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Deacon's laptop crashed through the balcony window, making a cringe-worthy crack against the ledge of the waterfall before plummeting down towards the city streets below, taking a single rubber ducky with it. The last image on the screen before it shattered into thousands of plastic bits was tracking screen on Scud's phone, which had been found in a dumpster. Figures.
Scud was long gone by now, and he apparently intended to stay gone; at least until he got over his current temper tantrum. Frost wasn't pleased to know his security had been slacking enough to let the damn idiot through, much less get out of the city. For all he knew, Scud was still within city limits, laying low; probably with Blade, of all people. He fumed quietly as he stared coldly at the pile of glass that had once been one whole, solid pane. He supposed he should be angry that he'd have to replace that laptop, and all the information on it, but he had hard-drives with all that shit and plenty of money to spend and familiars to exploit. He turned sharply on his heel, the scrape loud against the marble floor while he stopped yet again before he could make more than two steps.
After a moment, his tense posture sagged and he raised his hand to rub at his tired eyes. This was ridiculous.
Meanwhile, Scud was fuckall knows where, sitting in a bar that he knew didn't have any eyes to find him and report back to his high and mighty master. He was tired, homeless, and owned nothing except for the things he was already wearing. Deacon had the rest, of course. He nursed quietly on a cigarette, craving the feel of smoke in his lungs but not quite getting what he needed out of it to stifle the urge. Typical, that. He contemplated the risks of leaving, running away with Deacon's glyph on his tongue, but he was sure the vampire would be just fine without him; hardly even notice Scud was missing.
Wrong, everything was wrong. The selfish little meatbag shouldn't rile Deacon up like this, yet he was and that just made Frost angrier. He contemplated condemning more furniture to be crushed against the pavement and taking whoever was unlucky enough to get caught underneath with it, but he reigned himself in. No need to refurbish the place, he liked everything where it was. He turned to stare at the window again, shattered as it was, lips curled in a sneer while he snatched his headset off a nearby table to make a few calls. He wasn't letting his food get away quite that easily.
Scud pushed away from the bar late into the night, sliding off the stool he was on in resignation of the fact that he had no money to drown himself in alcohol with, turning towards the exit to make his way out onto the streets to find a place to sleep for the night where one of Frost's lackeys wouldn't find him. He could easily whore himself out for a good nights sleep and some quick cash but he didn't feel like being someone ELSES fucktoy since that was the entire reason he had left anyway.
Too bad Deacon never fucking cared.
Deacon's voice was cold and flat over the speaker as he spat impatient orders to get eyes on every damn corner of the city, police units deployed, seemingly homeless people always watching in the guise of a beggar. He'd spare no resource on this, Deacon was a selfish man, and didn't surrender his things quite that easily. Scud was his property, and he wasn't letting the human skip out on the agreement he'd made when he accepted Deacon's glyph. As such, he hung up on his current call and rang Mercury, making for the elevators. "Have a car ready," nothing more, nothing less before he ended the call. He'd deal with the window and laptop at a later time.
A flash of black and white in the corner of his eye triggered a reaction, ducking into an alley as a patrol car drifted ominously past, not seeing Scud ducked in the shadows against the wall where the street lamps couldn't reach him. Not all the police in the city were Deacon's, but taking chances was not on his agenda and he intended to be out of this city before Frost could lasso him and drag him back kicking and screaming. Once he was sure they were long gone, he made to walk down the length of the alley, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep his fingers from going numb because of the cold air. For a moment he considered why he was doing this, really. He had money and food and a warm bed to sleep in, assuming it was a night Deacon felt like letting him sleep(i.e. almost never), and he supposed that was the reason. It still sounded better than this horrible anxiety and hunger, sleeplessness being the real kicker. He couldn't just keep running forever, but he was sure that, even if Deacon was looking for him, he'd give up and move on in no time really. At least he hoped so. Of course he did.
He stared venom at the back of the seat in front of him, scowling at each rock under the tires of the car as it sped through the streets, Mercury sitting quietly next to him and knowing better than to touch. His fingers felt across the smooth surfaces of his phone, awaiting a call from anyone that had found Scud. So far, it had been a good three hours since he left the flat and still nothing. It was turning from night to ungodly early morning and every second that passed was every step Scud could take out of his hands.
The streets were black, the moon high above and slowly inching down towards the horizon as it passed midnight more and more. His legs felt tired and numb, the fact he could move them at all being a miracle, and he was hungry enough to maul the next person he encountered to try out blood drinking for himself. Desperation was funny like that. He felt like a rebellious teenager, because all he could think of was crawling back to that warm bedroom for some rest, but he knew damn well if he tried that now he'd be in for one hell of a beating. It was too late to go back. A porch light flicked on next to him, an automatic reaction to the motion detector perched under it, making him flinch; it was a delayed flinch, but a flinch nonetheless. His nerves and his reaction times were not syncing up and he had to slow to a stop in frustration and his ill-planned escape. Yeah, great. Way to go. He was too busy wallowing in his own ignorance to actually see the black car pull up beside him. Delayed reaction, he flinched harder, gaze shooting up in time to take the butt of a gun to the head and crumple to the ground in a whimpering pile. Woops.
Deacon got the call at three A.M. that Scud had been found and sustained head injury from the asshole that found him. But hey, at least Frost would have two idiots to take his anger out on now. The car detoured to the designated location, Deacon's foot tapping in aggravation the longer it took, but all of that was dust in the wind when the car stopped. He didn't spare a second more and almost broke the door opening it, stepping out to the view of Scud sat up against a wall shivering with a gun pointed to his head, blood matting his hair and running a streak of red down his jaw and neck. "Yeah, I think I fuckin' told you not to hurt him, asshole," he snarled, swiping the gun out of the familiar's hand as he shoved the human out of the way. "Get lost," he checked the magazine for a bullet count, popped it back in, and cocked it before pointing it back at Scud's face.
"Give me one good reason not to fucking blow your brains all over the pavement and have you erased from existence," too much pent of aggression. When Scud didn't move, just remained as he was shivering on the ground, Deacon raised his arm, pointed the gun at the familiar that had found the kid, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the body limply hitting the ground was unsettling, but mostly only to Scud. The gun was trained on the cowering human once more, Frost clearing his throat for emphasis.
"M'sorry," it was no more than a choked whimper, his hands shaking where they were clasped together to hold his knees to his chest, obviously painful breathing making his heart rate skyrocket and tears pool in his eyes. Typically, he'd have an anxiety attack right when it was the least convenient. Deacon wouldn't have mercy on him for some neurological misfire. He bit down on his bottom lip, all too aware of the ink on his tongue right now.
"Right, I don't care," he reached down with his free hand and muscled the familiar up from the ground, manhandling him to the car with the gun still trained on his head. "You're fucking lucky you're useful."
Scud was terrified by the sole fact that he was hoping Deacon would just pull the fucking trigger.