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We'll do a little frog giggin', cow tippin'
How 'bout a little skinny dippin', bass fishin'
Take it easy on the 'shine
And stay away from other boys' women
That's one damn good way for a
man to get it whooped down here
These boys tough down here
Get your ass tore up down here
And be an all nighter with the hippies and the hicks
Jocks and bikers, they all came
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Truth be told, despite the fact that every nerve in Ruger's body seemed to blaze with the need to kill, there was something a bit fascinating about the concept of hunting with another. Ruger had never desired company in his hunts, had never wanted another present during his kills. The reasons for this were twofold--he did not want to be distracted from the tasks assigned to him, and he did not want to be responsible---even partially---for the life of another,ever again. The latter held the greatest weight with him, though it was the former that he would ever admit to. He had failed once, failed in every way that a man could fail...and had lost everything because of it. Everything but his life, that was...and wasn't it ironic that that would have been the one thing he would have gladly given, if only to change the course of fate.
If there was one thing that Ruger was not, it was an actor. He was not adept at concealing his rage, and had long since given up on the hope that he would ever be able to. The best he could settle for was a slow boil to that anger, letting his lust for murder simmer until he would be able to draw from it in battle. The proverbial pot very nearly boiled over, however, when Polly tilted her head back to release a deliciously throaty chuckle. It was an attractive motion, the way those silken brown locks tumbled down her back, revealing the regal line of her neck. Ruger might, in any other circumstance, have allowed himself a moment or two to study that beauty, to appreciate it with the very same awe of a man bathed in the light of the rising sun. Aware of their current company, however, his gaze tore away from her, flicking to the mirror just in time to see the thirst, the lust, in the eyes of the head leech. A low, barely audible sound escaped the southern male, a growled curse that would have made his mother blush...had she been the blushing type, anyhow.
It was at that moment, staring at the lust on the others face, that Ruger realized he wasn't going to be parting ways with this woman any time soon. His conscience simply forbade it.
He caught her scent, which reminded him of wildflowers at dusk, as she leaned in close, and slowly returned his gaze to her. That mischievous little grin she wore promised trouble, promised adventure...but oh, it promised danger too. Not to him, no, he didn't believe that. It was a danger of a completely new and different kind...a danger that could, given the proper room to grow, prove to be a deeply personal one. In that moment, he felt like a man standing on the edge of deep chasm, aware that if he stepped off the edge, nothing would ever be the same in his solitary existence again. And though he could have rose from his bar stool, could have bid her farewell and good luck....he did not. He seemed to come to terms with whatever turmoil that was storming with in him and he inclined his head toward her just slightly, as if to share a secret. "Hope you brought your dancin' boots then, sugar...we're gonna bring the barn right on down." He responded, that sly little half-smirk of his surfacing on his lips once more. His fingertips brushed hers as she slid the napkin over to him, like silk beneath his roughened pads. "Thanks, peach. We ain't gonna, but I appreciate the sentiment." He winked, giving her a first little inkling as to just what his specialty truly was. A fella couldn't spend most of his life growing up in a swamp without learning a thing or two about tracking, after all. Or in Ruger's case, a 'thing or two' was actually an encyclopedia's worth.
What happened next was so quick, it was over almost before it started. He felt more than heard the approach of the lead leech, and Ruger was quick to draw his hand beneath the fabric of his shirt. Tucked into the waistband of his jeans was a Colt 45...one that he had rigged with his own personal ammunition. Each bullet was filled with highly concentrated doses of garlic...and while it wouldn't be enough to kill a vampire, it was plenty to severely incapacitate one. Ruger enjoyed delivering death with his own hands, after all...a quick death was never something he opted for. He pulled the weapon swiftly from his shirt, flicking the safety off with a whispered 'click'. The southern gent was bristled, poised, ready as any diamondback to strike should another step be taken.
He was vaguely aware of the two younger vampires making a beeline for the door, and he immediately dismissed them. Even leeches could have a bit of sense from time to time, and he had little doubt their paths would cross again. He would make sure of it. The sound of breaking glass caused Ruger to tear his gaze away from the mirror, falling to glittering shards as they littered Polly's lap. The bead of blood on her inner thigh would have concerned him, if not for the bigger threat sharing their space. The threat that was looking as if it might pounce Polly in any moment. Ruger's grip on the gun tightened, and he was just about to lift and fire when the screams outside pierced the air. Knowing those screams were being issued by leeches caused Ruger a perverse kind of pleasure, and he made no effort to stop the sadistic grin from dancing across his lips.
In the next moment, the head leech was making his exit, and Ruger was mildly thankful for it. While he loved nothing more than killing, he was never fond of doing it on public grounds. He would have, had it meant Polly's safety...but it simply was not the preferred method. "Alright woman. Now you got me interested. You n' me, we're havin' us a chat later, ya hear?" Ruger spoke as he slung his jacket over his shoulder, heading out of the bar hot on her heels. Amusement laced his tone, and even as they stepped out into the darkness, there was a light of playfulness glinting in his eyes.
Ruger could smell the impending storm in the air, and the sky lit up as bands of lightening crackled across the sky. It would have been ominous to most, but Ruger had always found a certain peace in the fury of mother nature. It was a raw and primal thing, something that could never be controlled, never contained. It was truly free, and Ruger admired it. His gaze shifted to Polly, catching a glimpse of the starkly beautiful smile that was lighting up her features. Exhilaration painted her features, made her look just as wild and free as the storms he so adored. He allowed himself that moment, to take in the unabashed joy on her face, before releasing a light chuckle. "Aw hell no, Tumbleweed...ain't a way them ol' boys gonna get the fix on the likes of us. And judgin' from the display out here, seems you'll be slingin' some mighty fine housewarmin' gifts when we get there."
He pulled the keys to his Dodge out of his pocket, jingling them in her direction with a smirk. "We'll take the redneck limo, might be they'll head for the woods. And I do love me some off-roadin'." He gestured to the massive truck parked just across the street. It was jacked up, black as the darkest night, with large mud tires and equally dark rims. A mean looking 'deer basher' brush guard wrapped around the grill, and a row of KC lights had been mounted to the headache rack in back. Ruger lead her over to it, unlocking it with a swift click of his remote. "Don't you go worryin' yourself about ol' Blue. He ain't never hurt nobody, less that body was a leech." Ruger told her with a chuckle as he climbed into the monster of a truck.
Blue immediately slipped between the seats, ears perked as he shoved his moist cold nose at Polly, sniffing her down thoroughly. After a moment, he gave a slow wag of his tail as if to say she had cleared his inspection, before letting out an explosive bark and turning toward the back window. "Yeah, buddy, we know. They went thatta way." Ruger nodded, looking at Polly as he cranked the key in the ignition. "He's the best damn vamp dog you'll ever find. Trained him myself." The truck roared to life, a non-too-subtle machine. Ruger guided it away from the curb, making a swift U-turn to head in the way the vampires had headed. "See, I ain't one for those new-fangled gadgets. Wouldn't know how to use 'em. But I gotta say, what you did back there was mighty impressive." He flicked on the KC lights, illuminating the street and sidewalk brightly even in the gloom. "See, me, I'm primitive. Trackin's my thing. Got me a good arsenal, but it's basic. Gets the job done, no less." He shrugged lightly.
Suddenly, Blue began to snarl, lunging at the glass of the tinted back window. Ruger tapped the breaks, guiding the truck to the curb. His diligent blue gaze swept the sidewalk, and a smirk blossomed on his lips. "What's that tracker thinger you got say, woman? Because my canine unit says they done gone up in that buildin' there. Judgin' from the smudges of ash there on the sidewalk, I gotta agree." Ruger reached behind his seat, pulling out a Remington 870 that he had modified with a banana clip and synthetic stock. The shells were of the same principle as those that rested in his Colt, only packing bigger punch. He leaned over, popping open the glove box to retrieve an aluminum box full of shells. He methodically loaded the weapon, then slipped a dozen more into his pocket. The Colt, in addition to his knife, would be all the extra backup he would need. "Well, sugar...let's roll, yeah?"
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Our side of the barbed wire
Money grows in rows
If it don't you're goin' broke
So we
We hang out by the bonfire
Just the good ol' boys having a dang good time
We crank it up down here
We get loud down her
Throwin' down in the dirty, dirty south down here
Be an all nighter with the hippies and the hicks
Jocks and bikers, they all came to kick it in the
sticks
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