The sun glared hard on the back of his neck, defiant to rend every ounce of moisture from the atmosphere before it set for the evening. Jeff turned his head to sneer over his leather-clad shoulder into the face of that great burning god that struck fear into the hearts of his otherwise fearless blood-kinsmen, also known as his prey. While many of them slumbered until the sun was but a distant afterglow, he was powerful enough to withstand its dying rays and begin his hunt while they slept on, oblivious.

He was bound for a known lair, a nightclub of sorts, the perfect place for the Immortals to herd humans like wanton sheep. He approached the bouncer at the door and was unimpressed, for he, Jeff, was at least a foot taller and carried double the muscle mass. Nonetheless, the bouncer scowled up at him, and had the insolence to ask for ID, despite the fact that Jeff was quite obviously an adult. Managing to maintain a neutral expression, Jeff slipped him his license, good for not only cars, but motorcycles as well. The bouncer's beady eyes flicked over it and tossed it back, clearly trying to hide how impressed he was as he stated snidely--

“No minors.”

“What?” Indignant, Jeff pushed his disheveled hair out of his eyes and collected his fallen student card from the pavement. The fact that he was a second-year university student was clearly visible on it. Determined, he offered it to the bouncer again.

“If you'll look here, sir, you'll see that I am clearly over the age of nineteen, and thus not, as you so quickly assumed, a 'minor'.”

The muscle-ridden bouncer didn't even bother taking a second look, instead folding arms as big around as Jeff's thigh over his equally impressive chest and smirking vaguely.

“Grow a pair and then we'll talk 'bout who's a minor and who ain't.”

Gaping slightly, Jeff fortunately managed to keep himself from inquiring as to what, exactly, he needed to grow a pair of, and sent his mind into over-drive as to what might persuade this tower of testosterone to let him into the club.

Desperate, he slid closer to the bouncer (who was actually a foot taller than he) and murmured, “Sir, please, listen to me. Your employer is one of the Undead, a blood-sucking vampire to be precise. I am the only one who can stop him, if you'd just let me in, I can --”

“Kid.”

“Yes?” There was a fierce note of triumph in Jeff's response.

“Beat it.”

Mouth flailing in the air like a fish's gills when out of water, Jeff turned and stalked off, only to flop on a curb a block from the club, faded camouflage trench-coat tenting over his scrawny shoulders.

“Muscle-brained idiot,” he muttered to himself, cleaning the lenses of his glasses on the hem of his prized “Vader vs Yoda – Who would win?” T-shirt. “Serve him right to become someone's suck-buddy...”

Indigo watched a boy aproach the night club and be turned away by the bouncer. She smirked a bit, remembering the favors she'd had to do to be let into clubs. That had been when she was alive, though. Now it just took a bit of prodding...

But she'd have to wait now, the kid would be suspicious if she was let in right after he was turned away. She she yawned and waited. But she was overcome by the sudden feeling that he was just innocently sneaking into a club to get drunk. He was up to something. And perhaps it would do her good to find out what exactly it was.

She approached the burly bouncer, who, of course, asked her for an ID.

"Oh...ID?" she asked innocently. "Just a second."
Indigo made a show of digging through her wallet. "Oh, crap! I left it at home. Come on, sir, I don't have a car, and I live across town. Can't you just let me in this once?"

"No ID, no entry," he grunted with a smirk. He enjoyed turning kids away.

Pouting, Indigo stormed off down the block, pretending not to notice the kid til she stopped and looked down at him.

"You got turned away too, huh?" she asked, sounding angry.

At the sound of a voice close behind him, Jeffrey jumped, although it wasn't particularly visible as it occurred within the air space that hung between the young man's body and his outer garment.

He turned to look over his shoulder, and then up a bit, eyes narrowed behind a screen of hair and replaced glasses at the figure standing there.

Not only was the unwelcome voice directed at him, it was female. The second most distrusted species, next to vampires.

Gruffly, he shrugged. “Yeah. Moronic Bowflexed-halfwit should be taught that favoritism is not a part of his job description.”

((OOC: Sorry it took so long for a reply. Working over the summer, and then the mess of moving and adjusting to college. Thanks for replying, by the way. ^.^))