repellant."
"You look like you're about to die from the sheer aura of my awesomeness."
"Actually, I'm about to die from the odor. You reek."
"Reek?... of awesomeness, maybe." Both having stopped by now at Edge's appearance, Christian sprang to his feet with a quick helping hand from Gangrel. His two fellow blindes stepped off the dance floor towards him. They were getting along well, it seems. All teasing aside, Edge was happy to see them enjoying themselves.
"So? How'd it go?..." Christian then probed. A thumbs up beside a broad smile apparently sufficed; Edge could always delve into details later if so inclined.
It was Gangrel, to Edge's surprise, that appeared inquisitive. Through narrowed eyes he was looking Edge over like a detective at a crime scene, "You do look faint, actually... how are you feeling?"
"Eh. Fatigued, mostly. A bit lightheaded -" He swore Christian's eyebrows nearly touched his hairline, "No, Chris, not like earlier. I'm not hearing or seeing anything I shouldn't. I'm just drained."
Edge doubted Gangrel could even see at this point - his eyes were just about slits. His arms crossed, fingers tapping his sides, and a fang biting down on his lip so much that it sliced the skin and sent a line of blood trickling down his chin... a stark difference in demeanor to what the Vampire Warrior had assumed a minute ago. Something about the air he put off, the way he stalked past Christian to lean in closer towards Edge - towards his neck - had the hairs there standing on end. The younger blonde had to put pride on the forefront. Fight the urge to duck away when Gangrel brushed his hair aside to inspect the source of his stinging pain.
"Hmm... she left a souvenir, I see..." Was that... a growl, that belied Gangrel's words? That had Edge toeing the line of fight or flight.
Gangrel straightened in a blink. He gave them no chance to interject, "You boys feel free to have another drink or two on my tab. I'll return in just a spell."
With that said, the Cage brothers watched him merge back into the crowd with no clear intent on dancing.
"Huh. What was that all about, you think?"
"Not a clue."
And Edge wanted to know, he did! Why a bite mark or hickey or whatever made Gangrel leave them in a sudden tizzy? Not like he ran into any dangers the older man warned him against...
... Oh, well.
Just another mystery he couldn't be bothered to solve. Too tired to care; caring too much about not thinking for the time being. Classifying Gangrel as a cryptid explained his behavior easy enough and Edge will leave it at that.
The wannabe vampire probably preferred it that way.
Edge and Christian would find themselves back at the bar soon after, chatting about pleasantly insignificant things while they waited for the bartender - an absence they noted with only a fleeting curiosity. They assumed she may be taking a break. When Helen did return to the counter, it was with a cigarette between her lips, accompanied by a scent that was certainly not cigarette smoke.
Edge would know the difference. Hell, anyone would know if they've every spent a day at Grandma Edna's house.
"Ohh, smoking on the job are we?" Teased the older Cage.
"Have been this whole time, pal. Helps me put up with all the bushwa and keeps me working good." She took a long drag, then exhaled. The cloud drifted around their heads like mist, reflecting myriad blurred colors from the strobe lights, irriating Edge's already sluggish mind. He could only wonder how it'd be with that in his system...
As though answering the thought, Helen held the joint out,
"Want a hit?"
~GANGREL~
"Have another drink or two," he said. "I'll return in just a spell," he said.
Mistakes were made.
"So they had about 8 shots apiece?"
"Of vodka to be exact."
"And?"
"And I also gave them some good hits of my reefer." Helen's tone was casual. She was absentmindedly cleaning said shot glasses, not even glancing up at Gangrel. "So what, doll? If you're worried about the tab, it's on me this time."
"I appreciate that - but I'm more so worried about where they toddled off to in such a state..." Gangrel murmured. He lifted his hand to inspect his nails.
He's already addressed one issue tonight. She ignored his mark? Then he gave her one she couldn't forget.
"Not too far. I made sure of it." He looked back up just in time to catch a set of car keys tossed his way. "From what they told me, they should be in and around the private rooms. All the hubbub was starting to get to them."
Gangrel thanked her. He was prompt on his way to the secluded sections, and once he ventured deep enough so that all the stimuli of the main room was safely muted behind the walls, he released a sigh.
"Alright, Edge... looks like I'll have to -"
A crash. Glass shattering.
A shout.
... Looks like he didn't have to track them down.
This noise came from down the hall; following a series of slurred exclamations between who were undeniably Edge and Christian, Gangrel was able to pinpoint them to the very last room.
Multiple things happened at once.
First, Gangrel heaved the door open to a mix of stale, unpleasant scents and the feeling of a heavy energy pushing into him. He caught sight of Edge and Christian stumbling backwards into a corner of a room, away from a broken vase. Christian tripped over nothing. Edge tried grabbing him - which led only to them both crumpling to the floor. With a click of his tongue, metal tinging off teeth, Gangrel approached.
"Tsk, tsk. You boys having fun?"
Edge appeared to be seeing three Gangrels. Christian popped his head out from under Edge's armpit.
"Gargamel!" They greeted in sync, with the gusto of children meeting their favorite mascot. Then Christian,
"We miiissed you, Gargalemel..."
And Edge. "There's no smurfsh here, Gagglegrel..."
Their following remarks were choked down in a fit of giggles, their faces flushing an even deeper red.
"I shame. I was getting hungry," Gangrel replied. "May I ask what what had to in a panic?"
Christian failed an arm - Edge let out an exaggerated 'agh!' as he was smacked by his bicep - at the broken vase.
"There's, ghostsh and sheeet. In here."
"Yeaah! Like, there was, uhh, like there was somebody there? Where the vase is... was. I think. And the vase went, 'phwoosh!'"
"But there are not there anymore..."
"That's... what I shaid, chumpshain!"
Gangrel let them compete in a brief series of ground grapples to settle this nonexistent argument. The word 'compete' taken lightly of course, as one might say two pieces of limp spaghetti might compete in a game of twister, as the technical bout ended with the brothers even more twisted up together than they were before. Somehow Christian's shoe found it's way on Edge's mouth, blocking the older brother's pitiful plea for aid.
Alas, generous soul that he is, Gangrel deduced this as a hopeless endeavor and went to untangle them. He spoke after he assured Edge and Christian were as steady as they could be on their feet. "I heard the club was getting to be a tad much for you. If you'd like we can call it a night well spent - I'll drive you two back to..."
"The motel!" Christian answered. "Pleasse, I feel like... I'll get gonorria if I suuck in this air more..."
"But thish where the magic happun!"
"Naasty..." Christian made a gagging sound; for a second Gangrel believe he might actually blow chunks. Then he started patting his chest. His face. "Where, where are my glasshus, Shexton?"
"Right there, ya knob!"
"Where!?"
Edge smacked Christian in the forehead. The younger brother's cry of anguish transformed into a pleased gasp when he reached up and felt his precious 'Bloo-doo Daddies'. Despite himself, Gangrel had to cackle.
Oh, to imagine the banter if they grew old...
With their persons double-checked for anything else they could have lost in their inebriation, Gangrel set himself upon the patient process of herding Edge and Christian out the room. This was paused when a sudden shiver halted Edge. When Gangrel turned his whole attention to the taller man, he noticed he was grasping at his chest.
At the necklace Gangrel gave him.
"It's like... something jusht.. grabbed it?" Pondered Edge.
In response, there came a whisper just barely audible.
"Heh... uss..."
"Whoa-ho! Did you guyss hear that? Ghosts and sheeet!" Christian cheered. "It's like... paranormal yahtzee tonight! No! Wait! Bingo! Yeahbingoo!"
But Gangrel and Edge ignored him, trapped in their own strange little moment. Pendant still held between his fingers, the expression that crossed Edge's features - the clarity in his gaze - was far too sober for his current state when he locked eyes with Gangrel. Yet it was only a glimpse; as gleeting as a spark that couldn't quite start a flame. Gangrel helped it along with a gentle pat on Edge's shoulder. A reassuring smile.
"The spirits are a little excited tonight, hm? We'll be fine once we leave."
Bessy the sad little station wagon sputtered to life, protesting the cold of the Canadian autumn night. Gangrel mocked a prayer for her health as he let her warm up. He was adjusting the rearview mirror just in time to watch Edge barrel into the backseat.
"I'm hungry." Christian announced. He managed to lock his passengers seatbelt after about five tries.
"Dah-dee we're hungry, can we go to McDolan's?" Edge repeated - then laughed at his own words. Gangrel looked back with a grin.
"No. Suffer."
That was that, apparently. The sound of Edge rummaging through the brother's bags was nearly as loud as Bessy as Gangrel turned her off into the street, away from the dank alley that housed the Empire. Destination motel...
"Hey! Chrish! Found chips."
"Don't want yur chips... uhh... hoser. Ha! Take that."
Gangrel was content to let them gab until he heard a surprised yelp beside him. A glance at Christian: Edge had clutched a fistful of his hair and yanked harder than he likely thought he was.
"Edge! Stop pulling your sister's hair!" He made his best scolding father impression.
And Edge did quit. But now Christian was looking at Gangrel like he'd murdered his dog - while a most mischievous smile from Edge graced the rearview...
...
"... Siister Christin ohh the time has coome..."
... Dear god. What has he done?
"And you know that you're the... only... one. To say. Okaaay."
"You just... had to shay it, diidn't you. Gargamel." Christian huffed.
"Sister Christhin you're grown up so faast... fuck I don't know the damn soong!... and yur motoriin!-"
Gangrel really didn't expect the night to end with a drunken serenade of Sister Christian setting the vibe of a cruise through drowsy downtown. He might have thanked Christian if he decided to match action with feeling and actually strangle him. He was nearly about to request it - before he heard snoring.
Christian was asleep.
Not long after, Edge's singing began to trail off. More snoring. At a stop sign just before the turn down the street to the motel, Gangrel took a gander around to confirm they were actually passed out.
... Mm-hm.
Well then.
That was faster than he thought.
The flickering vacancy sign of the motel passed by in a blur. A little further on and he drove past the town line. Houses along the road grew farther apart and eventually disappeared, leaving Bessy's headlights capturing only wilderness on either side.
Knowingly, he soon stopped by a parting in the trees - a discreet dirt road just wide enough to be able to sneak a car through.
"Ah... I hope you boys don't take this the wrong way in the morning..."
And fully aware they couldn't hear, Gangrel turned the car into the forest trail.
A/N: Top Ten Uber Driver Horror Stories :)
Do you know the grungy image of the Brood standing on a balcony? The cover of this story here on FF? I always wondered what the cut-off sign spelled but I have a good guess it's Empire. Because we have so little to go off of in terms of... I guess Brood lore is the best way to call it? (blehh), I decided to take this minute detail and make it a central part of the story.
Fun fact that all of Christian's sunglasses I've described thus far are not exactly made up: they're based off sunglasses he's actually worn in various images/segments. The Big Bad Bloo-Doo Daddies I'm quite confident was what he called the blue-silver one in a segment I can't seem to find on YouTube anymore. You can still find the segment where the Rock roasts E and C though, and he's wearing those glasses then.
Anyway, I had a blast writing this. I hope everyone else did while reading, whether you're new or have been patiently following the story.
