Poof.
The cloud of dust engulfed Levi as the end of his sharpened nightstick was pulled back. The short burst of a spark lit up his face in the darkness inbetween the intermittant flashes of the fireworks in the sky above. A wide grin on his face, a bead of sweat formed on his temple. The desert heat, even after dark, was still lingering.
Since the lights had shut off, the cop had been left to maintain the peace, though seemingly revelled in the fact that it gave him the opportunity to get into the crowd for his own personal form of damage control. After all, there was nothing like a good rumble in the desert to break up the monotony.
Levi had a sort of love-hate relationship with the fanged members of the community. He hated them with almost a passion, yet at the same time found some of them to be entirely useful towards his causes. Some of them made good assassins, some of them made even better scape goats. But most of the time, he liked to kill them simply because he loved how they exploded.
As a police Lieutenant, it was his job to maintain order; as such, the cop worked his way through the crowd and ushered civillians away. Those who knew what was going on obeyed, and those who stood with disbelieving eyes not knowing this was part of the celebration, were left behind. Levi didn't have time for arguments or cajoling those with the deer-in-the-headlights expressions, especially when there was a fight to be had.
Kill, or be killed.
Oliver was meandering through the darkness, a smaller version of the orb he'd conjured up earlier hovering above his left hand. Anyone who knew he'd deliberately returned to the site of the blackout would have called him crazy. Maybe they'd even be right.
Things did seem to be calming down quite a bit, and as he made his way through the dwindling crowd, Oliver saw a familiar face in the glow of the headlights of an ambulance. He stopped walking, glanced around, then slipped out of sight behind the vehicle. Remembering a gun being put in his face and the asshole holding it.
Maybe he could return the favor of annoyance.
( Making good on threats. )
"Have a pleasant evening, Oliver," Levi snarled, then balled a fist and plunged it hard into the man's stomache. One last cheap shot for the road.
With a limp in his step and teeth grit in pain, the cop gathered his personal effects from the ground and sauntered away, leaving Oliver chained firmly to the pole.
Getting back to his squadcar across town would be a challenge, but a welcome relief none the less. Once back home in Vegas, he'd spend the next few days drinking.
This one was definately going to hurt in the morning.
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