fenriksblade

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik’s face remained as unreadable as ever, so whatever he might be feeling would be impossible to tell. It wouldn’t be accurate to say that he was completely devoid of any emotion in this moment. In truth, he had no idea how he felt. It was perhaps a dizzying array of conflicting feelings. Those of hurt and anger at the way she had left, of sadness and elation at seeing her again. They swirled inside of him, hidden away from the world at large, keeping a calm and cool composure.

He shrugged at her words. It was meant to be a nonchalance that, sure he knew, but that didn’t mean much because habits could change and people could change. However, it was in a way, also saying he wasn’t sure he did know. Time had passed and it was hard to say if she was the same person he knew. That was the thing about anything in life, Fenrik knew better than most, time always marched onward. There was no going back. 

He watched her get back to her feet, before saying, “Coincidences have been known to happen.” It was difficult to know what to say. Fenrik liked to think of himself as the kind of person who didn’t dwell on the past or what once was, though that may not be an entirely fair assessment one way or another given the way he allowed the murders and deaths of his family to linger and drive him, even now. “You back permanently or just visiting?”

.

The man she'd abandoned entered her naturally flared nostrils before two beady eyes could take in the hulking state of the Redcap. There were no expectations set, because as often as seasons changed upon the mythical island, so did people. Their foundations weren't shaken, but the decor inside and the outdoor paint could've been brand new. It could be worn to death. Elba appeared fresh, even for a previously dead woman who had fallen asleep in a graveyard. Her conscience hadn't found the relief it'd needed, his face a reminder of the heavy chest of guilt she carried around. If only she were of the merepeople. In their folklore, treasure troves existed in the great beyond, where Elba could abandon every happenstance.

"No stranger to falling asleep anywhere. You know that."

Elba set her sights on that trusted foundation, a fact even her horrible and never-forgotten-about mother would know about her, too. In the same way, she knew better than to ask why he was so far from Bloodhearth. The public eye wasn't the place to be, not when their reunion was already being witnessed by the hundreds of passed-on souls. Elba counted each soul like sheep as they coursed through her, both robbing her of energy while generously forcing it back into her veins.

Elba wiped sleep from her eyes, any semblance of makeup now existing on the back of her hand. It was obvious that it was Elba's decor that was brand new, teeth peaking out through a formally timid smile. The bonding with wolves alike back in her homeland, had a positive effect. Not timidly, but hesitantly, she spoke up while bringing her long limbs to her feet, "Lucky coincidence?"

Saying his name aloud felt wrong, suddenly.

[fenriksblade]

Time marched forward. Life went on. Those were two concepts that were guarantees in life (well, those, and death and taxes). 

And that is how things had gone. Time still kept going, and so did Fenrik. He was good at that. He was good at finding his new normal and moving onward. He had to be otherwise he would have fallen apart years ago. 

And so, as part of his ability to move forward, it meant that he was still taking on shady jobs around the island. Still crafting custom-made weapons and delivering them. It was what had brought him far away from Bloodhearth, anyway. 

It was only after the handoff and meeting at the location that was just behind the cemetery that found Fenrik walking amongst the graves to begin the journey back, muttering to himself, when he was suddenly startled by another presence. “Fuck,” he said. “What– were you just sleeping here?” 

Senses were a wolf’s most extraordinary skill set. 

And yet, Elba San Luis could not recall how briny the winds were in deep December or the sharpness in which they’d instantly burn your cheeks cherry red. 

The diner was simply called that, ‘the diner’, but if she’d ever taken a moment to write her own stories down, rather than live through the words of the next depressed author, she’d know it’d always been called Sandersons and owned by a couple that’d passed it on to their next of kin. Mrs. Sanderson had wondered where the salt-addicted wolf had wandered, too, but for the longest time, Elba could only tell everyone “back home”. The steak cut fries, ordered alongside coffee dark as night, were forgotten.

A pill of guilt overshadowed each sense she still had yet to swallow. 

Laurietta Sanderson’s name was etched into stone, among the hundreds. Gone with her natural causes, and beloved by those who mattered. How normalcy and monstrosity could lie side-by-side now, was the question that’d brought Elba to madness of her own. The victims of Lori-Jane were scattered throughout this cemetery.

All the distance in the world had thrown Elba towards the wolves in her home state of Estero Bluffs. For an entire year, and even more than that, Elba refused to look back at the Island that had built, destroyed, and killed her again. Distance did not matter on the spectrum of memories.

She’d left during December a year ago and returned one uncharacteristically sunny day in April.

The sunshine burned her hand now, as she rose from the sitting position she’d dozed off in beside Mrs. Sanderson’s rest place, only awoken by the crowing of birds only native to Elysia. And a voice of another. Elba’s shoulders stayed strong and square, not wavering even if she wished to jump from her skin at the sudden voice. The echo was still full of life, unlike the whispering spirits throughout the day.

[fenriksblade]

“Yeah, magic,” said Fenrik. “You know, in a world with fae and vampires, I think it’s not a stretch to imagine. Even in a world where I could sound like you if I wanted and create that illusion very easily.” He raised an eyebrow as if to drive the point home. 

“No, I usually assume people are associated with some mob or crime in some way, though,” said Fenrik. “Though, that’s when it comes to me, when it comes to you, I have no idea.”

That stopped her, as she blinked in confusion. "Magic?" Perhaps that was her naive side. After all, her mum was basically a mermaid, her dad could grow claws from his fingers. She was a bit of both. Yet magic, that word still made her pause. "You have any idea who they were?"

[fenriksblade]

“I never said you were,” said Fenrik calmly. “I’m just trying to figure this out with you, alright?” He gave her a look as if to try and reassure her that he was on her side. “I believe you. There’s obviously something we’re missing so I want to see what we’re missing.” 

Fenrik paused, a moment of silence as he looked away to think. “You know what we should do? Figure out who those men actually were,” he murmured. “That’s probably where we should start. Who they are. What they are. Why they were here. Might also clue us in if they might have magic they’re using to create illusions or what.”

"I'm not crazy, Fenrik," she bit back, she couldn't help herself. She knew she wasn't crazy, as crazy as she felt. "Someone's following me. Ever since -- ever since those men were here. It's -- I don't know how, because I saw you kill him," her voice broke slightly, lowering on the last part even though there was no one else. "But he's there. I know it's him."

[fenriksblade]

“Really? I think the other problem is better. There’s an obvious solution. One that I can actually help with, anyway. A ghost? I’ve got no fucking clue. I’m not a ghostbuster.” He looked like he was thinking for a moment.

“So, are they always in a crowd? Do you ever see them when you’re by yourself? While you were on your way here?” Fenrik even went to a nearby window, looking outside as if he might be able to see this person or see what Dawn was referring to. “Is it sporadic or are you always in a certain place or with certain people when you see them?” He paused. "And you're sure this isn't someone pulling some sick Halloween prank?"

She let out a breath, putting her bag down on the bench and slipping into one of the stools there. "No, not all the time. It's just -- it's like, I've been followed before, you know. When a fan is too eager, or whatever," maybe she was downplaying the part of a crazy fan, when someone thinks you owe them because you're their favourite player.

"It feels like that. I can tell they're there, but they're keeping hidden the best they can. Staying back, behind other people. It's just -- it looks exactly like him." She gave a small shrug. "I don't know. I've never really believed in ghosts, but it's nicer to think that than thinking someone who attacked us is now following me."

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik looked at her, as if examining her. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, though it was hard to consolidate what he knew to be true, with what she was experiencing. He also wasn’t trying to be dismissive, and more trying to figure out what he could do. Fenrik’s manner of resolving most things was simply to get rid of the problem. Supernatural and ghosts, though, were a little bit different. 

“That’s okay,” he said. His voice was lower, not quite as harsh as he normally was. “I’m just trying to figure out what to do here. I’m not exactly knowledgeable about ghosts or that kind of magic.” He paused. “How often? Is it all the time or is it just when you’re out and about? When you’re alone? With people?”

"I don't know." It had been an instinct. When she couldn't ignore the man anymore, when she couldn't pretend seeing him was just a coincidence. The only solution she could think of was going to the compound and finding Fenrik.

She didn't know what she wanted. Taking care of the problem -- that wasn't her. But he'd been there that day. Taken care of it then. "I'm just --" her voice cracked. Things became more real when you voiced them. "I'm scared."

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik gave her a look. “I don't fucking know. Do I look like a fucking ghostbuster to you?" He ran a hand over his face. "Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” he said, able to hear the exasperation in her voice. “I mean, you’re telling me for a reason, I assume. Are you asking for my help? For me to see if I can take care of the problem?”

Dawn felt frustrated, obvious in the exasperated way she answer, "I don't know Fenrik. If he's dead then how is he following me." She was scared. Of course she was. She felt like she always looking over her shoulder.

[fenriksblade]

“Pretty fucking sure,” said Fenrik with a nod. “Suppose if we were dealing with vampires, then might’ve been a different story, but I’m also pretty fucking positive they weren’t vampires.” He tilted his head. “You said someone bumped into him? So, we’re not talking about an actual ghost?”

"No. He's not -- it's not like some boogie man at the end of my bed. It's like -- I'll be out, and I see him. And then when I look again he's still there. I even saw someone bump into him once. I don't --" Dawn let out a frustrated sigh. She had to ask the question she really didn't want to, feeling sick just thinking of the words. "Are you sure he's dead?"

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik would have to take her word for it, because he obviously wouldn’t know about the experience. He knew the culture existed, but he couldn’t say more than that. He didn’t say anything more about that. Instead, he observed her, as if trying to see what she saw through her description. 

He picked up his own mug. “When does it happen?” he asked. “I mean, do you see this man now?” He looked around as if he might suddenly be able to see the man, too. “Or is it only sometimes? Right before bed? When it’s dark out? When you’re stressed?” 

"I don't know," she curled her hands around the mug and drew it towards her, more for comfort than anything. She wouldn't be drinking it. "Fans are different. Even the -- more eager ones. You can see the excitement. Or they're like, nervous." She'd been famous long enough that could speak so matter of factly about it.

"This guy he -- I don't know. Had none of that. And he looked exactly the same." There was no need to say that the dead mans face would be etched into her memory forever.

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik listened. Sure, there was magic on the island, but even magic had its rules that it followed. There were definitely rules and logical explanations for just about everything, and it was those rules and logic he firmly believed in. 

“So, you think you’re seeing a ghost?” asked Fenrik, just to confirm he was understanding what she was saying. “You sure it’s not some sort of stalker? Crazy fan?” He brought over two mugs of coffee and sat down, placing one in front of Dawn. She could choose to drink it or not, didn't matter to him.

"Great. That's -- great." It wasn't unsurprising, despite the fact they lived somewhere with werewolves and mermaids and vampires, but it sure made it harder to get Fenrik on board with the fact that she thought she was being haunted by the man he killed in front of her. But how else could she put it? "I don't know. I -- I keep getting this feeling I'm being watched. And I keep seeing this one man. Like I'm being followed or something. But he -- well, he looks exactly like that one -- the one who attacked me here. Kind of feel like I'm going a bit crazy." She couldn't bring herself to mention the mans death. She was sure Fenrik knew who she was talking about.

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik looked at her, and snorted slightly. “Do I look like I believe in spirits that linger on earth for no reason as if this fucking cesspool of a shit place gave people a reason to hang around? No,” he said. “I don’t. If you believe in ghosts, you should probably keep that to myself,” he told her. “Why do you ask?” He put on a pot of coffee now, the smell of coffee brewing suddenly permeating the space, taking over the linger smell of oil.

Dawn didn't bother to hide the roll of her eyes at Fenrik's response, long having learned exactly what the man was like. Which is why the blunt response that may have once upset her rolled off her back. She knew it wasn't her at all - it was just Fenrik. Which was also why she didn't beat around the bush when she asked, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik had mostly kept busy over the summer months by working on the cars that came through his garage. It had been an uneventful few months. Besides, before he could do anything with his ultimate goal when it came to avenging his family, he thought it might not be a bad idea to lie low until he could come up with a plan of action and for now, that meant just doing his work. 

“Of course I’m here,” said Fenrik, standing at the sink in the kitchenette area of the Compound and rinsing his hands of some grime and oil. “Where else would I be?” After all, Fenrik didn’t exactly have an electric social life. 

When: 30th October Where: The Compound Who: @fenriksblade

It had started early in the summer, when Dawn was throwing herself into her training as a distraction from what had happened with the men at the compound - from those dead eyes that had stared into her. Of course, work was never an appropriate distraction, she knew that more than most. But it was when she started to see those very familiar eyes, the dead ones that had since been haunting her, she felt like she was going crazy. She ignored it, she had to. But as the warm months went on and she tried to live out her life she couldn't help the unnerving feeling she was being watched. And that man --

As she entered the kitchen of The Compound, she let out a sigh of relief. "Oh good. You're here."

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik lifted an eyebrow at her mention of having a camera for a dog. He didn’t say anything, choosing to simply move back into the area of the compound that constituted his workshop. It was here he turned on the forge where he shaped steel into blades. Taking off his shirt, he picked up a piece of metal, and put it into the forge before he pulled out the white hot metal and used it to cauterize the stab wound. It’d be fine by tomorrow. 

“Let’s hope they’re small enough to back off,” he said. With that, he moved to the door that was inconspicuous that led to the apartment he lived out of. For now, he would worry about what to do about this later and for now, he would focus on cleaning not just himself up, but the bodies that lay just outside as well.

the end.

Whilst there was security sometimes, at games, at appearances, she didn't have private security. She wasn't Taylor Swift, after all. She could go a lot of places and mind her own business. Or if she was somewhere where she'd attract more attention, often those places had a guard of their own. Besides, she loved meeting fans. Most of the time, anyway. There'd been some creeps. She'd finished caring to Fenrik's wound the best she could, placing everything down and moving over to the sink to wash the blood off her hands. His, the dead mans outside. Was any of her own in the mix? She didn't think so. "I don't. I've got some cameras, but that's more for -- well, for the dog than anything." She'd never, not once, felt unsafe in her home. "This is ust -- great."

[fenriksblade]

Fenrik shrugged. ”They might think you’re involved in the gang. They might think you’re someone I care about. Who the fuck knows,” he said. “However, you’re a high profile personality,” he reminded her, “and you do come in and out of here. A lot. More than any customer I would have. Anyone who might be trying to keep tabs on me has probably seen you coming and going and I’m sure connections have already been made as far as who you are,” he pointed out. 

“I mean, do you have security? Just have them be more vigilant. And if you don’t, well, I’ll try to figure what the fuck is happening. Fuck,” he muttered as he ran a hand over his face. Fenrik could only hope that she didn’t need to actually be careful and that whoever these guys were had done their homework well enough to know that Dawn was not involved. However, at the same time they might also use her for leverage if they were smart. It wasn’t as if Fenrik would allow them to hurt her if they tried the tactic of threatening her. Just because they weren’t best friends, didn’t mean he’d simply let that happen. Even when he’d used Nehir, as dirty of a trick as that may have been, he had done all he could to try and make sure they didn’t hurt her.

She simply nodded, doing just that. Maybe she would have made a good nurse after all. Dawn tried to remain focused on the task at hand, in and out with the thread, already it was healing in that almost magical way a redcap could. She looked up, only momentarily. “They might think I’m involved?” It felt absurd. The closest thing Dawn had ever done to a crime was, well, she supposed breaking that dead man’s ribs. She’d never even had a parking ticket before.

[fenriksblade]

“Yeah,” grunted Fenrik. “Just sew it up, make sure it closes up.” He nodded. “Sure, but for something I didn’t do. And they might not be as big as the people who actually have beef with me,” he said. “Someone else has to have pointed them in my direction. Hopefully losing four, five people is a big enough hit to not try it again,” he sighed. He didn’t feel like having to contend with this new problem all of a sudden. He supposed that was a hazard of what he did.

He also realized Dawn may have accidentally been dragged into this. “I’d be careful if I were you,” he added as he glanced back at her.

Dawn knew how to sew, but she’d, obviously, never done stitches into someone’s skin before. But now was not the time to waver. As she removed the bullet, she took a few steadying breaths before grabbing the needle, making sure she sanitised the wound first. “Is that okay?” She asked, wincing as she started. She was glad she had a task to focus on though, as Fenrik talked. She didn’t know much about the business of the compound, and she was more than happy to remain ignorant about the finer details. But she was standing here, cleaning Fenrik’s wounds, covered in the blood of a dead man. “Well, it seemed worth it if they came here to try and hurt you.”

[fenriksblade]

“You think you can sew it up once you get the bullet out?” Fenrik asked as he picked up some thread and a needle so that she could sew him up and make sure he didn’t bleed out once she did remove it. 

“Not necessarily,” said Fenrik. “We don’t deal with big mob bosses or mafias.” At least Fenrik tried not to. The fact that he had recently gotten mixed up in a rather large gang of werewolf hunters who had murdered his family as well as Nehir and the mob boss she was schmoozing were unusual. “Recently, though, I may have ruffled a few feathers of a few people. We’re too small time for most of them to deal with, though. It’s not worth it for them.”

Dawn knew a bit about Redcap's pain tolerance. It was one of the main things she'd taken on from her dad. That, and her strength. So thats why she was, perhaps, less gentle than she should have been removing the bullet. But also, she reasoned, the more she poked the higher the change she messed it all up. No, she had to get in and out quickly.

"That's -- do this sort of thing happen to you a lot?" She had to worry. She knew Fenrik could handle himself, but Yseult was the most important person to her. If something happened --

[fenriksblade]

“Alright, then,” he said at her reassurance. He leaned forward so that she might be able to better see the wonder on his back. He was looking down at his arms to see if maybe he had other injuries he hadn’t noticed just yet. His incredible tolerance for it, meant that sometimes he might be hurt and not realize it. 

“Nope,” he said. “I have my guesses, but they weren’t familiar to me.” His jaw clenched. “I’ve pissed off powerful people. If I had to guess, someone is framing me, though. Someone who either doesn’t want to risk their own people going after me– or us– or someone who considers themselves too powerful and important to bother using their resources.”

Ironically, Dawn wasn't really squeamish when it came to blood. After all, she'd had multiple surgeries, and then there was the whole vampire attack. "I'll be okay." If she hadn't followed her dreams to a career of professional spot, Dawn was sure that she would have fallen into one that involved helping people. She loved the bakery, she loved the idea of what her brother did too. She helped people with her current job, in its own special way. But it was always her helping patch up scraped knees when there was no parents around.

Still, once she washed her hands and returned, she winced at the wound on Fenrik's back, because a gun was a lot different to her cousins scraped knee. She looked down at the first aid kit, finding the tweezers and getting to work.

"You really don't know who those men were?"