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nightmaretist · 1 year ago

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TIMING: Current PARTIES: Vic @natusvincere & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Masque of the Red Eye SUMMARY: Two immortals cross paths again and speak of current events, among which mostly daughters. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death.

The meeting at the Good Neighbors had ended early. There had been a tenseness in the air that Vic couldn’t quite place, but, being a new member, she figured it wasn’t her place to question it. People in Wicked’s Rest were odd, and the do-gooder Good Neighbors must not have been any different. Regardless, Rosie was asleep at home with the nanny who had already been pre-paid, so Vic took it upon herself to saunter over to the Masque of the Red Eye, a place she had hadn’t ventured to since her days of betraying vampires. It might have been stupid to come back to the Masque- there was probably an unknown number of friends of those she’d betrayed, waiting to enact their revenge. But Vic, ever stubborn and ever so determined, was desperate to make amends in any way she could, even if the mere thought left a pang of anxiety in her stomach that felt too deep to quell.

300 years of hatred was hard to overcome in just 3.

A familiar face from across the way interrupted her nerves almost the moment she walked in, filling her with a strange sense of familiarity. It was a face she hadn’t seen in years, not besides about six months when she swore she jogged past her in the park. But Vic was always seeing flashes of faces she once knew in strangers, so she barely gave it a second thought. “Inge?”, she called out, feeling uncharacteristically brave as she approached the other. There was always something comforting about the other woman, even if they had only passed through each other’s social circles once or twice in the past few decades. Vic couldn’t even remember first meeting her, only that it was at an art museum in god knows where “It’s uh… Vic. Um, Victoria, maybe. I can’t remember which name I gave you.” She gestured to the seat beside Inge, wondering if it was okay to sit down. “Since when do you spend your time in a seedy town like Wicked’s Rest?” This would turn out to be utterly humiliating if Inge didn’t remember her, and Vic was already turning red at the thought of it.

—

It was an embarrassing thing to her, to feel unsafe. Inge didn’t tend to let herself feel unsafe — she tended to run, to turn on her heel and go to a different place where there would be no room for such a feeling. And yet, she was still here, in this town where a man had threatened to scoop out her insides, where a ghost had made the earth split, where the sky trembled and something else horrible was bound to happen any second. She found it hard to explain to herself why she stayed – it certainly wasn’t for her job (though she did enjoy that). Maybe it was because her art was better than it had been in years, the town like a never-ending muse. Or maybe it was because of something more embarrassing than feeling unsafe — because she found herself tied to the people inhabiting this space.

Regardless, the feeling of being unsafe persisted, and so she stuck to the places she felt safest in. The corners where the undead gathered. The astral, her studio, her home, the casino. Masque was another on the list, a nice place to grade papers and sip her coffee and feel like she was surrounded by her own kind. And she was doing a good job at focusing on said papers (something that she’d been struggling with due to the aforementioned causes of dismay), at least until her name was called. She looked up, pen floating above the page in mid-action. (She printed out the papers — she’d never gotten the hand of grading digitally.) “Vic,” she said, eyes widening with surprise. “Hi!” Inge got up, placing the paper on the tiny table and giving the other a quick embrace. “Come, come, sit.” She laughed. “Since when do you?” She sat down, wondering how to explain the magnetism of this horrid town. “I guess there’s something inspiring about a place like this to the likes of me, hm? I teach here, too. It’s nice.” It was the first time she’d been employed in at least a decade. “Tell me, how’ve you been?”

—

Vic was not used to the feeling of being embraced. Not by arms that weren’t child-sized, anyway. And not since… Well, not since a lot of things, she supposed. She tried not to let her body harden at the act, fighting past every instinct that told her to fight affection for the last 300 years instead of relaxing into it. It was over before she knew it, and Inge didn’t seem to notice her aversion, and Vic herself was embarrassed that her mind was making such a big deal of a little hug. She really needed to get a grip.

She sat as requested, again comforted by the magnetism that Inge seemed to hold. “Oh, I’ve been here for around 13 years, actually. Not at the Masque, of course. But living in town. I didn’t get out much until around three years ago, though. And who can blame me?”, she asked, trying to make a joke of the town’s reputation in an attempt to quell any questions Inge might have about what she had been doing while so recluse. What would Inge think of her if she knew how many people she had betrayed? “Teaching!”, she said with surprise, her eyes traveling down to the papers scattered around the table. Clearly, she had interrupted some hard work. “That’s a reputable job if I’ve ever heard of one. Are you teaching children?”

Vic thoughts flashed to Rosie, wondering what type of student she might be as she grew older. A confident one, surely, but well-behaved and demure. Inge would certainly be a wonderful teacher for her. “I’ve been… well, better lately than I had been in a while, if I’m being honest. I’m living over in Deer Springs in this beautiful home I’m restoring, and I have a small business going painting storefront windows. It’s not much, of course, nor is it incredibly mature, but I find myself quite enjoying it.” She smiled at the thought, remembering the adorable yellow minion men she’d painted out in front of a bookstore just last week. The owner had seemed shocked at her choice of character, but she would come to see the vision of it soon, Vic was sure.

“What about you, Inge? How has life been treating you as of late?”

—

Thirteen years, Vic said she’d been here for thirteen years. Inge found it impossible to imagine. Where had she been, thirteen years ago? Somewhere in Europe, gorging on people’s dreams and struck with grief, that must have been it. She had flown back to America something over a decade ago, but she’d flit around plenty of states even then. To stay in one place for that long – especially a place like this – she found inconceivable.

But then Vic had said she’d been inside for a lot of it. She didn’t know why, but she could imagine. She found herself avoiding the streets too, especially after her latest encounter with Emilio. She had the luxury of astral projecting, though, and still going out even without walking around an awful lot. “No one can,” she said definitively, not particularly interested in asking why Vic had stayed in all those years. “It tends to either smell horrid here or there’s puddles or goo, or all at ones.”

She smiled a little at the other’s reverence for her career of choice. “It’s nice, I never thought I’d enjoy it. And yes, in a way — college. They don’t think they’re kids any more but they certainly are.”

Inge took a sip from her coffee, wondering how she’d never encountered Vic in all the years she had been here. Different circles, perhaps. If only she could avoid certain types like that. “I live in the same neighborhood — it’s nice there, isn’t it? Painting storefronts … that’s wonderful!” Certainly not the kind of creative expression she preferred, but she couldn’t judge too harshly if someone was picking up a paintbrush. “I’d love to see some of it. And you would be welcome in my studio, if you want to change it up.”

The question about her life seemed a little futile. She’d told Vic, hadn’t she? She was a teacher. “Oh, you know — I’ve been between towns a lot the past few years. Was in New York before this, so this is quite the change of pace. But I don’t mind it. I never thought I’d return to a small town.”

—

Vic felt herself smiling, relieved that chatter with an old acquaintance seemed to be feeling more natural than not. There was so much about Vic and her past that Inge was never told- especially about who Vic truly was and what she was doing to those like her until Rosie came into the picture. The two of them had always seemed to dance around their shared status as undead (at least Vic assumed, due to her lack of a heartbeat) … (maybe it was rude to assume). This mostly happened on Vic’s end, as it did with all the undead she ended up having a fondness for, so she could ignore the repercussions of longing for friendship with someone who was a monster just like her. But now that she was done betraying vampires and hating those who had the unfortunate circumstance to be like her… perhaps the two of them would have a chance to delve more into each other. “Or, the people are just horrid in general. Stinky or not. Sometimes I find myself avoiding them altogether”.

Vic would deny she was desperate for adult interaction. She loved Ms. Rachel, and those yellow minion men, and the cute little cartoon girl who sang the phonics song on youtube. And Rosie was enough interaction- she was all Vic needed, especially now that her vocabulary was thriving in both English and Swedish. But she would have been lying if she said she didn’t intentionally pick fights with her nasty neighbor Tracy or the mailman who kept delivering packages to the wrong house, just to have a meaningful interaction with someone who could drive. Maybe a real friend might do her some good.

“I don’t think I’d have the patience for teaching”, she said earnestly. She never thought she’d have the patience for motherhood, either. Maybe another 10 years in Wicked’s Rest would soften her up even more. She shook her head at the thought of Inge seeing her ‘professional work’, almost regretting telling her. “It’s nothing incredible, if I’m being frank. Just cartoons, mostly inspired by my daughter.” Her elephant in the room, the one Inge wouldn’t have even realized existed, blurted out faster than Vic had expected it too. She picked an imaginary piece of dust off her pants after the pseudo-admission, pressing her lips together.

Would Inge be ashamed of her? Would she think it odd that someone like her suddenly had a child? Should she have kept it private? Vic couldn’t change the subject fast enough, it felt like the entire building were looking her way. “You know, in all my years traveling around, I never ended up in New York city. I was in Boston two separate times. But never New York. Did you enjoy yourself there?”

—

It seemed for a moment as something in the air paused. As if a collective breath was held, as if the invisible flow of air halted. Vic said something incredulous. My daughter. Inge blinked her eyes at her, this woman who had not aged a day since the last time she had seen her. A face unmarred by the signs of aging, not a gray hair growing from her head. A woman who was frozen in time just like her, and she had a child.

So there were two horrifying options — either the child was like them and would not age, which would be a small mercy for Vic but otherwise something so unethical it made Inge squirm as well. And then there was the other option, the one that made her unbeating heart skip a beat. Vic was the mother to a human child, one way or another, and that child would age and age and age, and in four or five decades time look older than her mother. Vera’s hair had not gone gray at the end, but there had been a few random silver hairs among the brown. Vera —

She closed her mind off for memories of her own daughter, of the hospital, of the end. She looked at Vic, disregarding most of the other things she’d said. “A daughter? Since when — how old is she?” She wanted to leave. She didn’t want to speak of the dead. There was probably a whole slew of dead people between herself and Vic, considering the nature of their unlives. “How – Is she like us?” This was said in a lower tone and with a level of shame, a level of quietness. Inge didn’t feed off children. She had, a few times, but they were too easy to scare. If she were a vampire she wouldn’t even consider it, but there were some out there that might.

She reached for a coffee like it was an anchor. “You – You should go to New York, sometime. It’s great. The museums are wonderful, and every child should visit good museums — everyone, actually, regardless of age.”

—

Vic tried to look down at the table, to occupy herself with anything other than the emotions that were processing on Inge’s face. If the situation had been reversed, she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted. There was something unspoken between them- they always seemed to dance around the fact that the other was undead, the Vic of the past never wanting to sit on the subject too long just incase Inge turned out to be a vampire, too (it was why she shouldn’t have been making friends). And she knew that unspoken secret was exactly what had caused Inge’s questioning look now. The silence between them was palpable, and Vic practically had to hold herself to the chair to stop from running away.

“She just turned three”, she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. She wondered if Inge would put together her earlier words, or if they had seemed as throw-away as Vic had tried to make them sound at the time. I didn’t get out much until around three years ago, though. At the thought that Rosie could be anything like them, Vic moved back in her seat, clutching her chest in surprise. Her face morphed into one of distress before she answered. “She’s, no…no. She’s nothing like me… like us. She’s perfect. She’s… she’s human.” After she was sired, Vic was told horror stories of children turned, and the thought, now more so than ever, made her stomach turn. If being turned as an adult felt like torture, she couldn’t imagine the anguish and despair that must have come with eternal childhood.

Three years had already gone by in a blink. She couldn’t bring herself to think what their lives would look like in 30… or 60… or 100.

“She’s perfect”, she said again, as if to reiterate. Vic truly believed she was. “And I would never… I won’t… nothing like that will ever happen to her, Inge. I won’t let it.” She felt she should explain more, but she didn’t know how. When she thought back to her first night with Rosie, it still didn’t make sense why she was picked. “Her parents were slayers. Friends of mine”. She tugged at her cloaking bracelet, unsure if Rosie’s birth parents ever actually knew the truth. “They had betrayed someone, or something…there was a bounty on their heads, and their families had already been killed…there was no one else.” Vic hated herself for the times she felt grateful that there had been no one else. She couldn’t look at Inge, not after all the revelations.

“I haven’t been to New York in… decades”, she admitted, clearing her throat of the emotion that threatened to rest there. “Rosie loves museums. Maybe we should travel there on a small vacation.”

—

Vera had been three once — just as she had been four, five, ten, twenty, thirty, thirty-six. Inge thought back to that blur of the early years of childhood, the years before her transformation, the years she sometimes, very quietly and very guiltily, yearned for in a way she’d lost. She tried to blink the memories from her head, those thoughts of a toddler that had her eyes moving around the world while her mother’s eyes were growing more and more sunken, less and less similar. She tried to imagine Vic with her human child, her perfect human child, who would look older than her in a couple of decades and then die before Vic would.

Her coffee wasn’t strong enough and severely lacking in a shot of whiskey, and yet she clung to it, taking another sip. “A great age,” she said, because that was what people said in situations like these. She wasn’t sure what to say or do besides that, though, as there was no etiquette when it came to undead parenthood. Vic spoke about their natures as if it was something ugly and perhaps it was, if you thought about imposing it on your child. And how could she judge? Inge had never even thought changing Vera into something undying to save her from her coming death. She would have hated it. So no matter how much she thought herself and other undead better than human, some sort of upgrade, she understood not wanting to give it to ones own child.

But — the child would have to die. Rosie – she had a name – would die if she wasn’t turned and Inge wanted to warn Vic of it, this sword of Damocles hanging over her neck. And Vic kept talking, kept making it worse. The child was the result of two slayers procreating and was now hers. She kept drinking her coffee, the bitterness not bitter enough, her throat speechless.

She had to say something, though. “She’s … she’s … well, you won’t raise her as a slayer at the very least, right?” How could Rosie be perfect if she were to be a slayer? How could Inge condemn a toddler for something she couldn’t control? Why was Vic someone slayers trusted enough to give their child to? “I am happy – yes, Vic, I’m happy for you. It can be a wonderful thing— magical, motherhood. I do … well, I wonder. But as long as you’re happy. And I think…” She placed her saucer down. “For what it’s worth, you seem like a gentle parent.”

It was easier to talk of New York, even if it was in context of the child. “You should go, then. The natural history museum will probably also be fun for her, hm?”

—

Vic pressed her lips together and nodded, because she didn’t know what else to say. Or to do, for that matter. This conversation was bringing up far too many ‘what-ifs’ that Vic spent her time ignoring because they were too horrifying to think about. Now, under Inge’s unsure gaze, they raced to the forefront of her mind. As Rosie grew older, as she grew to understand what the world around her and what she was, there was an inevitable consequence hanging in the air, one that sucked the air from Vic’s lungs and forced her back to feelings she’d been attempting to bury away for 300 years. Surely their diametrically opposed natures would one day be the downfall of their relationship. She couldn’t hide who she was from Rosie, not anymore than she could force her to deny who she was-... but what did that mean for their future? Ever stubborn, Vic made it seem that there wasn’t a problem. Only a slight twitch in her brow might have implied otherwise, to someone paying close attention.

“I can’t very well deny her of her nature, Inge. That would be…unethical. It would be wrong. And it would leave her questioning things that she shouldn’t have to worry about.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and blinked, willing the tears that threatened not to fill her eyes. “I have my ways of… hiding myself from those that threaten me. I’ll find someone to teach her what she needs to know, but I’ll teach her about the rest of the world, too. It doesn’t need to be as black and white as you’re implying it’ll be.” But it would be, wouldn’t it? Letting Rosie learn about hunting and slayers… about the truth of the monstrosity of what she was, it would be the beginning of the end.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been much happier”, she replied quietly, knowing that alone was where her juxtaposition stemmed from. Still, she found herself chuckling at Inge’s next comment. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever referred to her as ‘gentle’. “You speak of motherhood like you know something about it”, she commented, letting her unasked question fill the space around them.

“I assumed it would be, yes.” There was a far-off look in her eyes as Vic wondered just what a trip to New York might look like. Rosie had never left Wicked’s Rest before. “And the art museum, too. She’s quite taken with art, as of late. This week, anyway. Perhaps next week she’ll be interested in horses again.”

—

What a strange reunion this was. Inge had experienced plenty of reunions in her time (that was how an undead life went – lots of coming and going of relations) but none were quite so tense so fast. She wanted to be nothing but happy for Vic, but she spoke of the ethics of keeping a child from being a slayer. As if it wasn’t a gift to not indoctrinate them into indiscriminate murder. And who was she, to judge a mother on how she was raising a child? Vera had been gone before she was dead, the wedge that had grown between mother and daughter a constantly evolving thing until finally they had been definitively severed.

“Her nature? Do you suggest it is nature and not nurture that makes slayers go after us?” She tried to keep her tone to a lower volume but she felt a wave of indignation pass through her. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave her in ignorance, but come now — another slayer? We’ve plenty.” But it had been slayers who’d given Vic the child, so maybe there was more that. She bristled at the notion that it wasn’t as black and white, “Slayers never consider shades of gray in my experience, either. But — I do trust … your judgment.” Did she? How well did she really know Vic?

She wanted it to be so simple, to be happy for a friend who found happiness in motherhood. But Inge was bitter and ruined and felt like she’d flayed herself in front of the other. Did she wear it on her sleeve so obviously, then? Leila had pricked through it too. “I do. Did. It’s in the past now.” She didn’t want to talk of it, of children that grew older than their mothers and died before them.

“Good,” she said, “A child interested in art is a promising one. But the changing interests…” She did remember that, too. Vera had been a girl of many passions. “It’d be nice, to go. I’m sure.”

—

Vic picked at the tablecloth beneath her fingernails, feeling a small spot unravel as she dug into the fabric. She didn’t know what to say, because she felt at an impasse. She respected Inge a great deal, but it seemed like her opinion on this matter would do more to upset her than anything. “I suggest that hunters have senses, abilities, and culture. Culture which includes protecting the secret of supernatural existence, not just eliminating it. Do you suggest I should have her ignore these senses, instead?” There were plenty of hunters who weren’t killing machines, Vic knew this first hand. A decade ago she would have called them weak.

If truth were to be told, she didn’t know what the best route was when it came to Rosie being a slayer. She did not ask for her parents to die, nor did she ask to be raised by the very creature that she was born to kill. “I will sit in on her training. I will not allow anyone to traumatize her. But it will be up to her to decide who she wants to be in life.” Which meant one day Rosie might hate her, or… or worse. A kind of worse she wouldn’t let herself imagine.

She felt the urge to reach forward and squeeze Inge’s hand, wondering how much more of the story there was here. There really had been not much substance to their relationship in the past, but now, it felt like everything was tumbling out. “I’m sorry. For whoever you might have lost.” She looked down at her watch, noting that time was passing faster than she had expected it to.

“I didn’t realize it had gotten so late”, she muttered, worried that this might be the end and that their friendship would never spark. “I don’t want you to…You should know that I’ve thought about this situation long and hard, Inge. I’m just trying to do right by her. Because she deserves it, more than anyone.”

—

“You can protect the secrecy of the supernatural without calling yourself a hunter. It is in the name, Vic. They hunt. Their existence is built on murder,” Inge said icily. To her, it was different from the predatory existence of the undead — they needed to prey on others in other to survive, could not live without nightmares, blood or flesh. Hunters didn’t need to maim, chase and murder in order to breathe their mortal breaths, though. “I don’t — you can raise her aware of her senses, of what she comes from but why would you rear her to be that?”

The scars on her body would have throbbed dully if there was any blood in her system, so in stead there was a mental itch. She was overstepping, she knew. It was bad praxis to criticize a mother, but it was easy to do from the side. She swallowed. “It’s — I’m sure you’ll do well by her.” Just do right by our kind too, she wanted to add.

She felt exhausted, which was a strange thing to feel as a creature of the night who didn’t need sleep. Memories of Vera were sharp, however, as was the knowledge that Vic would watch her child grow old and die. She wanted to say that the undead were not supposed to have children, that such a thing was reserved for the living — but what good would it do? Inge had been a human when Vera had been born. Vic had happened upon a child. Life happened and more importantly, death did. “Me too,” she said, voice somewhat small. She swallowed her warnings. Grieving someone who wasn’t dead yet wasn’t something she wanted to make Vic do.

She frowned at the comment, “I suppose it did,” she said. “I — I know.” At least, she figured she did. She felt bitter and ugly, like a pessimist and a bad friend. If Vic and her were still friends, or could rekindle it now. “I didn’t – don’t mean to be harsh. If you’d like, maybe we can … She can come to my studio with you, if you’d like. We could see each other again.”

—

“It’s not up to you or me what she chooses to call herself. It’s up to her guardian to give her all the information possible, to nurture and guide until she’s old enough to decide for herself. Until then, she’ll be raised as she would have had tragedy not befallen her family.” It was enough that Rosie was ripped from someone who would have a natural maternal bond with her, worse that she’d been given to someone she was born to kill. Vic didn’t often think about this, because the consequences of raising her how nature intended were innumerable. Thinking about it only made her second guess her choices. In an effort to quell the tension, Vic hadn’t been holding eye contact with Inge, but her companion’s comment about murder changed that. “And how is that any different from our existence?”, she asked sharply and defensively, staring daggers into Inge.

But there was the catch 22. It was the problem with her whole change of heart. How could she still find value in what hunters did while befriending vampires and trying to rescue them? How could she ethically raise a daughter while teaching her it was okay to kill her mother’s friends, just for existing? Conversations like this brought too much to light- it was too hard to question how things were going when she was already so unsure of their outcome.

But there, again, was a spark of kindness from Inge. A permission, even, to make the choices she thought was best. She didn’t know if she would have granted someone else that grace had the situation been reversed. Vic sat back in her chair, letting out a low breath.

“I think she’d like that”, Vic said, although her voice was smaller than earlier. Her eyebrows were furrowed in contemplation, like they so often were. “I think she’d like to meet you, too.” She stood up, pulling her bag over her shoulder with a shaky breath. Reaching in, she pulled out a business card with her phone number and business instagram plastered in bright, bold letters. “Will you send me your information? We can set up a time to make this all happen.” Inge would meet Rosie, Vic was sure, and understand how important raising her was. She’d understand that no one could mother her without putting meticulous thought into every decision that was made about her life. She’d understand, and give Vic her blessing, and then Vic could stop worrying that she was making a huge mistake.

#natural consequences.#vic.#threads.#loooove u vic and i loved this v interesting exploration of immortal motherhood hehe

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bountyhaunter · 11 months ago

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: Daiyu's house PARTIES: Alistair @deathsplaything, Emilio @mortemoppetere, Vic @natusvincere, Zane & Daiyu @bountyhaunter SUMMARY: A conspiracy meets to plan an ambush. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

She had never had this many people in her house. Scratch that: Daiyu had never had people in her house, ever. Not this one, anyway, this small cabin that she’d been able to rent through hunter connections and had been living in for about half a year. It was kind of overwhelming, if she was honest, but she never was to herself and so she didn’t pay it any mind.

She returned to the living room with a stack of mismatched cups and a bottle of soda, placing them on the table where a few other key ingredients for a strategy meeting already resided. A package of grocery store chocolate chip cookies and a bowl of potato chips, for one, and then all the bits and bobs of paper like the blueprints and guard schedules Alistair had provided. She looked around the strange combination of people — from Emilio to Vic (who she’d just thought a very sweet suburban mom up until recently) to a guy named Zane (whoever that was) to Alistair. Brutus and Nugget were hopefully entertaining each other in corner. She’d be very sad if they didn’t get on.

“Alright,” she said, ignoring the cups and soda now that she’d placed them on the table. These people were capable of pouring themselves a drink and she wasn’t very good at hosting, anyway. To the dismay of her father — but well, that wouldn’t be the main thing that’d bother him about this ordeal. “Where were we? Us …” She gestured at Alistair and herself. “On the inside. We’ll make sure there’s not a lot of peeps on schedule.” Daiyu tucked her legs underneath herself as she got comfortable on the floor. She didn’t have enough chairs. She barely had enough forks for one person. “Whatever. Getting in’s not the issue.” She was down to brush over those details, because something else was nagging at her. Daiyu wasn’t very good at boring planning details. She pulled a messy list of captives toward her. She’d worked on that over the past week. “What do we do about the people?”

—

Tension turned his body into a coiled spring, ready to leap up at the slightest irritation. Emilio stood in the kitchen with his back against the wall, eyes darting periodically between Alistair and the woman he didn’t know with the occasional uncertain glance towards Daiyu. The only person in this room he trusted fully was the one he’d brought himself, and he was already feeling a little guilty for dragging Zane along.

He looked to the table, to the blueprints and papers and things he probably wouldn’t understand. This level of planning was new to Emilio. Most of the time, his plans consisted of ‘go in, kill what needs killing, try not to die.’ (Except for the ones that omitted the last point — he tried not to let himself think of those for the moment.) This kind of strategizing was foreign to him. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here. Part of him wanted to protest, wanted to point out that it wasn’t necessary for the blade to know what the hand was planning. Point him in the direction where he needed to slice, and he’d do it. Everything else seemed wasted on him.

But… he wasn’t sure he trusted any of them, even Daiyu, enough not to know the plan. If he was going to put Zane’s stupid life on the line, he was going to make sure the plan was a decent one. He owed the vampire that, at least. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a flask and took a swig, ignoring the soda and snacks Daiyu had set out. This was more his style. “Case by case, I think,” he piped in, glancing at the list Daiyu had provided. “Some of them might not be the kind we want to put back into the world.” But Emilio wouldn’t leave anyone locked up. A quick death was kinder, he thought; he’d give them that. It was what he’d want for himself, when the time came. “Okay. So, we need to… look into this. Right? See why they were brought in, decide what to do with who. We don’t want to send serial killers loose on the town.”

—

It had taken a lot from Alistair to leave Tommy at the apartment to come to this meeting. The two had become dependent on each other since the loss of Melody and both of their worlds crumbled from under them. The only thing that propelled Alistair forward on this mission was that his life was on the line, and there was no way they would leave Tommy alone. They owed everything they could to make this out alive. And if that meant going against The Good Neighbors and Winnifred herself? Then so be it. Brutus had been playing with Nugget in the corner, but Alistair gave the command, and Brutus ceased his playtime and made his way over to his owner, eager to work.

A case-by-case basis was necessary. Alistair remembered a lot of the names that went into those cages and remembered the atrocities that were committed. “Winnifred has a better-kept log that has names, dates of imprisonment, and reasoning,” Alistair spoke up, arms crossed over their chest as they stared blankly forward. “Daiyu and I could call her to the keep to discuss overcrowding,” Alistair suggested, knowing that the keep was getting seriously overcrowded. It was something they’d have to talk about eventually, whether Winnifred wanted to or not. “She’d bring her book with her and make decisions for ‘the good of the town.’ or whatever she tells herself.”

“Listen, this mission is not going to be easy,” Alistair warned, hand gripping around the hold of Brutus’s harness. “People are going to get hurt, people are going to die. Not everyone you release will be happy to see you.” Alistair knew from experience how wily they could be. They knew they had to prepare for the worst, a spell that they’d already begun to prepare for. Alistair was going to die there, they knew they were. But they didn’t want anyone else to get killed along with them. If they could warn them of the dangers, they’d at least have done their part.

Vic had turned back home three times before she finally convinced herself to join this meeting. This was why she’d joined the Good Neighbors in the first place, right? To protect the vampires she’d suspected were being targeted and start the path toward righting the wrongs of her past. Sure, she may have gotten a little distracted by the delicious little taste of neighborhood power joining the group had provided her (she’d made more citizen’s arrests in the last month than probably her entire time in Wicked’s Rest, but littering was down a good 10%). But after finally overhearing the truth from Alistair and Daiyu a few days ago, it felt like something substantial was finally about to happen.

As she sat straight-backed in the chair that had been offered to her, pursing her lips at the menu offered to them, a punch of guilt invaded her stomach, scolding her for even thinking of freeing monsters from their cages. She had known for nearly 300 years that they deserved to die, and if she were in this meeting three years earlier, she would have elected to kill them all on sight. What kind of world was she leaving for Rosie-... for humanity… if she let monsters like herself walk free? But then her mind flipped again, to all the work she’d done to be better, to all the ‘monsters’ that had proved her wrong… Why couldn’t this have been easier?

“Why do we get to decide which of them deserves death?” Vic chirped from her corner, the first thing she’d uttered the whole meeting. “Is that not just as reprehensible as what Winnifred is doing? Who’s deciding morality here?”

Zane had rarely felt as out of place as he did here, working very hard to piece together the bits of information Emilio had provided with the people in the room and the words they were exchanging. It probably didn’t help that he’d chosen to stand, wanting to fade into the background with his ill-defined role here but realizing it probably made him look like Emilio’s bodyguard or something equally silly. How the slayer would have seethed at that notion. Moving to sit now seemed worse but he did uncross his arms, trying to match names and what they were to the faces in the room.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn grim - who gets to live. He’d had this conversation with Emilio, about how locking up things like Zane wasn’t a viable option. Not humane, either, especially for something that would practically live forever. It still made his skin crawl but the naivety he’d possessed last year existed no more, gone up in flames when that barn did. “Someone has to do it,” he found himself speaking up, not sure how much of it was his own opinion and how much was simply support for Emilio, which seemed his only true role here. “At least this way it’s… informed.” Was he even supposed to take part in the conversation? Well, too late now.

—

This was why she shouldn’t get caught up in affairs. Not human affairs, not supernatural affairs — none. Daiyu functioned best on her own. If she had never joined up, she would have never known about this and she would have been able to spend this night watching Buffy. But here she was. Hosting the revolution for a place that should perhaps not be overthrown, hearing people talk about what she preferred to avoid. Morals. She tended to let herself be led by the bounty board, not by what felt good.

She started stuffing a cookie into her mouth so she had an excuse not to talk (which was nonsensical, considering she talked with a full mouth all the time) and felt herself grow agitated. “Yeah, we could totally get the book off her, no doubt,” she said, “Whatever, but — even those are — you know.” Vic was making good points. All of them were. She wanted to slam her head into the table.

“Way I see it, Winnifred isn’t … she’s just a human. Trying to do what she reckons is best, but she doesn’t … she’s clueless, yeah?” She glanced at Emilio. “Cortez and I, we’re hunters. We know this shit. We’ve been raised for this. We know what’s a risk, what’s not. What beast to take out in the woods and which to let run its course, ya know? So it’s the same as that. Just … more …” She wiped a crumb off the table. “Premeditated. Whatever. Most important is that it ends here. And yeah, for many that’s gonna mean it ends-ends.” Daiyu’s job was to figure out who in town should be targeted, hadn’t it? She knew in some cases why some of the prisoners had been put there. She’d made that judgment. None of them were innocent. (None of them at this table were either. Well, maybe Zane and Vic, she wasn’t sure.) “I’ll make sure there’s plenty of weapons around for when push comes to shove.”

—

Zane had his back, though Emilio wondered how much of what he was saying was what he really believed and how much came from his perception that he still owed Emilio for what happened in that barn a year ago now. He didn’t bring Zane along to have a yes man in his corner, didn’t want someone who would agree with everything he said. He needed Zane for the same reason he needed Teddy, or Wynne, or Xó: because sometimes, Emilio led with something that wasn’t his head. Sometimes, the past got muddled in with the present, and nothing was quite right. If he was making the wrong choice here, he needed someone to tell him that. He needed it to be someone he trusted, someone who understood him. He had to hope that Zane was speaking his mind and not saying what he thought Emilio wanted to hear. He spared the vampire a quick glance, hoping to communicate all of this in a simple look. It was a lot of pressure to put on an expression that really wasn’t much different than his usual.

He glanced to the necromancer, scoffing quietly. “I don’t think anyone here walked in that door thinking this would be easy,” he replied flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “If it were easy, we wouldn’t need this meeting.” This was going to be rough. It was going to be hard and it was going to be dangerous and people were probably going to die. People at this table were probably going to die. Emilio felt a surge of guilt for the fact that he hadn’t shared his plan to participate in this with any of the important people in his life. If he died doing this, none of them would know until after. They’d probably be upset about that.

He nodded as Daiyu spoke, glancing around the table. “Look, I think… These people got into this shit thinking they were doing something good.” He let his eyes go from Daiyu to the clean-cut looking woman beside her to the necromancer. Maybe all of them had gotten into the Good Neighbors with good intentions, and maybe they hadn’t. Emilio wasn’t sure it mattered. What mattered more was their intentions now. “Some of the people locked up there are bad. There’s no denying that. But some of them aren’t. Some of them are just people who have made mistakes, maybe, and they can learn from this. And the ones who can’t…” He trailed off, clenching his jaw. “I would rather die,” he said simply. “If I had to choose between being locked away for as long as these people live or dying for what I’ve done, I would rather die. It’s better. It’s faster for them. It’s safer for everyone else. It’s better. So this is what I’m doing. If someone has a problem with it, you can try to stop me, but something tells me we’re all here because we’re on the same page, yes? So we figure out who gets what, and we figure out how to give it to them. That’s what we do. Anyone who wants to leave can leave, but I’m all in.”

—

When it came to killing, Alistair was no saint. They’d done it before, they’d probably do it again. They’d done it for the sake of saving Tommy, they’d done it to save countless others. But they’d never killed someone without someone else benefitting from it. They’d never killed on a scale such as this. And that’s what they were doing, wasn’t it? All those people who couldn’t be set free were going to die. It caused Alistair to shift their weight from foot to foot, head downcast as they thought about the implications of taking more lives. They wanted no part of it anymore. Still, if it had to be done to keep people safe, then the benefits outweighed the costs in their minds.

“There are alarms.” Alistair piped up, looking through Brutus’s eyes to point in the correct placements. “Once when the front gate is breached, once when the button on the cages is hit.” Alistair pointed to the center control panel with a frown. “If you want to set them all free, that’s where you want to go.” He tapped his finger against the paper before removing it.

Alistair pulled out a set of keys that Daiyu had. “This one opens cages.” They explained, pulling out a rather large key and laying it on the table, then pulling out a passkey. “That’ll get you in the building without detection. We’ve made sure that security is lighter that day by putting ourselves on duty.” Alistair put the pass key down on the table alongside the large ring of keys. “Daiyu and I will stick together, so we don’t need both of us to have this on us.”

“As for who lives and who dies, we’ll deal with that when the time comes when we have that book from Winnifred. What are we going to do about her?” They implored, knowing that Winnifred would go down kicking and screaming if it came to it. “She’s a human, but she’s a human that thinks what she’s doing is justified and within reason.”

Vic had known some of them were hunters before she arrived. Of course there’d be hunters in a situation like this. For years, hunters were probably the people she felt most comfortable with, as long as her bracelet was functioning properly. She was practically surrounded by them, whether at her old bartending job where they frequented or her more nefarious meetings where she was trading information about vampires for cash. But now, with everything between Rosie and her change of heart, she found herself actively avoiding them. She felt herself toying with the cloaking bracelet as they argued.

As Emilio spoke, Vic couldn’t deny the familiar feeling that fluttered through her stomach, the one she felt after she was presumably betrayed by her first love, and again after she was sired. “I’m still not comfortable with us being so egotistical as to think we get to be the deciding factor, but…” People were still important. Humanity was still important, as much as it sucked. There had to be a nuance between the belief that all vampires were monsters and all vampires were saints. Her sire was no saint. Neither was she. She sighed before she continued. “It seems with the time crunch, it’s our only option.” She wasn’t happy with it, because morality in general felt so gray these days, but she couldn’t sit by and watch them all be prisoners. Not with everything she knew now.

The group that they had gathered seemed valuable, and willing to work together, and for a moment, she doubted her place amongst them. Would she be much help? “There won’t be much use in us trying to get through to her”, Vic said. She was the newest member of the group, the one who knew Winnifred the least, but she knew more than her fair share about having the wrong idea about supernaturals and using it to try to rid them of the world. “Perhaps she needs a taste of her own medicine. At least until we figure out what to do with the others.”

It would be even more difficult when the time came. This discussion was one thing, even looking over names on paper might be easy but when the time came… Zane wondered briefly if rehabilitation was an option. Where was the line? For humans, those who would eventually perish during a life sentence, there were cases of atrocities bad enough that redemption wasn’t in the cards, would never be on the cards. Was this scenario that much different? They did lack a judge and jury but if murder, especially repeat offenses, meant a life sentence, wasn’t that what they were executing in a way? At least for the ones like him, hadn’t they already used up all their allotted time and simply cheated death? The brief ethics course in nursing school hadn’t exactly prepared him for this.

Emilio was staring him down, face unreadable as always. Did he not want him to talk? Or maybe not agree? Who knew, honestly. At least it seemed settled that not everyone would be released into the wild from their prison, the older man with the dog moving on to plans that made Zane feel eerily like this was a heist movie. The odds for an end scene showing how they pulled everything off smoothly with no casualties didn’t feel great, though. “What are we dealing with in terms of the people… running this? Are they all… human?” Zane found himself asking as they discussed the fate of the ring leader - it was hypocritical in some ways but the idea of harming humans didn’t sit well with him at all. It had been over a year but he still felt more of a kinship with them than his fellow undead.

—

All of this went against all Daiyu had made herself know for the past years. She was a bounty hunter, plain and simple. The Good Neighbors had been a gig, a lucrative one at that — but she’d joined with that stupid notion of doing something good and it seemed she hadn’t given up on that. “We don’t touch that button, then. The one that opens everything at once. That’s disaster.” She looked at the keys, then at the would-be intruders. “Just get in with those, don’t raise any fucking alarms, and the first bit should be smooth. It’s when start opening the cages that we should be more alert.”

She took her list back. It had names, species, some transgressions on it. It wasn’t Winnifred’s color coded book, but it was something. “Let’s get through some, at fucking least. We’re here now.” She didn’t want many more of these meetings. Daiyu splayed it on the table, pointed at the name Mack Ross. “Like, I can tell you now what and how. She killed a buncha people, isn’t in control, which is …” She made a motion. “Ludacris, ‘cause it’s Mack fucking Ross. Then, Johnny no surname, he’s a vampire. You know, I think he’s alright, he loves Snicker Snackers, he could totally do an animal based diet, maybe.” She pointed to another name, “Svetlana, serial student killer. Stake.” Daiyu motioned staking a vampire, wooshing sound and all. She pointed at another name. “Chang, dunno his first name. Kept the bones of all his kills after he ate ‘em whole. Probs best to not release him into the world again.”

To speak about killing undead and shapeshifters was something she did with an eerie ease, as it was who she was brought up to be. Later that night, she’d reflect on her lackadaisical attitude with distaste, but for now it was something to hold onto. She felt something stir in her stomach at the mention of Winnifred, though, and her eyes moved to Emilio. Hunters were supposed to protect humans. Winnifred had tried to do the same, foolishly and cruelly, but she had. “We destroy the keep. We make sure they don’t make one again. And yeah, all human. Or like, human with some zest, like Al and I.” She wasn’t going to kill them. “So yeah. We destroy their means and that’s that.”

—

“Agreed,” Emilio said, nodding towards Daiyu. “Setting everyone free at once would be a bloodbath.” The more violent offenders would kill each other, the ones offended by the time they’d lost behind bars would kill anyone who got close. And that was to say nothing of the ones who might just be hungry. That wasn’t the sort of chaos any of them could afford. They needed to do it slowly. It would be risky, sure, but… less risky than setting loose a whole slew of problems. “Whose cage gets opened first, then?” The ones with the best shot of actually getting out would be the ones freed in the very beginning. But beyond that… “Any prisoners who might help us out? Without killing any of us, ideally.” His eyes darted towards Alistair and Daiyu, who’d both had some kind of a hand in the… acquisitions.

Daiyu, at least, seemed to be on the same page. She was already pointing to her book, and Emilio felt a little uneasy at the first name she pointed out. Mack Ross. Kaden and Monty were both fond of her, weren’t they? “We should spring her early on.” He pointed to Mack’s name. “At the beginning.” He offered no explanation as to why. “Johnny no-name, too. Get the ones out who we think will need the… least amount of help staying honest. The ones we know we’re going to kill, we should get to last. That way if something happens and we can’t get to everyone…” At least they could free the ones who needed freeing before going out in a blaze of glory. He let the thought hang unfinished. Looking at the list, he pointed at another name. “That’s my client’s friend. We free her early, too.” After all, that was why he’d gotten dragged into this whole mess to begin with.

Winnifred, though… That was more complicated. He met Daiyu’s eye, then glanced to Zane. Did it matter if a human didn’t think they were doing harm, as long as harm was done? How much did good intentions matter, in a case like this? Emilio had to believe they meant something. After all the bad shit he’d done with good intentions, he wasn’t sure he was the best one to judge. “We don’t have to kill any of them.” But would he stop any of the prisoners, if they tried? He wasn’t sure. “We destroy the place,” he agreed. “How… detailed are their records? We should destroy those, too. Make it impossible for them to start up again next week or something.”

—

Staying silent as the others deliberated who lived and who died, it was like he was healing people all over again. The wellbeing and life for one, was the only way to help another. Some of the people who were locked up in those cages were less monsters than Alistair was, and they knew it. They stayed silent as they deliberated, then perked up at the name of Mack Ross. “Yes, definitely free Mack,” Alistair spoke up finally, knowing that she was a sweet girl who had already been through enough. What she did to land her in the Good Neighbor’s in the first place be damned. They, like Emilio, also offered no further comment.

“I’m all for destroying the place.” They muttered, knowing that their opinion on matters held little sway. “Winnifred will fight for this place, it’s her baby, it’s been her sole purpose for so long,” Alistair explained, tapping a finger against their other arm as they thought. “The records are kept here,” Alistair spoke, tapping the map to a back room. “It’s got fireproofing, so you’ll need to go in there first.” Alistair frowned, realizing the problem with that. “Only Winnifred has access to that room, not even I can get in there.”

Winnifred had good intentions, but she didn’t know what the real world was really like. She saw what she wanted to see, and turned a blind eye to all the rest that made the rosy picture anything else. They’d learned that after being close to her after all these years. “There will be after-effects of this we should think about as well. Just because the keep is gone doesn’t mean they won’t try to reform somehow. People will always find a way. The top hitters are the ones you’ll want to keep an eye on, like Winnifred if you decide to leave her in the ruins of her keep.”

Vic shifted in her seat, uncomfortable as the names down the list were being read. None of them sounded familiar, even the first one that Daiyu seemed to imply would be well known, but the talk surrounding them didn’t make her any less uncomfortable. What had kept her from the same fate as these vampires? What if they were freshly sired, or hadn’t had a chance to learn yet? What if an old, grumpy bitch of a vampire had betrayed her own kind and caused them on a path of destruction, somehow? She stood up from her chair suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to speak of this so crassly. It’s almost as if you’ll enjoy killing them. If that’s the case, you’re no better than them.”

She was no better than her old self, if she was allowing this to happen. Perhaps she could find a way to rescue those they were intending to harm. She could buy a property in the outskirts of town, far away from Rosie, and teach them to be less monstrous, somehow. It felt wholly cruel to take someone’s second chance away. What would these people say about her if she had found herself in the keep? Their words sounded muffled around her as she concocted it. Victoria Larsson, reformed vampire hater and only feeds from what she calls ‘ethically sourced’. Currently brainwashing a slayer child. Monster. Stake.

She sat back down with a huff. “So our moral code includes deciding that some prisoners die for their crimes, but all of the people who locked them up just get to roam free with some property damage? Alistair is right. They’re just going to find a way to do this again. Maybe with more permanent consequences, as a backlash to our success. Letting them walk without consequence would be as foolish as not doing anything at all.

The one with the notes, Daiyu, started moving down the list in a way that so clearly established her as a hunter. It was crass but not necessarily… wrong. There seemed to be a distinction made between pure malevolence and mistakes, a lack of control. Zane felt relief, realized that if his own transgressions were being judged, he would have stood a chance at this proposed reform. “Is it safe to assume no one’s been… feeding them?” he wondered as Emilio suggested letting the previously captive help. “Because I can… provide blood.” He didn’t offer any explanation as to how - skimming from the hospital seemed like a necessary evil in this scenario.

—--

Daiyu felt her stomach sink as Vic chastised her, eyes blazing as she looked at her, “You don’t know shit about shit, lady,” she bit, before trying to turn to other matters. A headache was forming behind her eyes and she looked at the list before pulling it towards her again. With a pen she found somewhere on the table she added some asterisks next to names they’d discussed and X’s next to others. “This isn’t about being better or worse than ‘em, it’s about ending it. So. What the fuck do you suggest we do about the rest of the good neighbors? Should we punish ‘em all? Hang ‘em from their thumbs or something? What about you? Me? Alistair? Should we throw ourselves under the rubble to repent?” She was mostly talking to Vic now, even if she spoke to all of them. They were humans. Daiyu might not really keep to a code, but hurting humans? You didn’t do that. That was the main hunter rule.

She tried to refocus. “The cages are split in different rooms. We can make a plan, an order of operations. I can … Alistair and I can list who seem aggressive.” Daiyu considered suggesting they just kill them all, but that was too crass, even for her. “We just light all the shit on fire. Getting a flamethrower shouldn’t be hard.” She would like to have one on hand, anyway, for totally legal reasons.

She glanced at Zane. “Sometimes. When there’s stuff. I give them some of the … leftovers from my regular hunts sometimes. But if you’ve got proper shit, sure. Smuggling stuff in isn’t too hard.” Getting it out was what was harder. “Might be better if the vamps aren’t starved. Can you get brains too?”

—

“I don’t think trying to keep serial killers off the streets makes us shitty people,” Emilio added, nostrils flaring with brief irritation. “We’re not talking about killing the people who were tossed in cages for fucking up. We’re talking about the ones who carve people’s fucking hearts out for fun. You really want people like that running around this town?” The thing was, he understood where the Good Neighbors must have been coming from, in the beginning. Their philosophy wasn’t that far off his own. The only real difference was that Emilio killed the people he deemed worthy of his judgment, while the Good Neighbors locked theirs away. In Emilio’s opinion, killing was kinder. In the opinion of others… Well. There were different schools of thought.

He glanced to Daiyu, nodding his head. “Good idea,” he agreed. “Go in with a plan for the order, get it done as quick as possible. And destroy everything we can. Maybe they try to pick up again later,” he looked to Vic, acknowledging her concern, “but it won’t be easy. We take away their base. We show them that their plans can go wrong. We put the fear in them. If they’re smart, they go underground, try to put distance between themselves and the people they locked up. If they’re not smart…” He trailed off, letting it hang. Odds were, they wouldn’t have to kill any of the people involved with the Good Neighbors. If they didn’t disappear… someone else would take care of that part. Emilio found he didn’t have any real desire to stop that. He wondered if he ought to feel guilty.

He nodded at Zane’s question, looking at Daiyu again. Her smuggling shit in was part of what had clued him in that she might be willing to join his side of this shit. “They’re probably not well fed,” he replied, “so more blood is better. I… might know someone who can get us brains.” He grimaced, unsure he wanted to ask Monty for a favor. But if the zombie was really as into peace as he claimed, he’d probably be on board. And Emilio figured he owed it to him to let him know what was going on with Mack, anyway. He’d want someone to tell him, if it were Nora or Wynne.

—

For a while, Alistair stayed silent, listening as people listed off what to do, about what they would do with what. For a moment, they found themselves completely detaching from the conversation, dissociating as they thought about the very real possibility of dying here. Some people were locked up who wanted them dead, they’d been too close to Winnifred for too long. They were responsible for their cellmates disappearing and never returning. If anything, Alistair was just as much a monster as those who were locked behind those cell doors. It’s something they’d been wrestling with for quite some time, but now? Now they had to finally address it.

They couldn’t let themselves simply die, they had to continue preparing for the worst-case scenario. While everyone else planned who to set free and what to do, Alistair was making a mental checklist of what they needed to gather for a spell. “There’s no world where Winnifred wouldn’t come after us if she was allowed to walk away unscathed.” They finally spoke up after some time, still distant, still somewhere else in their mind.

“I say we let the prisoners deal with her.” It was harsh, it was crass, but it’s what they thought. “I’m sure the prisoners will take care of Daiyu and me if we’re not careful,” Alistair added, crossing their arms over their chest. “We’ve been to the keep countless times, they know our faces.” They spoke to Daiyu, though they didn’t look over to her. “It’s something to keep in mind, that’s all.” They nervously scratched at the side of their nose, knowing that they were opening a can of worms with their words.

Vic felt her grip tighten around the arm of the chair, staring Daiyu in the eyes as her sharp words echoed around the room. For her part, her expression remained stoic and still, but inside, she was seething. “Those who wish to take down positions of power inherently have to be better. It’s the whole goddamn point of what we’re doing.” This was a bad idea, she should have never agreed to join this overtaking- never eavesdropped on Daiyu and Alistair in the first place. “I suggest that we do anything other than stick our thumbs up our asses and hope for the best.” Perhaps she should be one of the ones to be punished. Not for crimes involving the Good Neighbors, but for all she’d done to vampires for centuries.

But Emilio had a point. Some of the people in the cages were bad. That was the long and short of it. The problem, to her, came with who got to decide what bad was. “No”, she said quietly, and she stood up again, walking to the other side of the room in a huff. She wasn’t used to having to work with people, or having to compromise on her beliefs to make someone else’s plan work for someone else. But she wasn’t naive to the fact that she was the newbie in all of this, and that everyone here thought they were doing the right thing. No matter how ignorant some of them sounded.

She glanced at Emilio, then at Daiyu, and then at the others, feeling calmer than she had a moment ago. “Then I think it’s worth discussing continuing to meet up after everything. Periodically, to make sure she doesn’t try this again.”

She raised her eyebrows at Alistair’s suggestion, not hating it in the slightest. It would be the truest justice to let those that were scorned by Winnifred be the ones to decide her fate. Even if it were just the supposed ‘good’ ones. She looked between the rest of the group, eager to hear their thoughts.

All of the arguing wasn’t exactly inspiring hope. This was a group of people clearly not accustomed to working in a team, basically a bunch of Emilios struggling to find ways to make this collaboration work. Zane wondered if he was the only one in here with actual experience of working in a team - granted, a team focused on saving lives and not… whatever this was. “We’re not gonna get far if the four of you tear each other’s heads off, first,” he muttered, finally moving from the perceived safety of his position backed against the wall. “It’s a shit situation and there’s obviously not going to be a conclusion everyone is comfortable with. So we’re all going to be uncomfortable and really morally compromised and we either deal with it or actual, good people are going to continue to rot away in cells.” It had come out a bit more… scolding than intended and he backed down again, arms once more crossing over his chest. “Up to you, I guess,” he added, withdrawn and hoping he hadn’t overstepped any boundaries as the ‘random fifth addition’.

Maybe all of this would work. Maybe it wouldn’t. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t and something would go wrong. Zane thought about the last ‘jail break’ he’d been a part of. It had definitely gone wrong but… overall, it had been worth it. All he could hope was that this would be worth it, too. And he needed to remember to ask Emilio later where in the world he was procuring brains from.

—

It was easy to keep looking at Vic. To stare her down and take her words and consider throwing the soda bottle at her head. “Then you can fuck off if you want. There’s no better. There’s just ending it. And we are better, for ending their suffering, rather than keeping them there to rot.” Daiyu’s eyes glared darkly at Zane, another person she barely knew who was suddenly mounting a moral high horse as if there was any morality to be found here. Violence begot violence. This would ripple out. It was just another punch thrown in a never ending brawl. “Fine.”

Speaking of brawls, she’d prefer one of those rather than planning this. “M’fine with meeting up after this.” Then, to Alistair: “She can try to come after me. I wish her a ton of luck fighting her hired muscle.” Daiyu didn’t think herself above harm, but there was no way that Winnifred would win in a fight against her. “Best to keep her away from the Keep when we destroy it, if you ask me. Not alert her and all that shit. Just more trouble.” She rubbed her forehead. “And yeah, people will be pissed. I can deal. I’ve dealt with pissed off supernaturals before.” Kind of part of the job description. “Will watch your back though.”

She wanted to beckon Nugget over and bury her face in his fur before rushing out and going for a run (where she punched trees). In stead she exhaled. “Alright. Emilio and Zane, blood and brains duty. Alistair, spells. Me? Weapons.” She glared at Vic. “Explosives?”

—

“If the people she’s fucked over want to go after her, that’s between her and them. I’m not risking my ass to save her from shit she brought onto herself,” Emilio added, crossing his arms over his chest. He wouldn’t kill Winnifred, but he wouldn’t stop anyone she’d wronged from doing so if they chose to. After all, he’d hope that anyone who came across him on his never ending quest for vengeance would offer the same courtesy. People got what they deserved, sometimes; Emilio had no intention of standing in the way of that. “If you two want to get out before we start freeing the ones who might be a little angrier at you than others, that’s fine, too,” he added, looking to Alistair and Daiyu. The latter, he figured, would turn down the offer. The former was more likely to take it.

Zane spoke up, and Emilio was reminded why he brought him in the first place. Having someone he knew he could trust was good, but having someone he knew he could trust who could also wrangle people in a way Emilio himself was incapable of? It was a good thing. It made Zane kind of perfect for this shit. He offered the vampire a curt nod. To the rest of the group, he said, “We shouldn’t wait long. They’re likely to figure out someone’s planning something soon. We need to act before then. Catch them off guard. If everyone knows what they’re doing… I say we move in sooner than later. Good with everyone?”

—

The slayer was giving Alistair an out, an out that they very well thought about taking before frowning and shaking their head. “I’m seeing this through.” They spoke, voice harsh and determined. There was so much that they still had to get done, and now was the time to expedite everything they’d worked so hard to accomplish. They were going to do this. They were doing it for Tommy, no one else. Not even themselves. The plan was set into motion, and there was nothing to do but go ahead with it. From helping to create the Keep and the Good Neighbors to taking it down, Alistair knew they were nothing more than a hypocrite and a traitor. But if this is what it took to keep themselves alive, then so be it. They gripped Brutus’s lead tightly, then nodded their head. “Then so be it. As soon as we’re ready to go, we go. Not a moment later.” Alistair waved a hand, and the papers in the middle of the table began to move around until they were in a neat pile. “Then next we meet, we burn it all to the ground.”

#threads.#vic.#alistair.#emilio.#zane.#meeting of the minds.#good neighbors.

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