gabrielsato

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

“Carynthia’s farther from home,” she pointed out in its favor, “so it widens the scope of suspects.” Then again… “but if it happens in Wailing Waters we can make it seem more like an accident. Too drunk, falls off the pier making an ironic toast to the end of his life.” Etc. etc. “I doubt the sirens would want him,” they tended to have better taste in men than that, “but the sharks would take care of any evidence, if the whirlpool doesn’t suck him down first.” She made a slurping sound, both to drink the head off her beer where it collected at the can’s lip and to simulate their brother’s body flushing down the proverbial toilet of the ocean.��

“We could steal an axe from the Nailer farm.” No paper trail, no tracing it back to them. “Ron Nailer’s a tool anyway. I’m not saying we should frame him for murder, but if someone else happens to make the connection for us…” Jamie shrugged.

.

They fell asleep in the same bed, the stench of alcohol wafting around the old motel room. The night before had been spent conspiring, but more than that, it was about the reconnection that both of them knew they would always want back. The real homecoming of the trip had nothing to do with Jace’s inevitable fate, it was about the truth. No matter the distance, or how many oceans, Jess and Jamie were connected at the heart. Kill one, the other was likely to go with them. Two halves of the same whole. 

When Jess awoke, she didn’t have a headache. The light streaming in didn’t trigger a hangover. There was only peace in the decision that had been made, and a smile on her face as she looked over at her sister, knowing that soon the world would be rid of another monster, and the would be free of having Jace lug their last name around.

Their first stop would be Ron Nailer’s farm. The second would be finding their brother, passed out somewhere, or doing his best impression at being a person and having breakfast. It wouldn’t be hard. Wailing Waters was a small community, they all knew the comings and goings, and Jess was eager to get the dirty work done. An axe, some water, and well-placed rage was all any woman really needed.

“You drive.”

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

By the time they left the bar (a painfully respectful four-hours-thirty-minutes later, carried in large part by Jess’ extraordinary craft in crocodile tears) Jamie was shitfaced. The sisters were more alike than they’d ever seemed on the surface, the only real difference between them at all was that everything that exploded from Jess exploded within Jamie. She suffered the same rage, and suffered it at her own capable hands rather than passing it on.

“Shut up, I didn’t fucking lose it,” she insisted, digging blind through the bag hanging over her arm for a motel key. She knew she hadn’t lost it, because she’d been using the end of it to sneak bumps of ethereum all night, between rounds. So she’d made it all of what, two hours on the island before ruining a six year streak? It was bound to happen, and after the murder she’d be fine.

Jamie finally pulled it out by the keychain and tried more than once to get it in the keyhole before falling through the door. “It’s fine. I’m good.” She stood straight. “I’m fine.” Jamie threw the key onto the bed and headed for the dodgy, brown minifridge. Then, as casually as if remarking on the weather, “God, I want to fucking strangle him. Literally snap his neck.” The can hissed and popped as the tab punctured the beer can. She threw an unopened one to Jess. “I just think it would be fun.” Not very easy to cover up though. Jamie collapsed onto the bed.

.

Jess kept her comments to herself, but her face usually gave her away, especially where Jamie was involved. That was the hardest part about having a sister. They just fucking knew. One look and her entire soul was bared open. There was a time when she thought it to be the coolest trick in the book, to know what another person was thinking. The older she got, the more she understood how dangerous of a thing it could be, too. They would always be accomplices in one another’s lives. At least this time, it was with choice and purpose.

Her hands caught the beer before she could even react, and opened it before she bothered speaking. “We could make the strangulation a little more fun and drown him, too. Do both at once so the strangulation doesn’t have to take so long. Maybe that’s it. We drug him. We take him to the ocean, and then we alternative turns with keeping his ugly little head underneath the water.” There was less blood in this scenario than Jess would have liked. Something about seeing it ooze out of a person brought a level of satisfaction that nothing else could.

“Or we lure him out to Carynthia. To a trail. And then we just go at him with an axe. Or a hatchet. The werewolves will thank us for leaving a nice little offering to feed on.”

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

“Rather I call you something else?” His fingertips burned hot from the speed with which the metal was snatched from his hands. Some part of him, quiet and forgotten, wanted him to remember he should feel afraid. He didn’t. What he felt was alive. That divine miracle of life that always evaded him until the moment something terrible was beginning to happen, usually when he remembered he could die. Because the night was hushed around them the metal clanking against the pavement grew and echoed in the alley like voices in a choir chamber. The metallic ting of angels falling all around them. “Or maybe you just don’t want me to say it if I don’t mean it.”

Suppose it was the devil. Suppose Mag didn’t mind. “Sometimes I let him.” Sometimes it was good to be led. Mag was no main character, and he knew it. Not in anyone else’s life, and not even in his own. Sure, a few times he’d tried to be. That was always met with disappointment. Once, someone had made him feel like one, and he’d learned that being a main character meant facing tragedy and he didn’t have a taste for it anymore. He’d be a supporting role, a flunky even. It beat making his own choices, taking responsibility for his own story. It was a relief to be led. The trouble was, he hadn’t met a leader yet that was headed anywhere but hell.

“You want to let him win right now, don’t you? Just a little?” He stared down the vampire unflinchingly, growing a frenetic energy from the possibility of something real happening in his otherwise fake life. “C’mon.” He threw his hands up, a challenge. “Confess. I’m not talking a little taste. I’m saying,” he stepped forward, “on God, you wish you could drain every last drop of blood from my cold, hard corpse. The devil’s telling you to do it, and you want to let him.” God damnit. “And if I told you I want you to listen to him, does that absolve you the sin or does it make me the devil?” Did he wanted to get out of the second half of dinner so badly he was ready to die about it? Honestly, maybe he did. Then again: “Or maybe I’m just walking into the same trap as you.”

.

He let out one long hiss. The sound of a predator flexing its jaw. One wrong move, and he could swallow the man whole. That wasn’t what he wanted. That was the thirst talking. That unquenchable thirst that lived and grew inside of him, no matter how hard he tried to believe otherwise. Every single day he prayed to God that perhaps this would be the day he’d be cured of this particular affliction. He hoped he could look at someone and no wonder what their own blood tasted like. What it might feel like if he ripped into their neck without sorrow filling him up light a balloon.

Dorian’s hands shaped into fists as he shook off the feeling, though that didn’t stop his feet from traveling the little distance that remained. Even with control, sometimes instinct took over before any other part of his body could put a stop to it. He spoke through clenched teeth. “I already know what it feels like to drain someone’s body dry. I know what they look like without a single drop in their veins left. Pale. Cold. Smaller than when they started.” Faith had guided him out of the darkness. No devil in the dark was going to make him forget the feelings that came after. Grief, and denial. Self-hatred that threatened to boil over.

Eyes flashed as he stared right into the soul of the man with the death wish. “I won’t let your life be another on my conscience. Whatever is happening with you, and in that restaurant across the street that you keep looking at, it will pass. All things do. You’re still young. You’ve just barely begun. Why are you so intent on throwing that away right now?”

He moved once more, unwinding one of his fists to cup the back of the man’s neck. “You deserve more than being wrung out dry in the streets.”

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

Mag exhaled slowly. “Damn.” He proclaimed. “You really mean that, too.” He didn’t say any more about it, didn’t further try to apologize or agitate. Mag just accepted the other man for what he was (vampire, priest, just some guy taking a smoke break) and moved on.

The taste of blood lingered, and its nature to thicken meant some remained behind in his smile and at the back of his throat. To give the priest his answer, Mag licked his teeth and closed his eyes trying to decide what he was experiencing. It should have turned his stomach, but it didn’t. “Sharp,” he answered. “Sure isn’t good,” he laughed. “But neither would’ve been whiskey or gin. Burns less, too.” But you took the burn of drink because it offered something, a rush. One that was lacking for Mag when he drank the blood. “To be honest, father, it doesn’t do much for me. Just about the only thing I like about it is that I know I shouldn’t.”

.

Dorian didn’t wait for the flask to be offered back. He ripped it none-too-gently from the man’s hands, finding that the craving had kicked in, and it wasn’t about to be pretty. Something about watching someone else drink blood, someone who didn’t need it, sent his senses flying. Every movement. Every swallow. His entire body tense as he maintained control to the best of his own abilities. Being old didn’t equate to being wise. Living long didn’t mean one simply stopped living. Every single day was a test of wills, and right now, before him, was a challenge he hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m father now, am I?” He slumped against the nearest brick wall. A position that wasn’t much becoming of a vampire, nor a man of the cloth. But the blood in the flask was now gone, having been hastily drank in the hopes of curing the hunger he felt in the depths of his stomach. Wanting had been the hardest of all things to ignore in his life. Priesthood could be restricting, but he had kept to his oaths when he felt like they mattered most. Swearing, and drinking, and smoking, they were all so tiny compared to the larger factors at play.

The flask clanked to the cobblestoned street below. “I suppose this is where I could say that that’s simply the Devil speaking. Steering you into darkness. Maybe he’s even winning.”

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

It was a mercy that Jess always had been the more expressive sister, because the sharp pain at Jamie’s side might have shocked a little moisture into her eyes but nothing near as heartfelt as Jess’ tears seemed when they fell. Jamie was silent when she followed behind and silent when she was waiting her turn and silent when she wrapped her arms around Jace’s neck.

As he’d always had the look about him of someone who at any moment might be reaped by the grim for what he’d sown, Jace looked no different to her than he had the last time she’d seen him. He smelled as if maybe he hadn’t showered since then either, so it wasn’t long before she was pulling away. 

“You should have told us if you were sick, Jace,” she said at last, to place the blame on him and to prove to anyone who might be listening that she didn’t have a clue how it would happen. Of course he wasn’t sick, unless you counted in the head. “We could have come back sooner. Helped you…” To draw more attention to Jess’ hysterics rather than her lack thereof, Jamie reached out and patted her sister on the back. “I know,” she cooed. “I know.”

Then she felt she’d said enough. She bought him a drink, distracted him with it, really. But it was a gesture he’d understand. Appreciate, even. “What do you drink now?” Maybe they could poison it; she glanced at Jess to make the suggestion wordlessly. Then, frowned. Just slightly. No, not satisfying enough. They’d had to grow up with him, they deserved to feel the knife go in when he died.

.

“You’re still so young, it just isn’t fair.” The word fair spat out of her mouth like a curse. They all knew that when it came to being a banshee, fairness never had any part in what they knew. Every scream was another shattering of the barrier between life and death, and Jess had found that she wished there existed no such barrier at all. At no point in her life had she felt more alive. For those brief moments, before the light in her husband’s eyes went, she held total control over the world.

Between the sisters, nothing could have seemed amiss. How kind and generous of them to ditch their lives after so long to come comfort their brother in his last days. The chain of knowledge held in their community bringing everyone together. “I know, I know we don’t keep in touch, and I know it’s my fault. I just wish I had known sooner. Then we might have had more time.” The sneering voice inside of her head would have rather lashed out. In time, the truth would come out.

She waved an arm across her nose, noisily removing any snot that she had managed to produce. Maybe after this she’d stick around and take up becoming an acting. God knew she had no real talents besides lying and crying. Well, no, she was deadly smart, but her brain only ever went to violence in most cases. All too ready to exert her will once she was able.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t about me. I know how much you hate when people are weepy.” No. No poison in the drink. Both sisters earned much more out of his little event than something quick and painless. A knife to the heart. A bat to the head. The slow separation of his head from his body. Any of it might do compared to that.

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

When Jamie rolled her eyes it was always so loud for a silent gesture, and that remained true when she did so now. All of that was stupid, she thought. Hadn’t they always been better together? Hadn’t terrible things always been less terrible when they shared them? Murder, she could have handled. Prison, she could have handled. Jess’ absence was what made it painful. She didn’t say that though; she didn’t have to.

And anyway, as she kept reminding herself, she wasn’t mad.

“Then I guess we’re going to Sand Bar.” Even after a decade’s long absence, she was sure she knew exactly where they’d find him. Belligerent at the local’s only dive bar where, as far as Jamie was aware, he spent just about every night and his fair share of mornings.

Some time later, that was exactly where the women found themselves. “Pinch me,” she said before they could enter. She was serious. “I’m not a good enough actress to fake tears.” She wasn’t. She also wasn’t a good enough person to produce real ones most of the time, either. But there were a few things in life you really needed to let people know you were crying about, and the imminent death of your the brother you’d just decided to murder was one of them. 

.

For the first time since showing up to Obsidian City, Jess laughed. The timing might have been off, sure, as this kind of thing didn’t usually warrant the kind of humor that was floating around in her head. Murdering someone, especially one’s own brother, shouldn’t have felt like the kind of relief that it was now as she looked at Jamie. Like, finally, after ten years, she was getting what she wanted all along. The kind of peace that only the finality of death could bring with it, and this time, she wouldn’t be alone to do it.

She reached forward, pinching Jamie’s side in the first act of connection they had had in a decade. As soon as she did, she broke out into her own stream of tears and hysterics without any assistance at all. She was an actress. Had always possessed the ability to fall apart at a moment’s notice if it served her best. In this moment, she was eternally grateful for the black heart in her chest. The one that had only ever cared about one person, and now was finally able to express such a thing.

“Oh, this is so horrible,” Jess wailed, stepping through the front door, clutching at Jamie’s arm as though if she didn’t she might fall over. Her eyes, half filled with tears, still managed to train themselves directly at their brother. The desire to grin almost being stronger than anything else. “I can’t believe this is happening!”

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

Mag began to feel… bad. Like, really bad. At least this guy had something he believed in. Mag didn’t have shit. “I bet you get really fucking tired of assholes like me asking you to prove yourself all the time.” As if there was a right answer, and Mag had it and knew for sure this man did not. Bullshit. Mag didn’t know anything. Maybe that was why he kept antagonizing him. Maybe he wanted it to be true and didn’t know how to say it.

Not for a second did he consider turning down the flask when it was offered, he wasn’t even sure he cared what his lips would discover when he raised the metal opening to them. Like smoking. It was the act, the gesture. Sure, one time about sixteen years ago he’d gotten a little lightheaded off the first puff, and it had never happened again but here he was excusing himself from dinner to shorten his already short lifespan in a dark alleyway with a dangerous stranger. Dangerous because he was a vampire? Dangerous because he was a mouthpiece for God? Dangerous because he was handsome, and forbidden, and Mag liked what he knew would deny him because it spared him the hassle of succeeding?

He raised the flask in a toast. “To false binaries,” he toasted, “and hoping booze or blood really were the only possibilities.” Then he tilted his head back and let the thick, metallic blood coat his throat. He’d tasted it often enough in the ring not to be too surprised or disgusted, it was just usually his own. Mag handed back the flask. “So is that original vintage Jesus, or just some fucking guy? Am I walking around with 4.5% holy spirit pumping through me now?” 

.

He shook his head immediately. “I don’t get tired of it, because it’s part of my job, isn’t it? And beyond that, I’ve found that there’s joy in debates like these. The theological merits to always have oneself tested isn’t something I’ve ever taken for granted. At least you want to engage in it at all. I’d be more upset if I was only ever met with an unending kind of silence.” Dorian meant that, too. He meant every single word. There wasn’t a bone in his body anymore that could find him capable of being dissatisfied with such a thing when the alternative was a life filled with no discussions at all.

Dorian smiled, and it was real, too. Not the put on look he had offered in the beginning, but something solid and substantial. Like in a quick flash he had become human once more and not some otherworldly creature grappling with its very existence. “I don’t ask my congregations for tithes, but I’ve been known to ask for a different kind of sacrifice. I think this was from dear Linda, a rather lost Redcap that’s been wrestling with her own purpose. Apparently violence doesn’t much suit her, but her ability to heal makes her an extraordinary person to keep her around.” If someone offered, he would never turn them away.

“How does she taste?” He forgot what it was like before blood became one with God. What was the feeling in the man’s throat? Did it burn bitterly like Dorian’s? Was his body shaking with the anticipation of it all? The questions were all there, but he stayed mostly silent instead, almost annoyed that he couldn’t come up with any further answers on his own.

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

It had taken him plenty of time, but Mag was starting to understand that he was in the presence of something he could not fully grasp, or shake. A wolf in priest’s clothing. Some of his fight left him, it seemed to melt from his shoulders. “Don’t know why you’d bother if you’ll never get there yourself.” For others, was the clear answer; however, as no others had really ever looked out for him, he’d never learned the merit in doing it for them. The one time he’d really tried, he’d failed anyway. And now Jay was gone. “Kind of seems pointless. Like building a house you’ll never live in.”

He blew out a long breath. “You’re stuck in hell, shepherding every other lost soul into heaven. That’s what you call making the best out of eternal life?” Mag snorted, a little derisive. “Sounds to me like you’re just trying to taunt yourself.” The same way Mag was every time his attention shifted back to the restaurant, eyes fixed on the heavenly glow at the windows that framed a scene he’d never really be a part of. The priest could do his best, so could Mag. Or they could do their worst. Where they stood, outside the light, remained the same.

He gestured to the flask. “Blood or booze?” he wanted to know. A smoke only lasted so long and he could use a drink before slinking back at the pearly gates again. 

.

“Call it atonement. Call it purpose. You can say whatever you want, but its made part of my life actually have some sense where it might not otherwise. I could lock myself in some tomb and let myself starve slowly over a millennium, or I could make something out of this life that I’ve been given.” He had worked hard to see everything he currently had as something more than just a curse. At the beginning, it was all self-pity. The kind of mourning period that ought to have lasted forever had he not stared at the stained glass windows in the church long enough. Their beauty overwhelming him to the point where he had fallen on his knees, troubles forgotten. Was it a sign? No. It was desperation.

Dorian offered out the flask, not answering the question. “You can find out for yourself. That’s the only thing I preach in there. I give everyone the opportunity to find a sense of peace with what might be next. Even if you believe it to be some kind of fucked up game I’m playing in my own head, people’s lives have been changed for the better. I’m not selling them snake oil. I’m not forcing them to pay their dues and fund my habits. I’m giving them an outlet in a life where they seem to be very few that matter.”

He waited to see if he’d drink. He didn’t know his own reasoning for the lack of an answer. Maybe it was his own quiet retribution, his own defensiveness. Or, more likely than not, he wanted someone to re-acknowledge that he was different. Not just a man searching out booze, but an immortal creature living off of the sustenance of others.

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

Jamie huffed. “I do not.” She kind of did, but that was nothing new. Even when she pulled herself together, which she’d managed to do once or twice, something remained askew about her. It was hard to put a finger on exactly what. Like a portrait that could have been great, if the artist hadn’t been frightened halfway through and put an errant stroke in that sort of spoiled the composition. Whether it ruined or made the portrait depended on the lighting; and the audience. A sea breeze blew through and she tightened the loose knit cardigan around her shoulders, which were birdlike and bony beneath. “Next time maybe I’ll clean up, just for you.” 

The thing was, Jamie wasn’t really mad. Maybe once she had been, it was hard to remember. But now? Now she just felt like she was calling forth a ghost. A part of her doubted any of this was real. “You shouldn’t have done it alone,” she hissed, barely a whisper. Try as they might, they’d never managed a secret between them. Immediately, sooner, she’d known what Jess had done to her husband. Really, she wasn’t mad about the last ten years. But you could only speak to ghosts about the past. She turned her head away, the wind pulled at her hair like a schoolboy. “Maybe I want to now, too.”

Unfortunately, she’d missed her too. Jamie gave in and met her sister’s eye. “But you’re here.” Jamie was still too afraid to believe that. “So. How are we going to do this?” she asked, holding out her hand. The days leading up to a banshee’s foretold death were ritualistic, busy. The family would be making preparations. Time was of the essence. Already nearly two full days had passed between the scream and now. In another five, someone would be dead.

.

She sucked in a breath, knowing it shouldn’t have been a surprise. That Jamie, Jamie would always know the worst of her and never look away. Both of them too similar and too different to ever actually be separated by anything at all. Time couldn’t erase the bond between sisters. The tight vice-like grip that held them together stronger than any metal could manage. What were they when they were apart? A half of a larger whole? Or just someone walking around with a missing piece in their stomach. A limb having long disappeared.

Jess’ initial reaction was to look away. When she wasn’t righteously angry, the best thing she could have ever done was run. But there was no running from this. From them. The rope between them pulling taut, forcing feet to stay dug in, and eyes to never wander. Fate and destiny had long entangled them in their snare, and Jess couldn’t help but wonder if death would always be the most defining part of her life. The bringer of it. The listener to its call. Judge and executioner.

Her tongue was caught in her teeth. “You knew what he was. You had already done enough. I thought I was freeing you. That maybe if you weren’t directly involved, you could just, move on with your life. No point in both of us being caught.” Though, had she been thinking more logically as a twenty-three year old, she might have known that rarely anyone was actually pinned for murder on this island.

Their hands connected, and the world opened up before them. What once seemed like a dreary, lonely place, bloomed. Even the sky turned brighter than it was before, with clouds puffing out like suddenly it all meant just a little bit more to be alive. “He’s long overdue. Maybe we start by finding him. Better to see him face to face and know that this isn’t some odd conjured up dream.”

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

Mag recoiled, staring down his crooked nose at the priest who continued to surprise him. He guessed he hadn’t expected to hear something so real, honest and violent come out of the mouth of a mantlepiece. “Guess that depends on how much of a sick freak he is. Maybe he’s really into True Crime.”

More to that point, “Screaming in terror?” Mag suggested. “Strangulation?” Opposing the priest’s point less because he disagreed with it and more because he liked to poke holes in things. He never could just get along. Argumentative. People didn’t like that. “‘Cause feeling deeply means suffering deeply?”

“I wonder what the good book’s got to say about drinking blood.” Ash broke apart and rained to the ground as he pointed. “‘Cause see, I always thought you’d be cool with all that. The wine, the wafer. All that shit, right? Fuck the symbolism, go all in. Literal interpretation. But there’s no guilt in that, and you can’t exactly run a cult without guilt.” He made a face that looked like it meant yikes, but his laugh wasn’t cruel. Friendly, almost. Or like maybe it wasn’t to be but didn’t know how. 

.

“The bible has always existed as a form of interpretation. Some are more unwilling to pick it apart than others, but the more time I spend with it, the more I understand that it’s meant to act as a guiding light. It can’t account for everything we have in this world.” The bible didn’t speak about werewolves and fae. No mention of sirens and vampires. Banshees, well, he was sure if anyone looked closely enough, they might actually be in there. Dorian understood that meaning always must be extrapolated.

He reached into his coat pocket, taking out a flask that certainly wasn’t filled with wine. Though he’d have drunk that, too, for all the lack of taste it offered him. “The guilt doesn’t come with the consumption, it comes with what one might be willing to do in order to get it.” And what had he done in the past? His hands were unclean, despite the penance he continued to pay. Lives had been lost on his own behalf, and there was nothing he could do now but beg for some kind of salvation in the wake of a life that would never end.

“You call it a cult, I call it peace. I’ve walked these streets longer than you have been alive, and I’ll continue to do so long after you’ve died. I get no rest. I’ll find myself in no afterlife. So, why not hope to make the best of what I’ve been given right here?”

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to come.” Wailing Waters was just a distant memory to Jamie now. When her sister fled, nothing held Jamie to the island anymore. It wasn’t as if she went off to chase after Jess, Jamie took her own direction, but there hadn’t been a point in sticking around without her. Not one that didn’t end with Jamie dead in a ditch from Ethereum overdose, but that life was just a distant memory now too.

The salt rusted chains on the swingset groaned and creaked when Jamie put her weight to the seat beside Jess. She thought about picking one a few swings down to be petty, but just because she hadn’t seen Jess since they were basically kids didn’t mean she had to still act like one, even if the instinct never went away.

“And you’re ten years late, so you can go fuck yourself. Took you long enough.” She’d tried, anyway. Jamie looked down at her feet where they drug through the gravel and kicked off. It wasn’t good to be back. Wailing Waters was haunted, and it had nothing to do with the portending death. Which, of course, was why they were there. Several thousand miles away from each other, Jamie had screamed too.

“We should have just stayed away.” She said, finally. They didn’t have to heed the call. When she’d shown up herself, she’d hoped Jess wouldn’t. Ironic, given all the times she’d once wished she would.

.

The chains of the swing were digging uncomfortably into her hands. Rust now enveloped most of the links, leaving behind marks that would most definitely bruise by the time the day ended. She found she didn’t mind the idea. Like this was the kind of penance she was meant to pay for the murder, and subsequent ditching of everyone in her life that had mattered. How many times could she have reached out and didn’t? Jess didn’t blame Jamie for being angry. There was no point when she was right. Jamie was always fucking right. Her instincts were more super power than the foretelling of death ever could have been.

“You look like shit,” Jess finally said. “And maybe this was the excuse I had been waiting for. Not to take the plane, I’ll tell you that much. I forgot how sick I got.” Boats, trains, planes, and especially cars. She had never dealt with motion very well. Always preferring to walk or run, like the only thing in the world she could ever trust was herself. Her actions always proved that.

Jess dug her heels into the gravel and dirt below, forcing herself to pause, if only for a moment. “I missed you.” The words were empty after ten years. “I couldn’t chance that you would be the one doing it alone.” Because even with the time gone, there was only one person in the world Jess would ever come back to Obsidian City for. The risk was worth it.

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

Despite the softness of the touch, or because of it, Mag leapt out of his skin at the contact. It had less to do with the intrinsic fear a vampire struck in all its potential prey and more to do with it forcing him out of his head and back into his body, which he often found he escaped. It was what made him so extraordinarily good at taking and giving a beating in the rings at Bloodhearth.

“Only half-mad?” Mag jested, though he felt momentarily paralyzed under the grip of the priest which should have frightened him. If anything, it dared him on. It was a relief to feel trapped.

“Alright. Suppose you’re right. God’s an artist with or without vices and virtues and he forgives us ours. Why bother with all the,” —he brandished the end of his cigarette wildly, gesturing at everything and nothing, but mostly the cathedral— “extra shit. Why not just walk around the stage, put on a good show for the cameraman in the clouds?” He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself a little. “Maybe,” —he poked the priest in the chest— “maybe he wants us to sin more. You ever think about that?”  

.

Dorian looked down where he had been poked, raising an eyebrow that was almost mocking in nature as he extracted his own hand back to his side. “I think that would involve a deeper discussion on what you mean by sin. Are we talking about small things, like smoking a cigarette or over-indulging on wine? Or is this about something far more costly, like forcing yourself onto another person without their consent? Murdering someone who might be innocent. Stealing from a poor man on the street, who is already starving to death.” He could have listed out the possibilities for the rest of his life.

“If he had wanted that kind of world, then why make us feel so deeply?” There was a time, at his darkest point, when he was ruled only by blood and nothing else, that he would’ve agreed. That the world only existed for the purpose of anarchy. People taking what they could, and giving nothing back, no matter the cost. “No one can deny that all of us, no matter our specific species, require the social bonds that make every single day worth living. We need each other. It’s an ecosystem, one that no one can exactly ignore.”

Some crimes simply felt too unnatural, even with unnatural beasts roaming around like nothing was odd at all. “I think he wants us to live, and to live not only for ourselves. Otherwise, what’s the point of vocal cords. Of hands for reaching out and touching.”

[gabrielsato]

WHEN: April 3rd, 2023 WHERE: Wailing Waters Playground WHO: Closed

Jess hadn’t stepped foot on the island in almost ten years. She had been twenty-three then, young, full of promise and too much intelligence for her own good. And love, too. Blind love. The kind that had her marrying young, finding herself in a tough spot, and seeing herself kill her husband weeks before she actually did it. That was the banshee in her. But being a banshee hadn’t made her kill her husband and escape off the island without looking back. She hadn’t bothered reaching out to her brother, Jace, not her sister, Jamie. They had been best friends, on and off, depending on their moods, for their entire lives. And then she was gone.

And what brought her back? What forced her to find her old childhood playground, pick a swing, and kick out her legs? Another scream had ripped through her late one night, her bed thankfully empty, save for an old teddy bear she kept telling herself she’d be rid of. She had seen the future. What she would do. What they would do. 

Without needing to text, or call, Jess knew she’d have to see her sister again. That the distance between them, fraught and frayed, would somehow give way to something else. Why? There were always multiple explanations for any given decision that a person could make. She simply wondered if this was the kind that was best discussed beforehand, or done without any need to clear the air.

“Took you long enough,” Jess said aloud. The presence near her louder than any scream that could shatter the night.

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

His eyes caught the glint of streetlight that flashed against the dangerous white fangs, and quickly he started to make sense of what the priest had meant when he said God had a larger bone to pick with him. Despite his usual desire to remain indifferent, he found himself wondering about the priest, about what being a vampire meant for him. He wondered: what is the limitation on forgiveness? He also wondered if the priest, in all his probable many years, had already answered it.

There was a long, pregnant silence that followed the priest’s words that Mag wasn’t eager to fill. That’s what God would want you to think, he thought to himself. Pride. Like fuck. If Pride was God’s sin and vice, it was a flattery to us, his supposed creations. He sees us fumbling and takes pride in it anyway, which makes us feel necessary and loved.

His lips stuck to the filter on the cigarette when he pulled it away, but he didn’t notice it to think he should stick out his tongue and wet the tender skin, as his gaze had drifted off away from the alley and across the street to the restaurant window, where his father’s head was thrown back in laughter; he clutched Marge’s hand across the table.

No, if God exists, which he doesn’t, but for argument’s sake — if God exists and can forgive and has vices and sins it isn’t pride but envy. We create what we desire. We make what we notice lacking. God, first being, creator makes peers, makes romance, makes knowledge, makes everything he wants and then can take part in none of it.

It was a pretty good point, if not obtusely self-centered, but he forgot to say it out loud. At some point, without realizing it, he’d stopped bothering to express his ideas. He asked questions of himself and answered them, and when he spoke it was usually as if by pull-string. No thoughts required. The only person who had ever really wanted to hear his thoughts was gone now, but he couldn’t think about that without grinding his jaw.

.

The scene played out next to him without any supporting acts, but each change in monologue was written clearly on the man’s face. The turning of a head. The movement of his jaw. Being extraordinarily perceptive should have been a gift, especially for a priest who quite literally built his livelihood on understanding what people needed the most from him. A confidante. A father figure. The guiding hand throughout this dark, deep life, where few lights seem to shone for anyone that weren’t merely skyscrapers in the distant city center.

Dorian placed a gentle, featherlight touch to the man’s shoulder, always doing what he could to lessen the blow that he could inflict on others without even meaning to. His strength now was something he had gotten used to when surrounded by other vampires, but he understood God more now than he had before as a human. Sometimes this much power was best kept separate from the rest of the world. Sometimes it was simply too dangerous to use without thought or care. So Dorian cared more.

“We suffer in this life. There’s no avoiding it, nor should we even bother trying.” They might have seemed hollow coming from most, but Dorian felt the words deep in his chest. Between his ribs. In the spaces of his body that used to be full, and now he felt unbearably empty. God couldn’t fill it. An entire congregation couldn’t. “But we suffer, and then we look up to the sky, and we wonder, why us? Why have we been given this burden, and if there was a God, why couldn’t he be a merciful one?”

His grip on the shoulder grew harder, testing the limits, ignoring the sudden rush of what might happen if her forsook his vows and morals and ripped into the throat next to him instead. Vices. Vices, indeed. “Despite the fact that I believe we were all placed here with purpose, I don’t believe God to be a puppeteer. He’s an artist. Half-mad. Genius. We’re all simply staring at the painting in front of us, interpreting what we have to work with.”

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

Mag snorted, two long streams of smoke billowing from either nostril as he did. “You’re not going to trick me with that bullshit.” He wagged a finger, on which the nail was dirty and the knuckle busted. “I know the game. You tell me you’re a sinner too. Hey, maybe you’ve even sinned more than I have.” He brought a hand to his chest. “Get my guard down, make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. That it?” He raised his brows, an uneven gesture as a scar across his face made one half more likely to do what he wanted it to than the other.

He wasn’t nearly as dangerous as he looked, and his quarreling even now was mostly in jest. Evidenced by the upscale restaurant he’d come from, Mag came from a fairly well-to-do bunch. No, there was no one to blame for the way he was except for himself. Well, or maybe he could start blaming God.

But, the priest had been right. Mag was still talking to him. Fucker to fucker. Man to man. “Fuck it, I’ll bite. What’s his vice then?” He had a hard time believing anyone could forgive that which they did not understand; if he was going to believe God could forgive a priest his vices, he’d need to have some of his own. It was why his family never seemed to be able to forgive him, right? Because they didn’t understand him? At least, that was what he needed to believe to go on.

.

He shrugged, tapping some of the ash from his cigarette onto the ground with the action. Dorian had seen worse. Had dealt with worse. In truth, nothing fucking scared him anymore except what came after, and he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever get an after, so what was left? All he had now was an odd sense of duty for those around him. Like maybe he could make a positive impact on someone else’s life, despite the fact that his own was expanding over an unnatural period of time. Though, God had created vampires, too, did he not? It was a question he grappled with often, deciding on the fact that maybe he was meant to live this long to be the right kind of shepherd for others.

“God’s vice?” Dorian smiled, fangs showing in a manner that on anyone else would have seemed more of a threat than just a person doing their best at holding lives together. “Pride, I’d wager.” The question hadn’t caught him off guard. Eternity meant more than enough time to wrestle with life’s most interesting and confusing question. Picking them apart thread by thread until only madness was left in the wake.

He pressed on, more than happy to keep them both talking. “Anyone who spends this much time shaping, crafting, molding a world is bound to believe that no one else could do it better. That even their mistakes have to have meaning. Simple enough to me. Looks down here at all of us fucking around in the darkness, but somehow knows that because of what he did, their journey might end up all right after all. And if it doesn’t?” That was the real question. Could God fuck up?

[gabrielsato]

priscillaflores​:

Mag lit up a smoke of his own. He was almost never without one. “Maybe by shutting the fuck up,” he suggested, but a lazy turn of his head towards the voice made him wonder if they’d been the wrong words. “Ah fuck. Jesus Christ.” Probably shouldn’t have said that, either. “My bad, father.” There wasn’t much reverence in the way he said the word, respect either. It sounded more like a joke, which incidentally was what he thought about religion. 

Maybe a long, long time ago before his mother passed and before he lost his partner and before the world this so-called creator had created made such an ugly monster of him. But not now. Definitely not tonight when he’d just had to sit through the first half of what was promising to be a three hour dinner dedicated to how fucking fantastic his sister was doing. Her fucking fantastic family and her fucking fantastic job and her fucking fantastic taste in appetizers apparently. He couldn’t even suggest one of those right. If he squinted hard enough across the street, he felt like he could see the blooming onion growing cold, the fried breading soggy now from sitting so long, untouched. 

“He let you smoke?” Mag pointed up, to where God might have been if God were real and not just a fairytale to get kids to behave and adults to police one another. “Thought your body was supposed to be a temple for the lord and all’at.” If his next drag from the cigarette was heavier than the last, it was unintentional but a statement none the less.

.

Dorian shrugged off the comments, given the fact that nothing much could touch him these days. Whether it was the need for blood pounding in his head, or the desire for absolution chomping at his heels, he had very little time for anyone laughing at him. Let them laugh. Let them make fun of whatever he was attempting to do in the name of going back to the person he once was, or once could have been. He merely nodded and smiled at the man, acknowledging him for what he was, and what he wasn’t. A believer.

“I think God has a much larger bone to pick with me than smoking. I’d like to imagine that he spent his time wisely whenever he looked down at us. Doing his best at being understanding when there was a vice we simply couldn’t go on without.” His answer wasn’t the kind one might normally find. Too loose. Too easy. Ready to change definitions at will, if only to make life that much more amenable. Who was God if not everyone? And what would be the point if he couldn’t understand?

He pointed to the man’s own cigarette. “Besides, one might argue that someone seeing me do this might be enough of a surprise to speak when one might not usually. You might wish to laugh at me, even scoff at whatever I believe in, but at the end of the day, we’re both still the two fuckers standing outside smoking.” The swearing wasn’t normal, either. He’d ask for forgiveness that night, under the cover of unending darkness.

[gabrielsato]

WHEN: April 1st, 2023 WHERE: Cathedral of the Damned WHO: Closed

Dorian Lazos had been a priest for going on fifty years now. His own age? He was mostly unaware of his life since the moment he had been turned into a vampire. Whether he was two hundred, or three hundred, did any of it really matter in the face of eternal life on earth? A part of him had been sure that the moment his mortal life ended, the only place he might ever end up was in hell. His own thirst more of a metaphor for the curse of all who still dwelled here. A kind of unquenched potential that he could never truly live up to, no matter how many times he read the great book, or passed out judgement on behalf of God himself.

He stood outside of the side door, cigarette in his mouth as though it could do anything to him more than be a simple hinderance with the smoke. Nicotine didn’t satisfy. But it had been an old habit, one stuck in him long before he became a vampire or a priest. Before blood and God were worshipped together in a kind of twining that he could never be rid of. Who would he choose in the end?

His senses perked up, the lit cigarette half forgotten as the footsteps neared him. Dorian had hoped, and foolishly so, that the alley might provide some sort of barrier against the outside world and those hoping he might have the answers. The only thing he had to offer was more.

“Yes?” He asked without turning, before shaking off the mood, knowing it didn’t benefit him or anyone else if he decided today was the day to have a breakdown. So this time when he spoke, it was with love, and generosity, even with the smoke billowing from his lips. “I apologize. That wasn’t how I wish to greet anyone, especially if they’re in need of help. Can I? Help you, that is.”