//------------------------------//
// Chapter 7 
// Story: Itchy & Scratchy 
// by totallynotabrony 
//------------------------------//

Octavia sat on Vinyl’s couch.  Much of the house was white and neo-.  Neo-what Octavia wasn’t exactly sure, but whichever architectural or design term that could be used to describe the place, it probably contained that prefix.

Vinyl was in the bathroom redying her hair blue.  As Octavia waited, she took a look around.  The dog show trophy was on the mantle.  Sound and mixing equipment took up most of the living room.  The walls were adorned with tasteful sound-damping.  The place was more orderly than one might expect from Vinyl.  She probably had a cleaner.  She could afford it.  Two hundred years of interest in the bank was no small sum.

Though she’d also invested well.  The house was in Dalston, a place that had recently gentrified and sent the property value skyrocketing.  It was within walking distance of two tube stations and a couple of shopping centers.

While it wasn’t the kind of house where Octavia would live, she did find herself thinking about spending some of the money she had to upgrade from her flat.  Her parents’ home insurance, life insurance, and assets made for a considerable sum, not to mention what she’d made in nearly two years working for Mr. Fancypants.

But no.  Househunting would distract her.  And so Octavia stayed in the small, unadorned flat.  Though, she couldn’t help but draw uncomfortable comparisons to a lair.

Vinyl came out, wearing a towel around her shoulders as her hair dried.  “You think Prissy is going to have security?”

Octavia considered the vampire they’d followed at the dog show.  “I somehow doubt bodyguards, but she might keep her ghouls close.”

“We can circle in, maybe do a drive-by of the house and then go in on foot.”

They got going.  While Vinyl drove, Octavia pulled up a satellite image of the house on her phone.  While Fancypants had considerable assets, he did not own a personal spy satellite.  Commercial maps from the internet were fine.

The house looked considerable enough.  There wasn’t a lot of coverage of trees or bushes around it, either.  They would have to find a way to get in, and then find their way through to Prissy.

Or they would have, if the house had not been dark when they pulled up.

“Maybe she’s just out for a drink,” suggested Vinyl.

“She’s quite wealthy, perhaps she has more than one house,” said Octavia.

“Well, it doesn’t look like she’s home.  What do you want to do?”

Octavia considered it.  “You said her dog had a tag from a kennel.  I wonder if it’s possible that they have records of their customers?  Perhaps her information is in there.”

“Worth a shot.”  Vinyl drove them to the kennel, remembering the address from the tag.

It was closed for the night.  The two of them canvassed the place.  Security appeared light.  After all, a kennel was mostly worried about break outs.

Vinyl went around back and found the alarm wiring.  After a few minutes, she had it disabled.  When she gave the all clear, Octavia picked open the door.

The job was fairly straightforward.  The computer terminal at the reception desk wasn’t even password protected.  Octavia stood watch while Vinyl dug into the records.

The two of them were being cautious, and Octavia didn’t hear a peep from the back room, though she could sense the animals there.  Best not to disturb them.  At least animals didn’t have any specific reaction to vampires or werewolves.  Curiosity, if nothing else.

It raised an interesting question of evolution.  Domestic pets had come up alongside people.  Perhaps vampirism and lycanthropy had evolved to not trigger animal instincts.

But Octavia was no cryptobiologist.  In fact, were it not for this job, she wouldn’t have to deal with squishy things at all.

“Oh shit,” Vinyl muttered, she leaned closer to the computer, her face bathed in the pale light.

Octavia turned.  “What is it?”

Vinyl looked up.  “You’re going to want to see this.”  She turned the monitor so Octavia could read.



Customer: Prissy Petunia
Pet(s): Pookie
Phone number: 07700 900065
Emergency point of contact: Dirty Trowel



“What!?”  Octavia crossed the room, staring at the words on the screen.

“So…do you believe in coincidences?” Vinyl asked.

Octavia closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath, carefully moderating her hopes.  “It seems too fantastic to be coincidence, but…it could be.  It could be a different Dirty Trowel.  But we should talk to Mr. Fancypants.  I’m sure he could tell us for sure.”

Octavia sent him the information while Vinyl put the office back the way it was.  They locked up the building and by the time they got back to the car, Fancypants had replied.  It was indeed the same Dirty Trowel.  Fancypants hadn’t yet been able to piece together how he and Prissy knew each other, but that might come together with more research.

Or, they could just go ask Prissy.  Getting her phone number from the kennel records had allowed Fancypants to track her mobile.  He sent them the address.

Octavia frowned as she read it.  “That’s near the university.”

“I wonder if she’s trying to pick up some more guys to enthrall,” Vinyl speculated.  “Not that I feel any great duty to drunken kids, but after seeing how she treated poor Pookie I’m all for going to cock block her.”

“She’s a woman.”

Vinyl shrugged.  “Twat stop.”

Octavia knew the neighborhood around the university well enough to find the address Fancypants had given them.  It was a large communal house with shared rent paid by a dozen students.  And tonight, dozens more appeared to have joined in for a party.  Every light was on and music blared out into the street.  Considering that this was hardly the only student house on the block, nobody seemed to mind.

Octavia looked around as they got out of the car, spotting people everywhere having a good time.  Just two years ago, this was her life as a student.  Well, not that she would have been drinking at a house party, but the nostalgia was still there.  Her old school buildings were just a few blocks away.

No matter what Prissy intended tonight, how dare she come here to prey on the unsuspecting.  It wasn’t even a great place to hunt people.  Cheap beer flavor and the surprisingly effective defense mechanism of a popped collar made it an imperfect place for vampires.

“You want to wait out here?” said Vinyl.

Pulled from her own thoughts, Octavia glanced at her.

Vinyl went on.  “In case she recognizes you from the dog show?”

“Oh, right.”  Octavia nodded, composing herself.  “I’ll find a quiet place in the side street.”

They turned to go about their business, but were intercepted by a drunk student coming out of the house.  “Oh hey, are you ladies here for the party?”

Octavia would have turned up her nose even if he didn’t reek of alcohol.  “We aren’t interested.”

“Oh.  Ooh.”  He winked and pointed finger guns at them.  “Got it.  You know, you two make a cute couple.”

Vinyl burst out laughing.

Octavia snapped at him, “Us?  Are you delusional?  We’re constantly at each other’s throats.  The very first day we met, she knocked out my teeth.”

“Yeah, man, good times.”  Vinyl took off her sunglasses to wipe her eyes, still chuckling.

He took a step closer, grinning.  “So if you two need to be kept apart, I'll be in the middle.”

Vinyl finished laughing and put her sunglasses on.  “Okay, you get points for creativity there but it’s a wash because you should have read the room and not pushed it.  Like the lady said, we’re not interested.”

“Well you don't have to be a cunt about it.”

“Oh yeah?” Vinyl growled, suddenly aggressive.  She took a step forward.  “Get lost before I knock out your teeth.”

“Fuck.  Crazy bitch.”  He walked away.  Staggered, more like.

“My knight in shining armor,” Octavia deadpanned.

Vinyl grinned.  “Thanks, Tavi.  I am technically a crazy bitch.”

She turned and started into the house.  “Ugh, do they honestly think this is music?” Octavia heard her say. She saw Vinyl head for where it was loudest.  Octavia heard her calling, “Don’t worry, I’m a DJ and I’m here to help.  Step away from the MacBook.”

The music changed, though, Octavia thought, not for the better.  She took up position in the darkened yard of a neighboring house, staying out of sight of any windows.

A few minutes later, she got a text message from Vinyl.  She’s here.

Presuming Vinyl would follow with more information about Prissy when she had it, Octavia waited.

Needless to say, she would have rather been anywhere else, doing anything else.  Anything was better than waiting.  What did Prissy know about Dirty Trowel?  Did she know any of the rest of the vampires who killed Octavia’s parents?  Could the only person that stood between Octavia and them be just a few meters away?

Vinyl texted She’s coming out now w/ asshole.

Octavia turned her head, catching sight of Prissy on the arm of the same drunk that had approached earlier.  It seemed like she was supporting him as much as anything else.

“Wait here, I’ll get my car,” she said.

He did, though standing up straight seemed to be a challenge.  He fished out a packet of cigarettes and managed to light one while he waited.  Octavia maneuvered to follow Prissy, keeping to the shadows.

Octavia put her hand into her purse for the stake she carried, but reconsidered.  They needed Prissy alive.  She closed in as Prissy walked a short distance down the sidewalk, holding out her hand to click the keyless entry on her car.

Moving silently, Octavia took advantage of position and reached from behind, catching Prissy’s arm by the elbow.  Her other hand grabbed the wrist and yanked the forearm backwards, hyperextending the joint with a crack.

Prissy might have been surprised, but she instantly reacted with a counterattack, swinging her other arm in a looping arc for Octavia’s head as her fangs came out.  Octavia stepped inside, aiming a punch for Prissy’s throat that she blocked by lowering her head and deflecting it downwards.  The force of the blow knocked them apart.  Octavia fell against the car.

Prissy took a step back and lifted her leg, high heel jutting forward.  Octavia just barely avoided her kick that dented the car door.  Octavia grabbed her leg and raised a fist to smash down on the knee, but Prissy pulled her leg back, setting Octavia off balance.

She rotated out from under Prissy’s raised good arm and aimed a punch at Prissy’s ribs that Prissy blocked with her already broken arm.  Regaining her footing, Octavia put her fists up, leaning into the fight.  Prissy backed up, kicking again with short jabs to keep Octavia back.

Only seconds had passed, but they didn’t have all night.  Octavia swung at her head, knowing Prissy would block, and then grabbed Prissy’s good wrist as it came up.  Prissy spun in place, curling her arm back and forcing Octavia to go along for the ride if she wanted to keep ahold.

The momentum carried Octavia back towards the car and Prissy raised her leg again, getting an extra kick of force into Octavia’s back.  It was too much and she lost her grip of Prissy’s wrist, but not without drawing blood with her fingernails.

She hit the car and pushed off, just barely avoiding Prissy’s fist which broke the window.  Octavia raised her arm to take advantage of Prissy’s position, intending to bash her head against the doorframe, but Prissy actually leaned forward into the broken window and kicked backwards, a blow that caught Octavia in the gut and lifted her straight off her feet.

She whirled as Octavia came down and hammered a punch into her stomach again before Octavia could even hit the ground.

There wouldn’t have been time to breathe if Octavia even could.  As Prissy came down to her on the ground, she managed to get her hand up and grab Prissy by the neck, diverting the force of her attack into a hard pitch that threw Prissy into the car again.

Octavia was back on her feet in an instant and charged.  Prissy ducked out of the way.  Seeing an opportunity, though, Octavia bent her knees and kicked off the car, rolling herself in midair and coming back down on Prissy fist first.  She hammered Prissy’s face into the pavement with her full weight.

Octavia took a step back, but Prissy had gone limp, her nose and face flat against the tarmac.  Octavia took stock of herself.  Clothing torn, flesh bruised, minor bones broken, dental modification required.  Wasting no further time, she grabbed Prissy by the torso and threw her over her shoulder.

She turned to see the drunk student staring at her, the cigarette having fallen out of his mouth as he stared with huge eyes.

Octavia shot him a look.  “No one will believe you.”

She stalked past him, carrying Prissy towards Vinyl’s car.





After learning about Prissy’s connections, Fancypants had suggested that Octavia and Vinyl bring her in, to “the old house,” his estate up in Berkshire.  It was quiet there.  It was a good place for interrogation.

While Octavia was more than willing to deal violence to defend herself, she sat tense and uncomfortable listening to the screams from the other room.  Fancypants could have made a game out of it, trying alternate methods to get Prissy to talk, but her qualms aside, Octavia would rather get the information sooner rather than later.

She looked around, passing the time.  The house was old, very old.  Fancypants had apparently decided not to kill history here, however, and the room looked the part.  Octavia adjusted her position on the hard furniture.  A small, cooking-size fire was lit in the hearth.  Above the mantle was a vintage rifle.

Vinyl seemed relaxed, sitting across from Octavia.  She’d already cleaned out her car.  The rear seats folded down under the hatchback to create a small cargo area where Octavia had kept Prissy creatively pacified for the ride to Berkshire.

Fleur completed the triangle, wearing a severe look and seeming ready to snap, for some reason.  Octavia wasn’t sure why she was here.

The screaming tapered off.  After a few minutes, a door opened and closed.  Shortly thereafter, Fancypants entered the room.  He was covered head to toe in blood, but seemed to be in good spirits.

He picked up a waiting towel and began to clean off, talking as he did so.  “Dirty Trowel was a friend of a friend of Prissy’s.  She hired him to do her gardening and sometimes dogwalking.”

“Did she know anything else about him?” Octavia asked.

“She had a few names that we can pursue.  I suppose there’s no point in concealing them from you now.  She was aware of what happened to your parents, Ms. Melody.  Multiple murders are still rare even among vampires.  Most understand that it’s no way to live if they want to remain incognito.”

Octavia waited while he finished wiping his face off in order to give her his full attention.

“The other two who were with Dirty Trowel that night are named Carousel Brass and Mutton Chop.”

Octavia frowned.  Several seconds passed as she tried to dredge up a memory.  “Wait…”

She turned to Fleur.  “You know Carousel Brass!”

Fleur’s face went blank with surprise.  “How did you-”

Octavia was on her feet, advancing towards Fleur.  “All those shiny knicknacks you have, Carousel Brass made at least a few of them, I remember seeing his name on a maker’s mark.  And some were even signed To Fleur!”

“Calm down,” said Fancypants mildly.

“She knew!” Octavia shouted.  “All this time, she’s known about them!”

“That’s not quite correct,” said Fancypants.  “Fleur, if you would…”

Though Octavia’s outburst had rattled her, Fleur composed herself.  “You know Dirty Trowel used to live in your house before you moved in, I imagine zat is why he and his cronies were distraught about ze changes to ze garden.  I had thought he still lived there, which is why I was in your neighborhood zat night.  I...must admit I had planned some petty revenge.  Ze two of us had a falling out.”

“What were you planning to do?” Octavia said.

“I was-”  Fleur, paused, shook her head, and went on.  “I was planning to egg ze house, okay?

“But if you knew all this time-” Octavia began.

“We didn’t,” said Fancypants.  “Dirty Trowel and his friends had far more enemies than Fleur.  Any of them could have been looking for him, made the same mistake, and decided to kill your family anyway.  We only became sure later.”

“Well, where does Carousel Brass fit in?” Octavia asked.

“As a friend of Dirty Trowel’s,” Fleur replied.  “He’s a jeweler, and Dirty Trowel attempted to buy my favor with commissions from him.”

“So where are Carousel Brass and Mutton Chop now?” Octavia asked.

“I didn’t know zem well,” Fleur replied.

“Surely a jeweler has a shop.”

“I invite you to look into it,” said Fancypants.  He crossed to the mantle and picked up the old rifle.  “I will be going after Prissy now.”

Octavia wanted to express surprise that he had just let her go, but this was Fancypants, always about the hunt.

“I picked this up only recently,” said Fancypants, showing off the rifle.  “It’s an 1868 Pontificio.  Only a single shot, but chambered in 12.7 x 45mm, similar to the American .50-70.  It’s the only type of rifle ever manufactured specifically for the Vatican.”

“Nice,” said Vinyl.  “Does that make it work better against unholy monsters?”

“Oh no, I just enjoyed tracking down such a rare piece.  Also, it can put a fist-sized hole in something.”  Fancypants smiled.  “Well, I’m off.”  He walked out the door into the night.

“How long do you think?” Vinyl asked.  “I bet he kills her inside of five minutes.”

“Don’t we have something more important to be doing?” Octavia said.