Mind the Gap [Maeve/Closed]

[Lazarus Carter]

9:05PM
FEBRUARY 12TH, 2012
BETWEEN BOND STREET AND OXFORD CIRCUS
UNDERGROUND RAIL
REGAL NECROPOLIS

No-one knows how or why the Underground trains in the Regal Necropolis continue to run. Only that they do without cease.

Some say they are the trains that ferry the souls of the freshly damned from one side to the other, and is one of many mechanisms for transporting the energy of the new arrivals in the Necropolis around. Others say that prior to the refining of Soul Energy within the Spire-borne City of Dis, dotted across the hellscape there are numerous subtle systems which in themselves generate and prepare raw soul energy before transporting it, and some believe that this is what the parallel of the London Underground functions with. And some simply say that it's a giant Demon in its own right; autonomous and spanning miles within the subterranean, dilapidated tunnels beneath Mammon's domain.

But no-one truly knows. The only true facts about the Necropolis lines are that they are inhabited by the foulest and dankest of Demons in the entire sphere, some truly abhorrent creations and machinations of Mammon herself; Weepers littered through the station ready to savage passers-by with their claws, or lurking in the dark; Blood Swords prowling through cavernous tunnels carved into the crumbling brickwork in the blacked-out underground tunnels proper... and, stemming from this, comes the assumption that it's one of the most awful places for Hunters and Templars alike to dare to venture in - let alone by themselves.

Which is, of course, exactly what Lazarus Carter had done.

With a thunk his open hand met the handle from one carriage to the other, and he pushed through; tugging the door shut behind him with a slam. The redhead bothered not to look behind him, and instead continued his incessant panting as he sprinted with every last and final ounce of energy through a new carriage. Each was linked, as was Underground policy - on Earth and here - but in mid-motion, normally, you couldn't move from one to the other. In Inferis? Completely possible. It wouldn't have been necessary, but-

A shattering of glass came from behind, and a rapid cacophony of a correlated and coalesced pattering of limbs and digits against the floor, the walls, the ceiling; from underneath lurched a near-subsonic series of chitterings, deeply unsettling and almost insect or arachnid in origin - but the unnerving half-silence was part of the reason that the teen's heart still beat yet in his chest, and that he clambered through carriage after carriage and, even though it was clearly in futility, slammed the doors behind him. But Lazarus was only human; his body was only so strong; and inside his veins his blood burnt and the sweat forming on his brow was making him clammy and disoriented.

"Fuuuuuuck!" His foot met an upturned tile of flooring linoleum and the redhead immediately fell straight, with full-force, along the floor of the carriage, head-first as his forehead seemed almost to glide along the very same gritty material, leaving a light, bloody streak as he skidded along for a good six or seven feet along the carriage. The only mid-fall soundtrack was Laz's cussing, followed only by a series of noises signifying clearly that the teen was having the wind brutally knocked out of him by the train, which was, in itself, debatably almost an entity of its own.

The fall had brought something of a boon with it though. Immediately the creatures behind him appeared distracted; and moved towards the tiny streak of blood that had formed, and began raising their chittering to a competitive coalition of snarls, followed only by greedy thuds as they attempted to trump one another. Rubbing his head and rolling over onto his back, remembering his predicament, the sight Laz was greeted with was in itself as harrowing as he'd thought; pale blue, deformed, stretched skin. Unnaturally long and disjointed arms. Multiple glistening but hollow eyes which stared only with an empty gaze; great, bulging red sacs which wobbled to and fro with every shiver or ripple in the carriage, which gave them only a shaking appearance. And in spite of it all, through the hunched humanoid yet quadrupedal stature, the most fearful was yet to come. A proboscis of a bloody sheen extending from the Demon's forehead.

Three of them clambered and occupied themselves over the crimson stain on the floor, limbs flying everywhere; unnatural for a Demon he had presupposed as stealthy and somewhat subtle seeming almost rabid in the presence of a little bite to drink, having completely ignored him. Which meant it was the teen's chance. His chance to retaliate. With their mouths agape, tapered teeth, row upon row, hanging down with the dribbling pink-tinted saliva, they were occupied only with one another, hissing in primal, animalistic noises, apparently trying to determine who deserved most the honour of first sip.

So the teen took it upon himself to quietly retrieve the Nomad still clenched tightly in his left hand, having used it as a deterrent during the chase, and his other palm to open the carriage doors. Raising it up, he cocked a smirk off and smiled, almost figuring to say something witty, sharp, and half-cringeworthy, but, it wasn't worth it. He had three of them to take care of. Sitting ducks or not. Quickly as possible. So... he just squeezed the trigger. With all the might left in his exhausted fingers, he pressed down and pulled that tiny little metal prong tight until it jammed into place...

...and released an echoing, unfortunate, absolutely damning, and completely harrowing noise. An empty click. "Oh. Shit." With that chaos burst out at a moment's notice; and the teen scrabbled backwards as the distraction of the congealing blood - and thus, his element of surprise - promptly shattered into an unconvincing and underwhelming sense of completion. Two of them continued to clamber with their elongated limbs after him as the third greedily began to lap like some sort of psychologically and physiologically deformed man-thing at the blood, faster than a kitten at milk.

It was only when the intercom began to crackle that both Laz and the Bloodlurkers looked up to the speakers; a voice rang out. The typical tannoy announcement system on the Underground he was so familiar with in London proper - but the pitch altered in some manner. In such a way it shot shivers down his spine, almost a harrowing, empty, abnormal, supernatural undercurrent to the woman's voice. "Next station is Oxford Circus. Change here for services to the Victoria and Bakerloo lines, or for a healthy serving of eternal torment." The teen blinked. That was different, too.

"Doors will open on the right hand side." Lowering his head he met the unblinking, unfaltering, hollow gaze of the nearest Bloodlurker, who had almost, in other distractions, paused his pursuit of the young Hunter. A second's lapse still laid there - and making as best use of the time as he could, Lazarus rose his bloody, gritty boot, and promptly launched the bottom sole of it with all his might into the abhorrent creature. It squealed with a high-pitched whine, and recoiled backwards from the impact, collapsing into its competitive cohort, and was sent promptly sprawling down the carriage as the train slowed.

The brakes hissed and the teen scrambled to his feet, straightening out his jacket instinctively with a sigh. One of the Bloodlurkers, still apparently dazzled from his collapse into the other, poked his head up from underneath the mess of tied-together limbs and drew back its lips into an aggressive snarl at the teenager. Promptly the redhead rose his clenched fist and unfurled his middle finger, the doors beginning to slide open. "Fuck the lot of you." With that growl, he swerved around one of the hand poles, and pulled himself from the carriage, leaping off and down onto the ruined, grimy platform with another grunt.

It was only a few moments before the doors slammed shut and the train began to depart; the Bloodlurkers untangled themselves and rose their unwieldy limbs to slap at the panes of glass and howl through the windows, apparently upset at only being left with a meagre stain of coagulated, and presumably either all-dried or no longer present thanks to the feline lapping up of the one who had been left behind. But it was all completely futile. The train had already as good as left the station. The brakes disengaged and it was not a moment before it shot away and down the tunnel, leaving the station in a dim, and almost completely lightless environment, shards of twilight perforating gaps in the uneven and broken tiling.

Laz turned away and stuffed one hand into a pocket, dissipating the only Nomad he clutched with the other, and gingerly dabbed at his forehead, wincing lightly. It was a light gash - but he could tell there was going to be a nice, wide, bloody smear down the left side of his face. Fucking brilliant. "Assholes." With that, he looked to the nearest exit passage for this particular line, and, first dropping into silence to see if he could hear anything, uncovered some sort of scrabbling above. With a shrug, he presumed it was probably some sort of lesser creature. Weepers and... whatever those things were, in pursuit, appeared to be completely silent, eliminating any other sources of noise. So the station floor was probably his best bet to take a breather.

With that, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and began to ascend the stairs between two sets of broken escalators, wondering what would await him at Oxford Circus today...

[Maeve]

9:05PM
OXFORD CIRCUS  

There was a soft crying echoing across the square, creatures lurking off in the shadows away from the sound.  They were avoiding its source.  One could catch glimpses of eyes here and there in store windows, hanging off of building walls, but the square itself?  It was very clear of any life.  Darkness fell across it except for a lone street lamp that flickered on and off in irregular intervals making it difficult to reliably see anything.  There was the soft crimson glow that constantly existed across the landscape, the occasional bird (or so it seemed) flying across the sky and off to elsewhere.  The grates scattered about shot up air as the subway system sent its cars rattling off to their destinations, wherever those may be.  And yet... a single figure was slipping her way across the square, quiet, and unnoticed.  Maeve's lips were pressed together as she avoided stones and broken shards of glass scattered all about from whatever battles must have occurred here before, her flaming red hair spilling over her dark shoulders.  But the corners of her mouth were twitching for her scar was aching something fucking awful as she crept her way around.  

What she didn't know, was that aside from the obvious threat of a hiding Weeper, there was a Nosferatu following close on her tail.  Or did she really not know?  Her body slipped around a corner just as a looming form appeared out of the wall and into that single, inconsistent spotlight, claws grasping for the body that was not there.  In fact, the street looked rather empty.  He looked around in confusion and began to meld back towards the shadows.  "Look harder next time." She whispered in its ear just as one of her throwing daggers fwipped through the air and embedded itself into the creatures heart. He snarled and let out a gutteral shout of fury as the silver hissed into its skin and the blood poured forth. The carcass toppled into a car near that street corner and was still. About fucking time too, she thought he was never going to give up. With a smirk, she leaned forward and rolled the body over to pull out her dagger when she was suddenly painfully aware of one single fact. The crying had stopped. She froze and crouched, straining her ears to listen for it to resume again, for any sound that indicated where the Weeper was. For if there was one thing that was always a pain in the ass to deal with, it was a Weeper.

A growling started as a red glow blossomed on the other side of the car, a pale white form beginning to rise and spread those dripping red claws. Ah fuck. The Weeper snarled and growled in agitation as she looked all about, sensing the life-form that had drawn too close and startled her from her crying. What options did she have right now? 1) Summon her blades and alert the Weeper to where she was, but then be able to fight. 2) Cause a distraction and GTFO. 3) Wait it out. She was not a fan of three. Because all that was really separating them was a shitty old car, and she would not have a good enough heads start to have any hope of escaping and buying herself some time. The Weeper was beginning to stroll about a little, the snarling growing more and more upset as she could not immediately see her prey. Oh fuck it.

With a shrill cat call whistle, Maeve jumped up and slid over the roof of the car as a brilliant scarlet light shot out in front of her hands as the blades materialized, one already brought up to defend as the Weeper spun about and swung forward with her claws. The momentum of Maeve's body shoved the Weeper back as she went for a thrust to the gut. But, as she feared, the Weeper was quick and let out a blood-curdling shriek as she swiped away the thrust and was right in the red heads face. "SHOVE OFF YOU WHORE!" She snapped in annoyance while dodging off to the side, blades whipping about to defend herself against the wild attacks. Sparks were beginning to fly as she backpedaled into the square, blocking each strike as she gritted her teeth harder. Shit, she wasn't making any progress. Her body spun off to the side as she lashed out with her Claws, managing to land two slashes into the Weepers side. But the annoying bitch just let off another shattering scream and spun about, slashing at Maeve's right shoulder just as she feinted off to the left. Son of a fucking whore that was too fucking close!

Maeve snarled as she dove right into the Weepers body, disregarding the pricking of those claws into the leather of her coat. But her Claws had bitten into their target that now stood their frozen, coughing blood before falling limp to the ground. However, those nails had pricked holes into Maeve's body, ripping out as she let the demon fall to the ground. No sense in holding up dead weight and-- "OW!! Son of a fucking cunt-nugget..." She snapped, not even noticing the form that was coming up the escalator behind her. Man, she hadn't even fully healed up from that encounter with that fucking Templar. He was the whole goddamn reason that she was down here anyway! Her green eyes looked at those bleeding holes and sighed heavily in frustration, her blades dissipating into the air as she undid the latch that held her jacket closed so she could take it off. The jacket just touched the ground when she sensed a fresh presence there. Dammit, what NOW?!

Whipping about, she instantly had three throwing daggers between her fingers, ready to toss them when she stopped. Red hair. Human. Red eyes. Right height. "Y..you've gotta be fucking shittin me..." She whispered beneath her breath, staring into the face of the very person she had been looking for. "Ciaren?" Wait. That wasn't his fucking name now idiot. "Shit, sorry. Lazarus. Carter, right? Uh... fuck this has gotta be weird." She muttered as her arms lowered, running a hand through her hair as the blood ran down her arms from her wounds. Yeah, she had completely forgotten about them. Fuck she wasn't ready for this! She probably sounded like some goddamn creeper right now, cause he had no idea who the fuck she was. "So... No, you don't know me... yet. I... What the hell are you even doing here?" Oh yeah. This was getting off to a GREAT start.

[Lazarus Carter]

There was nothing aside from a blanket of darkness on the station floor as he stopped past. Lazarus instead simply kept moving; following dimly-lit signs that read only, smeared and stained with old, dry blood and other strewn bodily fluids, "way out", visible only upon close inspection in the dim light. The same format continued with the ascension apparatus; two broken escalators, irregular in where they'd stopped, seemingly eons ago, from the rust and moss that had gathered; but some light, dim as it was, from the skies and artificial flickering posts of the sprawling Necropolis, did perforate the darkness of the station floor from the upwards tunnel.

"...fuck..g shi..in' m...."

He didn't quite hear it - even the fragments - but he heard something. Grinding to a halt - and knowing full well from his experience just in London that he'd need to wash his hands from it, he abstained from so much as brushing against the railings as he looked up into the dim light. "Ciaren?" Footfalls from the shadow approaching as he climbed the stairs; and the figure of a woman appeared. Human - probably, but one never knew in Inferis. It wasn't long before Lazarus re-conjured the Nomads in a moment - one still full - and loaded a fresh magazine into Mars, pointing both up to the stairs as he kept standing still.

Immediately he ignored the question and responded with an absolutely bemused rebuttal. "Who in the bright blue living fuck are you?" "Ciaren"? That wasn't his name. "And why aren't you wearing glasses?" There we go. He'd been trying to think of something snarky. Slowly - ever-so-slowly, some fuckers had tricks up their sleeves, Templars especially, like that damned Reverend - he began his gentle climb up the remaining few steps as her face became clearer into view. "Cause I don't think I am who you think I am."

Bloody marks furrowing through her arms that matched the shallow gash on his forehead. Flowing, almost iridescent red hair - hell, crimson. Just like his. The light in the Necropolis was almost nonexistent tonight; bar the unsteady, yellow illumination behind her from flickering street lamps which gave her a strange glow. An odd sense of familiar ground between the pair of them hung in the air between them. She wasn't grinning oddly. Or followed by a Demon. Or strapped to the nines. So... he assumed Hunter. That meant she was no less a threat, however. "Shit, sorry. Lazarus. Carter, right? Uh... fuck this has gotta be weird."

...

How the fucking... what in the living... who in the... what in who and fuck what who fuck when how the what? Either his name and repute had really traveled that far, or she recognised him from elsewhere. Who was she? He squinted. Maybe it was an ex? Or some random shag he'd forgotten about after a night on the town? Well, if it was, he certainly didn't remember her. "YEAH." He responded with an unnecessarily raised voice, ground to a halt once more, keeping the guns very much raised. "YEAH. IT'S PRETTY FUCKING WEIRD RIGHT NOW." Well she certainly had some explaining to do.

"So... No, you don't know me... yet." Well that answered one question and pulled the lid off of a barrel of another metric fuckton of them. Still somewhat gobsmacked from the whole affair, he'd let his guns fall; and realised now that if she wanted to kill him, unless she was planning some highly complex masquerade, she already had. She seemed human and decent enough, and wasn't trying to consume his blood. "I... What the hell are you even doing here?" Well, that was a bit of a broad fucking question.

Stepping up and letting the pistols fall into random, suppressed bursts of vanishing light, he stuffed his hands back into his jacket pockets, sighed, and continued the ascent. The stench of grime and the feel of the cold wind was all too familiar to him in the Necropolis. The platform was chilly enough, but up here - the breeze was natural. And moreso harrowing than just about anything else. "Oh, you know seeing the sights, taking the typical tours," He shrugged with an element of nonchalance and sarcasm, before shaking his head and almost gawking as he drew up to the redhead. She was kind of hot. He hoped he hadn't already done the deed. Though she seemed American. So how did she know him. "Believe it or not, you don't hold the monopoly on hunting Demon assholes." Laz shrugged. "No-one does."

It was fair game. That was part of the fun of it. I mean, sure; Nephilim stood a better chance than anyone, but there were plenty of Demons to kill, and there wasn't really anyone that got too obsessive over the "honour" of the entire affair. If something went down, it went down for the good of the team. "Now would I be out of line in asking for an explanation?" He asked, blinking, and running a hand through the back of the matted, bloody red hair on the side of his head, trying to smooth it out somewhat. Ever the vain one. "Cause I'm still pretty fucking confused at the moment."

[Maeve]

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shitohshitohshitohshitOHFUCKINGSHIT. What the hell was she doing. This was NOT how she had wanted to handle this at all! "Who in the bright blue living fuck are you?" Well that was- "And why aren't you wearing glasses?" Her eyebrow twitched as she blinked at him a few times. What the living fuck was that supposed to mean? "Excuse me?" Shit. No. He wouldn't understand Gaelic. "Cause I don't think I am who you think I am." No, he was she just.... ARGH FUCK TODAY. His eyes were looking somewhere. What was he-- ohhhh...... "Ah motherfucker..." She muttered underneath her breath as she saw how blood was running down her exposed arms, sighing as she shifted her hands so the blood didn't end up on her leather jacket, the next words something she knew was condemning her to idiocy for at least the next hour. There was no questioning who HE was. They BOTH knew who the hell HE was. SHE was the unknown entity, and he had no clue about her existence. Shit why hadn't she rehearsed this or something?! But how could she have known she would run into him serendipity in Inferis while on the run from a Templar asshole that wanted to break her in half? Ugh.......

She offered him a weak smile, "YEAH." Oh yeah, guns. She glanced between his evocations and then his face, clearly not entirely worried about them at the moment. "YEAH. IT'S PRETTY FUCKING WEIRD RIGHT NOW." Well that was.... an entitled response. And if she weren't freaking the fuck out herself right now, she'd probably have laughed a little. Except she wasn't. She was fucking freaking the fucking hell out. For all her eloquence that could show itself at her bar or in her lyrics, it was all gone in some other damn dimension right now. Certainly nowhere that she could reach it at the moment. Hopefully... he'd answer her first question and she could TRY to come up with something suitable to tell him and explain the situation. "Oh, you know seeing the sights, taking the typical tours," Sarcasm. Her lips twitched as she pulled out some bandages from a pouch on her belt, ripping off some to carefully tie it over her shoulders so she'd at least stop bleeding for the moment. Was it bad that she was mostly stemming the flow because the sensation of her lifeblood running down her arms was annoying her? That was probably bad. But then again, thats how distracted from pressing matters she was at the moment. If she hadn't just run into her brother, she probably would have been getting out of there because there was a reason that area was relatively devoid of demons and that reason had just been run through by her blades. "Believe it or not, you don't hold the monopoly on hunting Demon assholes." She shot him a look, really though? "No-one does." "No fucking shit." COMMON. TONGUE. FOR HEAVENS SAKE. If she didn't talk in English, he wasn't going to understand what the fuck she as talking about.

"Now would I be out of line in asking for an explanation?" Oh. Her green eyes had now focused on the wound on his forehead since the action of running a hand through his matching red hair drew her attention. She stepped away from the Weeper's corpse and took a step towards him, her hand swiping down to snatch up her leather coat in her gloved hands. Well, fingerless gloves at least. Regardless, the now smaller roll of bandages was still in her hand as she faced him, "Cause I'm still pretty fucking confused at the moment." She sighed heavily, almost in frustration though it was clearly not directed at him. She adjusted her grip and scratched her head, flaming red hair flowing about shoulders as she bit her lower lip. Fuck. "No, you need an explanation Cia---Lazarus. Sorry. I um... I'll get used to that, I promise." Fuck. Fuck she was not helping her case. Just tell him. Just say it. It was going to be a fucking awkward meeting anyways, and since when had she beat around the fucking bush? Her head raised and she stood tall in front of him, the hesitancy vanishing from her expression as she stared at him with a level, intense calmness.

"My name is Maeve MacArtair. I'm a Demon Hunter from Philadelphia in the states. I traveled to London so I could meet one person, and that person is you." She paused and took another half-step closer to him, the frustration returning for a brief moment as she glanced back towards the ground. Just say it. Maeve stared at him, emerald boring into ruby as her jaw set, "The reason is that... well.... You're my brother. Surprise." She waved a hand with a weird little smile, trying to joke and make light of the situation, except the expression didn't last very long. Now she just seemed sort of tired, aged as she raised her arms slightly as the words came haltingly in her mind. "No, I'm serious. I'm your older sister. See, when my-- our mom got pregnant with you, she left to go to Montana. I was told she was visiting family that was sick, and I believed that because I was a fucking stupid child." She pointed back in some indescriminant direction, taking a deep, calming breath because she could feel her agitation growing. "No... I believed it because I had no reason not to. She shook her head, "In any case, she had you there, and she left you there because they didn't want you to know the life that they had given me. They hoped you would never end up in DC or discover your heritage or anything. They wanted you to have a normal life." There wasn't any bitterness in her words, for what point would there have been to it? She had worked through that already, it was past.

Another small half-step. "She called out about you you know. In her last few weeks. Breast cancer. Thats the only reason I found out that I had a younger brother." Ah shit. She licked her lips, that old stone welling up in her throat a little as she took another soothing breath. For fucks sake not now. "So.... Here I am. Way too many years late." Her hands smacked against her legs as she let them fall, staring at him with a fear gripping her in her chest because... well... that was all a lot to take in. And she had no idea how he would react.

[Lazarus Carter]

"No, you need an explanation Cia---Lazarus. Sorry. I um... I'll get used to that, I promise." WHO THE HELL WAS CIAREN? As cool a name as it sounded, she was going to have to stop it, because it was going to get irritating before long. A grunt and he waited for her to continue. "My name is Maeve MacArtair. I'm a Demon Hunter from Philadelphia in the states. I traveled to London so I could meet one person, and that person is you." Maeve. Well, at least he knew something mutual about her, it was getting weird that she seemed to know everything about him. He blinked, though. This was even odder than he'd preempted; and with a bloody smear down the side of his face - just like her arms were a little leaky with the crimson, too - his attention span was somewhat shorter than usual.

"I'm not that great, you know," He grinned in an egotistic and narcissistic manner. It wasn't quite so much a self-centred comment as just an automated, autonomous murmur; instinct. He was snappy and deadpan in response to just about everything. Because he figured she hadn't stalked him all the way across the Atlantic just cause she wanted to jump his bones; the fact that she was a Hunter and not trying to already get into his pants probably boded for the fact that she had news of a sort for him. So he forced his smile away and let the frown flood back, unnatural as it felt, as she started talking again.

And then the penny dropped. "The reason is that... well.... You're my brother. Surprise." The way in which she spoke was so... simple. So nonchalant. At first he just blinked and cocked his head. She... what? It took a few pre-recorded loops of what she'd said; there was no drama, no grandeur, no suspense: it was just thrown out there, tossed in like the other undisputed yet jovial facts of the day. "Grass is green, sky's blue, water's wet, we hunt Demons, and I'm your estranged sister of nineteen years." It was altogether possible from his genealogical roots: and more than plausible, the more he thought about it - the way she acted was making it pretty obvious that she wasn't just a Facebook stalker. "No, I'm serious. I'm your older sister."

Okay, that was when he truly started to process it.

The realisation that she wasn't fucking around was enough to stun him and leave him vulnerable. And- OH GOD HE'D REGISTERED HOW SHE WAS ATTRACTIVE. OH FUCK THIS WAS LIKE STAR WARS ALL OVER AGAIN. How he longed for the brain bleach. Where was the brain bleach?! "See, when my-- our mom got pregnant with you, she left to go to Montana. I was told she was visiting family that was sick, and I believed that because I was a fucking stupid child." He blinked again; this was background noise to him whilst he tried to eradicate all thoughts of what had infact been essentially just pseudo-incest from the halls of his mind. Though there was some undue aggression in her tone. Huh. She was kicking herself for this.

"In any case, she had you there, and she left you there because they didn't want you to know the life that they had given me. They hoped you would never end up in DC or discover your heritage or anything." He opened his mouth to almost respond but there was only silence. This was... it was... the first time he'd been told that he was a Demon Hunter and that Hell existed, it was daunting enough and a lot to process... but that was absolute, that was existent beyond him whether he gave a fuck about it or not. This was... this was personal. It was closer to the bone. Closer to home. Jerking a thumb to a conveniently-placed nearby bench, he slumped down and Maeve finished off this segment of her speech in a tone Laz found more harrowing than she ever intended it to be. "They wanted you to have a normal life."

He would have held up a finger to respond but it would have done him no good. She carried on. "She called out about you you know. In her last few weeks. Breast cancer. Thats the only reason I found out that I had a younger brother." Oh, and to add the payload of the whole affair, not only did he have an estranged sister who was also an active Demon Hunter, his birth mother had just died. She tapered off the speech swiftly enough. "So.... Here I am. Way too many years late."

As was his calling card, the teen responded snappily enough, but in a dreary and somehow worn-out tone. "And then some," He murmured; between the sputterings of some form of language he didn't understand that wasn't Demon - Earthly in origin - and this whole thing being dumped on him at once... it was... confusing. He'd always known there was another family out there. He'd never been given the chance to meet them; and the Carters - the people he considered his true parents - whilst they held nothing back, didn't exactly tell him much, because they knew very little. They'd met his real mother once; they'd told him that she was a kind soul. A gentle soul. A good person - but she had said they couldn't support, financially, another child, obviously not giving the real reason now. Everything fit together - but it was a daunting reality. He'd known there was another family out there. He'd never been given the chance to meet them. And even if he had - he was never sure if he would have wanted to. He certainly never envisioned a nineteen-year-awaited union like this.

It... was odd. It was a feeling, a sensation unlike anything he'd experienced. It was a melting pot, an explosive cocktail of it all; between the death of a woman he'd never known, but a woman who had given birth to him, the introduction of someone who was bound inexplicably and inextricably to him by the genetic code that made him who he was, and the realisation that, infact, his biological family wasn't so much as just a dream, an apparition, a world away as he'd always deluded himself into thinking: they existed. And now, after nineteen years of so-called "bliss" on his own, here he was, thrown straight into the deep end. Ironically enough having charged straight into the very thing that his blood parents had tried so very hard to keep him from. It weighed on him, the whole thing. But... really, it was less of a catastrophic and terminal change to his life... just the explanation of a clouded area on the map that was the soul of Lazarus Carter; one he'd never expected so much as a lash of clarity upon. One that was now fully explained.

"Normal life, right?" He grinned. There was exhaustion in his tone as his head fell back, lolling and rolling around upon his spine as he casually let himself fall into the less-than-accommodating structure of the seat. "Normal's overrated, anyway." Lazarus stated bluntly. There was sense in what he spoke; and the exhaustion was not in his body nor his mind; it was a different type of exhaustion. An exhaustion that found its origins and its roots in something that he couldn't tangibly conceive of, something that was at his very core - something that would come and go as he grasped this more and more as he did with every waking second. An exhaustion of animus. Of soul. Of drive. Of passion. Unlike his stalwart initial rejection of the existence of Inferis, however, and his being a Hunter: he welcomed this with open arms. It was only seemingly taking him a little longer than usual to get to grips with.

"Maeve, right?" He turned to her. Goddamn, this was weird. But at least it wouldn't get any weirder. He'd already registered that his own biological sister was kind of hot. He was past the point of moral event horizon already. "Since you know so much 'bout me already, figure it's only fair you shed a little light on yourself, right?" Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth. Life for a life. Knowledge for knowledge. First port of call was to equivocate the tables. Even out the playing field. Set things straight. Then they could get to kicking some otherworldly ass as brother and sister as whatever depraved God out there who'd abandoned most of the human race an eon and a half ago had originally intended.

[Maeve]

"I'm not that great, you know," He wasn't taking her seriously. That was ok. She was being super fucking derp about how she was going about this. And the introduction had been just that, an introduction into who the hell she was because she was about to rock his fucking world (and not in a weird way. Ew, she had to work on her phrasing…). And….. then she said it. Oh god she had said it. What was-- He was looking at her with his head cocked, a sort of blankness in his gaze as if he hadn't quite registered what it was she had told him. Why had she tried to make it some light and funny surprise thing? Inwardly she was grumbling at herself because it was no wonder why he wouldn't initially be able to comprehend it when it was said like that! Or, you know, maybe it was just because he had found out he actually had living real relatives his entire life and he was just meeting them at this particular moment. But that wouldn't be a logical conclusion or anything, right? Fuck was she uncomfortable right now!

Aaaaaaand then it really hit him. She could see it. The look in his eye changed, and…. well… It was shock. Duh. Why had she expected something other than shock?! It was the obvious immediate response! She was being such a fucking idiot this whole time. It was like she had unscrewed her own brain and replaced it with a jar of jam. Thats right. Jam. Probably strawberry. FUCKING TWAT WHY WERE YOU THINKING OF JAM?! Shit was she a fucking mess right now. She followed him towards the bench when he gestured to it, at least remaining mindful enough to not step too close to puncture his personal space bubble. Because the bottom line of it was that she was still basically a stranger to him even though she knew most things about him. She had still taken most things that his family in Montana had told her with some grains of salt since she was sure that they only knew so much about the son that they had adopted.

She could see it in his features how much this was now weighing down on him. Especially…. especially when she told him about mom. "And then some," Maeve's lips twitched slightly as she wanted to wince at that. And…. No. No don't tell him about father. Her scar suddenly burned fiercely and she actually winced, running a finger down its length as she strode over to the bench and sat down. She didn't sit too terribly close (comfort level awareness reasons. Unless he gestured that she could sit closer, then she'd stay this far back). Ow. Fuck. So they sat in silence now, Maeve taking a deep breath as she did her best to force the lump in her throat down. She couldn't keep mourning ma, it had been a year or so now. She had managed to finally work past pa-- Her scar burned again and she winced, clasping her hands tight in her lap as she stared at them. Her leather jacket remained beside her on the bench as she sighed heavily.

The Regal Necropolis was starting to show fresh signs of life as the caws of blood crows overhead, raising those green depths to stare at them as she tried to sort out exactly what was happening within her right now. She had told him. That massive weight was now off of her chest, but now it left a rather big question. What was going to happen now? Would he try to form some sort of relationship with her, or would he just sort of nod, thank her, then say they should go on their own merry ways? Pa… had he known this might have happened? Shit…. Her parents had always been so good at planning so far ahead, so… how could they have not realized that he may have still discovered who he was supposed to be? His heritage? "Normal life, right?" Her gaze slid over to watch him, nodding once. Yeah, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. She supposed NOT training him to be a Demon killing machine like she had been. Thanks ma and pa.

"Normal's overrated, anyway." A smirk played across her lips as she sat back on the bench as well, her hands finally unclenching and smoothing out into the pockets of her pants. Maybe things would be fine now. Maybe….That'd be nice. "Maeve, right?" "Yeah. Thats me." She swung on the bench so she faced him completely, one leg bent with her one foot close to her body with the other handing off the edge and a boot on the ground. What was he-- "Since you know so much 'bout me already, figure it's only fair you shed a little life on yourself, right?"

Oh. Fuck.

It was her turn to stare at him blankly for a moment, a small sort of smirk coming over her as she chuckled quietly and nodded (mostly to herself). Yeah, that was fair. "Right." Now came the hard part…. what did she go with? "Well, ever since I was young, ma and pa basically raised me to become a weapon to kill demons with. Nothing like X-23 or something, but all of the extra lessons, the stories, and whatnot was to ensure that when I did join them in their hunting, I would kick serious ass." That was a good place to start right? Oh. Maybe the X-men reference would get lost…. whatever. Tilting her head, she bit her lower lip and looked out at the square to their right, her senses still remaining peeled just in case any fuckers decided it was time to approach. "I work at a bar. I'm a singer and bassist for a band called Bitches with Pitches. I also take contracts to kill demons." She shrugged lightly and looked back at her younger brother, wincing as she was reminded that she was in fact injured on her shoulders. Fucking Weepers. "I speak Gaelic. Sorry it sort of popped out a couple of times." She nervously chuckled, slowing in her speech as she picked at her brain some more. What else should she tell him? Could tell him within a few moments that sort of summed up who she was? Her expression fell a little bit as looked back towards where the Sanguine Palace was, ignoring the prickling pain along her eye. "Right now I've got a Templar searching for me which is why I'm down here for the moment."

Maeve turned back to Lazarus and picked up her leather coat, pulling it about her shoulders with a light little sigh. "I guess thats pretty much me in a nutshell." No sense in telling him about the other parts just yet. She'd already laid enough heavy shit on his shoulders for one day.

[Lazarus Carter]

"Well, ever since I was young, ma and pa basically raised me to become a weapon to kill demons with." Well that sounded vaguely Weapon X-esque-- "Nothing like X-23 or something, but all of the extra lessons, the stories, and whatnot was to ensure that when I did join them in their hunting, I would kick serious ass." Yeah... now he could start to see where the similarities between the pair of them lied. He grinned, hopefully conveying accurately that he had, indeed, gotten her reference. "I work at a bar. I'm a singer and bassist for a band called Bitches with Pitches. I also take contracts to kill demons."

Lazarus held up a finger to stop her. "Waitwaitwait." He interrupted and tilted his head; the grin vanished. "Contracts?" Did that mean what he thought it meant? "Like... paid contracts?" If he'd found a hidden talent underneath the skin in the past few weeks it had been killing Demons. And if he knew he could get money to do it... well, he'd been missing the fuck out. that was not fair. Why couldn't he get paid to do cool shit like that? He'd feel like 47, except with a better haircut.

She winced. He cocked his head back and blinked. The pair of them ignored it and Maeve kept talking. "I speak Gaelic. Sorry it sort of popped out a couple of times." Lazarus shrugged. No skin off his nose, he was no more xenophobic than your average Americ- ...okay, he was slightly less xenophobic than your average American. Dependent upon whereabouts in the States you were talking. "Right now I've got a Templar searching for me which is why I'm down here for the moment." Lazarus arched a brow at that. Templar attention was never good; he knew that much from the fucking Reverend. "I guess thats pretty much me in a nutshell."

"Ya' don't fuck around with your words," He murmured, leaning against the bench with a sigh and catching the back of his head with his hands. "I like that." He let his eyes shut momentarily, before one flickered open and locked with Maeve's. "Sis." He grinned. It was still awkward. It was still weird. But he was Lazarus Carter; purveyor of ice-breaking techniques and possessor of the divine gift to fuck anything remotely serious up one way or another. He returned to just leaving things silent. For now, at least. Until, well, he heard it.

It began as a low rumbling at first. "D'you..." Slowly it began to swell and grow. "...hear that?" Then it became clear; it was infact not a collective rumbling. It was a low noise comprised of dozens of smaller noises caught up between them. Then accompanied by a soulless metaphorical drum beat of the pounding of footfalls, completely unsynchronised, with the light overtone of a faint screech every now and then. It was getting louder. Which means that whatever the source of it was, was getting closer. Lazarus stepped out from off the bench and into the breadth of the red-lit London road whatsoever, dilapidated and crumbling skyscrapers beneath the crimson sky providing a perfect backdrop for the imposing doom that was barely five hundred metres down the road in the distance. Regent Street was a nice place back home, too.

"Well." Was the first word Lazarus spoke upon catching sight of the source, before turning back to Maeve. "I think we're fucked." This was a great was to help squash that whole being-estranged thing; die together. Because what Lazarus had caught sight of, rising from around the corner, was not one Demon, not one group, but a veritable fucking warband. Comprised entirely of a set of flaming, bipedal Demons who let out a lurching screech every now and then brandishing great scarlet blades, they turned the corner and filled the street with their approach. Dozens upon dozens; probably a solid forty at least moving on them.

A welling dissatisfaction began to rise in Lazarus' gut. He didn't like this. At all. It certainly did not bode well for the pair of them. Two on forty was shit odds, to say the very least. He knew this breed; the Blood Sword. They were dumb and they went down easy for an experienced Hunter, but mook or no mook, all the same they were enemies, and the horde dynamic made them a lot more frustrating. They must have been drawn by the noise Maeve had made with whatever she'd killed - he at least presumed she'd killed it - and had given her the flowing blood down her arms. He looked behind him - Regent Street continued sprawling for a while longer, but just how far could they run? How far did they want to run? These Demons possessed untenable resolve and ravenous hunger; they had endless pits of their unholy stamina, whereas Maeve and Lazarus were human, irrespective of what their genes let them do. So as he stared down the mass of enemies and gulped, he looked to the girl he'd just discovered was his sister and asked one thing.

He knew they could hold out. And if they tried, if they were smart about it, if she was an adequate Hunter, they could fight, and they could emerge potentially victorious. But he didn't know Maeve; there was no cohesion between them. It was risky. And Lazarus was still unsure if he would emerge alive, let alone intact. "So..." He looked to her and cracked his facade of concern into that Carter grin. It was time for them to fight a little whether they ended up standing or running in the end. He had to see what she'd do at the very least. It was a chance they'd have to take to see if they were not bonded by simply blood, but by spirit too. A subtle pair of flashes and the Nomads appeared, grasped tightly in his hands. "Think we can put a dent in them?"

[Maeve]

Considering the simple fact that he was now grinning as she explained who she was to him, she felt it was safe to assume that things were going well. Or else he was laughing at her for being some insane bitch. Whichever came first she supposed. "Waitwaitwait." Maeve raised an eyebrow, why had the grin gone? Oh. Shit. Inferis. That could have done it. Or-- "Contracts?" She blinked once, "Like... paid contracts?" Had hadn't known at ALL? "Y-yeah. They pop up on occasion all over the place. Just depends on what language you can speak and who you know." She told him quietly, already noticing the gears that were whirring through his head. Ohhhh yes. They were going to get along JUST fine. Bonding point: FOUND! Ugh. FOCUS GIRL.

She was definitely beginning to relax the more that she saw he wasn't flipping any shit about her, and seemed to be rather accepting of the words that were coming out of her mouth. The arching of his eyebrow at the notice of a Templar wasn't unexpected in the least bit since they were sort of a health hazard to people like them. Like demons. Her eyes flicked around the square again, they should probably get moving now. It was never good to stick around in one place for too long unless it was a safe house, and here was no exception. "Ya' don't fuck around with your words," Maeve blinked again, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about how she spoke. Didn't know why, she hadn't ever really been so before. "I like that." Oh. She grinned, that was good. "Sis." It sent a shiver down her spine, but…. She smirked as the smile began to grow from it. That was going to take some getting used to, but this wasn't going to be as terrible as she thought---

Her head straightened up as she snatched up her leather jacket and slipped it back on over her shoulders, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the direction of that sound. "D'you…...hear that?" She didn't answer, but instead grimaced as she let out her shrill whistle, her blades appearing in a brilliant flash of crimson into her hands. The carvings in the surface of them gleamed red still as those green eyes glared. "Waited too long. Shit." She hissed under her breath, the glow finally fading as she tested her shoulders. Wounded, but she should be fine for a bit. "Well." She only glanced over to Lazarus, "I think we're fucked." She snorted and smirked a rather wicked smirk as she shook her head. "Not if we're smart." She stood up a bit straighter as she watched the war band approach. Blood Swords. Awesome. Odd for such a large amount to be on the move. Something must be happening somewhere in the Necropolis today. It wasn't quite normal for them to be…. organized like this. And one dead Weeper would not call out 40 of these fuckers. Maybe….

She was about.

Her scar ached at the thought, taking a deep breath before exhaling slowly. No… That was doubtful. If she was though… There was no way that they would stick around for that fight if possible. Her priority right now was getting both of them out alive, and considering how he seemed relatively at home in Inferis, she was going to assume he had spent some time in here. What concerned her, however, was her lack of knowledge of his skills. "So..." She had to hold in the smart alec response as she turned to her brother and smirked as she saw his evocations appear in his hands. Guns, eh? They totally had this. "Think we can put a dent in them?" Spinning her blades in her hands, she gripped both of her Kitten Claws in one hand, four throwing knives seeming to appear in her hand as she stepped forward. "Absolutely. Stay back and cover me!" She called as she suddenly bolted forward, those four knives soaring through the air and sinking into four frontmost targets. They fell with a shriek as the crowd focused on them now.

Maeve started darting off to the right, laughing as she shouted, "BRING IT ON!" Another four throwing knives were sent out, four more bodies slamming into the ground as more peeled off to give chase to her. She led them over towards a wall and rap up its face, flipping over them as her Claws slashed downwards to block their slashes at her. Immediately upon landing she spun and block a sword, her remaining claw reaching forward to bite into the little demons flesh. They may have been swordsmen in life, but they were just demons now. Just twisted little fuckers of themselves. "Come on, whose the best amongst you? There can only be one right? WHERE IS HE?" She bellowed as she dodged and struck down another of their brethren. If there was one thing she knew about Blood Swords, it was that they could definitely be distracted into fighting each other if given the chance. After all, they loved to fight. So…. would they take her bait? Or would they prove her theory right that there was something odd about the organization of this mob? She dodged and parried the blows that came at her, glancing over to Laz to keep a sort of eye on him.

Kill Count: 10

[Lazarus Carter]

"Absolutely. Stay back and cover me!"

Without any further ado Maeve dove upon them; and she was a dervish with the claws that he only managed to get a glimpse of before she disappeared a veritable tornado into the snarling masses beyond them. He figured he would oblige her; as she ran towards them, he rose his pistols and unleashed a short barrage of eleven-millimetre fire on anything that so much as closed in on one of her flanks or around her back whilst she was preoccupied. They were related by blood, for sure; she was fast, shearing through Demon skin and flesh without any inhibition or moral reprehension: it was the way he'd learned to be of his own accord, and it seemed that this fire was coded in their genes, sitting latent in their blood. His dear sister had just had more training to evoke it.

Bullets shattered skulls and the swords fell to the floor; the pair of them were a ruthless combination, and before long, as she'd optimistically called out, there laid some strewn, slashed, and shot corpses of the Blood Swords upon split tarmac under the broken street lamps of the Necropolis' Regent Street, its Earthly parallel still beyond glorious. Maeve was tossing throwing knives left right and centre, only breaking her assault to move back and scream at them in an almost feral manner. Half of the crowd broke off to chase her; the other half turned towards him with shrill hisses and echoing howls. "Come on, whose the best amongst you? There can only be one right? WHERE IS HE?" She was keeping well within his vision, but drawing to dangerous ranges: he recalled the words he'd spoken to Adelaide in regards to survival back in that infernally dilapidated Knightsbridge manor.

As they converged, Lazarus had swung his attention away to defend himself; there was a wide crowd that he had to begin firing at obtuse and extreme angles to so much as stay alive, all the while backpedaling. "Maeve!" He called out at first, but knew the moment he opened his lips that his voice, like that, didn't bear enough weight to truly move across the battlefield. In a fluid, singular motion, he dropped both the Nomads, letting them fizzle out into nothing but two subtle white flashes of some ethereal energy, and snapped his fingers once more, bending his arm to accommodate the fresh cradling of a new weapon: his Devil Saw, the shotgun, which he promptly aimed towards the crowd, one-handed, and fired. A cacophonous boom erupted, felling the first wave and staving off those behind them as their comrades' corpses fell back into them: but the soulless creatures were without relent. He bellowed this time. "MAEVE!" They would have a better chance if they stuck together.

However, as if on cue, between all the screaming, all the gunshots, all the slashing and all the general commotion, from around the corner some devilish dam burst; and from three alleyways, another rampant, feral crowd, barely able to fit between the walls of the buildings they emerged from, shrieking and ecstatic for the thrill of fresh meat, another three dozen Blood Swords swarmed the ruined Soho road. "Fuck," He murmured through gritted teeth, to surmise the situation. This thirty-forty had been enough thus far; and they'd been denting them, but this was Inferis. Reinforcements were, for all they knew, without limit. Pumping the shotgun with an echoing chk-chk and another shot towards the crowd to push them back what little he could, Lazarus used the break in activity to bolt over towards his sister.

Skidding towards her, and seeing she was clearly preoccupied as the masses they fought all conglomerated into one once more, he pumped and shot his way through as much as he could. The forces were overwhelming; limbs and blades of infernal flame and sanguine tint were hacking and slashing, shearing through the air, an angry mob of clawed hands and serrated swords moving towards them only to be ceased at the last minute by a stray pellet or a blade to the throat. How long could they keep this up for? The crowds had converged once more, and the last of the fresh wave were trickling through. There was a legion of Demons here; easily a solid fifty, if not more. "Maeve," He said once more, in a stern, exhausted tone, a spatter of fresh blood having streaked the other side of his face to match the dried, matted, crimson ichor of his own. "We gotta get out,"

His sister had backed them up against a wall in an attempt to stave them off and keep them all at bay - and to avoid being flanked. She'd given herself the ability to fight at all angles, but had traded off any ability to escape. Lazarus carved a path through to her through shot and shell, pumping and firing til his magazine clicked empty and he was by her side once more. From the fresh pouches at his pocket he dug out another handful of gold-trimmed red-tinted buckshot, and one by one slid them into the tubular port at the bottom of the Devil Saw, each hollow thunk another cylinder of Demon-slaying goodness ready to pump, prime, and fire, buying them another half-second to either try and stave them off or cut through and escape.

The forces were tumultuous: but not overwhelming. They were fast. Any escape path they tried to cut through would be instantaneously closed up by the harrowing, screeching ranks of the swords before them; and if they stayed here for too long, a stray slash that they didn't address could mean the end, a nick to their side or a cut to their throat: and then their meagre two would drop to one, and it would all be finished from there in a matter of moments. Their options were severely limited: all they could do was make a stand, trust in their abilities, and just keep fighting until they were all gone, for now. But when would they all be gone? Things were far from hopeless: they had energy, health, drive, determination, blood, cohesion, and unbridled fighting spirit on their side. Not to mention a shotgun. But as time passed how much of that would stay and how much of it would slowly be whittled down? With every fleeting second the odds against their favour seemed to only grow taller and more looming. "Daunting" they could deal with. It was when it became "overwhelming" that things became... difficult.

That was what things were. Difficult. And it seemed like that would be their only path out of there. At least, until from around them, a sharp guitar riff sheared through the cacophony, over and above it: it was echoing, it was ethereal, and it stemmed from nowhere and yet everywhere, it boomed around their heads, omnidirectional yet there was no physical origin. Both their assaults and that of the Blood Swords ceased momentarily in absolute confusion: and all their adversaries looked to the sky in hope they would see from where this strange, infernal... music stemmed. HAHAHAHAHA... The next to reverberate around them and yet only seemingly present in their ears was some mortal laughter; harrowing, chilling, but all the while somehow supportive for the downtrodden duo backed up against the wall. It was human. It sounded so, at least.

THE LIVES OF SOME MEN... The voice called next. What... what was this? The mob had ceased their fighting and so had they: and now, between what had just moments ago been a slashing conglomerate of tangled, bloody limbs in and amongst it all, the Blood Swords began to part out of some feral, instinctive, bestial apprehension: and a void formed between them as the cracked, blood-spattered, glistening crimson-grey tarmac beneath them became... visible. IF WALLS CAN TALK... The voice rang out again, in a tone so maliciously arrogant in the annals of their ears, all fifty and two of them. TO SPILL THE LIES...

In that void before them a mass of ethereal, glistening light began to form: it was at first maybe ten, twelve, possibly fifteen feet long, yet barely a metre high. It was a solid, cuboid brick at first, a rectangle that all the Blood Swords screeched at and backed away from in its glistening, beacon-light illuminated glory. The voice rung out again: and it became clear now where it was stemming from. WE SEE THE WORLD... The intangible mass of swirling light began to take shape. Framework. A body, slightly curved. Four circles. An angular square sheet of glass. Two seats. And a grille at the front, viciously sharp, tapered down to a point. ...THROUGH DEVIL'S EYES.

The shape solidified. The glistening, glimmering light began to fade. Colours took form in and amidst it. The grill vibrated as the guitar and voice came together with drums and bass. Music. Music was salvation to their ears just as this... creation of his - he felt the ties at his soul, tugging him towards it, as he had with the Nomads and the Saw, Lazarus knew this belonged to him - was salvation to them - an escape route. A vehicle. A hot rod. An old one. The Iron Maiden.

[INITIATE BATTLE THEME]

Sprinting towards it as the Blood Swords were still stunned, he grinned beneath the music. The tables had turned once more. He wrapped his hand around Maeve's wrist and jerked his head towards it with a shout. "C'mon!" And with his sister in hand, he bolted towards the car, vaulted over the driver's side door, and gestured for her to take second - and only - other seat, the passenger seat, as he sidled comfortably into the accommodating leather and let his hands fall upon the steering column. Only a moment of awe to take it all in, before his brow furrowed, his irises sharpened and narrowed. One hand gripped the wheel. The other the gearstick. His feet fell upon the pedals. The car awoke with an almighty snarl; she was a feisty one. And with a shriek of rubber upon tarmac, he spun the wheels and wove a cloud of acrid black smoke as he carved a path straight through and off towards them. Finally, the Blood Swords awakened and realised what this supernatural message had been: their prey was getting away.

Lazarus swung the car around. "OH MAN, THIS IS SO SWEEEEEEEET!" He howled in that petrolhead appreciation most teenage boys retained, checking the wingmirror and gesturing behind them as they gathered speed - the Blood Swords were sprinting up at his new banging ride. "Take care of 'em for me, Maeve," He politely requested. "Can't afford to scratch my new baby, now, can I?" This was so much better than his Astra.

[Maeve]

None of them answered. Shit…. If they didn't have a leader at the moment, then what the fuck was with this shit? This wasn't normally their behavior! Gritting her teeth, she tossed out her last two throwing daggers, focusing entirely with her claws upon the GIANT MASS of enemies that swam all about her. Thankfully, blood swords only attacked one on one due to some forgotten sense of honor or some shit. It didn't matter that she kept cutting down one after another, dodging or parrying the blows that they sent her way. What she REALLY didn't like was the fact that she currently had her back up against a wall even if it did to aid in the dissuasion of flanking and forced them all in front of her. Fuck, how was Laz doing? "MAEVE!" "WHAT?" She barked, noting the change in gunfire that rang out from his direction. Shotgun. Huh. Not a bad choice.

Though, the answer came as she suddenly heard the increased amount of these annoying little fuckers, glancing over to spot EVEN MORE BLOOD SWORDS pouring into the square. For fucking SERIOUS?! "Oh what the fuck is this shit." She muttered as she kicked the legs out from under one little shit and slit his throat. Now there was DEFINITELY no way they could push out of this alive. She was out of throwing knives, and she wasn't sure how much her brother had figured out on his own. Clearly he was doing fine because she could hear the shotgun blasts getting closer to her position despite the stupid amount of screeching and cries from the small demons. Ok. What were their options.

Her muscles took over the destruction and death of the small beings as her green eyes flicked all about the square. Could scale the buildings and get out via the roofs. Potential for Leapers, but a risk that could work. Subway-- No. Unreliable. Also could be other demons down there. Though if those blood sack guys were down there… They'd be drawn to the blood swords like crows to a feast. Because thats exactly what they were. FUCK ANALOGIES BEING CLEVER. Meh. Still, there was a problem with the plans she was thinking of right now. They all worked for her and her alone. She doubted that Lazarus had any free running training, nor did he have her blades to help in the scaling of walls. No. None of these were options--

A shotgun round rang out to her left, the flash of red brilliant in her peripheral vision as her brother stepped up beside her. "Maeve," "Yeah?" She panted a bit, aiming a swift punch and kick before cutting down another blood sword. She'd lost count at this point. "We gotta get out," Maeve let out a soft chuckle as she could feel the fresh blood rolling down her shoulders from her wounds. She might have increased endurance right now, but she was starting to feel the strain of how much fighting she was doing right now. "Was working on that Laz. Is it bad I'm hoping a weeper will come out of nowhere?" God those were words one never really wanted to think or say. Weepers were such fucking bitches.

Taking a deep breath, she snarled as she became a spinning whirlwind of limbs and blades, cutting down the several demons in front of them. Man, if she had a squad of four of them right now, they could definitely cut them all down. Except they weren't four. They were just two. "Alright, so we should…. da fuck?" She fell quiet as she looked up at the sound of music. The hell was music doing being played here? This was either Mammon being a fucking prick because thats what she was, or else it was something else that was equally bad. The likelihood of it being a reinforcement for them was so slim. That shit didn't happen 'cept in movies. HAHAHAHAHA... She took this time while the shitheads were all distracted to take a moment to breath, glancing around again for what would be their best escape route at this point in time. The infernal voice continued to call out to the masses of them, wiping some sweat from her brow with her arm, seriously half-tempted to ditch her leather jacket. Except leather jackets were expensive, and were helpful as a layer of shitty armor.

The growing light drew her attention as she narrowed her eyes slightly, her blades still held up ready to defend them in case the blood swords decided that the light was no longer a distraction. But… What the fuck WAS that? Maeve watched it warily until she noticed the frame start to take shape. No fucking way. That was a fucking car. "Laz--" She felt his hand wrap around her wrist which caused her to blink in surprise, following after him since she didn't exactly have a choice, "C'mon!" Now was not the time to question it as the two of them bolted, slipping into those leather seats easily. She didn't bother really finding a comfortable position, instead watching the Blood Swords carefully as the engine roared to life and sped them off. "OH MAN, THIS IS SO SWEEEEEEEET!" Maeve found that she was smirking at this all, letting out a slight scoff of a laugh. Guess the music wasn't anything bad after all.

Oh. The smile faded as she saw the demons attempting to catch up to them. "Take care of 'em for me, Maeve," She glanced to her brother, "Can't afford to scratch my new baby, now, can I?" She snickered and shook her head, twirling her Kittens Claws in her hand. She started to get up from her seat, "I make no promises." With that she crouched down on the small back section behind him, her blades held out to the side as she took a deep breath, her red hair fanning out about her head. And with a twisted grin, she easily moved from side to side as the little fuckers got too close. The ones that were chasing the back she aimed one of her claws at their heads, the blade soaring out into the air with a flick of her wrist as it spun. BINGO! Two went rolling as her claw dissipated in a flash of crimson light, letting the other one fly before a shrill whistle stabbed through the air so she could resummon them.

With another twirl, the runes blazed with that red light, streaking through the air as she cut down the demons giving chase. She was being mindful of her boots on the paint job, and so far, she was doing a good job of not leaving any scuff marks. Now this…. This was fun.

[Lazarus Carter]

The wind of the Necropolis was running through his hair; if there had been bugs to splatter on the ample screen before him, there would have been. The engine was thrumming beneath them as they carved a line of gasoline and carbon monoxide fumes through the infernal parallel of Regent Street, giving way to a cacophonous, consistent, vehicular revving all the way as the tyres squealed and the Blood Swords gave chase. "I make no promises." With that, and a few following thud noises, his sister leapt out of her seat. At first, the teen was alarmed: but then he, unable to check his improperly-angled rear-view mirror, took a quick double-take, to see Maeve standing on top of the car's body-work, baring her claws, punching at Demons as the speedometer only grew.

"YOU TRULY ARE A SISTER OF MINE!" He howled over the top of the whistling, humid, Necropolis air that was now screeching as the car did. His eyes were screwing up and the shrill howling of the Blood Swords in swift pursuit - fast little fuckers - was doing nothing but providing further sensory distraction. Reaching instinctively over to his right as the whim came to him to do so, he grasped the prong of a glove compartment, and tugged it open: to reveal two items of accessory-based clothing within. The first was a pair of two, black, fingerless leather gloves: and the second... a pair of dark-framed, slender, and yet absolutely immaculate and apparently bound to the car...

...aviators.

The day was only getting better by the minute.

The gloves went on in a matter of moments as Lazarus cooed and made sharp intakes of breath over their very presence; and when that was all done with, he unfolded the sunglasses and slipped the frame around his head and hooked them over his ears moments later. The music was still hissing out from the grille; a guitar being absolutely shredded, perhaps in some opposite dimension, considering it was music he didn't recognise, or maybe this thing just came with a six-disc CD changer he hadn't found yet. Maeve's footfalls were still landing upon the back of the car, and with a thrust, the younger MacArtair - by blood - brought the car up into third, but let it level out around thirty or forty. The petrolhead speed rush wasn't worth killing his estranged, newfound sister.

A shriek echoed out from far too close to his ears; turning to his left, Laz saw that one of the clearly more athletic Swords had drawn up on his flank, a straggler Maeve had let loose - and behind him a few more of his friends. Aviators in tow, with a leather-bound grip, he lowered his hand to the haft of the Devil Saw still laid on his lap, trying to remember whether or not he'd engaged the pump. But as the lashing claws and the gnashing teeth of the harrowing, sanguine-tinted creature came closer, the teen felt not like risking it, instead just raising the shotgun, and half-snarling, half-shouting in deep, guttural, mock action-hero Demon.

"GET SOME!" BOOM. The reverberating shot blew the head clean off of the creature's torso with a spatter of indistinguishable gore and infernal viscera flying off with a truly excellent fountain-like effect up into the air. Its body fell down, unfortunately, on the spot, and moments later fell prey to a sickly squelch followed by the harsh crunch of whatever bone the thing contained underneath. The redhead made a sharp intake of breath in response, before just spurting out an arrogant, and somehow overly positive random statement of sarcastic empathy. "That sounded like it huuuuuuurt!"

The tables had turned: they had an escape ride and the Blood Swords were losing out on a rather skilled and fleshy late evening meal, not to mention the trophy cups they'd probably fashion out of their bloodied skulls, the gift from the sycophants to, as Maeve had asserted the presence of a definite champion, "the strongest among them". "HOW YOU DOIN' UP THERE?!" He shouted up at her, still somewhat unable to believe that he was driving through the streets of Hell in a 20s-styled Ford hotrod, firing a shotgun out of the window with a sister he'd been separated from before he'd even been born playing tightrope on the car's boot as she just outright punched Demons in the face.

Another two drew up on his flank, and with Maeve unable to accommodate to her presence, the dull thuds melded in with the shredding of flesh to ribbons - theirs, so he hoped - leading him to think she was more than likely preoccupied, he frantically tried to mentally search for a way to pump the shotgun so he could fire. With a last-ditch attempt, he rose it up to the metal bar at the top of the windscreen frame, and propped the bottom end of the weapon's pump, making sure the rest was secure before tugging down with all his might. The smoking shell that had been fired only moments before ejected with a drawn-out, mechanical chhhhhk, and gave way to a shriek somewhere in the masses behind as it presumably smashed into one of these vile machinations and caught them off guard - and with a release of all the tension, the counterpart to the first chk rang out, and a fresh shell loaded in with a gentle, hollow, and completely inaudible click.

And with that, Lazarus swung back, not bothering to aim, simply pointing the barrel of the gun towards the crowd, and pulled the trigger once more. BOOM. Shrieks. Spatters. Squelches. Shredding. Smoke, wisps of it trailing up and the stench of cordite mingling in with the veritable rivers of Demon blood they'd cut from these wretched masses, whose numbers were beginning to thin. Finally, thuds as the fallen - numerous of them - landed somewhere behind, rolling against the tarmac as they hissed and writhed in pain from the soul-energy charged pellets lodged in their bodies at some point. "I THINK," Lazarus called back out to his sister as he pulled the shotgun back onto his lap, having not really looked to squeeze the trigger in the slightest, and for the cacophonous result feeling very proud of himself. The fresh feeling of burning blood in his veins warming his aching muscles from the shotgun's kick made him feel like driving til the car had an empty tank of whatever fucking fuel it ran on and his hair was windswept and grey. "WE'RE NOT DOIN' TOO BADLY!"

[Maeve]

The wind whipping past her, the powerful speed of the car beneath her feet…. This was fucking AWESOME. "YOU TRULY ARE A SISTER OF MINE!" Maeve couldn't help but smirk as she kicked a couple more of the Blood Swords away. They were seriously trying weren't they? Her green eyes flicked from side to side as they approached, sensing from where they were more likely to come from and aiming her kicks or punches there. If she really had to, then slices. It was true that her quirky "sixth sense" wasn't as useful here considering the fact they were moving so fast, but it was certainly helping her to ensure she didn't fall or get knocked off of the car. That was sort of a bonus huh? Heh.

Her eyes had settled into the darkness that surrounded them, the dim glow on the horizon enough for her to see their general area by with little to no issues. However, she was getting tired. Glancing down, she noticed the blood flecks flying off of the back of his ride, a couple having landed on the paint job he hadn't wanted damaged. Gritting her teeth, she clicked her tongue in distaste and aimed another kick just as a couple more went right by. "LAZ TWO COMING FOR YOU." She called, just as a voice interrupted her own. "GET SOME!" She grinned and shifted her weight as the body was crunched beneath the wheel well of the car, watching as the limbs flailed comically behind them as they whizzed past. She let out a laugh at that, the cool air refreshing as it cooled the sweat that coated her toned body in a fine sheen. "That sounded like it huuuuuuurt!" Fuck yea it did. "Well done!" She shouted back, taking the brief lull in enemies to catch her breath and check beneath her leather coat on those punctures in her shoulders.

Shit… That didn't look good. They had to get out of here ASAP. She didn't want to risk some fucking infection because of a Weeping bitch. "HOW YOU DOIN' UP THERE?!" Maeve let out a sort of chuckle, watching out for more of the bastards, "I COULD USE A LEFT 4 DEAD FIRST AID KIT, BUT I'M GOOD OTHERWISE." She called, figuring the references she made wouldn't necessarily be lost upon him. Shit. Two more came up and she immediately let her claws fly, the two blades arching through the air in beautiful flashes, ripping right through the two demons flesh. Her whistle shrieked in the air as she resummoned them to her hands. But those two were just a distraction as others went right for her brother. However, she wasn't allowed to jump over to his aid as one literally came leaping up from the side to knock her over. With a roar of surprise they slammed against the boot of the car, her claws screeching as they held its sword at bay, her shoulders extremely unhappy with her at this particular moment in time. Fresh lines of blood poured out as she glared up at the creature. It was leering and licking its lips, her teeth grit tight as she waited for him to lean just a liiiiittle bit closer.

Her head came up and slammed into his, forcing his grip to loosen just as she leaned her head back to avoid his sword cutting her neck. Her boot came up and landed square in its chest, the body going flying up and over onto the pavement behind them. She noted the sickening crunches that followed as he hit and rolled. Panting, she sat up, her one leg remaining bent while one of her arms rested against it, the other remaining in her lap while she held her claws tightly, shaking her head a little. "Fucking christ, I almost would take the Templar right now." She muttered, her one hand suddenly moving to stab a Blood Sword in the mouth that thought it was clever by sneaking up over the side. Her blade was embedded in its forehead and it went tumbling as she pulled it out. "I THINK," Maeve turned back to look at Laz, "WE'RE NOT DOIN' TOO BADLY!" She chuckled and pushed herself up, watching as the Blood Swords seemed to rethink their current strategy, their lines slowing in their pursuit to the point where they wouldn't be able to catch up. Even Demons had to get tired sometimes, right?

"NO. NO WE AREN'T." She called as she turned and jumped back down into the seat beside him, panting while her Claws vanished in a sparkle of red light, leaving her sitting there beside him exhausted. "Oi oi… I think we deserve drinks. Do you think we deserve drinks? Because we fucking deserve some fucking drinks." She grinned at her brother, giving little to no fucks about anything at the moment because they had just managed to survive an extremely deadly situation.

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