(no subject)

Chuck is not bound to the night, but he prefers it. It's the easiest time to run in his other skin and go unnoticed by humans or hunters.

...most hunters.

It's fine if he stays in the Pack's territory; the leeches prefer the more populated areas of the city while Herc likes to keep his people where there's plenty of place to run and few prying eyes. But Chuck's young and attractive and he deserves to have fun, doesn't he, and he'll sneak to a club every so often. When he feels a buzzing heat under his skin that running doesn't help, when he wants to be in a crowd of strangers and fill his nose with their scent.

Raleigh feels like he's older than dirt sometimes; being immortal and a shadow of the night would have never been his choice but there are things in life that cannot be helped - choices that are taken away from us regardless of our wishes. Raleigh supposed this just happened to be a more severe instance, but in the end it was as endless and eternal as the phases of the moon (ironic, because there are those out there that are as equally dependent upon the silver sphere in the sky) and there was nothing else to be done about it.

No sense moping, as his sire had said.

Easy for him to say.

Raleigh sticks to seedy clubs where the sight of blood isn't frowned upon or screamed over, and doesn't really run with a coven. He's a loner, though some think that's dangerous - for everyone.

He doesn't care, though. He just has to stay away from hunters and dogs and things are fine. They're normal.

As normal as they can be.

He heads to one such club now, though he's on high alert, always watching. He'd heard from a friend - this word is used loosely - that there were hunters in town and to be careful.

Packs keep you safe. Stick to a group and you're never alone, never without friends and never without back up. Chuck assumes it's the same with covens but he's never really had an interaction with a vampire that either didn't turn bloody or wasn't rife with tension. They don't get along well; Chuck's eager to leap for the throat, but Herc wants to try and keep peace, though if the bloodsuckers are the one trespassing he's a little bit more relaxed on the violent bits.

It's a good crowd tonight, not too many people are wearing scents that mask their own, or they've sweated it off or it's not something that smells like dead excrement.

Seriously, he wants to fucking eat whoever invented Axe body spray.

There's a few people giving him the eye as he walks in and he rolls his shoulders, unconcerned. He's not here to go home with someone, though he might not say no to a little fun.

He's sitting on a barstool next to a pretty brunette with a drink in her hand, eyes crinkling at the edges and lips pulled up into a smile as he speaks with her, listens to her talk. Her name is Bridgette, she's twenty-three, she's an aspiring actress but a nurse during the day (something that keeps his interest, befriending her just became a whole lot more conducive to Raleigh's interests) and her favorite color is green which is good, because it looks nice against her pale skin, dark hair and blue eyes and he tells her so and she blushes, blood rushing to her cheeks.

He can smell her, smell her want and her need and her blood, too -- that's the most prevalent.

Something else washes over his senses though, and his gaze snaps up, focuses on the stocky guy coming in and his eyes narrow.

Wolf.

Godammit.

He's not looking for a fight tonight and even if his instincts scream attack, he stays where he is, leaning into the girl a little and nodding when she murmurs in his ear.

Chuck takes in his surroundings, taking slow, deep breaths to get himself situated (and used to the myriad of scents). There's alcohol, drugs, arousal all mixed together, and the strong bloody scent of--

his head snaps to the source of old blood and finds the source, the leech sitting by the bar leaning into a human's space.

Chuck should go. He shouldn't engage. He's the one trespassing on other territory, he's the one encroaching, he's the one who shouldn't be here.
But he's the one striding over to the bar and leaning on the bar pointedly right behind the bloodsucker, gesturing to the bartender for a drink. His nose is wrinkled like he's about to snarl but he's not going to make the first move.

Raleigh doesn't know why the dog is here, they're not supposed to be. They know better than to come into this territory, that this is where his kind roam and yet here he is, waltzing in like he owns the goddamn place and it makes Raleigh's teeth tingle, the sharp points of his canines start to extend.

He doesn't want to freak Bridgette out so he smiles at her, and keeps talking, doing his best to ignore the goddamn moron who dared to walk into this bar.

It seems the only logical thing to do, especially when he can tell that the asshole is trying to goad him.

He's at his back and the scent of old blood and death and vampire is filling his nose and throat so thickly he thinks he might choke, but he's not backing down.

He tosses a couple bills on the bar for his beer and just stays there to drink it. Slowly.

It's not going to affect him. Alcohol's never hit him badly unless it was close to ether or enhanced by wolfsbane essence, but it gives him something to hold, something to drink, something to do.

An excuse to hang by the bar. It's almost a test for himself too, to see how long he can stand to be in its presence before he has to go into the alley to change. The back of his neck is prickling with hair that wants to grow and spread down his back, fingers aching with the desire to grow his claws.

...Son of a bitch.

It's been a while since he's been deliberately prodded like this, since he's had someone give enough of a damn about what he is to purposefully get in his space, in his territory and not leave.

His eyes are beginning to blacken and Bridgette is starting to fidget, and he leans in, murmurs something in her ear and slides a napkin into her hand - his number, because he'd like to make use of those nursing skills and access to blood bags.

She takes the napkin, flicks her eyes over his shoulder to Chuck, then gets up and leaves.

Raleigh himself turns to face the bar so he can watch the dog out of the corner of his eye, and signals to the bartender to bring him a drink.

In his turning, he might've positioned himself a little closer. He's aware of how he smells to them, like necrotic blood and death, and he's hoping that will drive him off.

Chuck was close enough to the leech that any closer movement is pretty arbitrary to his senses.

He's watching him right back out of the corner of his eye, taking slow pulls from his bottle of beer. He'll smirk a little and give a nod to the human as she glances at Chuck and walks away from the both of them. Good. No need to get anyone involved who doesn't have to be.

Toodlehoo, sweetheart.

Okay so maybe Chuck's playing with fire, but the full moon's in about a week and there's a buzzing under his skin and he's bored. A fight might do him good.

He waits until he's served his drink and the bartenders attention is elsewhere before murmuring quietly under his breath.

"Little far from home, aren't you."

It's not a question. It's a statement.

"Least I know where mine is," he murmurs back against the rim of his bottle. "You young enough to remember yours?"

Sometimes a wolf just wants to roam the streets, mate.

"Do you? Maybe you should go back there, seeing as you're tresspassing right now."

He doesn't even touch the age question. That's none of this little assholes business.

Yeah asking a vampire's age is a pretty big faux pas. Chuck doesn't care.

"Please, I'm barely trespassing." He snorts and jerks his head back at the crowd. "Never seen you here before. Never seen any leech here before."

"This is our area. Doesn't matter if you've seen us before or not. Ther's boundaries for a fucking reason."

He knows your kind. The second a vampire gets too close for your comfort, teeth come out and you're ready to rip a throat out. Hypocrit.

Has Chuck brought his claws or teeth out yet? Has he started a fight?

"Why have a place in your territory if you're not going to use it?" he snaps. "There's been no problems until tonight."

"I am using it," he snaps.

"So maybe you should get out."

"I've been here over the last half a year," he snarls quietly, upper lip curling and eyes shifting to yellow. "Never sniffed a one of you shits. Might as well be considered ours."

"Just because you think it's yours doesn't mean it is, dog. You don't see us encroaching on your territory. I don't give a damn what you 'think' is yours. It isn't. You aren't entitled to shit. Not without our permission."

This is going so well.

"You. Weren't. Using it." And shit, his teeth are coming out now and he's curling his hands to hide his claws. He's normally got better control than this, but leeches just bring it out.

"That. Doesn't. Matter. There's parts of your territory you song use, yet we steer clear because you lot are too possessive and antagonistic to bother with. Get out."

Raleigh's slowly losing the white in his eyes - Chuck isn't the only one reacting physically.

"You never said anything about wanting to use it," he growls, voice rough around the teeth and okay they have to get out of there, away from the crowd.

"Alley."

"Who the fuck would I tell? Not like we hang out on Sundays and watch fucking football."

He's already standing and throwing bills on the counter as payment and tip for his drink, moving so fast his chair skitters back.

"Let's go."

Chuck's pushing past the crowd to get to the door outside. Literally pushing, the crowd is thick and normally he loves it but when he's amped up like this they need to be out of his way.

"I thought you freaks got together to talk about flavors and kill counts," he growls once they're outside, shrugging his jacket off to give his arms room to shift a little with the awkward bone adjustment.

Raleigh's shoving people aside too - they're in his goddamn way, he needs out of here.

"Don't be fucking stupid. That's about as accurate as the assumption that you eat out of a bowl and like your belly rubbed."

--Chuck's level of enjoyment when someone's got their hand on his stomach is so not the point!

"Please," he snorts, tossing his head up. There's something else under the blood and grossness of the vampire and the grossness of the alleyway, which is mostly piss and garbage, but he's too angry right now to think about it. "What the fuck else is something like you going to do? You eat and kill, that's what you do."