booming thunder | the berserkers

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[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify;"] Another day, another pitiful visit to a group that decided to not visit them in such daunting pleasure. Didn't they know to greet their neighbors? Maverick thought it was quite rude that the Berserkers were ignored by their newest groups. On the way here, he was sporadically mumbling to himself furiously about the rudeness of San Creado and Morgan Heights, as if they offended him at such a high level. The voices around him seemed to agree. High on delusion, he soon reached the borderline and jumped off the horse as he continued his pattering.

After a moment or two, the male threw his arm dramatically over his horse's neck and leaned up against it's side. "Fucking bitches," he muttered. A palm stroked at his black hide as he let out a sigh as if he was comforting the horse, not himself. "Can't be on time ever, can they?"

[div style="width: 45%; margin: auto; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify"]"What's got your panties in such a twist?"

Alexander and animals had a sort of understanding between each other. They don't like animals, and animals don't like them, so they both stay away. The vampire is standing a few yards away from the man and his horse, hands on their hips, an eyebrow raised. There were plenty of newcomers arriving these days, but this one didn't seem to be too happy about being in San Creado. "I wasn't aware we had appointments with anybody. What are we late for?" They ask after a moment, knowing full well that they wouldn't know if someone from another town was coming or not. That was Marko's job.

They would approach the Maverick if he wasn't standing beside a horse, of which seemed to notice them and already had their ears back in a threatening manner. They take a moment to glance around, hoping one of the other residents of San Creado is around, so they can escape before the horse decides to stop them with it's hooves. It seemed Alex was alone with this angry man and his scary horse. "I'm Alexander, by the way. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?"

Alone, but not for long. Catheryn hears the horse almost immediately, when it arrives, and shortly after that the low voice of a stranger. Currently, she's just outside the diner, and when the foreigners appear at the poorly established town border, she looks up, head canting to the side in subtle curiosity. For a moment, Catheryn considers whether or not she should bother to find out who has just shown up, but her decision is made for her when she hears Alexander's voice as well.

Vampires stick together, after all, however much they annoy her.

A quick snap of her fingers has her hovering next to Alex, blue eyes peering unconcernedly at Maverick and the horse. Unlike Alex, though, she isn't afraid of the animal, so Catheryn takes a step forward, angling herself so that it almost looks like she's standing protectively over him. But that could never be true. At least, she would never admit it out loud.

"You do have to learn to stop giving your name to everyone you come across," Catheryn mutters, gaze shifting to her friend before her attention is refocused on Maverick. They've had quite an influx of newcomers recently, though none like this one. He seems to exude an aura of violence, and her natural instinct to protect the hick town she's come to call home kicks in. "What do you want with us?"

[align=center][div style="width: 45%; text-align: justify; font-size: 11pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: verdana;"]♦ — the vampire leaned further off of the bench, closer to the beautiful bird in front of him. it was rare to see anything besides crows and common pigeons around town, and the band-tailed pigeon was one that he usually had to venture pretty far from the town's boundaries to find. if only he had birdfeed on him, then it would be so much easier to befriend it. after all, it was just so beautiful, and one in town meant there must've been more.

he was lying on the ground by the time the pigeon let him touch it without cooing, easily having spent ten minutes getting to that point. it was frankly exciting as all hell, and the bird was so much bigger than he was used to. really, it was important.

in about another half-hour, marko had the pigeon in his hands, doing his best to keep it comfortable. his goal, now that he had the time to speak to the pretty little bird, would be to wander in the direction of the other vampires. he had no idea where they were, but, like, they all usually found each other eventually. speaking of, there was a bit of commotion he could hear, and that definitely sounded like alex speaking, so that'd be the direction he'd go in.

"what's happening? who's this guy?" marko asked once he came over, speaking in a loud whisper. he was about as unleaderly as a leader could get, frankly, and seeing a threatening-looking dude on a horse freaked him out a bit.

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"Catheryn's right, Alexander," Rialto said, loud voice washing over them, coming suddenly up behind Cat's shoulder - having strolled there, as any foolish being below Cat's level would - and plopping his chin onto it without a second's thought or even bothering to move her hair. An arm hanging off her other shoulder and two identical faces bearing very different expressions. One a smile, the other blasé. He could mimic Cat's, but the moment Cat wore anything less than a face full of scorn, mainly at Rialto, then he was getting out all thirty-six of his knives, because that meant she was possessed. Anyone mortal might find it disconcerting, but they were dealing with immortals and battle-ravaged veterans, now. A coin flipping heads ten times in a row wouldn't make any one of them blink. "You can't just come out and tell them your name, Alexander, that's the first thing they need to target you. Right, Marko?"

He hid none of his preteen enjoyment while dragging out their names through the dirt, and only slightly metaphorically. This was just how they did it in San Creado. If one goes down, you all go down; if not willingly, the others around you hanging onto your ankle to prevent escape. You know, loyalty.

If there was anything to the stranger - the wild eyes, the mess of a five o'clock shadow, the frustration folding itself in every strip of muscle, the horse beside them that could probably fire its own horse catcher - two of the group had homed in on it. Something below the surface simmered, a thin tension as fragile as a bubble.

He tilted his head to the side, blinking at the stranger, before he held up his hand. "Coach, we need a timeout. This one sprained his leg." This one was Marko, who he leaned towards, even more indiscreetly, like team players bowing their heads together, and muttered (downright said, really, with all the subtlety Rialto put into it), "Are we the fucking bitches?"

© MADI

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Finally. Alexander's call brought over his brown gaze. It seemed as if his panties got all tangled apparently, but with this guy's attitude, Maverick would bet it was the other way around. Pulling away from his steed with a pat to his horse's neck, he offered a nod in greeting to the other male. It seemed like they weren't one for hellos. "Nothing, dearest," he commented directly afterwards. "And it's my pleasure to meet you, Alexander."

Each one to arrive, besides Marko, had commented upon Alexander's friendliness. While he definitely agreed with their paranoia, Maverick held the facade of wanting to be everyone's best friend to gain their utmost respect. All he wanted was information. If they were going to keep that from him, then things would not be well. "No need to be afraid of strangers," A wicked smile met his lips. Yellow teeth shone in the bright sun (ironic, isn't it?). "We're all friends here, aren't we, Alexander?" With that said, a cracked hand aimed to reach over towards Alexander's shoulder and hold him dear. An intense gaze would meet his.

Even so, he pulled away seconds later. As the three spoke, he noticed that they all had sharpened fangs. "Pointy," Maverick mumbled under his breath with a slight snicker that could be heard from the surrounding group. It seemed to be true...

Vampires.

So it was true? This place held the mysticalities of the world within it's grasp, all because they had something in common. Similar to the Berserkers, they all seemed to hold a common goal and mindset, yet their's was tied to physicality rather than mentality. How interesting. Maverick went through the thought in his head fast though, continuing on with his mini-rambling. "My name is Maverick, as you know, and I am the Ringleader of the Berserkers." He offered a dramatic forward bow. "I'm sure you've heard of our group, but it's safe to also assume you haven't..." If only this could go faster. "Dearest, I'm here to inquire a little predicament between our group." His fingers interlocked underneath his chin as he raised his eyebrows towards the three that had gathered. "Perhaps we can benefit off one another...?" Always being a leech like always. Anything to make him the bigger player on the battlefield though.

Though, his words fell off as Rialto held out a hand. Maverick's face curled in frustration, one hand folding into a fist as he let out a huff. 'The hell?'

/ninja'd

Horses were exceedingly uncommon to find in cities and Michael was pretty excited to see one. His fondest and earliest memories had been from when he was learning to take care of his horses, learning how to brush them, learning how to put on their tack, simply learning how to muck out their stalls.
There had been horses that he'd forged special bonds with, those that he had made an effort to tame and befriend, knowing all too well the brutal force that his father could be if he decided to break a horse. He remembered the trail rides in the early morning, when the air still smelled like dew and the sky was still lit up with a beautiful golden hue.
He remembers sitting quietly on his stallion, watching as a group of young rabbits made their way out of their den for what was likely the first time, their sensitive noses twitching in the sudden cold.

He also remembers the bad. He remembers all of the times that he had been hurt, kicked, bitten, stomped. He remembers the times when his father had decided that his slow but steady progress wasn't enough and forced Michael to watch as he broke in his horses. Michael had watched the spunk, the sweetness, the trust, drain from their eyes, replaced with something broken.

It had been one of those days that Michael had enough and attacked his 'father', the person wasn't even worthy of that title.
He had been in the corral with a sweet yearling colt that day. He had been working to gain his trust for a solid two weeks and it had finally been given. Michael had been over the moon when the colt came to him that day, nuzzling at his pockets and demanding feed. He had been so delighted that he didn't notice the man coming up behind him with the crop.
He had taken the colt before Michael would even protest.

Michael didn't remember the events after that very well, hadn't been cognizant enough to know what was happening around him, wasn't aware enough to hear his mother yelling at him from the house.

All he had known was red.

Michael had beaten his father that day. He had ripped the reins from his hands and crushed him. It was so funny, all the years of beatings and punishments that Michael had endured and he was finally the one giving. The colt was sold a few weeks later, a divorce was filed and Michael left his only home for the last time with a split lip and two black eyes.
He tried not to think of what had happened, tried not to think of how he hadn't been able to control himself.

Michael would be making his way towards the group at the moment, a smile upon his face. he was just a teensy bit intimidated by the group of people standing there but there was a horse. He was going to see the horse.

"Hey, Sir!" He'd call out as he neared, falling into formation beside Marko. The lone human of San Creado would approach Marko from the back, attempting to casually sling his arms around his neck and rest his chin upon his shoulder. they were friends, why not? He'd watch the group from his spot for a second before piping up.
"What's happenin? The dude with the horse seems t' want somethin'a us." He wanted a deal of sorts and some deals could go so badly.

Michael would cringe for a second, struggling to push away memories of the 'deals' that he had once held with his 'father'. Michael still had the scars on his lips from them, the scars on his temples and forehead that he purposefully grew his hair out to cover. They weren't obvious unless you had a very keen eye and they definitely weren't something that Michael attention drawn to.

/ didn't mean to write at length so much, haha.

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It's not that Catheryn hasn't heard of the other groups residing in the area (she buys her knitting supplies from shops in Morgan Heights, after all) but she's never really liked strangers. She doesn't so much as fear the unknown as actively avoid having to engage with it. Already in San Creado they're getting new faces everyday, and even though some don't even stay for an hour, she hates having to adjust to seeing them around. It's the reason why she isn't out during the day, today's voyage is certainly a regretful one.

"I think the question now, then, would be what can you give us," she states firmly, eyeing Maverick in barely-masked suspicion. She hadn't missed the way he'd reached to touch Alexander, and Catheryn does not appreciate it when strangers stroll into town and immediately try to act as if they're in charge. It's San Creado, and none of them are entirely perfect, but never let it be said that she doesn't protect her own.

The Berserkers. They sound intriguing, though probably not enough to hold Catheryn's attention longer for ten minutes. She doesn't like how Maverick drops affectionate monikers like Rialto drops sales pitches for the monstrosities he puts on his Etsy store, it feels unsavory, if not just downright distasteful. If the Ringleader wants cooperation from them, he's going to have to earn it. San Creado? Where the wild things are, indeed.

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[align=center][div style="max-width: 600px; text-align: justify;"]His hand raised to his face, clawing at his chin as he listened to Catheryn and Michael's mumbling. They wanted to know what he wanted and what he could provide, but at the moment, Maverick was not necessarily concerned with discussing these things to the public, especially with all of the open ears. "Well," he countered back towards Catheryn, "I don't exactly wish to discuss these things to the public, so I believe a leader or higher position would suit my needs if they can carry my message on..."

For a moment, his gaze shifted around. Marco didn't look leaderly, just a child trying to look bulky, so his dark eyes met the female again. "I assume you're them?"

//lazy repost

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