Street 182 (Thad and whoever else wants to join)

[Wayde Manfield]

The time was approaching 11pm. Wayde walked down towards the street where he'd arranged to meet Thad. He wasn't even too sure that Thad would arrive. But he better, Wayde hoped so anyways. He was wearing different trousers to those he was wearing on the actual day. He decided to change after an arguement with his mom. The school had contacted her about Wayde's bad grades. But he couldn't improve. He didn't know how to. Naturally she got all annoyed at his attitute, grounded him, only for him to change his pants and leave the house again with a few added features. The pants he wore now were red and black... bondage pants? If that was the name? He never knew what they were called. Basically tartan red and black jeans. He didn't really wear these all that much, he preferred jeans, but his jeans were all manky.

His added features included a couple of dollars and a switch blade which resigned in his back pocket. Now Wayde had said no weapons, but would Thad really stick to that? He wasn't planning on using it unless he had to. But who knew? Perhaps Thad would wind him up too much.

Finally Wayde arrived, dot on the hour. There was no Thad in sight, at least not yet, or at least Wayde couldn't see him. So with a sigh, he nestled himself down on the floor, lying in the empty street and staring up at the sky, the stars. They were pretty.

[Thad Rowen]

It was certain - this was the night Thad was going to die. Okay, maybe not really, but he had a bad, bad feeling about this night - possibly because at exactly 11PM, he was to fight the most feared kid in the school. It was funny, how it had all come about. Thad just had to be the good kid, he had to help this girl out of being the victim of the day, and he'd tried to get Brodie Aldwyn and Wayde Manfield to stop pestering her. Of course, he eventually succeeded, but they only moved on to him. He kept his insults coming, but that'd just gotten him into more trouble, and, to make a long story short, he'd ended up with an invitation. Lovely.

He didn't stand a chance. He was a year younger, and he was pretty tiny, at 120 pounds at the most. On top of that, he was scrawny and never lifted weights, so he basically had just enough muscle in his body to be able to move. These were the moments when he wished he didn't always act so against exercising - then at least he'd stand a chance. A small one, grant you, but a chance.

He'd had to sneak out of the house. Gina and Dad would never allow him to stay out this late on a weeknight. When he went to give his parents and his little sister goodnight, he'd made it count, just in case... you know, he didn't make it back. They were all going to sleep right when he'd exited from the front door, empty handed and not ready, yet ready at the same time. Ready to get it over with.

His heart pounded up into his throat just thinking about what was going to happen. No weapons allowed, not that he would have brought one allowed. No back up friends. Nothing. He rounded the corner, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and Wayde came into view.

"Okay," he said simply, not in the mood to say something smart. "I'm ready."

[Wayde Manfield]

Wayde glanced his eyes backwards at Thad’s voice. It was odd, if Thad had been down on the ground, Wayde would’ve hurt him there and then. It was the perfect advantage. But no, Thad played too fair. Wayde pushed himself up, and glared his opponent down. Or at least tried to. “I think my mom wishes you good luck,” he smirked with decent amounts of poison in his voice. He really did feel envious of Thad. It was why he wanted to hurt him so much. Thad had everything that Wayde wanted. Instead of giving up and accepting his fate however, he had to take out his anger on those who had it. So then maybe they wouldn’t have it, so then he could spoil it for them.

“What you ready for anyways? You fancy a dance?” Wayde asked viciously. He began to circle him like a shark would, hunting its prey. “Or a fight…? So did you bring a blade, maybe even a gun?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blade. His eyes glimmered at its sharp, slick edge. He could see his reflection in it. Wayde ran the blade down his own forearm, not cutting it or anything, just feeling the coldness on his skin near a place which would be so vital if it did cut. It was the risk, the passion of the blade. And he liked it. It made him feel hot and horny. But now was no time for those feelings. With a quickened pace, Wayde lulled it from his arm and pocketed it again. “I guess some people never learn their lessons.” He sneered, “Like the one you should’ve learnt when you first laid eyes on me.”

He glanced to the moon, the stars, the sky, so big, so bright. But he didn’t dwell on it, he had a fight to win. It was too important than dwelling upon the sky. “I hope you have some money. When you become unconscious, I’ll rob you. If you don’t have money, I’ll strip you down naked and leave you for someone to find you. And I’ll steal your clothes,” he laughed darkly. And it was true, he would do that. Thad’s humiliation only made him feel better, happier. “So you’re warned.”

Wayde watched him for a moment or two before he made his first move. He swept his fist out to Thad’s face. A ring on his finger dug deep inside of it, paining him with the force. The first move was always the worst. It was the lead up. Wayde laughed again and stood back. “Come on then, let’s see what you got.” He sblack personed as he stretched his fingers and removed the ring. A small bit of blood smeared around his lower finger and knuckle, but that was fine. He was impressed. Too impressed, deadly impressed with what he’d done. “Wow, you look prettier already, my dear piece of art! I shall call you ‘My one, my only’.” Wayde kicked him in the leg to finish off his speech.

[Thad Rowen]

This guy meant business. Thad had still been holding on to the little hope that Wayde would back down, or not show up, or just show up for another insulting round, but no... he could tell by his cold tone that he was ready to have it out. He shrugged carelessly at Wayde's smart little remark, because as previously stated, he was too scared to reply care, or reply with anything to try and top it. He could feel goose bumps rising on his arms but acted like he didn't notice, trying to look a little bit dignified.

But that only worked until he saw Wayde dig into his pant pockets, eventually pulling out a pocket knife. Then, he couldn't help but gasp slightly and fall backwards a little bit, his legs growing slightly weak. "I... I didn't bring any weapons. That was the deal, wasn't it?" he asked between gritted teeth. Thad wouldn't have brought one anyway, if it HAD been allowed. Deep down he was a softy and he would have never been able to stab anyone or 'pull a trigger'. He probably wouldn't have been able to gain access to a gun, anyway.

He stood withs his arms raised slightly, not really knowing how to go about this whole thing. Honestly, he was just waiting for it all to be over with. He hadn't brought any money, except for a couple of dollars that were left-over in his jeans pockets, but he decided not to say that. He didn't need to make the situation any worse than it already was, that was definitely clear.

His whole perspective on the whole 'let's get it over' bit changed instantly after the first hit. It stung a whole lot, and he didn't really fancy feeling that and much more in a few minutes if he didn't do anything. He raised his hand to his bloody cheek, rubbing it slightly but not wiping it off. That would be pretty hopeless. His leg didn't feel to hot, either. He'd be crippled tomorrow - if there was going to be a tomorrow.

"You bast-rd!" he spat, raising his fists and punching Wayde as hard as possible right near the nose. He heard a slight popping noise, but couldn't tell in the darkness if he had affected him yet. "Don't you ever refer to me as your ART. I'm not your anything." He swung his arm again, mostly at anything, though he managed to hit the neck. Even hitting the target was pretty nice, in his book. He wasn't going to give up that easy.

[Wayde Manfield]

Wayde laughed to himself at Thad’s gasp of seeing the blade. “Sure, that was the deal.” Wayde sneered, “But I always carry a blade on me. Even during school. You’re never safe, pal, and especially not tonight.” He was unsure as to why he carried around with him a blade. It wasn’t like he needed protection or anything. Though he guessed it was a type of illusion of power. He needed that illusion of power even if people were fearful of him, he needed it to live, to breathe, to not break down.

When the fight began, Wayde was not expecting Thad to hit back. He watched his pain, smiling, a sick smile. He liked to watch others in pain, he felt superior and it gave him a buzz, a kick. Wayde had yet to experience sex, but as well as this being his art work, it was his sex life. Not that he actually got an erection by beating people up, but it was the next best thing. The way it made him feel inside, the pleasure it gave him mentally watching people wither and cry. He just loved it. But when Thad punch Wayde, he stumbled backwards, his hand following to his nose.

His fingers shuck slightly at the shock and he looked from Thad, to them, to the slight blood which ran from his nose. It hurt him a lot, but more than that he got fear inside of him. What if Thad won, or what if his nose had become misshaped? He couldn’t handle that, not at all. “If my nose is br-“ but his speech was cut off by another fist wallowing him in the neck. Wayde, again stumbled, coughing loudly. When it collided, he’d felt like his neck would snap, come crumbling down under the weight, like his throat would collide with everything. But it didn’t.

A fierce anger swung throughout him and he charged at Thad, not thinking clearly. He was like a bull, everything was black and white but the colour of Thad. And Thad stood out so well. He threw him against the wall, griping a hold of his collar and holding him up and kneeing him in a place on a man which never wanted to be kneed. Viciously, Wayde grabbed a hold of Thad’s hair and smashed his head against the wall. One time. Two time. Three time. He could feel the pain in his nose increasing, but he didn’t care. Thad deserved this. His eyes were wide, sharp, electrified. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” he screamed at Thad. Wayde had lost control. It was as if it wasn’t him but another person, a person who had no boundaries. Maybe a lion, attacking its food source. Killing it. “You’re mine!” Wayde yelled loudly at him, “You’re my art, you’re mine! I control what the fuck happens to you, so you’re mine!” He spat darkly.

Wayde wasn’t thinking. How could he think? He had his fists as he weapons, and a knife in his pocket. His knife. Did he want it now? No. With his hands still cletching the hair of Thad, Wayde pulled his head towards his neck. And he bit. He bit hard and he didn’t leave. He could taste Thad’s blood in his mouth and he pressed his jaw together tighter, pulling slightly before dropping backwards through his own force forwards.

His lips homed the blood red and he smiled at his own creation. He’d never bit anyone before, but now he could see why vampires liked it. He glared up and contemplated spitting out some of the blood. But no, he gulped what had mixed with his saliva down. He wished to feel immortal, or to become a vampire. To become undead. He hadn’t achieved it.