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feldmanI need to stop watching vampire flicks. They always disappoint me, make me want to rewrite them, make them better, stronger, faster, smarter. Or perhaps just slightly more kinky.
Because if you're going to threaten a character with his worst nightmare, you should follow through.
Ryan Reynolds did a very good job with the scene where Parker Posey threatens to turn him again, starve him, and make him eat the little girl. He's not horrified or outraged; he's sad. Because he knows he'll do it, he won't have a choice. And then she doesn't do it? Wha--?
Fuck that noise. Tell me a *story* goddamnit! Ratchet me up that incline and then send me hurtling down! DOITDOITDOIT! Hell, you can still save him in the end, just give me a little follow-through. It's one of the few moments where I'm engaged by the characters and give a damn--use it!
~*~
Blade's already sparked half the vampires in the room when she rappels down, the door of the cell blown off the hinges and the chase on. King's chained to the floor, shaking shards of glass from his bare back.
Smooth industrial beats in her ears and King's still alive. Good.
She pulls the plain Glock, blended metal armor-piercing ammo, and aims for the chain where it passes through a ring in the thick metal floor plate.
That's when she finally sees King's face, sees the hollows under his eyes, the cracked lips, the need.
"Sonofabitch."
"Nah, the bitch did it herself." He's still there, still glossing shit over with a matte coat of sarcasm, but his body lurches against the chain, drawn by the blood beating in her temples. He grunts, fighting with himself, then spots a slice on his arm from the skylight. Mesmerized by the sluggish trickle from his own wound. His voice is distant, words on autopilot. "Two choices, Whistler. Maybe just one. Depends on what you put on your utility belt this morning."
"I don't have time for this shit, King." She digs in a back pocket for the right injector. Chained is good. Starved is good. This might even work, since he hasn't fed yet, hasn't nourished the pathogen with anything but his own body, still anemic from the puncture in his chest.
He murmurs, trace of whimper giving her a peek of the panic. "Not exactly thrilled myself."
She was there the first time he'd been treated, had been the only one willing to enter the cage at the end to see if he was still alive, if there was anything human left once the pathogen was gone. She'd stood there as he cried and eventually she'd pulled him up from the floor, taken him to the deck and given him coffee as the sun rose. "Where's Zoe?"
"Drake has her." He licks at the drip on his arm. She can see older gashes where he'd fed on himself earlier, bruised around the edges from the suck. "Saving her for me."
Nice touch. If she were a soulless piece of shit she could almost admire the setup. The song switches, garage rockabilly with a howling vocal. She tosses the injector cap and circles behind King.
He pulls his arm from his mouth, red stain at the corners, cat teeth just visible as he breathes, "Get on with it."
She grabs a fistful of hair, baring his neck to the side and jabbing the needle in. He rocks in her grip. "Fuck *me*."
"Maybe when this is over." She jams her thumb on the plunger and eases the dose in.
The chain clatters through the ring and he gets enough slack for one hand to grasp the back of her thigh. She shakes him off, determined to push it all in. He grunts, lets her. "Tease."
"I know where you've been." She pulls the needle free and tosses it. She unholsters the vamp Glock, with the glow-rounds, and heads for the door.
"Finders-keepers, you know. Let's meet for coff--" The serum hits and he spasms forward, smacking his head on the metal plate in the floor in an effort to distract himself from a deeper pain. "Motherfuc--"
The rest is howling, and will be for a good ten minutes. She has other things to do.
~*~
Because if you're going to threaten a character with his worst nightmare, you should follow through.
Ryan Reynolds did a very good job with the scene where Parker Posey threatens to turn him again, starve him, and make him eat the little girl. He's not horrified or outraged; he's sad. Because he knows he'll do it, he won't have a choice. And then she doesn't do it? Wha--?
Fuck that noise. Tell me a *story* goddamnit! Ratchet me up that incline and then send me hurtling down! DOITDOITDOIT! Hell, you can still save him in the end, just give me a little follow-through. It's one of the few moments where I'm engaged by the characters and give a damn--use it!
~*~
Blade's already sparked half the vampires in the room when she rappels down, the door of the cell blown off the hinges and the chase on. King's chained to the floor, shaking shards of glass from his bare back.
Smooth industrial beats in her ears and King's still alive. Good.
She pulls the plain Glock, blended metal armor-piercing ammo, and aims for the chain where it passes through a ring in the thick metal floor plate.
That's when she finally sees King's face, sees the hollows under his eyes, the cracked lips, the need.
"Sonofabitch."
"Nah, the bitch did it herself." He's still there, still glossing shit over with a matte coat of sarcasm, but his body lurches against the chain, drawn by the blood beating in her temples. He grunts, fighting with himself, then spots a slice on his arm from the skylight. Mesmerized by the sluggish trickle from his own wound. His voice is distant, words on autopilot. "Two choices, Whistler. Maybe just one. Depends on what you put on your utility belt this morning."
"I don't have time for this shit, King." She digs in a back pocket for the right injector. Chained is good. Starved is good. This might even work, since he hasn't fed yet, hasn't nourished the pathogen with anything but his own body, still anemic from the puncture in his chest.
He murmurs, trace of whimper giving her a peek of the panic. "Not exactly thrilled myself."
She was there the first time he'd been treated, had been the only one willing to enter the cage at the end to see if he was still alive, if there was anything human left once the pathogen was gone. She'd stood there as he cried and eventually she'd pulled him up from the floor, taken him to the deck and given him coffee as the sun rose. "Where's Zoe?"
"Drake has her." He licks at the drip on his arm. She can see older gashes where he'd fed on himself earlier, bruised around the edges from the suck. "Saving her for me."
Nice touch. If she were a soulless piece of shit she could almost admire the setup. The song switches, garage rockabilly with a howling vocal. She tosses the injector cap and circles behind King.
He pulls his arm from his mouth, red stain at the corners, cat teeth just visible as he breathes, "Get on with it."
She grabs a fistful of hair, baring his neck to the side and jabbing the needle in. He rocks in her grip. "Fuck *me*."
"Maybe when this is over." She jams her thumb on the plunger and eases the dose in.
The chain clatters through the ring and he gets enough slack for one hand to grasp the back of her thigh. She shakes him off, determined to push it all in. He grunts, lets her. "Tease."
"I know where you've been." She pulls the needle free and tosses it. She unholsters the vamp Glock, with the glow-rounds, and heads for the door.
"Finders-keepers, you know. Let's meet for coff--" The serum hits and he spasms forward, smacking his head on the metal plate in the floor in an effort to distract himself from a deeper pain. "Motherfuc--"
The rest is howling, and will be for a good ten minutes. She has other things to do.
~*~
