Vampire in DC

Vampire Rule N°17: When flirting with mortals, remember: a little charm goes a long way, but never, ever reveal your fangs unless you're ready for some seriously awkward small talk about dental work. Nothing says 'unintentional comedy' like a bloodsucker caught in a conversation about braces.

… … … … … … … … … …

Vicky Vale sat in the editor's office, her frustration barely contained as she watched the scene unfold. Across from her, Gus, the old, weathered editor who'd seen more of Gotham's dirt than most people knew existed, was in the middle of a heated discussion with another staff member.

Vicky might be the subject of the conversation, but she might as well have been invisible.

"Look, Gus, I know you think she's got potential," said Frank, a greasy, self-satisfied man who'd wormed his way up the ranks by playing all the right cards with all the wrong people. "But we need someone who can bring in the big stories, the ones that make headlines and get clicks. Not chick chasing after phantom vigilantes or pissing off our generous friends out there."

"Vicky's got more integrity in her little finger than half the reporters in this building, Frank. Just because she doesn't make them blue bloods happy doesn't mean she can't do the job." Gus grunted, his patience clearly running thin.

Making the blue bloods happy, that was just a nice way of saying she didn't want to spread her legs for rich old coots or STD ridden trust fund kids.

"Maybe so, but integrity doesn't pay the bills. We need stories that sell, Gus. Stories that get people talking, and Vicky—no offense—isn't exactly delivering that." Frank leaned back in his chair, smirking.

Vicky's grip tightened on the arms of her chair, her nails digging into the worn leather. She knew this was how it went. The Gazette had once been a beacon of truth in Gotham, a place where real journalism thrived.

But times had changed.

The city had changed. Now, it was all about sensationalism, and if you weren't willing to sell your soul for a byline, you were left fighting for scraps.

Gus sighed, rubbing his temples. He looked at Vicky, his expression softening. "Vicky, you've been doing good work. But we need something big, something that'll shake things up."

"I'm trying, Gus," Vicky said, her voice firm. "But every time I pitch a story, it gets sidelined. I'm not asking for special treatment, just a fair shot."

"Fair shot? You want a fair shot, Vale? Fine. We've got a project no one else wants to touch. Down in Brideshead." Frank snorted, his belly giggling when he moved.

"Brideshead? That's a death sentence." Vicky raised an eyebrow.

Frank shrugged, as if the last crew they sent there didn't get mugged, the journalist beaten up by a drug addict with the cameraman getting stabbed for his trouble.

"Maybe. But it's also a chance to prove yourself. Gus here seems to think you can handle it. So, how about it? You willing to risk it?"

Gus shot Frank a glare before turning back to Vicky.

"It's not an easy assignment, Vicky. But I think you can do something with it. Show people what's really going on in Gotham's underbelly." He said, but they both knew he just wanted to get some peace.

There was nothing she could do about it, though.

Vicky hesitated. Brideshead was infamous, even among Gotham's many dark corners. It was the kind of place where people went to disappear, where the law didn't reach, and where life was cheap as a 10$ vial.

But it was also a place where stories were born, where the truth was buried under layers of grime and bad choices, a tragedy at every turn.

Vicky never went there, her parents did well enough that they never had to see the bad side of town.

"I'll do it. But I need a decent crew, and I need time to do it right," She nodded slowly.

"You can have the crew, but don't expect top-of-the-line. We've got an old truck and some second-hand gear. Take it or leave it." Frank smirked, and she really wished she could just punch him and be done with it.

"She'll take it," Gus interjected before Vicky could argue. He gave her a small nod. "You've got this, kid."

Vicky left the office with a mix of trepidation and determination. Gus was right; this was her chance to prove herself. And she wasn't about to let it slip through her fingers.

A few days later, Vicky found herself in the back of a beat-up van with her cameraman, Richie, and sound guy, Dave. The equipment rattled as they bumped over the pothole-riddled roads leading into Brideshead.

The closer they got, the more rundown the buildings became, the more desolate the streets. It was like stepping into another world, one Gotham's upper crust preferred to forget existed.

"Bloody hell" Richie muttered, peering out the window. "Didn't think it could get worse than Park Row."

"Welcome to Brideshead," Vicky said dryly, "Home of the forgotten."

Dave, a stoic guy who rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary, just grunted in agreement.

The van rolled to a stop outside what had once been a storefront. The windows were boarded up, and the sign had long since faded into obscurity. Vicky took a deep breath, checking her notes one last time before stepping out onto the cracked pavement.

"Alright," she said, turning to Richie and Dave. "Let's try to find some locals willing to talk. We're looking for personal stories—people struggling to survive, how they're coping, what they need."

"Got it," Richie said, slinging the camera over his shoulder. "But don't expect anyone to be too friendly."

Vicky nodded, already bracing herself for the cold reception she knew they were likely to get, in her pocket some pepper spray her mother had all but demanded she carries when she heard about her daughter going to the East End.

She didn't tell them it was Brideshead, or her father would have followed her around carrying a shotgun, not a great look when you're trying to interview people.

The first few attempts were rough. Most people just ignored them, ducking into alleys or slamming doors in their faces. The few who did stop to talk quickly turned hostile when they realized what Vicky and her crew were after. One man even lunged at Richie, shouting obscenities and accusing them of being vultures.

It wasn't until they reached a small, makeshift market that things began to shift. Vicky spotted a group of young men loitering near a fruit stand, eyeing the camera crew with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. One of them, a tall guy with a shaved head and tattoos snaking up his neck, made a beeline for them.

Something told her he wasn't coming to say hi.

"Yo, what's this?" he demanded, his tone aggressive.

"Just trying to get some stories. We're not here to cause trouble." Vicky held up her hands in a placating gesture.

"Stories? You think anyone here gives a damn about your stories?" The guy scoffed.

Richie shifted nervously, but Vicky stood her ground.

"I'm trying to show Gotham what life is like down here. People need to see what's really going on." She said, doing her best to sound diplomatic and understanding.

"Like they care," the guy sneered, and his friends started making comments trying to provoke the young man.

Before things could escalate further, a voice cut through the tension. "Hey, Javi, leave 'em be."

The guy, Javi, turned to see a tall, well-dressed man approaching. He was younger than most of the people milling around, but there was something about him. An air of authority that made Javi step back, grumbling under his breath.

"Fine. But don't think this means you're welcome here," Javi spat before slinking off.

Vicky turned to the newcomer, her eyes widening slightly as she took in his appearance. He was striking, with piercing blue eyes and an easy confidence that made it clear he wasn't afraid of much.

"Hot darn." Richie whistled, quickly correcting himself when Dave gave him a judgmental look, "No homo."

"Thanks for that," Vicky said, offering a small smile.

"Don't sweat it," the man replied, his voice smooth. "Javi's harmless. Just has a a bit of a temper."

"Seems like everyone around here has a temper," Richie muttered.

"Richie!" She chided, even though she agreed deep down.

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Can't blame them. Life's hard down here."

"You seem to know your way around." Vicky nodded, studying him more closely.

The man shrugged, his expression unreadable.

"I get by. Name's John, by the way." He said with an easy smile.

Easy, the man—John, she corrected herself, did make it all easy.

Easy talking to him.

Easy to get comfortable.

Easy on the eyes, part of her said, and she quickly killed that troublesome voice that kept looking at his broad shoulders and beautful blue eyes and those strong long arms and wondering how it would feel being held down by them and—

"Miss, you arlight?" He asked his face full of concerned, and it took all of her willpower to keep her poker face.

Oh, who was she kidding, her face got red as it could be.

At least he was kind enough to pretend he didn't see it.

"Vicky," she replied, trying to regain a sliver of dignity through her professionalism, "We're trying to get some footage for a documentary, show the rest of Gotham what's happening here. Think you could spare a few minutes?"

Then her mind returned to the gutter, and she started wondering whether she seemed too desperate to talk to him and only using her work as an excuse...wait, was she using her work as an excuse? Dang it, she was! Did he notice? Would he like the attention or hate it? Does he think she's a pick me girl who's scared of dying alone with a bunch of cats?

Such were the questions plaguing her overthinking blonde head.

John looked at her with an amused smile, and she was pretty sure somebody could cook an omelette on her head right now.

"Sure, you've got five minutes. What do you want to know?" He said, almost kindly but not quite.

Vicky signaled to Richie and Dave to start recording, took a deep breath and got back in the zone.

"We're trying to understand what life is like here, what people are going through. Can you tell us a bit about that?" She asked with her game face and game voice on, speaking clearly but not obnoxiously loud.

John leaned casually against a nearby fruit stand, picking up an apple and taking a bite. He seemed completely at ease, his demeanor calm and confident.

"It's on the house, boss." The old man working there said with a smile.

Boss? She wanted to ask, but quickly got sucked into Hurricane Harker.

"Life is tough," John began, his voice steady and deep, easily capturing their attention, "People are struggling just to get by. You've got poverty, crime, and a general sense of hopelessness. It's a place where people do what they can to survive, often at the expense of their own well-being...no need to talk about other people's, empathy is a luxury around these parts."

'That sounds about right,' She thought, this place really was miserable.

"And you?" Vicky asked, her curiosity piqued. "How do you fit into all of this?"

John's expression shifted slightly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

"I try to help where I can. It's not much, but it's something." He said calmly and deliberatly.

Vicky frowned, sensing there was more to his story.

"You seem pretty involved. Why?" She asked, but knew better than to expect a straight answer.

"Someone's got to do it. This place needs all the help it can get." John took another bite of his apple, chewing thoughtfully.

Richie adjusted the camera, capturing the exchange as Vicky continued to probe. "Do you think things will ever get better around here? Is there hope for the people living in Brideshead?"

"Hope is a tricky thing. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not. But if people stop trying, if they give up, then there's no chance for anything to change. As long as there's someone willing to fight for a better future, there's hope." John's gaze was distant, as if he were looking beyond the grim reality of the streets.

The interview went on for a while, with Vicky asking questions and John providing thoughtful, if somewhat guarded, answers. Despite his enigmatic responses, there was a sense of sincerity in his words.

He spoke like he knew what life was like on these streets, not some flimsy feel-good priest-talk about giving the other cheek and whatnot, but like he really knew and understood it.

His presence seemed to command a certain level of respect from the people around him.

Vicky studied him, sensing there was more to the story than he was letting on. But before she could press further, a loud crash echoed from across the street, drawing everyone's attention.

Javi had returned, clearly spoiling for a fight. He was shoving another man, shouting something unintelligible. John sighed, handing the half-eaten apple back to the vendor before stepping forward.

"Javi!" he called out, his voice firm. "What'd I tell you?"

Javi froze, looking sheepish as he realized John was watching. "He started it," he muttered, but his aggression had already dissipated.

"Doesn't matter. Go buy your mom something nice for her birthday instead of wasting time here," John said, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill and handing it to Javi.

"She won't care for it, it's just a waste of money." The kid shook his head, his face stuck in that little grimace of someone who forgot about their own momma's birthday.

"She carried you for nine months." John said looking at him with disaproval.

Javi hesitated, glancing at the money before nodding reluctantly. "Yeah, alright."

As Javi walked away, he turned around to see that the camera had caught everything, it would be very lucky if he was trying to build up his reputation as some do-gooder in these parts, an accident showing his 'real' character.

"Sorry about that," John said, glancing at his watch, "You ran out of time, I've got to go."

"Thank you, John." Vicky nodded, shaking away a certain feeling she got watching him leave.

Just like that, he was gone, at least they got some nice footage.

Not enough, sadly, so back to hunting interviews they were.

As Vicky and her crew packed up, Richie looked over at her.

"So, what do you think? Was that guy for real?" He asked.

"I don't know," Vicky said thoughtfully. "But he definitely knows more about this place than most people. We need to dig deeper."

"And hopefully find out what's really going on with him. There's more to his story, I can feel it." Dave, ever the pragmatist, added,

With that, they finished their preparations and headed back to the van, ready to sift through the footage and start piecing together their documentary. As they drove away from Brideshead, Vicki couldn't shake the feeling that this assignment was about to lead her into something much bigger than she had anticipated.

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Yo! It's Hamtaro!

As promised, a noice little chappy with a cozy 2500 word count, as promised...now please release my dog, he's a good boy and I miss him very much.

We got our first minor DC character, and it ain't Vicki Vale just because I relly wanted to make an Interview with a Vampire joke.

Anyway, I hope you guys had fun, see ya in two days!