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Default Location for Macabre: Debello's Return
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Boston, MA USA is a part of 
Macabre: Debello's Return.
7 Characters Here
Willa Thorn [76]
Ethan Orozco [71] "Pfft. Howling is for losers." ((WIP))
Sam '' Sammy'' Larson [67] She's just trying to find her place in the world.
Nicholas White-Eyes [17] I've never forgotten the taste of a shadow.
Jayson Goldsworthy [8] "Beyond the perfect image lies the darkened truth."
Debello Le'Stat [2] Beautiful, Beautiful Chaos
Zoe Charms [0] The darkness calls my name.
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Willa really regretted not having that meal...
The Dhampire was faster than Willa had anticipated. It had been too long and she had mistook the girl for being docile. A foolish move. The blood lust was too much for her--and her Song was deafening. In the instant Willa glanced away--the Dhampire was upon her. The creature's eyes flashing blood hungry red, fangs gleaming viciously as they sank into her arm. Willa growled--an animistic sound of outrage as the pain hit her--and then that lulling sensation that often followed a vampire bite. Willa's growl became a strange groan, before she managed to right her senses. Focus on the Dark Song. Focus.
Dhampires are only slightly stronger than human beings. Willa was equally as strong as a human. Her hands were pinned. Her feet--not so much. With a cry Willa thrust a leg into the girl's abdomen--hard. That wouldn't be pleasant for anyone during a meal. Twice, three times she kicked as hard as she could. Her vision was starting to blur. Not good.
"GET THE FUCK OFF!" Willa cried, and in her fury, rammed her forehead into the Dhampire's face as she fed from her arm. Hoping she would loosen her grip enough to make an escape, or better yet--to free her hands for use of her weapons. What a fool I have been...she thought as her kicks grew weaker.
The Dhampire was faster than Willa had anticipated. It had been too long and she had mistook the girl for being docile. A foolish move. The blood lust was too much for her--and her Song was deafening. In the instant Willa glanced away--the Dhampire was upon her. The creature's eyes flashing blood hungry red, fangs gleaming viciously as they sank into her arm. Willa growled--an animistic sound of outrage as the pain hit her--and then that lulling sensation that often followed a vampire bite. Willa's growl became a strange groan, before she managed to right her senses. Focus on the Dark Song. Focus.
Dhampires are only slightly stronger than human beings. Willa was equally as strong as a human. Her hands were pinned. Her feet--not so much. With a cry Willa thrust a leg into the girl's abdomen--hard. That wouldn't be pleasant for anyone during a meal. Twice, three times she kicked as hard as she could. Her vision was starting to blur. Not good.
"GET THE FUCK OFF!" Willa cried, and in her fury, rammed her forehead into the Dhampire's face as she fed from her arm. Hoping she would loosen her grip enough to make an escape, or better yet--to free her hands for use of her weapons. What a fool I have been...she thought as her kicks grew weaker.
If you asked Ethan to explain what just happened, he would only be able to say something like âPounce, bite, kick, BAD!â
As soon as he saw the look in Samâs eye, he knew things were going straight to hell. Riiiiggghhhhht down there with Mr. Devil. Sam seemed to leap like a hungry momma tiger at the girl who STILL hadnât told Ethan her name. As quick as lightning, Sam clamped down on the girlâs arm, beginning to drain her of the ever so important blood.
"GET THE FUCK OFF!" The girl screeched angrily, trying very hard to kick Sam off of her. For a moment, Ethan stood there, frozen, eyes widened in fright. To be honest, he hates vampires. They were responsible for his parentsâ deaths. But he wasnât just about to let his new friend kill an innocent, though annoying, girl. With a light, but angry snarl, Ethan quickly darted through the alley he was hidden in and turned a quick corner, only to leap into to building. His feet seemed to pound louder than his ears as he ran to where Sam and the girl were.
His large hands gripped Samâs shoulders, and, practically, tore her off of the girl. Ethan then picked her up, she was surprisingly light, and slammed her back against a wall, pinning her there by holding his forearm on her throat. He didnât even think. He clenched his jaw, and his fist. He knew what to do.
Raising his balled up hand, he twisted his waist and landed a heavy blow right on Samâs jawbone. It would knock her out instantly, and he just hoped he wouldnât break her jaw.
Ethan caught Sam as she slumped over, unconscious. He lied her against the wall, her head hanging limply as if she was asleep peacefully. He couldnât help but note how cute she looked, but then shook his head, realizing now was not the time for this.
He quickly hopped back to his feet and darted over to the girl. âAre you alright?â He asked, true concern showing in his eyes as he helped her sit up.
(LOVE THIS SONG!)
Willa had just given one last kick, her vision swimming as the lull of the vampire's bite began to win out over her desire to fight. Surely, she was going to die now.
And the Silence would not be kept.
And her body would be found here later by police, completely drained of blood.
And they would be baffled.
And no one would be left who knew why.
And Debello would win.
There was a pounding in her ears, a thrumming different than the hungry Dhampire's Song, a growling sort of Song. A Were. Then suddenly the pressure on her hands was gone. The throbbing hungry Dhampire Song dulled, softened. And hovering in her blurry vision--the Were creature from before. The one who wanted to talk. The one who watched from the window. Why? He seemed concerned--but maybe that was because she was delirious with blood-loss.
âAre you alright?â He asked, as he helped her sit up. Willa heard him as one might hear from underwater. Her eyes were especially round, pupils large and disoriented. She was probably going into shock. If not long past that. But she felt his hand pulling her to sit up, saw the room tip and tilt queasily, and managed to clap her hand to her mouth--just in case she was sick...luckily she wasn't. Nothing to come up. How long had it been since she had eaten last? She wasn't sure. Willa gripped the nearest object--in this case the Were's arm--as the room stopped spinning. But let go with a gasp once she realized what she held. It were as if his skin burned her.
Why had this Were saved her? He could have let her die...maybe he wanted to kill her himself? Anxious to not appear as weak and helpless, she dropped to one knee, steadying herself. Her fingers were shaking too badly for the gun at her waist or the knife in her sleeve. She wrapped her hand around the whistle at her throat instead, trembling and trying to gather her wits again.
"W-Why?" She managed to croak. Her mouth felt dry as sand. She was so thirsty. She locked her large blue eyes with his--and there was fear there, but also..a small glimmer of thanks that she couldn't bring herself to say. That she was too ashamed to say. Too scared. Even though she was close to death at the Dhampire's fangs--she felt more fear now facing her rescuer than her own fate. "Y-You saved me? Wh-Why?"
Willa's heart raced in her chest painfully. Each beat was a surge of tingly agony as her limited blood tried to circulate. Her breath came in short ragged spurts. She was in bad shape. She needed food and rest. Only sheer willpower was keeping her from fainting. Her skin was pale, her eyes seemed to glow in comparison. She was such a fool...
And the Silence would not be kept.
And her body would be found here later by police, completely drained of blood.
And they would be baffled.
And no one would be left who knew why.
And Debello would win.
There was a pounding in her ears, a thrumming different than the hungry Dhampire's Song, a growling sort of Song. A Were. Then suddenly the pressure on her hands was gone. The throbbing hungry Dhampire Song dulled, softened. And hovering in her blurry vision--the Were creature from before. The one who wanted to talk. The one who watched from the window. Why? He seemed concerned--but maybe that was because she was delirious with blood-loss.
âAre you alright?â He asked, as he helped her sit up. Willa heard him as one might hear from underwater. Her eyes were especially round, pupils large and disoriented. She was probably going into shock. If not long past that. But she felt his hand pulling her to sit up, saw the room tip and tilt queasily, and managed to clap her hand to her mouth--just in case she was sick...luckily she wasn't. Nothing to come up. How long had it been since she had eaten last? She wasn't sure. Willa gripped the nearest object--in this case the Were's arm--as the room stopped spinning. But let go with a gasp once she realized what she held. It were as if his skin burned her.
Why had this Were saved her? He could have let her die...maybe he wanted to kill her himself? Anxious to not appear as weak and helpless, she dropped to one knee, steadying herself. Her fingers were shaking too badly for the gun at her waist or the knife in her sleeve. She wrapped her hand around the whistle at her throat instead, trembling and trying to gather her wits again.
"W-Why?" She managed to croak. Her mouth felt dry as sand. She was so thirsty. She locked her large blue eyes with his--and there was fear there, but also..a small glimmer of thanks that she couldn't bring herself to say. That she was too ashamed to say. Too scared. Even though she was close to death at the Dhampire's fangs--she felt more fear now facing her rescuer than her own fate. "Y-You saved me? Wh-Why?"
Willa's heart raced in her chest painfully. Each beat was a surge of tingly agony as her limited blood tried to circulate. Her breath came in short ragged spurts. She was in bad shape. She needed food and rest. Only sheer willpower was keeping her from fainting. Her skin was pale, her eyes seemed to glow in comparison. She was such a fool...
All trinkets tell tales for the darkling Fae seeker.
Tell, me card, can you lead us to your Keeper?
"Listener."
The word tasted hard and cold on the Shadowlurker's tongue. Nicholas and Sophia sat silently in quiet dread. A hunter stalked the old streets of Boston in the guise of a young girl. The Changelings had a new fear to color their dreams as they hid in their hollows and holes. "Funny, ain't it? We spend our whole lives runnin' from the Fair Folk, lookin' over our shoulders for Privateers an' Loyalists tryin' to haul our asses back there, only t' get hunted down by some kid when we've finally settled down," said Nicholas. Sophia gave a small dry laugh that sounded like the turning of a page. "Maybe...maybe she's just as afraid of us as we are of her. Perhaps her hunt is born of that simplest fear, the terror of what we do not understand." She closed the book and her lips, creased like the spine of a well-read novel, crinkled into a weary smile. "We Changelings of the Autumn Court can relate to the little Listening Girl, no?" The Shadowlurker nodded and they spoke the words of Autumn.
"Fear's our harvest n' scythe,"
"Fear is our bounty and ward,"
"Fear's our power n' our way of life,"
"Fear is our shield against the Fae Lords,"
"Fear the coming of Autumn," they said in unison. The smell of dying leaves filled the air about the Changelings as the seasons acknowledged their fealty. They drew in the autumn air deep in their lungs in reverence for the Autumn Oath. It was Nicholas who broke the silence as he cleared his throat.
"Ah got one more favor t' ask Sophia." He pulled out the Driver's licence and laid it on the table. The Antiquarian grasped the card, her eyes sliding over the picture of a girl with chocolate brown hair, blue eyes, and a scar running down the left side of her neck. "She's some sort o' daywalkin' vampire. Ah saw her with a wolf-boy and a girl with bites on her neck. She left this behind after runnin' down a side alley with him. As of now she's my only lead. Ah've got a hunch that she might know somethin' 'bout the Murders an' Ah'm gonna see if she's willin' t' talk." Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure she's connected to the Murders?" "It's all Ah got." "And if she is reticent?" "Ah'll convince her. But Ah'll need her address." Sophia crossed her arms and shot him a skeptical look.
"Very well." She picked up the card and kissed it with her leather bound lips. The image of Sam Larson began to move, stretching its arms and looking curiously at the Antiquarian. Sophia gave the little card a practiced smile. "Well good afternoon, little Driver's Licence! How are you doing this fine day?" The card cheerfully looked up at the Antiquarian and returned the friendly smile.
"I am doing well. And how are you ma'am?" asked the card. Sophia girlishly giggled as she carried on the small talk. "Oh I am feeling quite wonderful today. I am very happy that Autumn's right around the corner; I find Summer's droll heat trying on my pale complexion. The card scratched her head and nodded at the enthusiastic response.
"Well, how may I help you today?" Nicholas fixed the the Antiquarian with an impatient glower as she put a finger to her lips and assumed a let-me-think pose. "Well, my associate here Mr. White-Eyes found you lying on the ground and wishes to return you to your Mistress. However we do not know where Miss Larson resides and if you could tell us, we would be ever so grateful. I can personally vouch for Mr. White-Eyes's integrety and honor; he is, after all, a member of Boston's Finest. The card nodded as she considered the Antiquarian.
"Of course! My mistress lives at J.E. Quincy Apartments, 33 Furnace Brook Pkwy, PO Box 02169." "Thank you so much my little Licence. You shall be reunited with your Mistress soon," said Sophia as she giggled in satisfaction. The image of Miss Larson bowed its head and froze back into its original image. Sophia handed Nicholas the card, her tone calm and even. "You owe me two boons. "Thanks." Sophia looked away, regarding the shelves beside her intensely. Nicholas opened his mouth to say more, but thought better of it. He turned and left for the apartments.
After passing through a nearly empty apartment lobby, the Changeling opened the doors to the stair access. He smelled the blood before he saw the scene. Inside, a boy with blue hair crouched over the girl who Nicholas recognized as the dreaded Listener. She was at her knees, bleeding heavily. The Larson girl was slumped against a wall, unconscious. Nicholas was once again late to the party. He blinked. His colored-contacts sat unused in his pocket. Goddamnit. His years on the BPD kicked in and he took in the scene with an investigator's eye.
The blue-haired boy looked familiar, probably the Were-beast he had seen earlier. Judging from the bruise beginning to purple at Larson's jaw, the Werewolf and the Vampire had reached a disagreement and came to blows. The Listener must have been involved; the Werewolf appeared to be trying to help her. She seemed pale and wary as blood began to puddle by her feet. The taste of fear was in the air, colored by a sprinkling of hope and the tart of limey dread. Even more importantly, where did he stand? He knew that Larson and the Were-beast were his only leads to the murders, but here was the Listener, the Fae-Bane, bleeding to death in front of him. Wouldn't it be treason to the Boston Freehold if he aided someone who quite clearly knew of Changelings and wanted to murder them? But could he simply kill a young girl in an apartment lobby without consequence? Complications abounded.
Nicholas took stock of his environment while all those considerations crossed his mind. The shadows under the stairway was too far jump into from his position at the doorway; there were no obstacles to hide him under the white fluorescent lighting along the stairway. He was out in the open. The Darkling glanced at the Listener's shadow noting how it stretched along the side of the staircase. There was no way in hell was going to touch that again. In the absence of more information, Nicholas decided to play the bystander. Aside from the Listener, his Mask was still in place. He seemed to be normal (if white-eyed) 40 something Hispanic man dressed for work. The Wolf-Boy might notice the strange smell of otherness but otherwise Nicholas passed for mundane. He would play the Bystander and hope that he could find some answers.
Woah, easy there, son. Let's all just calm down. Nicholas held up his hands, showing that they were empty but kept to the doorway. A Sig Sauer hung against the right side of his waist, concealed by his brown sports coat. He was a quick draw but not by much and he loathed to see how fast a Werewolf could cross the cramped stairway access. Nicholas addressed the Werewolf by gesturing to the Listener with a flick of his head, keeping his hands up in the air, far away from the tiny bulge of his gun. He kept his expression concerned but otherwise neutral, attempting to belie no recognition of the Listener. What happened?
Tell, me card, can you lead us to your Keeper?
"Listener."
The word tasted hard and cold on the Shadowlurker's tongue. Nicholas and Sophia sat silently in quiet dread. A hunter stalked the old streets of Boston in the guise of a young girl. The Changelings had a new fear to color their dreams as they hid in their hollows and holes. "Funny, ain't it? We spend our whole lives runnin' from the Fair Folk, lookin' over our shoulders for Privateers an' Loyalists tryin' to haul our asses back there, only t' get hunted down by some kid when we've finally settled down," said Nicholas. Sophia gave a small dry laugh that sounded like the turning of a page. "Maybe...maybe she's just as afraid of us as we are of her. Perhaps her hunt is born of that simplest fear, the terror of what we do not understand." She closed the book and her lips, creased like the spine of a well-read novel, crinkled into a weary smile. "We Changelings of the Autumn Court can relate to the little Listening Girl, no?" The Shadowlurker nodded and they spoke the words of Autumn.
"Fear's our harvest n' scythe,"
"Fear is our bounty and ward,"
"Fear's our power n' our way of life,"
"Fear is our shield against the Fae Lords,"
"Fear the coming of Autumn," they said in unison. The smell of dying leaves filled the air about the Changelings as the seasons acknowledged their fealty. They drew in the autumn air deep in their lungs in reverence for the Autumn Oath. It was Nicholas who broke the silence as he cleared his throat.
"Ah got one more favor t' ask Sophia." He pulled out the Driver's licence and laid it on the table. The Antiquarian grasped the card, her eyes sliding over the picture of a girl with chocolate brown hair, blue eyes, and a scar running down the left side of her neck. "She's some sort o' daywalkin' vampire. Ah saw her with a wolf-boy and a girl with bites on her neck. She left this behind after runnin' down a side alley with him. As of now she's my only lead. Ah've got a hunch that she might know somethin' 'bout the Murders an' Ah'm gonna see if she's willin' t' talk." Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure she's connected to the Murders?" "It's all Ah got." "And if she is reticent?" "Ah'll convince her. But Ah'll need her address." Sophia crossed her arms and shot him a skeptical look.
"Very well." She picked up the card and kissed it with her leather bound lips. The image of Sam Larson began to move, stretching its arms and looking curiously at the Antiquarian. Sophia gave the little card a practiced smile. "Well good afternoon, little Driver's Licence! How are you doing this fine day?" The card cheerfully looked up at the Antiquarian and returned the friendly smile.
"I am doing well. And how are you ma'am?" asked the card. Sophia girlishly giggled as she carried on the small talk. "Oh I am feeling quite wonderful today. I am very happy that Autumn's right around the corner; I find Summer's droll heat trying on my pale complexion. The card scratched her head and nodded at the enthusiastic response.
"Well, how may I help you today?" Nicholas fixed the the Antiquarian with an impatient glower as she put a finger to her lips and assumed a let-me-think pose. "Well, my associate here Mr. White-Eyes found you lying on the ground and wishes to return you to your Mistress. However we do not know where Miss Larson resides and if you could tell us, we would be ever so grateful. I can personally vouch for Mr. White-Eyes's integrety and honor; he is, after all, a member of Boston's Finest. The card nodded as she considered the Antiquarian.
"Of course! My mistress lives at J.E. Quincy Apartments, 33 Furnace Brook Pkwy, PO Box 02169." "Thank you so much my little Licence. You shall be reunited with your Mistress soon," said Sophia as she giggled in satisfaction. The image of Miss Larson bowed its head and froze back into its original image. Sophia handed Nicholas the card, her tone calm and even. "You owe me two boons. "Thanks." Sophia looked away, regarding the shelves beside her intensely. Nicholas opened his mouth to say more, but thought better of it. He turned and left for the apartments.
After passing through a nearly empty apartment lobby, the Changeling opened the doors to the stair access. He smelled the blood before he saw the scene. Inside, a boy with blue hair crouched over the girl who Nicholas recognized as the dreaded Listener. She was at her knees, bleeding heavily. The Larson girl was slumped against a wall, unconscious. Nicholas was once again late to the party. He blinked. His colored-contacts sat unused in his pocket. Goddamnit. His years on the BPD kicked in and he took in the scene with an investigator's eye.
The blue-haired boy looked familiar, probably the Were-beast he had seen earlier. Judging from the bruise beginning to purple at Larson's jaw, the Werewolf and the Vampire had reached a disagreement and came to blows. The Listener must have been involved; the Werewolf appeared to be trying to help her. She seemed pale and wary as blood began to puddle by her feet. The taste of fear was in the air, colored by a sprinkling of hope and the tart of limey dread. Even more importantly, where did he stand? He knew that Larson and the Were-beast were his only leads to the murders, but here was the Listener, the Fae-Bane, bleeding to death in front of him. Wouldn't it be treason to the Boston Freehold if he aided someone who quite clearly knew of Changelings and wanted to murder them? But could he simply kill a young girl in an apartment lobby without consequence? Complications abounded.
Nicholas took stock of his environment while all those considerations crossed his mind. The shadows under the stairway was too far jump into from his position at the doorway; there were no obstacles to hide him under the white fluorescent lighting along the stairway. He was out in the open. The Darkling glanced at the Listener's shadow noting how it stretched along the side of the staircase. There was no way in hell was going to touch that again. In the absence of more information, Nicholas decided to play the bystander. Aside from the Listener, his Mask was still in place. He seemed to be normal (if white-eyed) 40 something Hispanic man dressed for work. The Wolf-Boy might notice the strange smell of otherness but otherwise Nicholas passed for mundane. He would play the Bystander and hope that he could find some answers.
Woah, easy there, son. Let's all just calm down. Nicholas held up his hands, showing that they were empty but kept to the doorway. A Sig Sauer hung against the right side of his waist, concealed by his brown sports coat. He was a quick draw but not by much and he loathed to see how fast a Werewolf could cross the cramped stairway access. Nicholas addressed the Werewolf by gesturing to the Listener with a flick of his head, keeping his hands up in the air, far away from the tiny bulge of his gun. He kept his expression concerned but otherwise neutral, attempting to belie no recognition of the Listener. What happened?
All Sam could remember of that terrible accident was, she was standing on the stairs, listening to the girl talk to her. While the girl looked away from Sam and at Ethan, Sam smelt the girl's blood and went for an attack. Sam knocked the girl to the ground and taking a bite, Sam couldn't stop no matter what. Even though she tried to very hard to stop, she couldn't for some reason. It's like something was controlling her. While Sam was feasting, she remembers feeling a hand on her shoulder and her being ripped off of the girl, being pinned against the wall, and getting an upper cut punch in the face by some one, and blacking out.
"W-Why?" The girlâs voice cracked as she spoke. She was in terrible shape, and this worried Ethan. His eyes locked with hers, the blue in his eyes sparking with nervousness.
"Y-You saved me? Wh-Why?" Ethan looked deep into her eyes. The sound of her pounding heart drummed in Ethanâs own ears, which scared him even more. She was so pale. Like a ghost. Almost like⊠Mom⊠He was suddenly shoved into his own flash back. His eyes glazed over and his breath was caught in his throat.
His parents being sucked dry, until their skin was chalky white⊠so very whiteâŠ
âWoah, easy there, son. Let's all just calm down. What happened?â
Ethan was slapped back to reality, and he visibly flinched, gritting his teeth and shoving the terrible memories to the back of his mind once more. His gaze rose from where it was positioned on the ground, and locked with the strange man. He seemed normal enough⊠but something was off about himâŠ
He stood up slowly, almost threateningly, to his full height, even though he was shorter than the other man, who was oddly tall. âIf you knew what was good for you, you would forget this ever happened.â Ethan snapped, glaring at him ferociously. He stood protectively over the girl, casing glances at Sam, wincing once he saw the bruise on her jaw. He looked over his shoulder at the girl, âWe should goâŠâ He breathed, quieter than a whisper.
The Were seemed suddenly entranced by her. His eyes seemed frightened and far away. But he came to quick enough as an uninvited guest arrived in the lobby.
Willa heard him before she saw him. Her whole spine stiffened, her shoulders tensed. Though pale as a corpse, she managed to still her trembling. The blood soaking through her sweatshirt sleeve and puddling on the floor beside her wasn't exactly helping her attempt at a strong image though. Her blue eyes narrowed at the thing before them.
Changeling.
âWoah, easy there, son. Let's all just calm down. What happened?â the changeling said. This was the same one from before. She would know his Dark Song anywhere. The Changling's Dark Song was the screaming of cats in a fight and gravel in a blender with a strange underlying hissing, like dry leaves. She grit her teeth, unable to stifle a small wounded animal-like snarl from escaping her. Somehow, her hand found the vial in her pocket for the blinding barrier, and she gripped it as tightly as her spent body would allow.
The Were stood, towering over her--but seemed dwarfed by the Darkling before him. Could he tell the thing before them wasn't human? Why didn't he just leave her? He could still move.
âIf you knew what was good for you, you would forget this ever happened.â the Were snapped, glaring at the changeling ferociously. He stood over her, almost protectively. Willa tried to even her ragged breathing--but to no avail. The were looked over his shoulder at her, âWe should goâŠâ He breathed, quieter than a whisper.
If Willa weren't in so much agony--she might have laughed in his face. She was in no shape to move, never mind stand. She wasn't going anywhere.
"Yes..you should...you can..." She croaked back, a small pained smile creeping across her face before it became a grimace.
Surely, the Changeling must be here to destroy her. Why else would he meet her twice in one day? Well, that was fine with her. She would take him with her though...
"Changeling...." She hissed at the creature before them. "If my memory serves me...your kind doesn't fare very well in bright lights...." Willa revealed the vial in her bloodied palm,which gave off a faint light. Once smashed--this vial would produce what she considered to be a sun-burn worthy amount of light, as well as a barrier. This was the same type of barrier she had loosed in the ally earlier to escape from the Were and Dhampire before. Now, it would be used correctly. It was best on vampires--but it would do just as well on a member of the Fair Folk..."Or you can take the Were's advice...and leave..." Willa's eyes were hard and determined--but her vision was starting to white around the edges.
Willa heard him before she saw him. Her whole spine stiffened, her shoulders tensed. Though pale as a corpse, she managed to still her trembling. The blood soaking through her sweatshirt sleeve and puddling on the floor beside her wasn't exactly helping her attempt at a strong image though. Her blue eyes narrowed at the thing before them.
Changeling.
âWoah, easy there, son. Let's all just calm down. What happened?â the changeling said. This was the same one from before. She would know his Dark Song anywhere. The Changling's Dark Song was the screaming of cats in a fight and gravel in a blender with a strange underlying hissing, like dry leaves. She grit her teeth, unable to stifle a small wounded animal-like snarl from escaping her. Somehow, her hand found the vial in her pocket for the blinding barrier, and she gripped it as tightly as her spent body would allow.
The Were stood, towering over her--but seemed dwarfed by the Darkling before him. Could he tell the thing before them wasn't human? Why didn't he just leave her? He could still move.
âIf you knew what was good for you, you would forget this ever happened.â the Were snapped, glaring at the changeling ferociously. He stood over her, almost protectively. Willa tried to even her ragged breathing--but to no avail. The were looked over his shoulder at her, âWe should goâŠâ He breathed, quieter than a whisper.
If Willa weren't in so much agony--she might have laughed in his face. She was in no shape to move, never mind stand. She wasn't going anywhere.
"Yes..you should...you can..." She croaked back, a small pained smile creeping across her face before it became a grimace.
Surely, the Changeling must be here to destroy her. Why else would he meet her twice in one day? Well, that was fine with her. She would take him with her though...
"Changeling...." She hissed at the creature before them. "If my memory serves me...your kind doesn't fare very well in bright lights...." Willa revealed the vial in her bloodied palm,which gave off a faint light. Once smashed--this vial would produce what she considered to be a sun-burn worthy amount of light, as well as a barrier. This was the same type of barrier she had loosed in the ally earlier to escape from the Were and Dhampire before. Now, it would be used correctly. It was best on vampires--but it would do just as well on a member of the Fair Folk..."Or you can take the Were's advice...and leave..." Willa's eyes were hard and determined--but her vision was starting to white around the edges.
The elderitch shadow gives them a Fae Pledge.
But dare you trust this thing torn by the Hedge?
If you knew what was good fer- is this kid tryin' to threaten me? Nicholas set his jaw and fixed the Wereboy with a stern look; he'd practiced during his years in the police force, a look he'd given to men with guns and knives in their hands and a cruel look in their eyes. Calculated to be authoritative but tempered to seem reasonable. "Look Ah ain't tryin' t-" Before he could say more, the Listener mumbled something to the boy before looking to him. The fear in the air turned a bright, burning yellow that was more felt than seen by the Changeling. A flare of anger and hate steamed off the Listener like the heat mirage burning off the roads on a hot summer day and Nicholas almost raised a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. Her voice reached him as little more than a pained hiss.
"Changeling." The word shook the still air. Nicholas turned his full attention to the Listener. She remembered. And she had planned. Something small seemed to flash in her hands. A flash light? A gun? No, some sort of glass jar full of light. "If my memory serves me...your kind doesn't fare very well in bright lights..." The Darkling took a step back, realizing the jar for what it was. Shit. Shit The little bottle pulsed with some sort of magic, a magical flash bang. The others would probably get blinded for a moment while she struggled away. But the Darkling would burn in the blast, light biting into him like pieces of metal shrapnel from an IED. It took every ounce of the Changeling's gumption to stay on this side of the door. Or you can take the Were's advice...and leave..." The Listener seemed to sway gently, going into shock from blood loss.
"Wait!" The Changeling kept his hands high. It was clear the girl was angry, scared, and hurt. She was running on instinct now and Nicholas had to do something before she killed them both; the Bloodless Murders would go unsolved and whatever was lurking in the dark would run rampant through Boston night. He couldn't let that happen. "Yer angry, girl, Ah know. Ah'm a monster creepin' 'round the Boston streets an' its yer job t' kill things like me, right?" he said to the Listener. Unbalance her. Get her attention. "From where yer standin' throwin' that bottle'd leave th' streets safer fer all the reg'ler folk. An' maybe yer right." He shifted his tone, looking to to Ms. Larson. Shift the focus away from the conflict, try and find a common ground. "But maybe yer wrong. Maybe there're other things bumpin' in th' night. Prowlin' th' streets an' snatchin' up Bostonions fer a late night snack. Ah'm a Changelin' yes. That's true an' Ah won't try t' hide it. But Ah'm also an investigator lookin' into the Bloodless Murders. Three of them were some o' mah folk. Other Changelin's An if you kill me, more people'll die. Ah can guarantee you that. So please. Jus' put down the glass." Nicholas gulped as the Wyrd listened to his words. His voice came out flanged, creeping sibilantly from his throat, his voice being heard as it truly was.
[color=navy]"Ah can make you a promise. A Pledge. With all o' you. You have mah word Ah shall not harm any one o' you if you do th' same From sundown to sunset tomorrow, Ah will provide you with any help Ah can give that will not endanger mahself or mah people if you jus' take a moment t' hear what Ah have t' say. Accept an' you'll find yerself aided by..." Nicholas frowned. How was he supposed to explain the strange and fickle ways of the Wyrd that ruled Changeling life? "...fate. But if any of us break th' agreement, they'll be struck by bad luck fer a month. This Ah' promise by the Wyrd. Do you accept?"
But dare you trust this thing torn by the Hedge?
If you knew what was good fer- is this kid tryin' to threaten me? Nicholas set his jaw and fixed the Wereboy with a stern look; he'd practiced during his years in the police force, a look he'd given to men with guns and knives in their hands and a cruel look in their eyes. Calculated to be authoritative but tempered to seem reasonable. "Look Ah ain't tryin' t-" Before he could say more, the Listener mumbled something to the boy before looking to him. The fear in the air turned a bright, burning yellow that was more felt than seen by the Changeling. A flare of anger and hate steamed off the Listener like the heat mirage burning off the roads on a hot summer day and Nicholas almost raised a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. Her voice reached him as little more than a pained hiss.
"Changeling." The word shook the still air. Nicholas turned his full attention to the Listener. She remembered. And she had planned. Something small seemed to flash in her hands. A flash light? A gun? No, some sort of glass jar full of light. "If my memory serves me...your kind doesn't fare very well in bright lights..." The Darkling took a step back, realizing the jar for what it was. Shit. Shit The little bottle pulsed with some sort of magic, a magical flash bang. The others would probably get blinded for a moment while she struggled away. But the Darkling would burn in the blast, light biting into him like pieces of metal shrapnel from an IED. It took every ounce of the Changeling's gumption to stay on this side of the door. Or you can take the Were's advice...and leave..." The Listener seemed to sway gently, going into shock from blood loss.
"Wait!" The Changeling kept his hands high. It was clear the girl was angry, scared, and hurt. She was running on instinct now and Nicholas had to do something before she killed them both; the Bloodless Murders would go unsolved and whatever was lurking in the dark would run rampant through Boston night. He couldn't let that happen. "Yer angry, girl, Ah know. Ah'm a monster creepin' 'round the Boston streets an' its yer job t' kill things like me, right?" he said to the Listener. Unbalance her. Get her attention. "From where yer standin' throwin' that bottle'd leave th' streets safer fer all the reg'ler folk. An' maybe yer right." He shifted his tone, looking to to Ms. Larson. Shift the focus away from the conflict, try and find a common ground. "But maybe yer wrong. Maybe there're other things bumpin' in th' night. Prowlin' th' streets an' snatchin' up Bostonions fer a late night snack. Ah'm a Changelin' yes. That's true an' Ah won't try t' hide it. But Ah'm also an investigator lookin' into the Bloodless Murders. Three of them were some o' mah folk. Other Changelin's An if you kill me, more people'll die. Ah can guarantee you that. So please. Jus' put down the glass." Nicholas gulped as the Wyrd listened to his words. His voice came out flanged, creeping sibilantly from his throat, his voice being heard as it truly was.
[color=navy]"Ah can make you a promise. A Pledge. With all o' you. You have mah word Ah shall not harm any one o' you if you do th' same From sundown to sunset tomorrow, Ah will provide you with any help Ah can give that will not endanger mahself or mah people if you jus' take a moment t' hear what Ah have t' say. Accept an' you'll find yerself aided by..." Nicholas frowned. How was he supposed to explain the strange and fickle ways of the Wyrd that ruled Changeling life? "...fate. But if any of us break th' agreement, they'll be struck by bad luck fer a month. This Ah' promise by the Wyrd. Do you accept?"
The Changeling's song gave a warped record scratching sort of skip at her words. Willa watched through blurry eyes as he became visibly nervous, and threw up his hands--like a man at gunpoint.
"Wait!" he cried anxiously. And then he began to talk in a thick and almost guttural accent. In her state, it was somewhat hard to follow. And she had never known a Darkling to talk so much. Or maybe she had just never felt as impatient as when she was running out of blood...but she seemed to gather the major points. Investigator. Bloodless Murders. More people will die. Please. Put down the glass.
Was this thing on the police force? The thought made her grip tighten a little on the vial. This thing was feeding off of people's fear as a cop. Bad guy fear or victim fear? If it were victims...she would be doing a public service to smash this vial here and now. While she was still conscious...she wanted to look to the Were. He was probably more rational than she was at the moment, but she didn't dare to look away from the creature before her. She was about to loose the vial on the changeling when he said,
"Ah can make you a promise. A Pledge. With all o' you. You have mah word Ah shall not harm any one o' you if you do th' same From sundown to sunset tomorrow, Ah will provide you with any help Ah can give that will not endanger mahself or mah people if you jus' take a moment t' hear what Ah have t' say. Accept an' you'll find yerself aided by..." Nicholas frowned. "...fate. But if any of us break th' agreement, they'll be struck by bad luck fer a month. This Ah' promise by the Wyrd. Do you accept?"
Willa's training on changelings felt so long ago. But one thing was certain: a pledge with a changeling was a sure thing. Especially when the Wyrd was involved. If he said he wouldn't hurt them if they didn't hurt him--it was a sure thing. Willa didn't like it--but she had little choice. The effort it would take to fight now would most definitely kill her. And she was very aware of a coldness that had crept into her bones. She was shivering as if they were in a freezer. It was all she could do to not let her teeth chatter. She needed to staunch this wound. Willa managed to make a fist and jammed it into the wound in an attempt to do so. She winced a little, eyes never leaving the changling--other hand gingerly holding the vial as she contemplated. But she knew this was the best she could hope for.
"Fine...I agree to your terms...." she croaked begrudgingly. She felt herself sway as the floor seemed to tilt beneath her. Not good. A sheen of sweat beaded her brow, and she could feel it down her back as well. Stubbornly, she grit her teeth, pleading with herself to not black out. Everything seemed to hurt. And her ears had started ringing. As gently as she could, she placed the vial on the floor--proof of her agreement. But she couldn't speak for the other two. Just herself. Blearily, she looked to the Were, eyes seeming to beg him to hurry it up.
"Wait!" he cried anxiously. And then he began to talk in a thick and almost guttural accent. In her state, it was somewhat hard to follow. And she had never known a Darkling to talk so much. Or maybe she had just never felt as impatient as when she was running out of blood...but she seemed to gather the major points. Investigator. Bloodless Murders. More people will die. Please. Put down the glass.
Was this thing on the police force? The thought made her grip tighten a little on the vial. This thing was feeding off of people's fear as a cop. Bad guy fear or victim fear? If it were victims...she would be doing a public service to smash this vial here and now. While she was still conscious...she wanted to look to the Were. He was probably more rational than she was at the moment, but she didn't dare to look away from the creature before her. She was about to loose the vial on the changeling when he said,
"Ah can make you a promise. A Pledge. With all o' you. You have mah word Ah shall not harm any one o' you if you do th' same From sundown to sunset tomorrow, Ah will provide you with any help Ah can give that will not endanger mahself or mah people if you jus' take a moment t' hear what Ah have t' say. Accept an' you'll find yerself aided by..." Nicholas frowned. "...fate. But if any of us break th' agreement, they'll be struck by bad luck fer a month. This Ah' promise by the Wyrd. Do you accept?"
Willa's training on changelings felt so long ago. But one thing was certain: a pledge with a changeling was a sure thing. Especially when the Wyrd was involved. If he said he wouldn't hurt them if they didn't hurt him--it was a sure thing. Willa didn't like it--but she had little choice. The effort it would take to fight now would most definitely kill her. And she was very aware of a coldness that had crept into her bones. She was shivering as if they were in a freezer. It was all she could do to not let her teeth chatter. She needed to staunch this wound. Willa managed to make a fist and jammed it into the wound in an attempt to do so. She winced a little, eyes never leaving the changling--other hand gingerly holding the vial as she contemplated. But she knew this was the best she could hope for.
"Fine...I agree to your terms...." she croaked begrudgingly. She felt herself sway as the floor seemed to tilt beneath her. Not good. A sheen of sweat beaded her brow, and she could feel it down her back as well. Stubbornly, she grit her teeth, pleading with herself to not black out. Everything seemed to hurt. And her ears had started ringing. As gently as she could, she placed the vial on the floor--proof of her agreement. But she couldn't speak for the other two. Just herself. Blearily, she looked to the Were, eyes seeming to beg him to hurry it up.
"Ah can make you a promise. A Pledge. With all o' you. You have mah word Ah shall not harm any one o' you if you do th' same From sundown to sunset tomorrow, Ah will provide you with any help Ah can give that will not endanger mahself or mah people if you jus' take a moment t' hear what Ah have t' say. Accept an' you'll find yerself aided by... fate. But if any of us break th' agreement, they'll be struck by bad luck fer a month. This Ah' promise by the Wyrd. Do you accept?"
Ethan quickly thought it over. He knew something was off about the man. What was a Changling anyway? Her really needed to familiarize himself more with the other types of supernatural creatures. Could Ethan trust this man? He seemed trustworthy enough, but he could just be doing this out of fear since the girl who still hadnât told Ethan her name was threatening to throw a freaking light grenade.
"Fine...I agree to your terms...."
Ethanâs head whipped back to look at the girl. He was surprised she agreed so quickly considering she wouldnât even talk to Ethan earlier. He didnât know what to do. It was then her condition smacked him in the face.
âI agree.â Ethan said bluntly, not taking his eyes off of the girl. He crouched down next to her and grabbed her bleeding arm, not allowing her to resist. âWe need to hurry and find somewhere to⊠well⊠recover from this experience.â Ethan was rather shaken for some reason, but he knew it was nothing compared to how this girl must be feeling.
Ethan pulled his sweatshirt off then gripped the sleeve of his shirt in his teeth and tore the entire thing off in one swift motion. He then took the torn sleeve and the girlâs arm in his hand. Ethan gripped her arm, not letting her pull away. He had thought about the licking her wound, which would have been very weird, but tigers have antiseptics in their saliva. In the end, he decided not to, since that probably would have just freaked her out. So he just wrapped the severed sleeve around the girlâs bit wound as tightly as possible, hoping he wasnât causing her too much pain.
âWe can go to my place. It not the greatest, but itâs got a roof and a bed and a first aid kit.â Ethan told the group as he stood up. He looked towards the Changling. âIf you carry Sam, Iâll carry her.â He pointed to the mystery girl as he said her.
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"I agree.â the were said bluntly. Willa was somewhat relieved that he agreed as well but she squirmed a little at how hard the Were was staring at her. Did she look that bad? Probably...Willa watched as he crouched down next to her and grabbed her bleeding arm, not allowing her to resist. Willa couldn't stop a small whimper of pain from escaping her at his touch. The arm had a sensation similar to when it had fallen asleep for a long time--pins and needles topped with throbbing. The fact that he was a Were made it worse, in her mind. She wanted to pull away, but she hadn't the strength...and his expression was so intense that it made her worry what he was thinking.
âWe need to hurry and find somewhere to⊠well⊠recover from this experience.â The Were continued, voice seeming nervous. And then he started taking off his sweatshirt. If Willa hadn't been so low on blood--her face would have flushed with embarrassment. It was then she realized that the Were was making a tourniquet for her arm. What little resistance she had been giving, slackened completely. The blood-soaked fabric of her sweatshirt pressed against her arm as the Were tightly tied a strip of his hoodie in place to stop the blood flow. She winced a little as he tightened it--but made no complaints. Was this really happening? Was a Were actually--helping her? Not once but twice in one day? What was with this creature? Willa couldn't wrap her head around this. Had she maybe hit her head when the Dhampire attacked her?
âWe can go to my place. It not the greatest, but itâs got a roof and a bed and a first aid kit.â the Were told the group as he stood up. He looked towards the Changeling. âIf you carry Sam, Iâll carry her.â He pointed to Willa as he said her.
Willa would definitely draw the line there. She refused to look so weak. After all, these creatures...these Dark Song creatures...who knew when they would turn on her? Was this a trap to lure her into a false sense of security? Probably.
"That won't be necessary." Willa said, mustering up as much firmness in her voice as she could. "I can walk." Willa scooped up the vial from the ground, pocketing it, and pushed herself to her feet. She felt a small satisfied smile grace her lips--she did it!-- just before her vision went white and she crumpled into a pale heap on the floor, unconscious.
âWe need to hurry and find somewhere to⊠well⊠recover from this experience.â The Were continued, voice seeming nervous. And then he started taking off his sweatshirt. If Willa hadn't been so low on blood--her face would have flushed with embarrassment. It was then she realized that the Were was making a tourniquet for her arm. What little resistance she had been giving, slackened completely. The blood-soaked fabric of her sweatshirt pressed against her arm as the Were tightly tied a strip of his hoodie in place to stop the blood flow. She winced a little as he tightened it--but made no complaints. Was this really happening? Was a Were actually--helping her? Not once but twice in one day? What was with this creature? Willa couldn't wrap her head around this. Had she maybe hit her head when the Dhampire attacked her?
âWe can go to my place. It not the greatest, but itâs got a roof and a bed and a first aid kit.â the Were told the group as he stood up. He looked towards the Changeling. âIf you carry Sam, Iâll carry her.â He pointed to Willa as he said her.
Willa would definitely draw the line there. She refused to look so weak. After all, these creatures...these Dark Song creatures...who knew when they would turn on her? Was this a trap to lure her into a false sense of security? Probably.
"That won't be necessary." Willa said, mustering up as much firmness in her voice as she could. "I can walk." Willa scooped up the vial from the ground, pocketing it, and pushed herself to her feet. She felt a small satisfied smile grace her lips--she did it!-- just before her vision went white and she crumpled into a pale heap on the floor, unconscious.
"That won't be necessary."
Ethan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "You sure?" He asked, still concerned.
"I can walk."
Ethan let an aggravated sigh escape his lips. "If you say so..."
He watched her intently as she picked up the vial and dragged herself to her feet. Ethan stood still, trying very hard to resist the urge to help her stand, but seemed very determined. She stood up and smiled slightly, happy with completing her task. That was before her eyes rolled back, her knees buckled, and she flopped onto the ground with a small thump.
Ethan's eyes had opened wide and stood, momentarily frozen. "Oh shit..." was all her could say. He then jolted out of his, what seemed like, his fiftieth daze of the day.
He sprang towards her, and quickly knelt down. He flipped her over, his arm resting under her head, not allowing it to roll sideways. He couldn't help but stop and just... look at her. I still don't know your name...
The tops of Ethan's cheeks turned a light pink as he realized he was staring. He blinked a few times and then stood up slowly, placing his other arm in the crooks of her knees. He picked her up gently, almost afraid he might break her. He turned to face the Changling. "So... what now? Where do we go?" He asked, needing guidance.
Can you take his hand, Songgirl, this boy of beastly ken?
Dare you stop to lick your wounds within the Beastman's den?
As soon as the Were-Boy and the Listener agreed to the Changeling's Pledge, they felt a strange sense of sureness fal over them, as if the three of them had been tied together by a delicate silken thread. The feeling soon faded into the dank apartment air, but an oaken smell of dead wood and mushroom lingered in its wake. The Changeling nodded as the Wyrd finalized the Pledge binding their fates together, if only from now till sunset tomorrow. "Done." The Were-boy would find that as he carried the Listener he would have a bounce of vigor in his step. At the Were's aiding touch, the Listener, though unconscious would hold more closely to life, as if struggling onto a shared spool of fate. Such was the Wyrd. Such was the whimsy of Fae.
He cleared his throat, his voice returning to a normal, human pitch. "Mah name's Nicholas. Ah'm known as White-Eyes 'round the Changelin' Freehold o' Boston. Let me make a call," Nick told the blue-haired boy. "Ah know a guy, a street doctor. He can get th' girl patched up." He dragged the address and directions from his memory. "He's a ways off but th' man's a good doc. One that don't ask many questions an' one who owes me a few favors." The Changeling slipped a hand to his poket, slowly, retrieving an ancient, scratched, quarter-charged grey flip phone. He punched in a number and held it up to his ears, listening in to the 'connecting...' tone.
Nicholas watched the Listener girl as she refused the Were's aid just in case she decided to be stupid and drew another weapon. He couldn't be sure she would take the threat of bad luck as seriously as his people did. Nicholas himself had been skeptical of being cursed with bad luck until he accidentally broke a carelessy sworn pledge. He had caught a serious case of pneumonia, lost his gun at a crime scene, gotten hit by a police cruiser, and nearly lost his position as the Spook Investigator in the Changeling Scarecrow Ministry. This series of unfortunate events had occurred in the space of a week. God save the bastard that was cursed for the space of a month or, Christ, a year and a day.
Pledges were harsh keepers, but how else could you keeep a panicky society of half-human-half-fae runaways, slaves, and escapees from killing each other, losing their minds, or even worse, drawing the attention of the True Fae? Nicholas could only hope that the Faebane would keep her end of the bargain. She knew of his people but Nick could only guess at how much. Too much, thought the Darkling.
A voice finally came over his phone's speaker. It was a familiar voice, with hints of a Texan accent carefully faded out in place of a clinical and professional dialect. "You have reached Dr. Thao Dinh Ngoc's private number. I am not available at the moment, but-" The phone snapped shut. "Damnit!" cursed Nicholas. He's not pickin' up. Hell he's th' only trustworthy doc I know. Shit." The Darkling turned back to the Were-boy and saw the Faebane attempt to stand and pass out. He moved closer to the Faebane. She was in shock. Listening to the Were, he turned and scooped up Ms. Larson in his arms, fireman style. They would need to go through the alleyways if they didn't want to get seen by normal folks. "Goddamnit. You got any bright ideas... The Changeling paused, He still didn't know the boy's name and he doubted that the kid wanted to be called "son" all the time. "What's yer name, son?"
Dare you stop to lick your wounds within the Beastman's den?
As soon as the Were-Boy and the Listener agreed to the Changeling's Pledge, they felt a strange sense of sureness fal over them, as if the three of them had been tied together by a delicate silken thread. The feeling soon faded into the dank apartment air, but an oaken smell of dead wood and mushroom lingered in its wake. The Changeling nodded as the Wyrd finalized the Pledge binding their fates together, if only from now till sunset tomorrow. "Done." The Were-boy would find that as he carried the Listener he would have a bounce of vigor in his step. At the Were's aiding touch, the Listener, though unconscious would hold more closely to life, as if struggling onto a shared spool of fate. Such was the Wyrd. Such was the whimsy of Fae.
He cleared his throat, his voice returning to a normal, human pitch. "Mah name's Nicholas. Ah'm known as White-Eyes 'round the Changelin' Freehold o' Boston. Let me make a call," Nick told the blue-haired boy. "Ah know a guy, a street doctor. He can get th' girl patched up." He dragged the address and directions from his memory. "He's a ways off but th' man's a good doc. One that don't ask many questions an' one who owes me a few favors." The Changeling slipped a hand to his poket, slowly, retrieving an ancient, scratched, quarter-charged grey flip phone. He punched in a number and held it up to his ears, listening in to the 'connecting...' tone.
Nicholas watched the Listener girl as she refused the Were's aid just in case she decided to be stupid and drew another weapon. He couldn't be sure she would take the threat of bad luck as seriously as his people did. Nicholas himself had been skeptical of being cursed with bad luck until he accidentally broke a carelessy sworn pledge. He had caught a serious case of pneumonia, lost his gun at a crime scene, gotten hit by a police cruiser, and nearly lost his position as the Spook Investigator in the Changeling Scarecrow Ministry. This series of unfortunate events had occurred in the space of a week. God save the bastard that was cursed for the space of a month or, Christ, a year and a day.
Pledges were harsh keepers, but how else could you keeep a panicky society of half-human-half-fae runaways, slaves, and escapees from killing each other, losing their minds, or even worse, drawing the attention of the True Fae? Nicholas could only hope that the Faebane would keep her end of the bargain. She knew of his people but Nick could only guess at how much. Too much, thought the Darkling.
A voice finally came over his phone's speaker. It was a familiar voice, with hints of a Texan accent carefully faded out in place of a clinical and professional dialect. "You have reached Dr. Thao Dinh Ngoc's private number. I am not available at the moment, but-" The phone snapped shut. "Damnit!" cursed Nicholas. He's not pickin' up. Hell he's th' only trustworthy doc I know. Shit." The Darkling turned back to the Were-boy and saw the Faebane attempt to stand and pass out. He moved closer to the Faebane. She was in shock. Listening to the Were, he turned and scooped up Ms. Larson in his arms, fireman style. They would need to go through the alleyways if they didn't want to get seen by normal folks. "Goddamnit. You got any bright ideas... The Changeling paused, He still didn't know the boy's name and he doubted that the kid wanted to be called "son" all the time. "What's yer name, son?"
"Goddamnit. You got any bright ideas..."
Ethan pondered, then sighed. "What's yer name, son?"
Ethan looked up at the man, and blinked a few times. "Ethan. Ethan Orozco." He answered bluntly, not removing his gaze from the Changeling.
"Ok, since we can't get a hold of that doctor friend of yours, I volunteer my place. Its not too far from here, actually." He said, already calculating the route in his head. "It's about a ten minute walk from here. But how in the world are we supposed to discretely transport two unconscious girls from one place to another in Boston." Ethan told the Changeling doubtfully. He sighed again.
Ethan shifted the girl in his arms, holding her bridal style. His eyes were full of worry. For her, for Sam, for him and this man. His gaze shifted to stare at the girl again. "I don't think I ever caught your name, either." Ethan spoke, looking at the man again.
(You hear a slight humming coming from a tiny hole. You approach and peer inside. A little mouse dressed in a tidy little suit and tie. It looks at you and waves amiably.
This would be quite adorable if not for the moist human eye which it has been shining with a little rag between its hands.)
"Okay, Orozco. Ah got a plan." Nicholas glanced around, checking the exits of the lobby. Nearly deserted. Not a soul. "Iffen you could give me th' address, Ah can take this miss right here (he gestured to Ms. Larson) without bein' seen. It's round 'bout afternoon, so th' shadows're nice an' long. Just gimme th' address an' Ah'll be there'n ten'r fifteen minutes at th' most." He waited for Orozco to give him the address and tried to geographically fix the location in his head. "Look. Just...just drape her shoulder 'cross yers an' say some sorta shit like 'she's drunk' or 'she's narcoleptic. Happens all th' time. Take th' rail or a bus. Not many'll ask questions."
The Changeling took a deep breath and let loose a bit of magical Fae Glamour, reaching through the contracts that the powerful Fair Folk had forged with reality itself long, long ago, to which Changelings were unwilling beneficiaries. Nicholas concentrated on the deepest darkness and in his mind's eye he saw a thin, feminine face appear within the shadows. Greetings, Darkling! Most impatient you are to ask a boon of the shadows just before retires the light of day. spoke the shadows in tongues of billowing black. Mah apologies, ma'am. Ah humbly ask use of th' shadowpaths, as is mah right as a lurker o' shadows an' forgotten places.
The face collapsed and the shadows seemed to deliberate with one another. The face reformed. Of course, of course darkling. Take you shall we and the blood-bastard with us. They suddenly boiled over as if angered. But not the Song-girl.We abide not the Daughters and Sons pledged to the Silence. Nicholas tightened his jaw but nodded his assent. Done. Of course none of this was visible to the Were except for the undulations of black that the Changeling seemed to be staring at.
The Darkling walked to a nearby wall. A light overhead cast a long shadow behind the Changeling and darkness coalesced about his feet. He stepped into the comfort of true darkness, untouched by the mortal sun, little tendrils dragging both he and and Ms. Larson into the depths until both were fully subsumed. Blind and deaf, the Shadowlurker crept along the shadowpaths with the Dhamphire in tow. Here he was truly safe. He was...different here. Limbs bent at unnatural angles, crackling backwards in some sort of skittering-skulking insectile locomotion with the girl tucked under and arm. The scar from his nose down to his Adam's apple wrenched open, his true mouth revealing itself, a leech-like horror of half-forgotten dreams that leave children gasping and crying late at night at shadows creeping from under the beds. Black tongues tasted at the whirling, fluttering shadows on the long, narrow paths, branching off like the crooked limbs of a withered rowan in the grips of winter. Larger, unknowable vibrations crawled far off in the abyssal distance. The Shadowlurker hoped that they would not notice it. It crawled in darkness, seeking the shaft of light that marked the Were's home.
This would be quite adorable if not for the moist human eye which it has been shining with a little rag between its hands.)
"Okay, Orozco. Ah got a plan." Nicholas glanced around, checking the exits of the lobby. Nearly deserted. Not a soul. "Iffen you could give me th' address, Ah can take this miss right here (he gestured to Ms. Larson) without bein' seen. It's round 'bout afternoon, so th' shadows're nice an' long. Just gimme th' address an' Ah'll be there'n ten'r fifteen minutes at th' most." He waited for Orozco to give him the address and tried to geographically fix the location in his head. "Look. Just...just drape her shoulder 'cross yers an' say some sorta shit like 'she's drunk' or 'she's narcoleptic. Happens all th' time. Take th' rail or a bus. Not many'll ask questions."
The Changeling took a deep breath and let loose a bit of magical Fae Glamour, reaching through the contracts that the powerful Fair Folk had forged with reality itself long, long ago, to which Changelings were unwilling beneficiaries. Nicholas concentrated on the deepest darkness and in his mind's eye he saw a thin, feminine face appear within the shadows. Greetings, Darkling! Most impatient you are to ask a boon of the shadows just before retires the light of day. spoke the shadows in tongues of billowing black. Mah apologies, ma'am. Ah humbly ask use of th' shadowpaths, as is mah right as a lurker o' shadows an' forgotten places.
The face collapsed and the shadows seemed to deliberate with one another. The face reformed. Of course, of course darkling. Take you shall we and the blood-bastard with us. They suddenly boiled over as if angered. But not the Song-girl.We abide not the Daughters and Sons pledged to the Silence. Nicholas tightened his jaw but nodded his assent. Done. Of course none of this was visible to the Were except for the undulations of black that the Changeling seemed to be staring at.
The Darkling walked to a nearby wall. A light overhead cast a long shadow behind the Changeling and darkness coalesced about his feet. He stepped into the comfort of true darkness, untouched by the mortal sun, little tendrils dragging both he and and Ms. Larson into the depths until both were fully subsumed. Blind and deaf, the Shadowlurker crept along the shadowpaths with the Dhamphire in tow. Here he was truly safe. He was...different here. Limbs bent at unnatural angles, crackling backwards in some sort of skittering-skulking insectile locomotion with the girl tucked under and arm. The scar from his nose down to his Adam's apple wrenched open, his true mouth revealing itself, a leech-like horror of half-forgotten dreams that leave children gasping and crying late at night at shadows creeping from under the beds. Black tongues tasted at the whirling, fluttering shadows on the long, narrow paths, branching off like the crooked limbs of a withered rowan in the grips of winter. Larger, unknowable vibrations crawled far off in the abyssal distance. The Shadowlurker hoped that they would not notice it. It crawled in darkness, seeking the shaft of light that marked the Were's home.
"Look. Just...just drape her shoulder 'cross yers an' say some sorta shit like 'she's drunk' or 'she's narcoleptic. Happens all th' time. Take th' rail or a bus. Not many'll ask questions."
Ethan stared at him, feeling a lot of mixed emotions. The biggest one was debating whether or not this man- er, creature was fucking insane. He couldnât just drag her along with him onto a subway. With a sigh, he wracked his brain for what might be a better idea.
Perhaps not some place that public⊠perhaps a cab? That seemed like a smarter thing to do. He turned, and was going to ask if the man if this was a good idea, maybe even better than his. But he was gone. It was almost like he melted into the shadows⊠which was probably what he did.
So, with a gruff huff of a breath, Ethan dragged the girlâs limp, unconscious body through the lobby and outside. He then, to the best of his ability, attempted to hail a cab. After a solid ten minutes of waving his arms and whistling, one finally took pity on this young man a screeched to a stop. Feeling like the weight of the entire world was off of his shoulders, Ethan picked the girl back up and opened the door, placing her inside then entered the cab himself, slamming the door shut behind him.
The first thing Ethan saw was the raised eyebrow of the driver of the cab. âSheâs narcoleptic. This happens a lot actuallyâŠâ He gave a huge, heavy sigh and that seemed to seal the deal. He went with the narcoleptic excuse instead of the drunk one, for she wouldâve at least been partially red in the face. But since she had half of her blood sucked out of her, she looked pale as a ghost.
âWhere ya off to, son?â He asked, giving into Ethanâs front.
Ethan proceeded to tell the man his address, and they were off.
After only a few minutes of driving, the cab came to a stop. Ethan gave the man two-thirds of the money in his wallet and pulled the girlâs body out of the cab and into the lobby.
âTrying a new tactic, Ethan? Knocking them out before you get them into your apartment?â The man behind the desk, named Fredrick, said with a cackle.
âShut! Up!â Ethan literally snarled, baring his teeth at Fredrick. Fredrick stopped and looked at Ethan with wide, rather frightened eyes and didnât say anything after that.
After escaping from the lobby and the public eye, Ethan scooped the girl back into his arms bridal style and took bounding leaps up the stairs to get to his apartment. Once he entered his humble abode, Ethan lied the girl on his couch and plopped into a random chair, sitting rather awkwardly, waiting for the Changeling to arrive.
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The mouse in a suit pulls out a fork and knife. The smell of freshly cut orchard apples fill the room as chunks fall from the mousey's mouth. He offers you a tiny piece at the end of his fork.
You are tempted to try some.
At Orozco's home, a sudden stillness fills the air as if the room he was sitting in held its breath. Then a stirring in the shadow of the Were appeared. It blackened and darkened perceptibly. In a soft whoosh of noise, a single, olive-hued hand emerged from the shadows, gripping onto the Were-Boy's ankle. It's grip was painfully tight as it drags up an arm, a shoulder, a head, and the rest of Nicholas White-Eyes from the billowing muck. He seemed darker, sheathed in flowing ebony, as he gasps a breath of day-touched air. Smoky darkness rises from his mouth, giving the impression that he has been swimming on the bottom of a deep, deep lake. Flecks of black murk cling to his frame as he drags his entire body out of Orozco's shadow. Ms. Larson was carried under his arm, bits of shadow dribbling off of her still unconscious frame. When she awakes, she will have cold and crawling nightmares from passing through the shadowpaths. The Changeling himself is sprawled on all fours on the floor. The scar at his neck twitched and then falls still. He gently puts down Ms. Larson on a couch before rolling his shoulders and dusting himself off. He takes a seat opposite Ethan.
"Afternoon, Orozco. Found th' place alright. Directions helped, but you were more th' help. Just couldn't forget yer shadow, son."
You are tempted to try some.
At Orozco's home, a sudden stillness fills the air as if the room he was sitting in held its breath. Then a stirring in the shadow of the Were appeared. It blackened and darkened perceptibly. In a soft whoosh of noise, a single, olive-hued hand emerged from the shadows, gripping onto the Were-Boy's ankle. It's grip was painfully tight as it drags up an arm, a shoulder, a head, and the rest of Nicholas White-Eyes from the billowing muck. He seemed darker, sheathed in flowing ebony, as he gasps a breath of day-touched air. Smoky darkness rises from his mouth, giving the impression that he has been swimming on the bottom of a deep, deep lake. Flecks of black murk cling to his frame as he drags his entire body out of Orozco's shadow. Ms. Larson was carried under his arm, bits of shadow dribbling off of her still unconscious frame. When she awakes, she will have cold and crawling nightmares from passing through the shadowpaths. The Changeling himself is sprawled on all fours on the floor. The scar at his neck twitched and then falls still. He gently puts down Ms. Larson on a couch before rolling his shoulders and dusting himself off. He takes a seat opposite Ethan.
"Afternoon, Orozco. Found th' place alright. Directions helped, but you were more th' help. Just couldn't forget yer shadow, son."
Debello did not like bad news.
That was why the underling who had brought this news lay in a broken heap, slowly disintegrating on a soft Persian rug in the study. That was why the girl in the basement was so quickly brutalized with his knife and his teeth; she was his newest work of art. The prey's screams became a death throe, blood gurgling from the open chasm in her throat. Her eyes still seemed alive, like a doll.
Debello left her for his hungry children. He could hear them restlessly pacing in the shadows. Just on the edges of sight. Smart enough to know when not to approach their father. Smart enough to know when prey would soon be theirs. They waited until their father's footfalls receded up the stairs before converging in a writhing pile on the flesh of the just-dead woman. Her blood was still warm enough.
The witch-woman who had been suitable had died. How fragile some of these little preys were. His underlings were mostly still young and they did not yet understand restraint. This displeased him. But he knew there were more. They would find suitable prey to change. To sacrifice for the good of his army. To awaken his children to their full potential.
Even now, his army was growing. A handful of his underlings were on the move, enlisting the other races to their cause. So many understood Debello's suffering. So many suffered it as well. Trapped by the light of the sun, trapped by the ignorance of humanity--forced to hunt in secret. Debello tired of hiding. The predators should be at the top of the food chain. Not the prey. This world belonged to the strongest. Debello would be certain they got it.
"Sir."
Debello was momentarily startled by this voice of yet another of his underlings. A rare thing--for him to be approached unawares. Debello turned, his blood-red locks flaring around him in the motion, and gave the underling a pointed smile. The underling was tall and thin, appeared to be no older than 19, with dark hair cut boyishly around his face. Sometimes, his bangs hung into his eyes--but this underling didn't seem to notice. His eyes were the color of blood tonight. The underling stepped over the ashen body of his peer and gave a small respectful bow to his master.
"Ah, Leon. I should have known it was you. Your silence makes me proud."
Leon the underling bowed again.
"Thank you, Sir."
Debello settled into one of his heavy armchairs, folding his heavy hands solemnly in his lap. He nodded for Leon to proceed.
"Sir. Another suitable prey has been located. A day walker."
Debello grinned excitedly, his fangs flashing in the dim lighting. "A day walker? How interesting. That should make it easy to take her then. Bring her to me."
Leon bowed, but looked somewhat troubled. Debello caught his expression and held a hand for him to wait. "What troubles you?"
Leon did not look as though he was eager to share his troubles with his Master. Briefly, his eyes fluttered to the nearly vanished corpse of his peer.
"She is with a Listener, Sir."
Debello really did not like bad news.
That was why the underling who had brought this news lay in a broken heap, slowly disintegrating on a soft Persian rug in the study. That was why the girl in the basement was so quickly brutalized with his knife and his teeth; she was his newest work of art. The prey's screams became a death throe, blood gurgling from the open chasm in her throat. Her eyes still seemed alive, like a doll.
Debello left her for his hungry children. He could hear them restlessly pacing in the shadows. Just on the edges of sight. Smart enough to know when not to approach their father. Smart enough to know when prey would soon be theirs. They waited until their father's footfalls receded up the stairs before converging in a writhing pile on the flesh of the just-dead woman. Her blood was still warm enough.
The witch-woman who had been suitable had died. How fragile some of these little preys were. His underlings were mostly still young and they did not yet understand restraint. This displeased him. But he knew there were more. They would find suitable prey to change. To sacrifice for the good of his army. To awaken his children to their full potential.
Even now, his army was growing. A handful of his underlings were on the move, enlisting the other races to their cause. So many understood Debello's suffering. So many suffered it as well. Trapped by the light of the sun, trapped by the ignorance of humanity--forced to hunt in secret. Debello tired of hiding. The predators should be at the top of the food chain. Not the prey. This world belonged to the strongest. Debello would be certain they got it.
"Sir."
Debello was momentarily startled by this voice of yet another of his underlings. A rare thing--for him to be approached unawares. Debello turned, his blood-red locks flaring around him in the motion, and gave the underling a pointed smile. The underling was tall and thin, appeared to be no older than 19, with dark hair cut boyishly around his face. Sometimes, his bangs hung into his eyes--but this underling didn't seem to notice. His eyes were the color of blood tonight. The underling stepped over the ashen body of his peer and gave a small respectful bow to his master.
"Ah, Leon. I should have known it was you. Your silence makes me proud."
Leon the underling bowed again.
"Thank you, Sir."
Debello settled into one of his heavy armchairs, folding his heavy hands solemnly in his lap. He nodded for Leon to proceed.
"Sir. Another suitable prey has been located. A day walker."
Debello grinned excitedly, his fangs flashing in the dim lighting. "A day walker? How interesting. That should make it easy to take her then. Bring her to me."
Leon bowed, but looked somewhat troubled. Debello caught his expression and held a hand for him to wait. "What troubles you?"
Leon did not look as though he was eager to share his troubles with his Master. Briefly, his eyes fluttered to the nearly vanished corpse of his peer.
"She is with a Listener, Sir."
Debello really did not like bad news.
"Afternoon, Orozco. Found th' place alright. Directions helped, but you were more th' help. Just couldn't forget yer shadow, son."
Ethan blinked a few times. Was that a compliment...?
âUmm⊠thanks..?â He said, rather cautiously. His gaze shifted from him, and then rested on the two unconscious girls. How did he get himself into this messâŠ
After staring for about thirty solid seconds, Ethan dragged himself to his feet and left to go search for his first aid kit. He might as well fix the girl up since they couldnât get a hold of a proper doctor. Ethan rummaged through a few drawers and cabinets. Most of them were empty. He kept searching until he came across that white box with a red cross on the front. âFinallyâŠâ Ethan muttered. He opened it up and surveyed the contents. The kit was almost complete, for Ethan rarely ever used this thing. He usually just dealt with the pain and rinsed out any cuts or scratches with water.
But he knew that that wouldnât be of much use now. The girlâs wound seemed so deep it would probably need stitches. And to think⊠Sam did that to herâŠ
Sighing, Ethan walked back to the group. He made his way over to the couch where the girl lay, still unconscious. He hoped she would wake up soon. Sheâd been out for a while. Well, so had Sam, but he could understand why. He threw a mean punch.
So, Ethan went to work on the girlâs injury. He had to take the make-shift bandage off first, but it was stuck on, caked with dry blood. Ethan got back on his feet, grabbed a towel and wet it with warm water. He then sat back down and rubbed off as much blood off as he could, and hope the water would loosen up the dry sleeve. Then, gritting his teeth, Ethan peeled it off slowly. It was a good thing she was asleep, this probably would have hurt like hell. After getting the gross piece of cloth off, he tossed it in the trash and grabbed the first aid kit. Opening it up again, he grabbed some disinfectant and what looked like cotton balls. He dripped the alcohol smelling liquid onto the cotton and cleaned out the wound, once again gritting his teeth as he heard the sizzling of the liquid as it destroyed the germs. He thanked God that she was still asleep. As the disinfectant did its work, he grabbed the gauze and quickly began wrapping it around her arm, tightly, but not too tight that it was extremely uncomfortable.
Willa could only remember darkness.
It was endless. And cold. And often filled with half-sounds that she didn't understand. Voices that she couldn't recognize.
There was sometimes a sensation of floating and warmth, brief and grey--cutting through the dark in odd intervals. Then stillness.
That was when the dreams came. She was standing in a green backyard with a laughing little boy, calling for her to play. Then watching a woman in a room of light playing a grand piano.
She was on a hunt. A wooded area. Below her, the Songs of the hungry pack throbbed, their animal voices reaching tendrils toward the skies. Rain came down in sheets. Then blood in sheets. Then Silence. Beautiful Silence.
Then Silence was broken, and the howling started. The woods became a hole in the wall that she was crammed into, knees bent backwards at uncomfortable angles, clutching the boy from before--who no longer laughed. He gasped in the dark. His labored breathing filled the space, her pounding heart, the Weres calling angrily from just ahead as they demanded her flesh in their animal voices. Surely, she would go deaf. Surely! Blood in Sheets. And then Silence. Terrible Silence. And no matter how hard she held on to him--
"ELI!" Willa cried, startling herself upright and nearly colliding with someone who was uncomfortably close. She managed to pull back just inches from their face. Her vision was blurry from unconsciousness, she blinked once, twice--and then the Were from before came into view. Very close. Nearly nose to nose with her. Willa wasn't sure how--but she somehow had enough blood in her body to feel her face burning with shame.
"W-w-were?! Where am--? What are--?" Confused, flustered and frightened didn't work very well for Willa's ability to speak coherently. Panicked, she attempted to back up, only to find herself floundering over the side of a couch. She landed on the floor with a solid-sounding thump. Not her most graceful moment. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she scrambled to one knee--still very flushed and now very much lightheaded to boot. She was about to demand what the Were thought he was doing so close to her--bringing her arm up to scold him--when she noticed that the sleeve of her blood-encrusted hoodie had been rolled up and her arm was sporting a clean (nicely-tied) bandage. Dazed, Willa stared at it, slowly putting the pieces together.
"Oh..." Willa said dumbly. "You did this." It was a statement, and some kind of an uncomfortable realization for Willa. A Were had saved her..and bandaged her arm. A Were. She frowned at it--wondering if dying might have been better. " Thank you..." she muttered feeling awkward. Slowly, Willa began to come to her full senses--and realized she and the Were were not alone.
The leave-scraping Song of the Changeling was also present--and to her surprise--it seemed the Dhampire was as well. Willa tipped her head--the Dhampire's Song was difficult for her to make out....why? And then the realization hit her--her blood. The Dhampire had drank her blood, and now her Song was nearly silent to Willa's ears. Willa cursed under her breath for being so foolish. With any luck--that would work its way out of her system soon. It wouldn't do if the girl managed to sneak up on her. Willa shakily rose to her feet, leaning on a small table for support before giving up and allowing herself to sit on the floor. Willa eyed the Were curiously. What was with this Were? Not only had he knocked out his blood-hungry girlfriend to save her, but he'd also dragged her to (what she could only assume) his apartment to patch her up. Nervously, she ran her fingers over the silver whistle around her neck.
"W-Why did you decide to help me?" She asked, her voice sounding dry. She was still very thirsty, and although the rest had eased some of the agony of blood-loss, she was starting to feel ravenous as well. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture. (Though, it was no use now pretending she was fit. The Changeling had already seen her at her weakest now. She would have to be especially careful of him...) "I know why he helped me." Willa explained, nodding her head toward the Changeling. "He is bound by his promise...and by fear of the light...but...I don't understand you.." Willa admitted, frowning.
It was endless. And cold. And often filled with half-sounds that she didn't understand. Voices that she couldn't recognize.
There was sometimes a sensation of floating and warmth, brief and grey--cutting through the dark in odd intervals. Then stillness.
That was when the dreams came. She was standing in a green backyard with a laughing little boy, calling for her to play. Then watching a woman in a room of light playing a grand piano.
She was on a hunt. A wooded area. Below her, the Songs of the hungry pack throbbed, their animal voices reaching tendrils toward the skies. Rain came down in sheets. Then blood in sheets. Then Silence. Beautiful Silence.
Then Silence was broken, and the howling started. The woods became a hole in the wall that she was crammed into, knees bent backwards at uncomfortable angles, clutching the boy from before--who no longer laughed. He gasped in the dark. His labored breathing filled the space, her pounding heart, the Weres calling angrily from just ahead as they demanded her flesh in their animal voices. Surely, she would go deaf. Surely! Blood in Sheets. And then Silence. Terrible Silence. And no matter how hard she held on to him--
"ELI!" Willa cried, startling herself upright and nearly colliding with someone who was uncomfortably close. She managed to pull back just inches from their face. Her vision was blurry from unconsciousness, she blinked once, twice--and then the Were from before came into view. Very close. Nearly nose to nose with her. Willa wasn't sure how--but she somehow had enough blood in her body to feel her face burning with shame.
"W-w-were?! Where am--? What are--?" Confused, flustered and frightened didn't work very well for Willa's ability to speak coherently. Panicked, she attempted to back up, only to find herself floundering over the side of a couch. She landed on the floor with a solid-sounding thump. Not her most graceful moment. Mustering as much dignity as she could, she scrambled to one knee--still very flushed and now very much lightheaded to boot. She was about to demand what the Were thought he was doing so close to her--bringing her arm up to scold him--when she noticed that the sleeve of her blood-encrusted hoodie had been rolled up and her arm was sporting a clean (nicely-tied) bandage. Dazed, Willa stared at it, slowly putting the pieces together.
"Oh..." Willa said dumbly. "You did this." It was a statement, and some kind of an uncomfortable realization for Willa. A Were had saved her..and bandaged her arm. A Were. She frowned at it--wondering if dying might have been better. " Thank you..." she muttered feeling awkward. Slowly, Willa began to come to her full senses--and realized she and the Were were not alone.
The leave-scraping Song of the Changeling was also present--and to her surprise--it seemed the Dhampire was as well. Willa tipped her head--the Dhampire's Song was difficult for her to make out....why? And then the realization hit her--her blood. The Dhampire had drank her blood, and now her Song was nearly silent to Willa's ears. Willa cursed under her breath for being so foolish. With any luck--that would work its way out of her system soon. It wouldn't do if the girl managed to sneak up on her. Willa shakily rose to her feet, leaning on a small table for support before giving up and allowing herself to sit on the floor. Willa eyed the Were curiously. What was with this Were? Not only had he knocked out his blood-hungry girlfriend to save her, but he'd also dragged her to (what she could only assume) his apartment to patch her up. Nervously, she ran her fingers over the silver whistle around her neck.
"W-Why did you decide to help me?" She asked, her voice sounding dry. She was still very thirsty, and although the rest had eased some of the agony of blood-loss, she was starting to feel ravenous as well. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture. (Though, it was no use now pretending she was fit. The Changeling had already seen her at her weakest now. She would have to be especially careful of him...) "I know why he helped me." Willa explained, nodding her head toward the Changeling. "He is bound by his promise...and by fear of the light...but...I don't understand you.." Willa admitted, frowning.
The last thing Sam remembers is, her walking up the stairs to her apartment building, and her being stopped and talked to by the Listener, who she still didn't get the name of. She also remembers the Listener asking Sam to join her and stop the Bloodless Murders, then it goes blank, then she remembers getting grabbed by the arm, getting pushed into a wall and then KNOCKOUT! Everything went black and fell silent.
Everything was very quiet and still. Sam slowly raised her head, she blinked a couple of times to clear her vision. She looked around and saw no one, she was all alone.She sat up straight and saw that she was lying on the floor, the cold hard floor of a building, a building Sam remembered pretty well, it was her old house. Sam raised her hand and felt her head, it didn't hurt anymore, it's like that she was never knocked out. She shook her head and stood up, she looked around and went to take a look around. She walked out of the room she was in and walked into the hallway, as she walked into the hallway, she heard screaming and yelling coming from the down stairs. Sam was confused, and at the same time, scared, because she didn't know why she heard screaming, but the screaming sounded very, very familiar. Sam walked over to the stair case and quietly made her way down the stairs, she cautiously made her way towards the kitchen, where the screaming was coming from.
Sam took a deep breath and peered into the kitchen, she was horrified by what she saw. She saw a man, attacking a young girl with a knife, he had cut her and was trying to kill her. Sam had a weird sensation at first, but she then remembered that the same thing happened to her. Sam wasn't going to let this girl die, so she went to go and attack the man to save the girl's life, just as she almost made contact with the man, a boy around the girl's age jumped on the man's back and began to attack him. Sam took a step back and looked at the girl, Sam was even more scared when she realized that the girl was herself, but only younger, and the man was her 'father' and the boy that saved her, was her twin brother Logan.
This was her worst and most terrifing memory, the day that her father came home drunk and tried to kill her, and her brother saved her by killing their 'father'. Sam looked away from them and closed her eyes, she wanted this to go away, she wanted to forget about that day, she had nightmares of him coming after her and trying to kill her again, for weeks. She never wanted to relive this day ever again, and that's exactly what was happening. Right after she closed her eyes, everything went silent, Sam took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes again.
She looked around and saw that she was in her apartment building, she saw herself standing on the stairs and the Listener talking to her. Sam was confused, but then thought and remembered what this was, this was right before she was knocked out, so this must be a flash back. Sam waited to find out why and by who she was knocked out for. Sam heard the Listener say, '' Look--I know you're hungry right now, so it's not a good time...but...well...'' Sam noticed that the Listener looked a little different than before, she looked like a child asking her mother or father for something. Sam smiled and looked back at herself, she saw herself standing on the stair case, with her back towards the Listener. Sam took a deep breath and waited to see what she said in reply. Sam was shocked, for she couldn't remember this encounter at all. It's like it never happened to Sam. Sam stood quietly in the corner as this encounter unfolded, an encounter that Sam would later end up hating herself for, and wishing that she could stop this from happening.
''Listen, something bad is happening and...well, when you have a moment--i'd like to discuss a few things with you. I know you have no reason to agree--but I...would really appreciate it if you did..." Sam heard the woman say, Sam looked at the woman for a second and sighed, for Sam realized that she was getting nervous. Sam sighed and continued to watch, there was complete silence and no movement for either of the girls. Sam took a deep breath she suddenly caught the scent of blood, she then watched in horror as she saw herself leap from the stairs and jump on the Listener. Sam yelled and to no avail,her yell was on heard, Sam then ran up to herself and started yelling at herself to stop. But, it was like Sam wasn't there, like she could see them, but not be heard. She then saw her get kicked and kicked in the stomach multiple times as the Listener tried to get Sam off and stop sucking her blood.
Sam tried to do something, anything, anything at all to save the poor, Listener's life from being taken. Just when she was about to give up hope, Ethan barged in and ran up to them, Sam smiled as she saw Ethan. She saw Ethan grab her and smash her into the wall, she was then worried for she didn't know what he was going to do, she then saw him raise his hand and then, BLACKOUT!! Everything fell silent and everything went black. Sam then slowly opened her eyes again and blinked. She was stiff, her hearing returned to normal and so did her sight. All of a sudden an extreme pain struck her face, she moaned and held her jaw, Sam looked around and saw Ethan, the Changeling and the Listener all in the same room. Sam blinked a couple of times and looked at the woman, Sam took a deep breath and was about to say something, but she knew it would be better to just stay quiet for now. She sat up and looked around and at her surroundings. She was clearly in a place Sam had never seen before. It looked like some one's apartment. Sam just sat there in silence and didn't look or say anything to anyone. Now that she knew what she did, she couldn't forgive herself for that. Ever.
Everything was very quiet and still. Sam slowly raised her head, she blinked a couple of times to clear her vision. She looked around and saw no one, she was all alone.She sat up straight and saw that she was lying on the floor, the cold hard floor of a building, a building Sam remembered pretty well, it was her old house. Sam raised her hand and felt her head, it didn't hurt anymore, it's like that she was never knocked out. She shook her head and stood up, she looked around and went to take a look around. She walked out of the room she was in and walked into the hallway, as she walked into the hallway, she heard screaming and yelling coming from the down stairs. Sam was confused, and at the same time, scared, because she didn't know why she heard screaming, but the screaming sounded very, very familiar. Sam walked over to the stair case and quietly made her way down the stairs, she cautiously made her way towards the kitchen, where the screaming was coming from.
Sam took a deep breath and peered into the kitchen, she was horrified by what she saw. She saw a man, attacking a young girl with a knife, he had cut her and was trying to kill her. Sam had a weird sensation at first, but she then remembered that the same thing happened to her. Sam wasn't going to let this girl die, so she went to go and attack the man to save the girl's life, just as she almost made contact with the man, a boy around the girl's age jumped on the man's back and began to attack him. Sam took a step back and looked at the girl, Sam was even more scared when she realized that the girl was herself, but only younger, and the man was her 'father' and the boy that saved her, was her twin brother Logan.
This was her worst and most terrifing memory, the day that her father came home drunk and tried to kill her, and her brother saved her by killing their 'father'. Sam looked away from them and closed her eyes, she wanted this to go away, she wanted to forget about that day, she had nightmares of him coming after her and trying to kill her again, for weeks. She never wanted to relive this day ever again, and that's exactly what was happening. Right after she closed her eyes, everything went silent, Sam took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes again.
She looked around and saw that she was in her apartment building, she saw herself standing on the stairs and the Listener talking to her. Sam was confused, but then thought and remembered what this was, this was right before she was knocked out, so this must be a flash back. Sam waited to find out why and by who she was knocked out for. Sam heard the Listener say, '' Look--I know you're hungry right now, so it's not a good time...but...well...'' Sam noticed that the Listener looked a little different than before, she looked like a child asking her mother or father for something. Sam smiled and looked back at herself, she saw herself standing on the stair case, with her back towards the Listener. Sam took a deep breath and waited to see what she said in reply. Sam was shocked, for she couldn't remember this encounter at all. It's like it never happened to Sam. Sam stood quietly in the corner as this encounter unfolded, an encounter that Sam would later end up hating herself for, and wishing that she could stop this from happening.
''Listen, something bad is happening and...well, when you have a moment--i'd like to discuss a few things with you. I know you have no reason to agree--but I...would really appreciate it if you did..." Sam heard the woman say, Sam looked at the woman for a second and sighed, for Sam realized that she was getting nervous. Sam sighed and continued to watch, there was complete silence and no movement for either of the girls. Sam took a deep breath she suddenly caught the scent of blood, she then watched in horror as she saw herself leap from the stairs and jump on the Listener. Sam yelled and to no avail,her yell was on heard, Sam then ran up to herself and started yelling at herself to stop. But, it was like Sam wasn't there, like she could see them, but not be heard. She then saw her get kicked and kicked in the stomach multiple times as the Listener tried to get Sam off and stop sucking her blood.
Sam tried to do something, anything, anything at all to save the poor, Listener's life from being taken. Just when she was about to give up hope, Ethan barged in and ran up to them, Sam smiled as she saw Ethan. She saw Ethan grab her and smash her into the wall, she was then worried for she didn't know what he was going to do, she then saw him raise his hand and then, BLACKOUT!! Everything fell silent and everything went black. Sam then slowly opened her eyes again and blinked. She was stiff, her hearing returned to normal and so did her sight. All of a sudden an extreme pain struck her face, she moaned and held her jaw, Sam looked around and saw Ethan, the Changeling and the Listener all in the same room. Sam blinked a couple of times and looked at the woman, Sam took a deep breath and was about to say something, but she knew it would be better to just stay quiet for now. She sat up and looked around and at her surroundings. She was clearly in a place Sam had never seen before. It looked like some one's apartment. Sam just sat there in silence and didn't look or say anything to anyone. Now that she knew what she did, she couldn't forgive herself for that. Ever.
Ethan was just sitting calmly, wrapping this girlâs arm in a nice, tight, white bandage when a shrill sound pierced his sensitive ear drums. "ELI!"
Ethan visibly winced and lurched back, squarely missing getting his face slammed into one that did not belong to him, and slapped his hands over his ears.
"W-w-were?! Where am--? What are--?"
Ethan looked at her, a confident snickered written all over his face. âWas that first one a question, or an utterly confused, panicked statement?â Of course his question a more rhetorical one, but he still felt the need to say it. Just as the Were paused to let out another chuckle, her saw the girl fumble backwards and fall off the couch. Ethanâs eyes went wide with surprise and worry, and he leaned forward in attempt to assist her back to her feet. But she scrambled to gather her shattered dignity and quickly regained her composure and crouched solidly. She looked suddenly⊠angry, and glared up at Ethan. A dumbfounded look came upon her as she finally noticed the clean bandaging on her arm.
"Oh... You did this."
âDuhâŠâ Ethan muttered silently, but realizing that it was rather rude, and regretted saying it.
"Thank you..." Ethan nodded awkwardly, accepting her thanks.
"W-Why did you decide to help me?" She asked suddenly, her voice dry and threatening to crack. "I know why he helped me. He is bound by his promise...and by fear of the light...but...I don't understand you.â
Ethan couldnât help but let a small grin form on his face. He had been waiting for to ask something like that. âWellâŠâ He muttered, and stood up slowly and began walking over to another part of the room. âI was wondering something about you too, sweetheartâŠâ He sighed, and scratched the back of his head. âWhy are you so antsy around me? I donât mean to pry, but I know weâve all had our fair share of sad pastsâŠâ Ethan than cringed, his parentâs marble white skin and lifeless, cloudy eyes flashed across this vision. âI mean⊠Iâve practically hated the entire Vampire species until, well today, to be honestâŠâ He glanced over her shoulders, hands now burrowed into his pockets, and his eyes rested on Sam. They waited there just for moment, but at the perfect moment to see her eye lids fluttered open. âAhh⊠speak oâ the devilâŠâ
Ethan strutted his way over to Sam, taking his time, and bent over, shoving his face extremely close to hers. âSleep well, sugar?â He grinned widely, and a small bump was prominent in the back of his pants. Soon it grew until a small black and white tail poked out from the top of his pants and grew to its full length. It swished back and forth behind him in amusement, and he was rather oblivious to it. He pulled his head back and then crouched down, knees bent outwards. He, once again, shoved his face really close to hers, but his head was bit lower than last time. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and placed his fingertips under her chin. His fingers slowly moved in an outwards motion as he felt along her jawline. His hands traveled over the corner of her jaw and he just grabbed her head, his thumb rubbing Samâs cheeks.
âIt doesnât look like a broke your jaw⊠oh, sorry about that, by the way. I sort of⊠ah⊠panicked.â Though Ethan hated to admit it, he felt he had to. He flashed a sincere smile and stood back up and then practically skipped over to the fridge, his tail trailing behind him, wiggling in delight. He thrust it open and surveyed the contents. It was rather empty, but it was enough to sustain one person, not four. He pulled out a half empty milk jug and a little bag of about five apples. He grabbed a few cups from a cupboard and poured four glasses. He nudged one in all of their directions. âI donât have any more bottled water⊠and the tap tastes almost like metal, so I hope milk is ok.â Ethan said, a bit nervously. He wanted to please his new guests. He grabbed the apples and rubbed them off, and proceeded to put them into a bowl and shove them to the middle of the table. âHelp yourselves.â He told the ground, gesturing to the apples. He picked one up himself and dug his sharp canines into the juicy fruit and tore of a piece just before plopping down onto the couch next to Sam.
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Sam had just been sitting there for only one minute when she saw Ethan come over to her. She looked up at him with a curious look on her face, she was curious for what reason he would be bending down in front of her and looking at her. She looked back at him when she saw a strange bump coming from the back of his pants, her eyes widened at first, but when she saw his tail, she calmed down a little bit. She then heard him say, '' Sleep well, sugar?'' Sam saw him mover closer and closer to her, there was about an inch between them. Sam smiled and said , '' Well, not really. Not that I know what happened a little while ago, I'm not so happy with myself. So......no. It wasn't the best sleep I've had.'' She sighed and sat back further on the couch, she then flinched lightly as she felt Ethan touch her face and move up along her jaw line. She winced as he felt the sore part on her jaw, the part that he punched to be exact.
Sam relaxed again as she saw Ethan stand up and walk away from her. Sam sighed slightly and looked at the others, she looked at the other girl and took a deep breath. She watched Ethan look in the fridge and grab a thing of milk and a few apples. She heard him say, '' Help yourself.'' He said that as he pointed to the apples and milk.Sam sighed, she didn't feel like eating anything right now. She then smiled as she saw Ethan come and sit by her. Sam sat up straighter and said in a soft voice as she looked at the Listener, '' I'm....I'm really, really sorry. I wasn't myself a while ago, I never would have done that on purpose. Now that I saw what I did I really regret it. I know you're pissed off with me, but......I don't blame you. I'm even pissed off at myself, if I could take it back, I would in a heart beat.'' Sam sighed again and stood up, she looked at Ethan and said, '' Where's your bathroom? I'm not feeling so great. I feel a little sick.'' She said as she bent down slightly and held her stomach, she felt like she was going to throw up.
Sam relaxed again as she saw Ethan stand up and walk away from her. Sam sighed slightly and looked at the others, she looked at the other girl and took a deep breath. She watched Ethan look in the fridge and grab a thing of milk and a few apples. She heard him say, '' Help yourself.'' He said that as he pointed to the apples and milk.Sam sighed, she didn't feel like eating anything right now. She then smiled as she saw Ethan come and sit by her. Sam sat up straighter and said in a soft voice as she looked at the Listener, '' I'm....I'm really, really sorry. I wasn't myself a while ago, I never would have done that on purpose. Now that I saw what I did I really regret it. I know you're pissed off with me, but......I don't blame you. I'm even pissed off at myself, if I could take it back, I would in a heart beat.'' Sam sighed again and stood up, she looked at Ethan and said, '' Where's your bathroom? I'm not feeling so great. I feel a little sick.'' She said as she bent down slightly and held her stomach, she felt like she was going to throw up.
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A shade a shadow a man a manner.
A core and a corpsehead. Smile for the hatter.
The magical forces of the Wyrd smile upon the meal, acknowledging it as a form of aid in fulfillment of the Pledge involving the Were-beast, the Listener, and the Changeling. Despite the humbleness of the meal, any of the three pledge-bound who decide partake in it find it delicious and refreshing. Nicholas downs the drink slowly and takes careful bites of the apple. He silently observes Orozco patching up the Listener and the ensuing flirt-fest going on between the Were and the two girls. The former police officer and private investigator is not amused, especially since he knows what happens when you get stuck between two women. With a touch of curtness, the Darkling clears his throat and addresses the assemblage of supernaturals.
"If yer finished mackin' on Orozco, Ah've got some questions. Fer one." He turns to Ms. Larson, ignoring her need to find the restroom. "What were you doin' with th' girl with a bleedin' neck. Both you and Orozco. Two. Th' Bloodless Murders, twelve dead in six months. Two of them my people. What do you know?" Nicholas pulls out a notepad to track notes. "You lie to me and Ah'll find out. And Ah'll find you," he says offhandedly.
A core and a corpsehead. Smile for the hatter.
The magical forces of the Wyrd smile upon the meal, acknowledging it as a form of aid in fulfillment of the Pledge involving the Were-beast, the Listener, and the Changeling. Despite the humbleness of the meal, any of the three pledge-bound who decide partake in it find it delicious and refreshing. Nicholas downs the drink slowly and takes careful bites of the apple. He silently observes Orozco patching up the Listener and the ensuing flirt-fest going on between the Were and the two girls. The former police officer and private investigator is not amused, especially since he knows what happens when you get stuck between two women. With a touch of curtness, the Darkling clears his throat and addresses the assemblage of supernaturals.
"If yer finished mackin' on Orozco, Ah've got some questions. Fer one." He turns to Ms. Larson, ignoring her need to find the restroom. "What were you doin' with th' girl with a bleedin' neck. Both you and Orozco. Two. Th' Bloodless Murders, twelve dead in six months. Two of them my people. What do you know?" Nicholas pulls out a notepad to track notes. "You lie to me and Ah'll find out. And Ah'll find you," he says offhandedly.