Session 1: Ignition

Even over the steady drone of music filling the room, Ally Morgan could hear her heart hammering in her chest. While she hadn’t been dead as long as the others, she’d been dead long enough to forget what that felt like. Rosy cheeks and a beating heart; it felt like being alive.

She almost-glides through the crowd, moving this way and that as she desired. She closed her eyes, and focused on the rhythmic thumping in her chest. The music, the dancing, the people (the living and the dead), the smell of blood and piss and booze all faded into the distance as Ally Morgan got to taste just a sliver of what used to be.

Thump… thump… thump…

A sound made all the louder by the sudden lack of any other noise; this absence real and not imagined. The music cuts, and while the lights stay down, the crowd shrinks back into stunned and sudden silence.

Ally, irritated at being drawn from her revelry, looks for an explanation. Then, she sees them:

"Tch… Fucking Transubstantives!" she whines, with fangs bared for a moment in annoyance.

A black car with near illegible text decals spread over it - reading, to a discernible eye familiar with the fonts of metal bands, "Perkele" - rests, engine cool but the exterior of the car warm from a day in the Phoenix air. Inside the renovated back of the car, a coffin. Inside the coffin, Perkele, sleeping off a string of nights of expending himself too much.

He knows he should get up, get back at it, get some blood flowing.

But the rest is so nice. He still isn’t used to Phoenix’s oppressive heat. But he can’t wallow forever.

He crawls out of the backseat coffin, the white and black of his corpse paint mask smeared and streaked, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Maybe I’ll see what Jenny is up to.

Ugh.. Gimme another one! What? Of course I'm 21! Fucking look at me! Or what, my GREEN AMERICAN DOLLARS not good enough for you? Fucking hell.. - Thessa slams the glass on the counter and glares at the bartender. The little dive-bar at the edge of the city line was a total shithole. Whack crowd, watered-down drinks, smelled of.. everything. She'd recon she could vomit if that was still an option. Though maybe it was just the mood.

The sound of her phone ringing pulls her out of the dark thoughts, slowly spiraling into a moody bog of boredom and irritation. The pulls the phone up and looks at the screen. Who the hell is it? Of course it was him. Her butler. The annoying bastard could never read the room. Granted he wasn't in this one, but that fact should've clued him in. She pressed the red button and put the phone back in her pocket, downing another shot, while sipping on a large jug of nasty tasting beer.

The phone rings again. Thessa pulls it out of her back pocket - again - and hits green this time.

WHAT? What? No, I'm not at the bar. Shut up Morgan. Of course I remember about the races. Ugh.. Yes, I remember the time. I'm dead, not demented. No, it's not because of what happened at the last race. I was perfectly fine, top of game! I DID NOT FUCK UP YOU DIMWIT! No ramen for you! No, I'm not sulking alone somewhere, I, just so you know, am having a fucking blast right now! Partying my pants off. What, where are they? They're gone! That's how hard I'm partying! What's gone? The pants, dammit! Whatever. Know-it-all.

Thessa hangs up and smacks the phone on the bar table. Stupid prick.

She turns on her chair and takes in the audience. What a sorry sight.. - she thinks as her gaze slides across drunk townies. Her eye catches a lonely brunette, sitting all by herself at the table. Their eyes meet and the brunette looks away, playing coy. Well.. She's alright, I guess. I need some pick-me-up before the race anyways.. Grabbing her phone and beer, Thessa moves to the brunette's table and half-an-hour later, they're in the brunette's pick-up (because of course it's a pick-up), testing its suspension system, see if it can hold the passion. As the brunette about to scream to her boyfriend's name (who was a no-show tonight), Thessa sinks her fangs into her neck.

The sweet red is rushing down Thessa throat, her hand in the brunette's pants. On the peak of the wave of pleasure, some asshole interrupts the good going, slamming his fist against the pick-ups side.

Jecky! What the fuck! What are doing with that bitch! Get out here! - the asshole keeps pounding on the car, while bitching at the two of them. The mood obviously ruined, Thessa hops out of the truck and makes her way to the asshole.

What, you wanna go, huh? Well, come on, let's go asshole! YOU CAN'T TAKE ME! I AM INVINCIBLE! - she screams, high on the blood and adrenaline in it, as she pushes the guy, trying to provoke a fight.

COME ON! LET'S DANCE YOU FUCKING REDNECK! - the battle-cry is heard thorough the bar's parking lot, as Thessa is about to unleash hell upon the dimwit that interrupted her fun. He goes for swing, but she is quicker and ducks right under his arm. With a lightning fast move of her hips, she buries her knee deep in his privates. The man lets out a high pitched squeal and falls down, clutching his cracked pearls. The brunette, half passed out from pleasure and blood loss, looks confusedly out of the window. Several patrons have exited the bar and are staring at the unfolding drama.

What'cha looking at?! You wanna go? You better not! - snipes at them Thessa, as she gets in her car and drives off into the night.

What a goddamn hole! Well, at least there was some action. Those famous races better be good! With those thoughts, Thessa hits the gas and speeds on to the rendezvous point with the others.

Perhaps the Holy had turned up looking for converts to baptize into the faith. What little Ally had heard, they were just as eager to baptize the heretics, too; drowning being one of the final deaths of the vampire. She didn’t hang around long enough to find out, as she lets the hand lead her away; the pressure on her wrist reminding her of that steady beat that lay within her chest.

Once fresh air replaced the stale and the smoke-filled of the club, she slows a little:

"Nice throw! Those creeps just can’t leave well enough alone!" she says, with a puff to blow some hair out of her eyes.

"Where are we?" she says, unafraid but simply unfamiliar with the city.

Ally stands beside her hot-pink, sleek little machine. She revels in being the center of attention, if only for the checks required to gain entry into the race.

She rests a hand on the car, and makes small talk among those impressed by the thing. She was a new racer, truth be told; with no wins under her belt. But tonight would be different…

She feels the brush of skin, cold and warm, against her own. Her blood is high, and her senses so keen that she can feel the tiny bristles of arm hair against her pale skin.

"Remember this face!" she says, with a titter meant to elicit confidence. "You’ll be seeing it up on the podium tonight!"

Everyone hears Perkele before they see him, and that's how he likes it.

The music seems louder than comfortable, excessively abrasive and confrontational. His matte black Mustang comes into view, his own name decaled on the side in a way that seems like someone's taken keys, or a knife, haphazardly into both sides of the car, scrawling over all of its edges like lightning, like lichen. To most it's unreadable, just seems like damage.

Taking in the scene as he pulls up, he notices the Black Rider. I won't be one-upped by someone else all-clad in black.

He slows to a stop, rolls his window down, and glares at the Black Rider. His corpse paint still streaked, still a bit of a mess, he turns down the music.

"Try not to get in my way." He revs his engine, puts his fingers back on the knob. "It won't be a good time for you."

He cranks the music back up, pulling his signature brooding expression back on.

Still pissed about the night's going so far, Thessa's mood improves somewhat as she pulls out to the parking lot in her.. regular gray sedan. Driving through the gathered chaos, she finally feels in her element. A plain dressed man who was standing in front of a white japanese decked cherry gets in his car to follow, when he sees Thessa pass by.Both slowly cruise the parking lot before Thessa hears the audial tremor signaling the spot where her crew's gathering - the nasty, blaring black metal. She parks near Perkele's defaced Mustang and Ally's bright pink Porshe.

Damn, you weren't kidding about that paint job.. I SAID YOU WEREN'T KIDDING ABOUT THAT PAINT JOB - the harsh metal riff swallows the last few word of the sentence, as Thessa gestures for Perkele to cut down the noise, hoping that he's satisfied with having announced his arrival to the Gods above and below. They must've heard that..

Behind Thessa, the white racer parks, its sharp carbon spoilers ready to cut the winds. A man with a look of perpetual annoyance steps out and approaches the group.

Must we always endure this harsh cacophony, Master Perkele? Why not listens to Vivaldi or Bach? Something to soothe the soul, not irritate it?

Perkele turns the nob down - still loud, but manageable - and glances over.

"I'll take it under consideration, but I find I drive my best on an irritated soul." He leaves the volume at this level, and adds, to Thessa, "And good to see you, I hope you've had a better few days than me."

He turns his head to address Ally. "Well, you seem... alive. I like the confidence. Let's leave leave all these fools in the dust."

"I’ve never felt more alive!" Ally remarks, and lets some light catch on one of her fangs. For the few among them who weren’t dead, the inside joke would go over the heads entirely.

Of course she’d felt more alive at some point, she just couldn’t fully remember when.

"Why aren’t we racing already?" she says to the huddled mass around her!

Oh, Morgan, shut up, you big complainer. You won't be satisfied until there's an orchestra playing live. And no, I did not forget about my promise. We're going to the opera, later. Thessa quickly shuts her butler down when he begins to complain about Perkele's choice of music.

Nah. Been kinda annoying. I'm ready to burn some rubber, that's for sure. - she says to metalman.


Why are you so chipper? Usually you're the one moping. Mhm.. - with a look of coy suspicion, Thessa will trot over to Ally and look at her from below (being shortest of the group). Did I miss something? Did you have some mighty good fun, m?


After the Lincoln personage finishes hyping up the race, Thessa lets out a low whistle.

So, this is the big boss then? Let's go check 'em out. Couldn't see who it was with all the people around. Ey yo, Morgan! Kneel down, I'm gonna ride you. Stop looking at me like and get down. Your shoulders will be fine. Or I won't be able to see anything! - she gestures to the crowd already gathered around the race organizer.

Perkele breathes in the still warm air, rolls up his tinted windows, and turns the music back up. He is still feeling miserable, hoping the race will help pump some blood back into him. He watches all the pomp and circumstance, and reflexively sneers. He lets out a scream - no, a shriek - along to his music, not caring if anyone can tell he's doing so. He rolls his windows back down and yells, "Let's fucking go!"

Ally flashes conspiratorial, knowing eyes at Thessa, and then comments on the newcomer.

"Captivating, isn’t he?" she says, more statement than question. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she’d been caught up in the moment, like the rest assembled!

She motions with her chin almost imperceptibly at the figure vying for Thessa’s attention then, and slips into her pink race car.