Well, he had to say that he didn’t mind this forest - that was for sure.

Of course, it was a little thick – James Duncan couldn’t see the outside world, but he wasn’t too fussed about that. He could stand going without peripheral vision for a few hours, if it meant he got to explore another part of the world – that was what his life was about, actually. He just hiked, and swam, and made sure that he covered every last metre of ground that he could while still in the one area. Hell, he knew every part of the Conservation Area… Outside of this forest.

Inside, he was a little out of his depth, but he didn’t really mind. Short of a pack of raging grizzlies, there wasn’t much that nature could throw at Duncan that he wouldn’t be able to knock right back. He’d spent most of his adult life being the sort of rough-and-tumble man you met while out on picnics; the sort who gives you a jovial nod and then turns his attention to scaling the cliff behind you. He was just that sort of man.

He was almost a gentle giant, except he wasn’t specifically giant – or gentle, either. He was larger than a few other people, certainly, and he didn’t raise his fists unless he got angry… But you didn’t really try to describe James Duncan with general words. They just didn’t cover him. He was more the sort of man you worked at bit by bit, chipping away at his life until you finally discovered why he did what he did.

In this case, ‘what he did’ referred to going for walks in deep woods on a Sunday afternoon. His reason was that he just felt like it, and it was something he set himself out to do – most people couldn’t even ask the people he worked with, because no-one was quite sure. He just disappeared during the week and re-emerged in the river on Saturday morning.

He would’ve been mysterious, if he could’ve been buggered.

Bomani had totally different reasons for being in the woods. Bomani was trying to familiarize himself with the terrian. As one could obviously tell, Canada was no Egypt. And so in turn, Bomani was no rugged outdoors man that dealt with the forest. He stuck out horribly in his white wife beater and his desert camis. He was suited for life out on the sand and not the.. green stuff.

Bomani'd been walking til he came across boot prints. Boot prints that was bigger than his own and now he became skeptical. Who was this creep that walked around the woods? Mind you, Bomani wasn't the creep. Whoever the anonymous stranger was. They were.. weird prints. Maybe he was over evaluating for the ground was different, but they were deep in a way and this person seemed to walk more on their heels and a little on the outside of their feet.

Gold eyes avidly searched the ground and only a few times their search was interrupted by strands of dark hair getting in there way. You know what? Aside from clothing, Bomani himself fit in quite well. He had that typical dark tan. Hah, if only he had something dark to wear. He needed at after all, his body hasn't adjusted to the colder temperatures yet. Sure Bomani was thin, but he had muscles compacted on his body. Did that count for nothing?

After following the trail, he became to come to the conclusion that this was none other than a blood sucker and he had to go DOWN. BWUAHAH! Ahem, anyways, Bomani followed the trail diligently and his searching proved to be positive. There was James Duncan (though he did not know his name). Slipping behind the tree, he yelled something in arabic, probably something holy to dispel him and went for the tackle.

So here he was. Maybe a little lost, yeah, but nothing to get worried about. Just casually minding his own business. When out of nowhere, and we're talking COMPLETELY out of nowhere, this weirdo just jumps out from behind a tree and tackles him. What the bloody hell was UP WITH THAT? Did he get NO PRIVACY OR SOMETHING?

The above would have been the thoughts of Duncan if he'd been in any condition to be thinking straight. As it was, he'd just been tackled to the ground by some crazy bastard yelling out things in another language, and that was no time to think about yourself - even in first person. "CHRIST!" That was pretty much the only sound made as the wind was knocked of James' stomach and he fell to the ground.

"What the sodding hell was that for, then?" he yelled, rolling off the ground and attempting to get away from whoever the hell that had been. He didn't get up - it was probably safer on the ground, that way he couldn't get tackled by dark nutters who didn't seem to speak English. There was something seriously wrong with the world today, he contemplated angrily while brushing himself down.

Bomani slipped out the little dagger and had it poised to hit him with it. "Blood sucker!" He looked really angry. Well, not just really angry, but ready to kill. And take this for not speaking english, "Dirty, disgusting, vile, stupid blood sucker!" He was referring to the all famous vampires that he disliked so much. Obviously, the equation goes like this. Duncan = Blood sucker.

Oh, back peddling a little. "Don't you say his name! You don't deserve it, Blood sucker!" Referring to when he yelled out. Bomani'll beatcha down like a fat man going after the last piece of pie. So, yeah.. Watch out. He's intense (but pretty).

Alright. He'd been attacked, and now he was being faced by somebody calling him a ... come to think of it, what the hell was a bloodsucker in the first place? This guy had to be insane or something. Duncan was not a vampire.

Anyway, the situation required some coarse language. "What the **c* are you doing, you crazy *a*t*rd?" The guy had pulled a knife, for Christ's sake. What the hell was he going to do now? He was going to end up having to fight this crazy bugger, wasn't he? Damn.

Bomani stopped and stared at him for a long time. "Are YOU the stupid? You are a bloodsucker. Meaning you die." He threw the little dagger at him in furstration with no particular aim. "Everyone knows bloodsuckers can't live. They steal too much life." He crouched down a little lower, glaring. "You need to die."

"Hey," said the voice with amused quietness. It emerged with deceptive placidity from behind a bush. It might have gone unnoticed--but the business end of a high tech crossbow is hard to miss. It came out of the bush languidly, preceding its owner as she smiled down the arrow shaft.
Saul was unamused by the overall silliness of the situation. Pretty man attacks giant man? Should be a soap opera for crack addicts.
Solution: shoot pretty man. Obviously crazy. Likes to stab people.
Saul smiled a little viciously. It hadn't been a good night.
Till now.
"Boys?" she purred. "Heads up."

"..." Three dots, aka the sound that a man makes when it's discovered that the forest is filled with a plural amount of homicidal freakshows. Duncan, quite obviously, made it - you couldn't tell, due to the very nature of the thing, but you could tell he was rather disturbed by the "wtf" expression that had taken residence on his face.

He'd been halfway towards replying to that daggered nutter, but the appearance of flying, pointy pain sort of cut his mind short. Was this place just completely full of people who didn't like him? It would explain why he didn't run into them anywhere else - they were all hiding out in the forest.

"...." Four dots, aka the sound that a man makes as he raises both hands, stands up and backs towards the nearest tree. It was really rather difficult to make a difference between this and Duncan's first statement, but by god he was willing to try anyway.

Oh. There was a tree trunk against his back. Right. That wasn't made of metal, or bone, or anything else that MIGHT END UP STABBING HIM. He was happy here.

Bomani didn't register the person, but the weapon first. He looked more than angry to the fact that he was distracted in killing this vampire, but what if she was one too? There is no way that he can let ANOTHER blood sucker run around, taking people's blood without permission. Little meanies.

Taking one look at Duncan, he shook his hand at him a little bit. "Don't you dare leave."

And tugging out a gun at his shoulder houlster (as Bomani is always loaded with daggers and guns for professional duties), he flipped off the safety and held it right at her heart. "Are you a blood sucker too?" He might not believe her when she'd answer, but heck, least he WAS polite enough to ask.

If Saul's pupils could dilate, they would have.
Her controlled situation had shattered into brilliant pieces and reformed into this mess. A gun. Great.
She didn't like guns. They didn't kill most vampires but they could hurt her like a bitch. She wasn't looking forward to being shot tonight. Her upper lip curled infintesimally.
"Wouldn't be bothering with a crossbow if I was, now would I?" she said, irritation colouring her low tone. She was eyeing the gun. The vest would save her torso. That wouldn't do much if she didn't have a head.

But what were guns to the likes of Saul?

She focused, and focused hard, pale brown eyes almost burning in the forest dim. Telekinesis was like hitting a fastball with an imaginary bat--one you had to create and keep with your mind. Yet one had to remain carefully aware of the ball as well to make a good hit, and to make sure the pitcher doesn't smash you in the face.

The gun was definitely a problem.

Holding on to objects was like trying to grasp an anthill. The very fabric of things, the essence, the weave, was always moving, and Saul was not yet skilled enough to grasp it.

She'd have to go the old fashioned way. She'd always been a big fan of the one-shot: Hit once, hit hard, and make sure they don't get up.

She glanced at the giant against the tree. He looked confused. If she was reading his expression right. The man was like a mountain, it was crazy. Saul started humming Britney Spears. She always calmed her down, just enough to really concentrate.
"Your toxic gun slipping under..."