Lori exited Club Inferno and watched as the other Kindred she was accompanied by go their separate ways, the shit eating grin on Sean's face was too much to bear. Anger boiled her undead blood, she felt pumped, she wanted to listen to fast music and beat up something weak and pathetic so she could feel good enough to sleep the coming day away. It was hard to think past all the rage but she made it to some bar where a punk band was screaming into the mic. They probably would have been cool to watch, but Lori didn't notice them, she poured two shots into her body uselessly trying to dull her troubled mind in the way that she did before death. The fact they did nothing to her but cause her to vomit angered her even more and she left the bar counting up all the things she hated about the world. It brought the thought around of this three ton, hippopotamus, of a man that claimed (as so many older men having an age crisis and owned a Harley have before) that he was a 'biker'. He'd done something to piss her off the last night she was out. It was hard to be certain what had agitated the pachyderm but a drugged up memory of a man the size of a mountain grabbing her ass while she was hanging all over a girl she had met floated by her anger wrought brain and all she could think about was that lame-ass patch on the back of his huge leather jacket. How many cows lost their skin for that thing? It was a cross with portrayed rays of sunlight, doves, some bullshit 'gang' name (that had something to do with AA), and all sorts of things that were considerably UNbadass yet he was parading around, drunk, acting like he was a member of Hells Angels.
It wasn't long after that she found herself at Club Raven, staring down a line of bikes parked outside, chrome glittering in the lights from the bar. She wondered how a hippopotamus could possible ride one of those things with those silly round feet and she was racked by wild fits of laughter right there. Bikers, they all tried to be so tough and mean... When their bitches weren't around. Still laughing, Lori watches as her anger brings one of her heavy, brown, boots up and kick the last bike in a line of many. It leaves a good sized dent in the side of the shiny chrome but what's worse is as it fell it took the next one and the rest followed like Harley-shaped dominoes. Lori let the laughter roll back over her like a giant wave riding a tide of uncontrollable fury. Let 'em come!
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