Werewolves of London 2

	"Y'know, I never caught your name." you said, smiling at the girl across from you."

	"Oh!" she exclaimed, blushing for a second. "Annie Millford. Mr..."

	"Joseph Hawkins." you replied, nodding low. "Unfortunately, I can't justify a delay right now- I've got buisness to attend to, if you don't mind."

	Annie gulped, and looked at you. "And if I were inclined to want to talk to you again?" she asked, bold.

	You blinked, and focused quickly on your surroundings. That looked like... eight toughs. More than you could handle without motivation or equipment before the wolf came out. "If you'd like to speak again, Miss Millford, I'm a lodger at Sugar Loaf Court."

	"I'll remember that, I will." she said, beaming as you stood up to leave. A very fast farewell followed, before you de-assed the area and got ready to head home. It wasn't ten minutes after you'd left the pub, though, that you found yourself practically surrounded by a pile of toughs and thugs.

	"Really, gentlemen?" you asked, sighing. "And here I am all alone in London fair, just a poor little foreigner coming across the sea to make ends meet."

	One of the toughs spat on the ground, and pulled out a long, metal prybar. "Aye. And we're here 'ta make sure you have an' understanding of the pecking order, see?"

	You shook your head. "Now, is this about the girl, or is this about you-all having a new neighbor?"

	A series of collective growls went out. "Fine." you said. "Not exactly the wisest course of action, but-"

	Moments later, the group charged you and your senses went into overdrive. Eight men, all between ages twenty and thirty-five, none of whom had heard of this thing called a bath. Most of their weapons were crowbars, iron pipe, and one clever lad had a plank with some nails still in it. Points for creativity, at least. Still, as your hands flashed beneath your coat, you had to chuckle to yourself. A good fight did blow off steam, and this was going to be a *very* good fight.

	Alright, first step- break the chain. You might have been faster than damn near anyone you'd met, and twice as strong as your frame suggested, but the human body was still pretty damn delicate, and coincidentally most of the delicate bits were ones you couldn't see. As such, priority one was really getting to where they couldn't hit you from behind. Normally this meant punching through the toughest section of their line- breaking the chain, as it were.

	Second step- take out the head. One good slice should do it, as these guys didn't exactly have the feeling of professional thugs. They had to go to work tommorow, and a little semi-permanent injury would let them know you were no easy mark.

	Third step- move.

	Things rushed forward as you drew your knife and started running. Ten feet wasn't a lot of room to build up speed, but you didn't need a ton of room to move fast enough to leap over the leader, landing behind him in a roll that was far less cat-like than you preferred. These cobblestones were hell on your back, and more importantly were trickier to get to your feet with. Still, you'd only overshot the leader by a foot, so the next step was a lunge over a stab. No matter- you still gave him a solid cut across the stomach, the scent of only blood letting you know you'd not split his intestines. You'd needed to stick to limb cuts before you learned how to strike the core without puncturing the stomach and killing the bastard via infection, but once you figured out the fine art of deliberate flesh wounds you mostly stuck to them now.

	As the leader fell back screaming, you pulled back and went into a low guard. Unfortunately for you, they were made of stiff stuff as the leader ordered them to charge. Kiting backward, you considered your options carefully and nodded to yourself.

	Time to bail.

	Turning, you sped off down the street, moving like greased lightning. Shortly later you'd made your way to Sugarloaf Court, your tenement-cum-apartment area. It might have taken a few twisty turns, and eventually asking for directions, but you'd gotten "home" at last. Four flights of stairs later got you to your rooms, and shortly later you were inside and taking your clothes off for a nap. It was about ten, after all, and that meant either sleep or restless activity as you worked to keep calm. You personally preferred sleep, as going around the clock meant eating extra meals your budget might not stretch to yet. Also, it was sleep.

	Beautiful sleep.

	Blessed sleep.

	BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

	"WHAT THE FUCK?" you yelled, rolling out of your bed and pulling on a towel angrily. "WHO DARES-"

	"Telegram for Mr. Hawkins!" the boy yelled, and you stopped dead. Picking up a smallish pair of coins, you stuck your head out your door and glared at the boy. Taking it, you handed over the tip grudgingly and slammed your door.

	JOSEPH NEEDED AT HAMPSTEAD MANNER ALL HASTE STOP.

	EMERGENCY WITH GUESTS STOP.

	COME ARMED STOP.

	"Fuck." you muttered, stomping into your bedroom. Pants first, followed by undershirt. Over that went a work shirt, followed by a heavy leather vest that would stop most moderatly-blunt weapons. After that came your gun belt, and your boots. At this point, you sighed and opened up your second suitcase, and slid on your coat too. Inside, four gleaming oak handles shone at you, metal a dull sheen next to them. Picking them up, you slowly withdrew the center pins, and picked up a greased cylinder.

	This was your weapons case, and inside were your beauties- four Colt revolvers, all model 1859 Navy. You had six cylinders for each, all pre-loaded and kept in protective grease until you needed them. Slipping the primers on, you loaded the pistols and stored teh spares in your coat, before finally settling in your tomahawk and Bowie on top of it all. Armed to the teeth, you stepped out and onto the street, hailing a cabbie as fast as you could.

	"Hampstead Mannor, as fast as you can and a bonus if you can beat out the trafic." you said, growling. The cabbie, undeterred, had you off like a shot towards your destination.

---

	Hampstead Mannor, as far as you could tell, reeked of carefully cultivated money. Hopping out at the servant's enterence, you made your way through painfully quickkly to a barred door. Next to it, a wealthy man stood, frowning.

	"You are Hawkins, correct?" he asked, blunt. You nodded. "My brother left warning that if he were to have a fit of madness like this, we were to summon you as fast as we could, armed to the teeth."

	"Heh" you went, grinning. "Smart of you and him. Let me guess- had a bad day?"

	The well-dressed man nodded. "Another offer of marriage turned down. He's been a sulk these last few days since he came back from America, and this was the last nail in the coffin."

	You laughed now, grinning. "Sounds like he screwed up some of his new life choices, too. At least he payed attention to me when I said no bringing in help with the other urges."

	"Other... urges?" the man asked. "As his brother and lord, I have a right to know."

	You sighed now, putting head in hand. "The curse is spread three ways- blood, spit, and seed that I've found out, and it increses urges connected to all three. It took me three years before I brought it under control myself, and I'll have my hands full keeping this one well-behaved. If he made another, then there'll be hell to pay come the waning moon."

	"There was a woman on his call for this sort of thing..." the noble said, and you groaned quietly.

	"Damnit." you muttered. Looks like you knew what you were doing after this, all right- tracking down another werewolf. You told that git to keep it in his pants, damnit! You told him!