sunchime | [ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]

Entry tags:

[ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]

DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II
Part I (extremely NSFW) (it's very gross) (I'm sorry about everything)
Part II (NSFW post)

IT'S BACK, BABY

Imagine, if you will, that Drift is not a robot, but a gratuitously tropey half-demon hunter roaming around Boston killing demons in order to atone for his as a, well, killer for the demons. For all intents and purposes you can just assume this takes place in the same universe as Buffy (or something like it) for the sake of using a conveniently existing lore that I already really like. Maybe with an extra side of Kabbalah. whatever

HERE ARE SOME FACTS ABOUT DEMON HUNTER AU DRIFT:

Drift is half-demon on his father's side. He never really knew his dad, idk he like fucked off or got slayed at some point when Drift was young and he was mostly raised by his mother, who died of cancer when he was a teenager. It was real sad and Drift had no money and got pretty promptly kicked out of his mom's apartment shortly after her death. This made Drift a TRAGIC TEEN ORPHAN who was homeless on the streets for a while, and given his ~UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA~ it wasn't really very long before he fell in with a bad crowd. A demon crowd
Tragic teen orphan Drift got into drugs, specifically orihalcon, a potent substance derived from the refined blood of certain types of demons, because regular human drugs don't quite cut it for him. He was pretty knee-deep in the local demon community, partly because he didn't fit in anywhere else, partly because some of them knew his dad.
Drift spent a while as a homeless addict, barely scraping by, until he was recruited by Megatron, a powerful demon lord who saw much more potential in Drift and his untamed demon powers. He offered Drift a place in his ranks even though he was half-human, and helped him hone his terrifyingly natural talent for violence. For a while Drift mostly did it to feed his habit, but he began to enjoy the rush of violence and of releasing his DEMON SIDE way more than the drugs and eventually got clean.
He also inherited this sweet demon sword from his dad that Megatron apparently had handy. It is powered by his DEMON SIDE
Eventually though Drift's taste for violence got a little out of control and after pissing off some of his superiors for wildly disobeying orders in favor of MORE VIOLENCE, he fucked off and went into hiding. It was at this time that he met a witch named Wing from a smug hippie witch cult based in San Francisco. Wing offered him sanctuary and to teach him to better control his demon side by being ~~more in tune with the spirits~~. Drift took the sanctuary because he had nowhere else to hide, but wound up begrudgingly coming around to Wing's way of seeing things, at least enough to grow to care about him. Unfortunately for the both of them Drift's UNIQUE HALF-DEMON AURA led Megatron's forces right to the Wing's door and he got horribly murdered. Drift managed to get away but he was so tragically torn by the untimely death of his spiritual sensei that he swore off working for Megatron and decided to USE HIS POWERS FOR GOOD
Since then he's discarded the name Megatron gave him and returned to Boston as the newly-reformed demon hunter Drift. He lives in a tiny, shitty apartment in Southie and fights demons by moonlight in order to help people out and atone for his murder-filled past. He has fully embraced his former mentor's spirituality with a level of enthusiasm that, tbh, should probably be worrying. He believes (or hopes, at least) that what Wing taught him will not only help him keep his demon side in check (he is pretty much always concerned he will LOSE CONTROL), but also lead to his eventual redemption. Unfortunately Drift is still learning how exactly to have real faith in something because he is the world's biggest faker
He is Jewish because I know what I like and oh boy does he ever dabble in Kabbalah and a lot of other magical spirituality bullshit that mostly drives other people up the wall
Being half-demon has a lot of perks, SUCH AS: super strength/reflexes/stamina, accelerated healing, and being able to jump way higher than any human. He's obviously not as powerful as a full-blooded demon, but plenty powerful enough to be able to take them head on. He's also really good at fighting shit. Drift's swordsmanship is pretty solid, having been trained in Megatron's demon army, but also he has studied very seriously from a lot of kung fu and action films
He literally owns fourteen swords

PREVIOUSLY ON DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU:

Rodimus is this AU's equivalent of the Slayer, and Ultra Magnus is her Watcher. She and Drift are best buds who also make out a lot. Ultra Magnus STRONGLY DISAPPROVES of Rodimus spending time with someone with Drift's substantial murder past but Rodimus believes wholeheartedly in Drift's turning a new leaf.
Perceptor (Percy) is a talented witch and physicist who also serves as Drift's go-to for information about demon lore and magic. They go back a long, long ways, and is one of a handful of people Drift trusts implicitly.
Dealer was, predictably, Drift's orihalcon dealer when he was living on the streets. There were some bad (good) (bad) times that Drift would really love to never talk about, and Dealer loves to hold over his head.
Ratchet is a trauma surgeon whose family was killed by demons around the time Deadlock was active. After patching up Drift a couple of times, they fell into an undefined sort-of relationship that nearly came to an end when Ratchet found out just who Drift used to be. After taking some time and talking to just about everyone else Drift knows, Ratchet decided he still wanted to know Drift as he is now, though things between them are still uncertain.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rico's ready for a night out. The weather's nice, the heavens are dark, and it's the perfect time to visit a bar for a drink. He takes his time deciding what to wear, settling on his new nice outfit and visor, the collar that he usually wears to keep him constrained in his human form tucked underneath to keep it from clashing.

He rumbles up to the bar on his massive black motorcycle, letting everybody know he's here with a final rev of the engine that grinds right through the background noise. Relishing in the looks as he slowly dismounts and struts up to the entrance, he notices something of a commotion already happening at the entrance.

Oh look, it's him. What a wonderful coincidence. The scrawny little thing he likes to bother - in the way Rico considers anything smaller than him scrawny - having a spirited discussion with the bouncer who is looking increasingly unamused and likely to resort to violence. This looks like it could be fun. Rico grins and strides up behind him, slinging an overly-friendly arm over the teen's shoulders with a little squeeze of warning, in case he tries to speak up.

"What's the problem here, buddy boy?" Rico interjects, leaning forward. "He's with me."

Drift looks like he's had better days. Pale, haggard, palms slick with cold sweat. He's strung out enough that there's a moment's delay before it registers just who has an arm around his shoulders. Drift ducks away from Rico, shoving himself back a step or two. Oh, no. Oh, hell no.

"No I'm not," Drift says, glaring at Rico. His voice is hoarse, dark circles under his eyes, and he rubs his shoulder, as though Rico had left some greasy psychic stain on him. The bouncer gives Rico a look of barely masked contempt and rolls his eyes.

"Kid's underage. He's not getting in -- doesn't matter who he's with."

"I told you, I just need to talk to somebody," Drift says heatedly, turning back to the bouncer. "I know he's inside, just -- come on. I'm not even going to try to buy anything. I don't even have any money."

"Yeah," the bouncer sneers, "that's not really helping your case."

Rico doesn't mind that he shrugs away from it. He'd pretty much expected that anyway, and he watches Drift rub his shoulder with thinly-veiled amusement. He's certainly seen better days, but these specific kind of days is guaranteed amusement.

"Come on," Rico says with a disarming smile (although with a friendly hint of how it could lead to the literal), stepping forward to the bouncer. "Let the poor boy in. Think of him as a charity case. Like he said, he just needs to talk to someone. Or if money's the problem..."

Rico pulls out his wallet and casually flashes out a one hundred dollar bill from between his fingers, waggling them enticingly and not at all subtly.

The bouncer stares Rico down, eyes flat, but his gaze does flick toward the hundred dollar bill with a spark of interest. He crosses his arms and looks back down at Drift with even more contempt than he'd regarded Rico.

"I don't want him harassing paying customers," he mutters, holding out a discreet hand to take the bribe. "He causes a scene, I kick you both out -- and I'll think twice about letting you in next time."

Drift looks wildly between them, torn between the desire to be let into the bar and his absolute lack of desire to be anywhere with Rico, let alone beholden to him for anything. "I'm not going in there with you," he sputters, and the bouncer looks profoundly annoyed.

"This isn't a cat flap, kid. In or out -- pick one or get lost."

"He picks in," Rico interrupts as he hands over the bill. He steps over the threshold, glances over his shoulder and hooks his fingers at Drift like a particularly misbehaving dog, gesturing him in to follow. "And don't worry. I'll make sure he behaves."

Or not. He doesn't really care that much. And people who say that always buckle under the weight of more and more money. And if Drift lingers outside for any longer than that, he'll reach out and yank him in.

Drift just glares at Rico, letting out a disgruntled hey! when Rico drags him inside. As soon as they're inside the crowded bar Drift shoves away from him again, looking pissed under all that withdrawal, pissed enough that his eyes flash brightly without him even really realizing it.

"I didn't ask for your help," he snaps, huffily straightening out a hoodie that, frankly, has seen much better days. It's not as though he has the luxury of a wardrobe the size of Rico's. He balls his trembling hands into fists and shoves them into his pockets. "Just -- leave me alone, okay?"

Rico gives a thoughtful hum of consideration, going so far as to bring his fingertips to the corner of his mouth, then says: "Nah. That's a lot of gratitude you're showing me, after all that trouble."

He grins and folds his arms, leaning against the bar counter, the golden scales of his tunic glinting in the smoky light. "You're pretty pissy today. Pissier than usual, anyway. I wonder why?"

He can probably guess. But he'd like to hear it from Drift's mouth, make him admit it himself.

“I don’t want any of your trouble,” Drift says stubbornly, and the look on his face is entirely resentful. He crosses his arms over his chest, part defiance and part because even in here, he feels uncharacteristically cold.

He’s reluctant to tell Rico anything, even if he’s already being transparent. Rico doesn’t need to know he’s here to see Dealer — already he’s scanning the crowd, looking past Rico instead of at him.

“None of your business. I’m here to see somebody. So thanks for getting me in the front door, I guess,” he grinds out, because thanking Rico for anything is almost physically painful. “But this is where I get off.”

He starts to turn away from Rico to melt into the crowd, though he still hasn’t spotted Dealer. He has to be in here somewhere.

Rico preens at the gratitude being shown. He knows it's false and begrudging, but hell, he'll take it anyway. "Here to see somebody, but you won't spare a second to see me? I'm hurt." He dips his head in acquiescence as Drift turns away, but then drops the act as soon as his back is properly turned, grinning.

Not getting rid of him that easily, Drift. Rico hops off the counter and falls into step just behind his shoulder, hands casually in his pockets as he shadows him.

Once again, it takes Drift an embarrassingly long moment to realize he's being followed -- he's distracted by the noise of the bar and his own pounding headache, too many auras all mashed together in one room for him to tease apart. The last thing he wants is Rico and Dealer meeting -- assuming they haven't already -- but he's desperate enough to keep prowling the crowds until it's apparent that Dealer is not, in fact, anywhere in this bar. Drift realizes far too late that the guy who had told him he could find Dealer here was probably specifically instructed to lie to him about it. Fucking Dealer.

He tries asking a few people, but they all either resolutely give him the cold shoulder or tell him to fuck off. He knows he's close to causing a scene, that it'd get both him and Rico kicked out, but hey, he'll probably never be allowed in here again anyway, right? Getting Rico banned from this place would be a silver lining to what is turning out to be a fantastically shitty day. So when the sulky-looking vampire with too much eyeliner tells him no, she doesn't know where Dealer is, get fucked -- Drift opts to throw a punch instead of turning away.

It's very apparent that Drift isn't finding what he came in here for, and the increasing frustration on his face is just too good. Looking a little too desperate there buddy, he thinks. And then Drift throws a punch at the latest person to tell him to fuck off, which Rico sees coming a million miles away. He could've stopped it, but... it's funny. Which is half the reason why Rico even does things anymore, really.

He bursts out into a quiet fit of laughter into his fist, tapering off when from the corners of his eyes, he sees movement. Rico shoulders his way through the crowd to intercept the incoming security, holding up his hands. He stands in their path, grinning lazily.

"Hold on. Let's see where this goes first, hm?" His gaze flickers between the bouncers and Drift's burgeoning fight eagerly, trying not to miss a detail whilst not letting it end prematurely either. And shit, if he's going to get kicked out with the little troublemaker, he might as well go in style.

As if on cue, Drift is promptly picked up by the vampire and thrown across the table she's been sitting at. Momentum carries him clear over the table and off the edge, taking seven or eight glasses crashing down to the floor with him. Half the people at the table have gotten out of the way in a hurry with noises of disgust and disdain; the other half is joining in the fight, one of the vampire's companions hauling Drift off the floor one-handed by the back of his hoodie to drive a fist into his gut while he's still momentarily distracted. Drift responds by biting down hard on the guy's arm with teeth that have already gone fanged until he lets go and throws Drift back to the floor.

"Unless you're paying for the damages," one of the security guards rumbles unpleasantly at Rico, "you'd better step aside."

"Oh please," Rico rumbles right back. "I could afford this entire bar. It'd look better off for it too."

Now to decide. If he fights the security, he's definitely never going to be let in again. And hey, his intervention has already facilitated a bar fight anyway. Reveling in the chaos surrounding them, he tilts his head back to the security guards, and speaks with a thoughtful tone.

"Does that mean that if I pay for the damages, I can still come back after I do this?"

This being flipping out a knife from where it's stashed inside his boots, and taking a running leap towards the vampire that just threw Drift onto the floor, burying the knife in to the hilt in his back with a whooping laugh. He'll survive. Probably.

The knife goes in deep and the vampire twists around with a snarl, trying desperately to pull it out of his back. Not life threatening, just painful -- and it gives Drift enough time to scramble back to his feet and body-check one of the vampires' demon buddies closing in on him, this time with enough force to slam him back against the wall. Drift is looking less like a homeless, strung-out human and a lot more like a homeless, strung-out demon, and his eyes are gleaming when he turns around and sees Rico.

"What are you doing?" Drift yells hoarsely, just as two bouncers each put a firm hand on Rico's shoulders, a warning grip. One of them is the bouncer from the door, and he looks far from entertained.

"No, it means you leave now, and you don't come back."

"Having a Friday night out!" Rico yells back, still laughing. He wrenches the knife out, spraying blood everywhere, but hands come down on his shoulders, and he twists around, a flash of a snarl on his face to address who would ruin his fun.

"Is that so?" he replies, with a glint in his eye. How did that saying go again? In for a penny? "Well in that case, I have nothing left to lose, do I?"

His hand darts out to clamp around a wrist on his right shoulder, and twists his body so that he throws the security guard over his shoulder, bowling him into the one he'd bribed earlier. Maybe he should rethink whether it was worth it, huh? And then he goes for the vampire again, this time driving his fist into his face. He falls backwards, and Rico pauses only to stomp on his throat. Grinding his heel down with a brutal offhandedness as he pivots towards the exit, he calls out to Drift cheerfully.

"Time to go!"

Things are, once again, not exactly going according to plan. This went sideways so fast that Drift's still reeling from it. He was expecting Rico to be pissed about getting kicked out of the bar, that was the whole point, because if Drift can't find Dealer then he might as well try and ride the schadenfreude high. Except his unwanted benefactor is now joining Drift's fight and throwing bar security into the brawl all at once, and suddenly this is a lot worse than a little bar-room tussle.

Drift stares after Rico, mouth agape, but the bouncers are already getting back on their feet and the first vampire has closed a hand hard over Drift's shoulder, and at that point, he stops thinking. With a hoarse shout he whirls around and bashes his forehead against hers, dropping her like a sack of bricks before booking it for the exit, shoving aside anyone who tries to stop him. He's almost certain this is going to come back to bite him in the ass later.

There's a very fine line between what Rico finds amusing and what will piss him off. And it moves quite often, and unpredictably at that. "I knew it was worth the hundred!" Rico is laughing so hard that he almost can't find his breath, shouldering his way through the crowd and sprinting towards the exit.

There. His motorcycle. He jumps and slides neatly into the seat, and by the time Drift makes his way out of the bar, Rico's just finished a wide turn and is coming to a screeching halt just past the entrance.

"You gonna try and outrun them, or what?" Rico taunts, helpfully. And without waiting for Drift to offer a response, he twists the throttle back and starts to peal out into the street. He'd better make a jump for it, but whether he makes it or not is frankly incidental to Rico.

One of these days, Drift is finally going to stop being surprised by every other thing Rico does, but today is not that day. Today is a day where he's so foggy-headed he can barely think except in short bursts of clarity, although the short fight seemed to help burn some of it off. Today is not a day where Drift wants to fight half a bar's worth of demons for starting a fight and spilling a lot of people's drinks, and so when faced with the option of immediate safety and immediate pummeling, he chooses the safe option -- insofar as Rico is ever safe.

If it weren't for his enhanced reflexes and strength, he'd never have made it, but Drift manages to take a running leap and just barely lands on the back of Rico's motorcycle, breathing hard. If he has to, he'll jump right back off once they're clear of the angry crowd, but right now he doesn't have much choice but to hold on.

It's a powerful motorcycle that they're riding, far outstripping the stragglers, and certainly other vehicles on the road as well. He drifts into the main street, tires screeching just for the theatricality of it, just barely avoiding an incoming car by a bare inch. He drives with no regard for traffic laws, teeth bared and wind whipping their faces, weaving in between lanes at an alarming speed, squeezing through gaps they should by all means not fit into.

"You made it?" Rico laughs, like it's a complete surprise. "That was hilarious. I'd ask what the hell prompted that, but I already know what's got that bug up your ass."

Rico wears this outfit because it gives some impressive flap in the wind. It's not exactly designed to be worn with a second passenger behind him. He shifts one leg to pin the back edge underneath his thigh, sparing Drift a grating.

"They're never gonna let me back in again, but hey, it's a shithole anyway."

Drift grits his teeth, squinting against the rush of wind in his eyes. As soon as he's sure they're clear of any pursuers, he's going to get gone, he tells himself. Sticking around with Rico is never good news, and every daredevil turn sends Drift's head swimming. He's starting to feel a little ill.

"Why did you do that?" he demands, knowing full well the answer to are you fucking insane? God, tonight is the worst.

"Do what?" Rico asks, completely straight-faced. He banks right around a corner, hard, and they squeal off again. Their surroundings change, turning a little more upscale, with less trash on the streets. He'd better not throw up on him. He'd probably push Drift off the motorcycle and straight into traffic if he did.

Well, at least Drift could probably handle that. There's a little lurch in his voice as he swallows, but he sounds indignant and frustrated to mask his confusion. He's itching for a hit of orihalcon badly, but at this point, he'd take just lying down in a dark room over Rico's driving.

"The -- the fight! Why did you stab that guy? Why the hell did you get me in there?"

"Why did I stab that guy?" Rico repeats, the words curling around his tongue with a remembered satisfaction. "What, don't tell me you wanted them to rip your kidneys through your throat. Since when do I ever need an excuse to stab someone?"

It's true. He's done it for far more minor offences, after all. Looking at him funny, clearing their throat in the wrong way, stepping on his shoes, et cetera. The vampire's exposed back looked too inviting, and he hasn't drawn blood in such a long time.

"And I let you in because I knew it'd be entertaining. Which it was. Holy shit did you deliver." Rico glances back. Kind of a dangerous thing to do when going 70 miles an hour. "Why are you sounding so flustered about it?"

"I'd have been fine," Drift mutters, because...yeah, no, he was losing that fight, but he figured he'd make it out of there alive. He always manages to somehow. He feels anger rise hot in his throat, though, resentful at being made into little more than entertainment -- but then, what should he have expected from Rico? There was always something in it for him. He glances back, trying to see if they're still being followed.

"Glad you got your money's worth," he says sourly through his teeth. "Now pull over, Rico -- I want off."

That sounds a little too much like a demand for him, and just for that Rico decides to be uncooperative. "Nope! Not until you tell me who you were looking for," he says, sing-song. In his deep, gravel voice, it sounds pretty strange to say the least.

He doesn't really care that much about why he was there, to be perfectly honest. It's more an excuse to be contrary. They're going awfully fast, Drift. Jumping off at these speeds would be possible but painful, and Rico could always go faster.

[ DEMON HUNTER DRIFT AU: PART II (SFW) ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

itp sad boy drift is a terrible liar

poor guy

he doesn't REALLY deserve this

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)