Chapter Text
Her brain felt like a boat rocking gently at sea, the waves creeping back and forth against the inside of her skull.
Laying on the stiff couch in her living room made her back ache and her stomach whine, but worst of all, she started to grow warmer. The cool, still air in her darkened apartment was slowly being broken by the morning dawn, the sun's rays flooding through to paint a sliver on her face.
It was enough to make her whole system crash.
She instinctively turned her head to the side as quickly as she could, projectile vomit hitting empty bottles strewn around the floor. The pain and, worse, the smell, forced her onto her feet and into the bathroom where she made small talk with the toilet.
Wiping her blurry eyes, she stood to confront the beast in the mirror: Lilah Silver, but just Silver to most. Tangled platinum blonde hair crisscrossed her face, failing to hide crusty eyes and dried spit. The first thing that her eyes always focused on, though, were the scars that ran across her cheek. She quickly washed her face with a hand towel and downed a shot of mouth wash.
She would never be able to convince someone she's well put together, but it's well enough that no one thinks she's completely lost it just yet.
With an overpoweringly minty taste in her mouth, she walked into the kitchen and pulled three slices of bread from a bag, barely chewing enough to keep it down. She opened a mostly-empty cabinet and pulled out a handle of whiskey, which she promptly swigged to wash the bread down.
Much better, she thought, only gagging a little bit.
Part of her hates herself for living like this, but life’s not easy; some Bradley’s whiskey and a Filtered National or two are one of the better coping methods in this city. Plus, she kind of deserves it for once -- today was the day her life was turning around for the better.
Her tools sat on the coffee table; two bolas, two boots, and a shotgun. She’s spent seven years of her life learning how to hunt in The Cursed Apple. Streets, alleyways, tunnels, vents, and even the old bricked up maintenance entries that petty thieves called “juke rooms.” It made her a dangerously efficient bounty hunter when she was sober, which admittedly wasn’t often.
Regardless, she felt her skill had finally been recognized when her fixer handed her a bounty for the one and only fashion designer Mina Ha, paid out by an anonymous source. Her best guess was Vatican dirty work, and while she'd normally be against working with people who were just as keen to put a bullet in her as they would her target, she desperately needed money and they needed a spoiled vampire dead.
Plus, she does shots with the padre that’s been hanging out at Jezebel’s lately, so some Catholics are pretty good folk, by her measure.
She read over the details of the bounty again, double-checking the location, time, and the brief description of her target. Sometimes she’s asked to kill someone that she doesn't think deserves it, but this circumstance offered no sort of moral dilemma. Not only was she a snobby socialite with a bad reputation, but this one was personal. Her fixer nearly got thrown in jail a year ago for some counterfeits they were selling that looked like her “designer” dresses.
She couldn’t imagine who would want to pay thousands for something that looked like it came from a closet in an old folks home, so it was hardly worth ruining some good meaning folk’s lives over.
It was damn near a victimless crime, she thought. The vamp deserved everything that was coming her way.
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Her brain was on fire, thousands of little pin pricks scattering across it's surface.
After months of careful planning, she had created her most incredible piece yet: a satin A-line dress that shimmered between noir and sea green, a single grey-green pleated sleeve on the shoulder that would rest opposite Lady Geist’s ghostly arm. It was beautiful, yet simple enough to keep the focus on her exquisite features.
If she saw this, there was not a doubt in her mind that it would secure her spot as the philanthropist's dressmaker for the Met Gala.
She could imagine it so easily; the most elegant and powerful woman in the entire city wearing a Mina Ha original. That was, until, it all disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Lady Geist had announced a fundraiser for the Johann Geist Foundation for the Haunted Homeless, with Geist herself slated to give a speech at the beginning of the night. Without warning, it had been called off only fifteen minutes after Mina had made her way to the dressing rooms with her garment bag in tow. It was a pain to find a connection who could get her into the event, only to approach the end of her brilliant plan and be thwarted by a completely unknowable variable.
She nearly raked one of the help over the coals purely out of frustration, but she knew it would kill any chance she ever had to get in Lady Geist’s good graces.
Waiting a whole year for the next Met Gala isn’t hard when you’re immortal, but the whole fashion scene will have completely shifted by then, she thought. She had already begun to hear whispers that shaggy coats were going to be making a big comeback by next year, and this dress would look truly awful with a shaggy coat wrapped around it…
The moment she made her way out of the fundraiser through a service entrance, she rounded a corner into the alley and let her rage consume her, inside and out.
She barged along the dimly lit alleyways of Lower Manhattan, her heels crashing through thin puddles, aimlessly slashing the brickwork with the sharp tip of her umbrella over and over. The deep divots in the walls from her strikes marked her presence, her black coat dress twirling around her with each movement.
“One day, every single person in this godforsaken hellhole of a city will live their pitiful lives in service of me,” she screamed through clenched teeth, “Even the Viscount will be at my beck-and-fucking-call if it so pleases me!”
It wasn’t common for her to have such an intense outburst, but when she did, her mind always wandered back to a specific moment in the past -- the day her fiancé, the heir to the Fairfax dynasty, was suddenly assassinated.
Life would have been so easy as a Fairfax, she mused. She wouldn’t be here in a dirty alley with nothing to show for months of hard work. She wouldn’t be a vampire, either. She’d just be New York City’s most sought after tailor; how could such a quaint desire be so much to ask for?
Of course she had it better than most, her mother drilled that fact into her head at a young age; it just doesn't feel like that in the moment. Anyone would be miserable if their ambitions were dashed so violently, and it made her fear for the future.
Being immortal meant that reaching her goals was a simple matter of time, but so too was failure.
God forbid you fail so spectacularly that history remembers it, she contemplated. At that point, it’s a mercy to know you’ll be dead one day.
There’s endless stories of vampires living long enough to lose their minds, committing acts that even other vampires would never be able to forgive, being treated closer to rabid animals than people. The thought alone made her heart race.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps began slowly approaching her from around a corner. She thought to shift away into a swarm of bats before anyone could snap a picture of her moping in an alley and sell it to some tabloid rag, but she wouldn’t be able to take the dress with her. Even if Lady Geist wouldn’t see it, she couldn't just leave it sitting next to a dumpster like trash. She brushed herself off, making sure to wipe away any stray tears.
A figure rounded the corner, looming over the alley’s exit with a wide stance. The lit cigarette she pulled from her mouth was the only light that gave Mina a glimpse of the woman; platinum blonde shaggy hair, long grey dog-like ears poking out on either side of her head, a bright orange coat, and scars that ran up the left side of her face. She had the mangey look of a werewolf, but her natural features lent well to modeling.
“You Mina Ha?” Lilah asked, bringing the cigarette back up to her mouth for a puff.
“The one and only,” Mina politely feigned, patting her dress down, “Sorry, I don’t do autographs.”
Lilah flicked the cigarette to the ground, snuffing it with her boot.
“That’s a shame. You can fetch a good price for someone’s last autograph, even if they are a z-list celebrity.”
“Who the fuck are you calling a z-list cele--”
Lilah pulls the shotgun slung over her shoulder, firing.
The shot cuts through cold air, a swarm of bats aimed for the moon. She reforms, umbrella open and pistol out. She fires twice, landing both shots.
“Oh you’re getting Old Yeller’d tonight, bitch,” Mina yells, scattering to avoid more fire.
As Mina reappears, the wind is knocked out of her, vision blurring. A bola holds her body tight.
On her way to the ground, Lilah's boots find her ribs. Cracking bone. The muzzle flashes and pain explodes through her shoulder.
Mina lands on her back, desperately trying to catch her breath. She looks down at her shoulder -- it's not healing. Silver.
“Silver..." Mina cuts herself free of the bola, wheezing. "Cute."
“What?" Lilah halts her approach, confused, "How do you know who-”
Mina shoots her three times in the chest.
Lilah's body begins to lock up, bringing her down to a knee. The night’s cold breeze feels like ice against her skin. Mina steps forward, moonlight bouncing off of the red ornate vial slotted into her gun where a magazine would be.
“Shooting me up with vamp blood?” Her words slur through paralyzed lips, “You-"
“Sharp eyes. It’s a shame I have to put you down, I’ve always wanted my own pet,” Mina leans down, pushing Lilah’s hair back and bearing her fangs.
Almost...
The shotgun blast catches her hip. She staggers backwards, dropping her pistol, hand to her side. The confidence drains, replaced by shock, replaced by fury.
“You really thought-” Lilah falters mid-gloat, Mina's umbrella tearing through her chest. Her face meets the concrete with a wet thud.
The silver streaks still burn. Cauterization is the only mercy a silver bullet offers.
The alley whirls. She spots the garment bag once again, stumbling towards it. Footsteps.
Mina spins, umbrella forward. Someone else.
A half-burned face lit by cigar glow. Crosses and stakes dangled from his vest.
A Venator. Father Quinn Rourke.
His name flowed through panicked whispers from the vampires of New York. A man who's been turning their kind to ash and sending bottles back to the Vatican.
Her body gives way, catching herself on the wall to her side. The adrenaline begins to flood her veins again.
“Well now, who would have thought that a whiny brat like you could stand your own against Silver… Even if only by a thread.” He give's Lilah's body a gentle nudge with his boot. “Too bad. One of the few people who could actually out-drink me,”
His eyes dart from Lilah to Mina. He sees the fresh wounds.
“Send other people to do all of the hard work so you can swoop in and finish the job,” Mina spits, “typical Venator.”
“Oh, c'mon now, it's not like that," he chuckles, flicking ash from his cigar, "Silver here has a tendency to run her mouth when she has a few drinks in her. Told me who she was going after before she left the bar not too long ago. I figured I'd keep an eye on her in case things didn't pan out in her favor."
He drops his gun and pulls a stake from his chest.
"Unlucky for you, I'm more than capable of finishing a job."
Mina glances to her gun on the floor. It's too far.
“You’re just a man, Rourke, and you’re going to die screaming like one.”
“And you’re just a spoiled child,” he says, raising the stake above his head, “But I’ll aim for the neck so no one has to listen to your shrieking anymore.”
He swings down. Mina catches his arm with the shaft of the umbrella, barely. Her arms shake, her hip screams.
He rips it away, throwing it. She stumbles back. Between his legs, she sees... Light. Wisps float around the woman's lifeless body. It moves.
Mina scrambles backwards. The body is replaced with a mass of white fur and muscle. One arm shoots forward, digging claws into Rourke's calf.
His shit-eating grin disappears. The beast on the floor yanks, he falls. In a flash, the werewolf is on top of him.
"ROURKE! THIS IS MY BOUNTY!" Lilah howled, bringing her claws down on him. He gets his machine gun up between swipes, the ring of claws scraping metal. Mina dashes for her umbrella, stumbling across the ground. She feels the weight of it in her hand.
Rourke kicks the werewolf off. His gun roars to life. Lilah covers her face with her arms, bullets tearing through fur and flesh. His back is to Mina.
Run. She looks around. A nearby roof.
Instead, she lunges forward.
The umbrella's sharp tip rips through the vestments, through skin, through sinew. He yells.
Mina's arm recoils, her side can't keep up the fight any longer. But if he dies... If she kills him...
The Vampire Nation would finally give her the recognition she deserves.
Rourke turns. One hand still sprays machine gun fire into the wolf, the other grabs the sawed-off from his hip. The muzzle flashes. Mina is already gone. She reforms on a fire escape, clutching the railing. The fight continues below her.
Lilah launches herself through the gunfire, her jaws closing tight on the Venator's shoulder. He screams, guttural, dropping his shotgun to punch her in the face. She wont let go.
He switches the machine gun to his other hand. It comes up, the under-barrel flame thrower roars into the side of her face. She releases her grip, stumbling backwards. Beating fire from her fur. Whimpering.
The Venator's hand goes for a grenade on his belt. It drops, and smoke fills the alley. Panicked footsteps rush through the smoke, blending into the city's ambience. Mina steels her body for a chase--
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, ROURKE!"
The sound of metal snapping shut. A dog's yelp. Silence.
The smoke dissipates. No longer a werewolf, the woman lays still with a bear trap around her leg. Her clothes are tatters, her body a canvas of old scars and fresh cuts. Blood slowly pooled around her.
Mina coasts to the ground. Her legs buckle, but she stands. She limps across the wall of the alley to her gun, every step met with shooting pain.
Lilah coughs, blood running down the side of her face.
"Please..."
Mina's hand closes around the gun. She turns.
"Mom..."
Mina froze. A single thread pulls inside of her. It hurts.
Blondie's in no state to fight, and won't be for a few days at least, she thinks. I can drag her home, interrogate her. Find out who put a bounty on my head.
Mina walks back to the woman on the ground. She kneels. Takes one glove off.
She runs her finger through the blood, and puts it in her mouth. It tastes awful, but she feels a sliver of strength return to her.
Her hands find the trap. She pushes down on the sides. The jaws release her leg.
"Mom, I-"
"Shut up," Mina whispers. "Shut up."
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Lilah couldn't feel anything but raw pain, the kind that she normally washed away deep with binge drinking. Every single inch of her body throbbed, her head pounding so loudly that she didn't dare open her eyes and risk being assaulted with light. A small, involuntary whine spilled out from under her breath.
The sound of footsteps suddenly came into her focus.
"Are you awake?" A voice prodded. It sounded like Mina Ha, but she prayed to whatever cosmic entity that may be listening to her that it wasn't. A moment passes.
"Hellooooo?" Three quick finger snaps right next to her ear.
It is her. God dammit.
"Fuck off," is all Lilah managed to get out before going into a small coughing fit.
"Real class act. The woman you tried to kill saves your life and you tell her to fuck off," she huffs. "I should've let you bleed out in that alley. At least then my bedroom wouldn't smell like wet dog and liver disease."
Lilah tries to rub her face, but immediately feels the rope keeping her arms tight against the back of the chair.
She ventures to slowly open one eye and sees Mina Ha across from her, sitting sideways on a dark red upholstered couch. The room is mostly dark, save for a few candles and the dim light of the moon peaking through the blinds. She can make out paintings on the walls; stately-looking people, lush fields, busy intersections.
Mina herself was dressed in black satin pajamas, the sleeveless top exposing her shoulders. Her body no longer reflected the injuries she sustained during their fight.
"How long have I been out?" Lilah groaned.
"About a day. You lost a lot of blood, enough to kill most people," Mina reached for a box of cigarettes on the side table, tapping it against her palm and pulling one out, "If you weren't a werewolf, you probably wouldn't have made it long enough for me to drag you back here."
Lilah notices a thick glass bottle filled with amber liquid on the side table where the cigarettes sat. Mina lit her cigarette, watching Lilah stare down the bottle.
"You're anemic, do you really think alcohol is a good idea right now? Are you stupid?" She scoffed in disbelief.
"It'd help with the pain."
Mina's brow furrowed. She stands, walks over to the side table and opens the cabinet below it, pulling out two shot glasses. She pops the bottle and pours a bit of the amber liquid into them, leaving her cigarette in an ash tray.
The vampire turns and dangles the shot an inch from her face, Lilah's eyes focused on the liquid gently rolling around the walls of the glass.
"You want a drink, I want information. Who are you?"
"I'm a bounty hunter. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."
"Oh really? I couldn't have guessed, given all of your screaming about bounties when the Father came around. I want a name."
"Silver."
Mina arched an eyebrow.
"I remember he said he knew you, but I thought him calling you Silver was some kind of dumb joke. That's like if my mom named me Stake."
"It's a work name. I don't exactly go around handin' out my full government name to everybody who asks, it'd be a liability."
"Full name or I down this right now," Mina says, shaking the glass gently in front of her face again.
Silence.
"Fine, have it your way," she says, then downs the shot. She shudders slightly.
"Oh c'mon," Lilah wines, "Can vampires even get drunk?"
"Of course we can," Mina rolls her eyes, "But we're typically more interested in enjoying the flavor than getting wasted as fast as possible. Not that you'd be familiar with such a concept."
"Whatever, ask me another question."
Mina walks back to the side table and refills the shot glass.
"How did you find me?"
"Your name was on the attendee list for a high profile event, not really all that secret. All I had to do was stand around on a nearby rooftop and wait until you left. You just made it way easier for me by isolatin' yourself," Lilah smirks, "Even got to watch your little temper tantrum."
"I-" Mina's face flushed. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, Lilah clearly enjoying her reaction. Clenching her jaw, she placed the shot into Lilah's open hand before walking away and pouring another drink.
Lilah tries to bring the shot glass up to her face, but the rope gives her no wiggle room to raise it to her mouth.
"I, uh... You need to untie me so I can drink this."
"Absolutely not."
"Well then what the hell do you expect me to do, try to launch it into my mouth?"
"As much as I'd love to see you make a fool of yourself, I don't need you ruining the clothes I lent you."
Lilah looks down at her lap, realizing she's not wearing jeans or a jacket anymore. They've been replaced with black pajama pants and a white tank top. Her left arm -- hairy, disfigured, exposed.
"Did you..." Lilah blushes, "Did you undress me? God, I thought you had a bit of a weird pervert vibe but I didn't think you'd just-"
"Excuse me? Weird pervert?" Mina turns around with a drink, staring her down. "YOU'RE the weird pervert, you mostly undressed yourself when you turned into a werewolf. I had to drag you through an alley with your tits hanging out, the only thing I couldn't see was... Well..."
Lilah, clearly embarrassed, breaks eye contact and looks down at the floor.
"Actually, to be honest, I saw that too."
Lilah looks back up at her with a renewed anger.
"SO YOU ARE A PERVERT!"
"I AM NOT!" Mina yells, stomping her foot on the floor.
"THEN WHY-"
"Because I had to stitch up your wounds and apply bandages so you didn't keep bleeding out, and then I very kindly changed you into clothes that weren't drenched in blood, you goddamn simpleton!"
"Oh, rich girl doesn't have a spare Healing Rite sittin' around? Or did you just not want to waste it on some trash?"
Mina rubs her temples with her free hand. Lilah was clearly getting on her nerves.
"I have a Healing Rite, but I couldn't risk you waking up and breaking out of those restraints. If you answer my questions to my satisfaction, I can light one for you."
"Fine," Lilah huffs.
"Fine," Mina huffs back.
She walks around a corner for a moment, coming back with a long green candle on a small silver dish. She places it on the side table and sits back down on the couch.
A moment passes, Lilah looking back at the drink in her hand.
"So how am I supposed to drink this?"
"Ugh," Mina sighs.
She gets up and walks over to Lilah, taking the glass from her and placing one hand below her chin, tipping it upwards. She presses the edge of the glass against her lips and tilts it, staring her in the eyes with a scowl as she swallows. The moment lingers, longer than she meant it to.
Mina backs away and places the glass back on the side table.
"Pervert..." Lilah mutters under her breath.
"I can hear you."
The werewolf looks off to the side, staring out the window to watch the city lights as they flicker.
"Who put the bounty on my head?"
"I don't know."
Mina grabs the other shot glass from the table, swirling it in her hand.
"I'm going to end up drinking more than you at this rate."
"I really don't. Pretty rare for people putting out bounties to want their names tied to them, it leaves a paper trail."
Mina frowns. This is starting to feel like a waste of time.
"My guess is the Vatican," Lilah offers, "It's their MO. But I already know you're good at making enemies, so it really could be anyone."
"I don't think it's them. If it was, they would have just sent that Venator after me directly instead of putting out a bounty," she ponders out loud. "For someone so secretive about your name, you sure love telling random people in bars sensitive information about your work."
"Worked out for me this time, didn't it?" Lilah chuckles, "But uh... S'pose I might have downed a little too much liquid courage last night. Wasn't exactly on my A game."
Mina's eyes idly wander around the room as she thinks over the possibilities.
"How did you receive your bounty?" Mina says, looking back to Lilah.
"My... Fixer," Lilah hesitates.
"And who's your fixer?"
She shifts against the restraints, clearly uncomfortable.
"I can't really be going around giving out names like that."
Mina closes her eyes, frustration building in her face. She brings the drink up to her mouth, but before she can drink it, Lilah interrupts.
"Wait, I might be able to introduce you to them," the words tumble out of her mouth in a desperate bid for another drink. "They're just... Let's say they're not your biggest fans."
Mina pulls the drink from her lips.
"Well, that's no surprise. There's much about me that the envious covet," a small, prideful smile creeping across her face.
"I'm sure."
"But I'll need an assurance," Mina quickly adds. "I don't plan to walk into a den of thieves and murderers flanked by the bounty hunter that just tried to kill me. I don't have a death wish."
"That's not the kind of place we're going to," Lilah says. "This is a fine establishment, one I know even you can appreciate."
Mina gives her a quizzical look.
"I seriously doubt any place you frequent is up to my standards, Silver."
"Really now?" Lilah could barely contain her smile, "There's actually a little story the bartender likes to tell about a certain someone who was kicked out on her sixteenth birthday after she got carded."
Mina's face drops.
Jezebel's Billiards Hall.