silveraccent - Tumblr blog

silveraccent · 4 years ago

Text

Lion / Lamb || Grace & Darwin

TIMING: Current

Parties: @silveraccent & @asranism

SUMMARY: Grace decides to go to a book shop in search of a distraction. She gets more than she bargains for and ends up with a choice novel by somebody claiming to research vampires. Who knew sparkling baseball players could offer much research?

Grace hesitated at the door, too many people visible on the other side. They had their heads bent over books, some with smiles, some with scowls. She gripped the door handle tightly, taking a deep breath. The ring that Nell had gifted her for Christmas on her index finger. She looked down at it, a cloud of yellow and black melding together to create something murky. She didn’t need a guide to know she was nervous, but at the very least she knew they were her own emotions. The situation with Morgan had her thoughts cloudy, and that woman in the morgue, too. The way she had screamed still rang in her ears, but nothing like what had happened with Regan. For that, she was thankful, but how much peace could she allow herself? She stared a little longer through the glass door. Maybe this shop could offer peace. Grace finally opened the door after it looked like somebody was coming her way, but instead they veered towards another side of the shop. The door now open, cold air blowing in, she had no choice but to step the rest of the way in. Grace barely had the time to take in the smell of mahogany and worn pages before she bumped into somebody. A book clattered to the ground-- was that Twilight? “Sorry,” Grace mumbled as she ducked down to pick it up. She held it back out to its owner, eyebrows furrowed as she saw who had dropped it-- not somebody she had anticipated reading the novel. “Is this yours?” She asked. It wasn’t her place to judge. She suddenly wondered if she should have stayed home-- a conversation right out of the gate?

It has been quite a while since Darwin Asrani actually had time, or more precisely made time, to reacquaint himself with current literature, though technically, that would still not be the case here. The demon wrangler has been quite busy since his escape from his own family, tracking down the sins of their past, and relatively recent present, to correct them. As such, he couldn’t let this rare opportunity pass him by. When Bertrand, his demonic butler, pointed to his attention that his shelves of books could do with less clutter, the first thing that came to Darwin’s mind was to get another, to add more to his ever-increasing collection of barely read literature. That was why he had gone out to the nearest bookstore he could find to acquire something useful and interesting, which the lady at the counter insisted was the book about vampires. I’m a demon wrangler, not a vampire slayer, but who knows? Perhaps knowledge about a vampire’s weakness could save my life one day. He was deep in thought when someone bumped into him, a smaller, less graceful creature, though she did have a pretty pleasant if not just youthful visage, still only second to his of course. “Oh, yes, that’s my...book.” He offered her his most handsome, charming grin as he gracefully and carefully swiped the book from her clutches before offering her the more practical hand to get back to her feet. “I’m researching vampires...for a story. Or something. Are you all right, my dear?”

Grace blinked up at the man. She couldn’t feel anything off about him-- he was genuine, or seemed to be. She looked back down at the cover of the book, the apple in the palms of Edward’s hands glaring back at her. “I’m fine--” For a story. So it was research. Still, weren’t there better books to conduct research off of? Tongue in cheek, she allowed him to help her into a standing position. “What kind of story?” She asked, her sudden interest flared by the idea of Twilight being the grand piece of literature to tie it all together. “Are your vampires going to glitter under the sunlight, too?” When the book had first come out, like every other girl, she had been enamored with it. Up until she read the countless pieces on why it was a terrible book, and why nobody should ever want to be like Bella Swan-- which Grace hadn’t ever had an issue with. She had always wanted to be like Alice, if anyone. “Sorry, it’s just… I don’t see a lot of people reference it, it’s not really…. Referencable.” She attempted a small smile. The nerves she had felt prior to entering the bookshop still danced along her skin, lighting it up like a Christmas tree. She really hadn’t realized just how delicate she was.

Darwin was caught surprised when the younger girl expressed quite the interest in his supposed story, even though he shouldn't have, considering that she was heading into where he had left, a bookshop, which meant she was interested in most manners of literature, stories. He had just opened his mouth, the edges curled into what could have been a small smile, beaming with pride at how he appeared to be such a connoisseur of dark and interesting literature, when her second question caught him surprised, as if he had his pants down inside his hot neighbor's room and she was his husband. What an interesting analogy. "I'm sorry, what? Glitter under the sunlight? Vampires don't—" He stopped himself, furrowing his brow, turning to his book in hand and scowling. What in Asmodeus' filthy name? Was it that kind of book? Oh, for fuck's sake. Darwin's expression quickly changed into that of exasperation as he took a quick glimpse of the bookshop's door, in the direction of where he had last seen the attendant. That bitch lied to me. To be fair, that lovely young woman never lied to him. Darwin was extremely vague, and rightfully so, when he asked about the "best" vampire literature they had, so she simply offered him the best-selling vampire literature they had, which of course was not the kind of literature he actually wanted, needed, but was the kind of literature that sold a lot of copies in a bookshop that was accessible for young girls. "It's fine... It's...that horrible, isn't it? Sparkling vampires? Why in hell would vampires sparkle in the first place?" He couldn’t help but swear under his breath.

The situation in the library with Mina left Grace wondering if it had even been a vampire at all-- her new friend seemed reluctant to disclose much information about what had happened, or maybe she just didn’t know. Grace couldn’t be sure. Still, she felt as though somebody who was writing a story should know better, shouldn’t they have? “They don’t?” Grace echoed with a tilt of her head. Confusion loomed over them, then anger-- or something mimicking anger. It wasn’t strong-- more of an annoyance than anything. Grace’s lips twitched into a smile. The anxiety she had been feeling moments before began to disintegrate, mutating into something short of amusement. Maybe she’d allow herself to fall into this interaction and forget what had her sick to her stomach only moments before. “I mean, the books aren’t bad if you don’t take them seriously.” She shrugged, “There are some themes in them that are questionable, but they’re a fun read if you have nothing else to do.” Grace had gotten over the days in which she was embarrassed about liking things that, at the time of being a teenager, were liked by teenage girls. She had thrown out the idea of laughing at the expense of her interests just to provide the common audience with a laugh. “They play baseball, too, if you’re a sports person.” Grace looked towards the book again, then back up at him. “And to answer your question, I think it’s about making them prettier, really.” She couldn’t remember the exact reason that the Meyer had written it in, nor did she care. She remembered covering herself in glitter at 11 years old for the first movie’s premiere.

In retrospect, maybe Darwin should have brought Bertrand along. The self-appointed personal butler was more out of date when it came to current literature than him but they would have certainly known more about vampires than him. At least it would've been less embarrassing with them around, wearing their inappropriate but amusing disguise that made them look like an androgynous immigrant teenager being tricked into minimum wage servitude. Wait, no, that's actually horrible. Maybe Darwin shouldn't have had those bottles of wine the day before. His brain was still reeling from the effects of being in Darwin's tiny skull. Or maybe he was just stupid. The cover should've made it obvious to him. Damn you, Meyer. Real occult literature would never be a New York Times bestseller. The Ordo Dracul would always see to that.

Groaning and shaking his head, Darwin unintentionally made it apparent that he was fucked, maybe even beyond fucked, or at the very least annoyed that he had made such a useless purchase. Then it hit him. Turning to the girl before him with a grin, he offered her the book. "You wouldn't happen to love this book about pretty baseball vampires, would you?" He dared not imagine the confusion on Bertrand's face should he go home with it, which to him was more annoying and condescending than getting laughed at, which he assumed would be the seller's reaction if he went back in there and demanded a refund. "Consider it a gift from a new friend."

Grace grew confused, and she was unsure if it was the man’s confusion that seemingly began to leak into the space between them, or if she genuinely had no idea what it was that he could want with the Twilight series. A quick glance down at her ring told her that it was her own confusion. That was good at least. She hadn’t doubted Nell’s gift for a moment, but it was proving to be useful when there weren't intense emotions being poured into a room. Grace looked down at the book again as he offered it back to her. His words caught her off guard and she couldn’t help but laugh, “if you would’ve offered a few years ago, maybe.” She looked at him with a tilt of her head before taking the book anyways. Maybe she could give it to Blanche and earn a laugh-- the blonde certainly needed it. “So you’re not interested in turf wars between vampires and werewolves?” She asked as she flipped through the book idly, only looking back up at him for a response.

On any given day, Darwin could have noticed her apparent glancing at an accessory around her finger. Unfortunately, that day wasn't one of those days. His entire focus was awkwardly on trying to just drop the ridiculous piece of ludicrous literature to the young lady, never to be seen again. Alas, it wouldn't come to pass. Fuck. He had already turned his own head sideways, looking for a trash can or another hapless young person to dump the book with, when she actually took it. Oh. It worked? His mild surprise was evident on his face until it was replaced by relief. "Oh, no, I don't want to be anywhere that kind of stupidity again. So much blood spilled and for what?" He made air quotes as he mentioned the next first word. "Alpha males and their fragile egos? Old men and their outdated views on power and hierarchy? Psh. I'd rather wrestle another demon again. They're—" And then he finally realized he had lost control of his own tongue. Fuck. He scrambled to find a way out and luckily for him the sight of the book gave him an idea almost immediately. "...less contrived plot wise." Darwin offered her an awkward grin, hoping his slip of the tongue was easily saved by his quick wit. Fuck.

The man before her shifted with-- had that been excitement? Why would he be excited? Grace’s eyebrows furrowed as she watched him. She decided to let her interest fade as she closed the book, dropping it into her bag. “Another…?” Grace asked, wondering if she had heard that right. The fear that burrowed into the man was palpable, as if he had something wrong. If she were anyone else, maybe it would’ve been the wrong thing to say, but aside from those she knew who were entangled into the world of the Supernatural, she didn’t know anything about demons, and even though she should be surprised at their existence, Grace let out a breath. Of course they did. Of course in this Hellscape, demons existed. “Okay.” She instead nodded, allowing him to believe that she hadn’t caught onto whatever tangent he was pouring over. Maybe he was talking about books, maybe Grace could give him the benefit of the doubt. She looked at the neighboring shelves, “I’m sure you can find other things about vampires, but I’d…” Not let anyone see you? Be careful? Grace knew they existed, she had seen one with her own eyes. “Stay away from the young adult section for whatever you need.” She lifted her bag off of her shoulder as if to signal the Twilight book inside. “New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn are the sequels, so stay away from those, too.” Grace offered the stranger a smile before she awkwardly stuck her hand out, “I’m Grace, by the way.” Was it a bad idea to extend a hand to somebody who didn’t know Twilight was fiction, or who spoke about demons? Grace thought about Morgan and how she was one of the sweetest people to come out of White Crest-- how what she was didn’t matter. A knot formed in Grace’s stomach as she looked up with a tilted smile.

For a second there, Darwin thought that the entire world had stopped spinning, as if Time itself grew tired of mucking around and just fell flat on its face from where it sat, nothing but an ancient old man so withdrawn and detached from the rest of the world that it no longer understood the very reason for why it continued to spun and why it should debatably stop. Then she let it go. He heaved another sigh of relief before catching himself, immediately combing stray strands of his magnificently wild mane away from his face, using that as an excuse for his relatively awkward response. "You'd...?" The well-traveled demon wrangler narrowed his dark brown eyes at the girl, suspicious that she may know more than she was letting on. "Oh, okay, sure..." Yet another sigh of relief. From what though? From the fact that she could be one of them? After all, no self-respecting vampire would ever let a potential living blood bank walk away. Or at least he assumed that would be the case since he himself had little to no first-hand experience with the creatures. There was that weird little girl who dressed like she was still in Elizabethan era...in New York, though. That one was nasty.

Darwin simply nodded as she enumerated...words. He wasn't sure what they meant, or more precisely, if they meant anything more than they appeared to be. Then again, sparkling vampires, so he just assumed they were just what they were: A bunch of words that sounded cool to an author who knew nothing about the truth of their featured monsters. "Oh, enchanté!" Darwin gently took her hand, turned it so her palm would be facing down, and gave it a quick kiss, as if roleplaying a gentleman from France, which he was most definitely not. "You may call me Darwin, my beautiful muse, charming vagabond, well-learned connoisseur of both wine and the occult, and professional demon wrangler." Yes, he said that last part as he enumerated what he thought was his most excellent self-appointed nomenclature. Eyes locked against hers, more like trapped, he mustered a wide grin, hoping in his heart of hearts that she missed that part. How could she, though? How could anyone? Damn it, Darwin.

His enthusiasm nearly knocked Grace off of her feet. She forced the smile to stay, eyebrows arched as he lifted her hand to his mouth. She stared, blinking. She forced out a laugh. Despite her initial reservations to enter the shop, Grace had been met with a distraction-- one that pulled her away from the way her stomach sank, the way her mind swam. Now, she was faced with a strange man who had thought Twilight would have expert opinions on vampires, and now was speaking of himself to a high degree. Could she blame somebody for having confidence? “Nice to meet you, Darwin.” She dropped her hand to her side, slightly embarrassed. The demon wrangler bit was not lost on Grace, but she decided to not ask too many questions, mostly for the sake of not wanting to seem like she knew too much. “Thank you for the book,” she tugged at the strap of her bag that laid over her shoulder, “I’ll make sure your purchase isn’t wasted on an empty shelf.” Well, her empty shelf-- she couldn’t be sure if it’d go to waste on Blanche’s. Who knew that the book shop had been exactly what she needed-- her interaction with Darwin was sure to take up the majority of thought process for the remainder of the day.

#para: lion / lamb #para: darwin #chatzy #this was so fun to write ;////

9 notes · View notes

silveraccent · 4 years ago

Text

harlowhaunted:

Alright… Let’s give self care a shot.

Hey guys. I’m looking to grab some extra cash doing something that doesn’t make me want to stab my eyeballs out so I’m offering up my photography services at mid-January discount.

Professional Headshots, Parties, Senior Photos, Just a Fun Photo Shoot, whatever you want. You can look at my stuff here [user inserts link to photography instagram @ blankphotography]. Just give me a ring if interested.

[pm]

don’t need photographs, but will this be a better way of getting you to talk?

[user debates whether or not to bring up Blanche’s absence, but decides against it]

Would you want to do uh, a photo walk or something? I haven’t taken photos in awhile. Do you do lessons?

#pm: blanche

42 notes · View notes

silveraccent · 4 years ago

Text

We All Fall Down || Solo

TIMING: Current

SUMMARY: Grace awakens after Deirdre’s scream.

CONTAINS: Vomit, blood, panic attack.

Bones clattered around her, the sound loud to fragile ears.

The top of the stairs remained empty. The terrible churning in Grace’s stomach only grew more prominent with each passing moment that she began to come to. Disoriented, Grace toppled to the side from her position against the wall. The bones fell around her, scattered like an offering. To who? To whoever found her?

The bile that rose in Grace’s throat spilled from her mouth as she collapsed to the ground, her cheek warm against the cold tile flooring. The smell of antiseptic and vomit curled around her nose, making her gag again. Her head still sore with the fall-- the blood, now crusted and drenching her hairline. She stared at the light only visible from underneath of the door at the top of the stairs, willing for somebody to appear.

Hadn’t they heard the woman’s scream? Had they not seen her escape, or even the sound of the bones clattering around her?

Had she not been so stupid, had she ran instead of bargain with the idea of death, then maybe she wouldn’t be in her current position.

Twenty minutes passed after Grace woke that she finally found it in herself to push herself up from the floor. She wiped her hand across her mouth, tears blurring her vision now with the realization of what had happened.

Who would she go to? Could she explain what had happened? How she had lost property of the morgue all due to being too fragile to fight back?

What would she tell--

Grace felt a terrorized sob begin to rumble in her chest as she brought her hands to her head, the heels of her hands beginning to jam into her forehead. They came away wet, blood spattered against her palms now.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The nausea that came with her sudden movements had her chest heaving, her vision entirely blurred as tears began to stream down her cheeks, warm and hot-- proof that she was still alive.

Another twenty minutes had passed and yet nobody came.

The woman had been right.

Finally, Grace managed to support herself up against the wall again. She dragged herself up against it, her shoes slipping over the bones that were scattered at her feet. She could hear the crunch of them underneath of her weight and it sent a shiver down her spine.

She wondered how she’d explain this, if she could at all. Would she be fired? Would they assume she was under the influence? That she had done this to herself? Grace let out a quiet sob as she began to recover the bones, pulling them to her chest. No matter how many that she gathered, they slipped through her grip, falling to the ground with a quiet tick.

Grace finally gave up and they clattered around her again. Now on her knees, she reached out, palms against the wall as she let out a heavy breath. The tears continued to fall, making it hard for her to see the dull blurs of off-white beneath her.

She stared down, the darkness growing familiar with every second that she remained still, that she remained quiet.

Who was she to bargain with death? To welcome it like she had, to assume that others would care, that they would fight tooth and nail for her?

She had been underneath the stairs for hours, Grace assumed-- her shift long since started, and yet, nobody came looking.

#grace solo #vomit tw #para: we all fall down

10 notes · View notes

silveraccent · 4 years ago

Text

Humpty Dumpty || Grace & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @silveraccent & @deathduty

SUMMARY: Grace arrives at work and runs into Deirdre.

CONTAINS: Knife use, head injury, blood.

Grace arrived earlier than the rest of the crew, testing her badge against the door. It opened with ease. Her office door was closed. Regan’s, wide open and empty. Grace hung in the doorway for a moment, a pang of something-- guilt? It wasn’t her fault that Regan wasn’t coming back. Grace swallowed the feeling, buried it deep, and wandered into her office. The plants that she had asked Cece to water were now withering-- not Cece’s fault. She was gone, too. Both Regan and Cece were gone, leaving an echo of what they had created in the hallways. Even though they weren’t present, Grace could still see them. In the card given to her by Cece on her own desk, and the skull on top of her filing cabinet, given to her by Regan on her birthday. For a moment, Grace thought to slump into her chair, to pull out her phone and text Morgan her apology. Instead, she shoved the thought away. That could be for another day. She hadn’t totally processed the idea of Morgan being undead, not just yet.

She set her things down and gripped the edge of her desk. Grace took a deep breath before pulling away and moved towards the hallway that led towards the toxicology lab. It felt empty, stale. Shivers ran down Grace’s spine as she stood at the closed door leading to Cece’s lab. No, not Cece’s. Just the lab. Nothing here was hers anymore, Grace reminded herself. She stayed a beat of a second too long, barely registering the noise of something shattering-- had that been shattering? Grace felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck as she approached the stairwell that led towards the noise. Why was she going towards it? Shouldn’t she be moving back? Was it a phantom noise? It had to be. There was no way. Grace stared down into the darkness, fixated on the emptiness in front of her, barely able to move in time at the feeling of the hands behind her.

There was one benefit to Regan’s resignation, breaking and entering. The morgue was a place of treasures for Deirdre, why should they be locked away from her? Now that she didn’t have to worry about a rule-loving Regan to upset, she might as well have her fun. At least, someone ought to. It was almost a shame to have a morgue, but no banshees that ever visited. It was like she was doing it a favour, really. With some shattered glass and a step inside, she was in. She pulled her mime mask off, repurposed from her toaster theft days, and surveyed the darkness. The cameras inside had been dealt with by way of some promise binding, but even for her prep-work, she hadn’t figured out what the layout of the place was. She walked around aimlessly for some agonizing minutes until she happened upon a stairwell. Which was good news, because the morgue was down them, right? Deirdre took one cautious step forward, and then froze. A figure stood in front of her. Deirdre blinked at it. She swallowed back a curse. Regan didn’t work here anymore, who else cared that much about the morgue to come in so early? She thought about turning away; maybe she’d come back another day, or at night.

And then she remembered that she was Deirdre, and that she didn’t care. She reached out and shoved the figure down the stairs, watching them tumble with a grin. She’d broken into the morgue, the last thing she’d find issue with was hurting a human on the way in. “Oops,” she offered cheerily, waiting until they tumbled all the way down before she started her remorseless descent.

The wind was knocked out of Grace as she tumbled down the stairs. When she finally reached the end, smacking against the wall just across from the foot of them, she laid there for a moment, disoriented. She blinked a few times in an attempt to regain her composure, looking up at the figure that was descending the stairwell. Who was that? Grace wondered quietly, letting out a groan as she pulled herself up from the floor. Reaching up to touch her forehead, she pulled her fingers away covered in blood. Grace flinched and watched as the stranger ignored her entirely, beelining towards the items that Grace knew were for training purposes-- old bones, some animal, some human. They were used to train newbies on the differences, to replicate an entire skeleton. Grace winced as she moved towards the woman, “What are you doing and who are you?” Her heart was hammering and her fingers trembled, but there was no way she could just let this woman push her down a flight of stairs, steal, and get away with it. Though, what would she really be able to do? Grace held her hand to her forehead and watched as the woman ignored her. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t stop.” Grace went to grab her phone, which coincidentally was in her bag upstairs. Shit.

All it took was watching one human tumble down the stairs for Deirdre to feel more like herself than she had the past month. For all she worried about humanity, and its place to be treated with fairness, she couldn’t deny that watching a human fall the stairs really cemented their place as the inferior species. She could tell herself this easily, because no one ever looked real when they fell down. This girl wasn’t a person, she was just some thing. Deirdre surveyed her treasure of bones; she’d need to get her hands on them before she could tell what they were, really. And though she hadn’t expected to steal anything, these bones were just ripe for it. She paid no attention to the girl until she spoke again, and Deirdre froze in step and spun herself around slowly. “You won’t do that,” she grinned, sharp under the dim lighting. “You won’t do that because I’ll kill you.” She closed the distance between them, cornering the girl against the wall. Her movements were slow and deliberate as she traced her hand up to the girl’s forehead, drawing back blood between her fingers. Just a thing, she told herself. Sometimes the rabbits bled, that didn’t make them worthy of her time. “That’d be a shame, wouldn’t it?” She hummed, lifting the girl’s chin up so their eyes could meet. “To rob the world of you? You wouldn’t want that.” She dropped her hand away; if she could keep the rabbit quiet, she wouldn’t have to take any drastic measures. And though she could knock the girl out with a scream, it would’ve been a tragedy to lose the catalyst to the next little game she could play. “What’s your name, little rabbit?”

Grace’s blood ran cold at the woman’s words. The woman had more than a few inches on her, leaving Grace to feel vulnerable in more ways than she liked. She wasn’t sure what she could do. This individual had just pushed her down a set of stairs and had thought little of it. She rubbed her shoulder. She had just finally healed from the morgue cuts, now she was going to be peppered with bruises. Great. Her head throbbed, too, making it hard for her to focus on the woman in front of her. “Why are you going to kill me over bones?” Grace implored, backing up against the wall. She flinched away from the woman’s touch, her fingers at her forehead. Why could she barely feel anything from her? She was finding it harder and harder to feel-- had it been her? No, that couldn’t be it, there were others she could tell. Grace clenched her jaw as the stranger tipped her jaw up, their gazes locked. The self-depreciating part of Grace, the part that was loud with jokes of the morbid variety, that part of her had won. She was scared, but she still managed to stammer out, “I don’t think anybody would notice, and quite frankly, you might be doing me a favor.” Once the woman dropped her hand away, she shrunk further against the wall. Her mouth felt dry and her stomach churned. “I’m not a--” Grace grit her teeth and looked at the woman in the dim light. She didn’t recognize her, didn’t think she’d ever seen her before. “It’s on my name tag,” she muttered, pulling it away from her neck to show the woman. The last thing she wanted to do was help this stranger out in any capacity.

“Why wouldn’t I kill you over bones? I’ve hurt people for less.” Deirdre smiled, easy with the sharp edge of superiority—as if her world truly was ruled by such whims. What Grace didn’t know, was that her chaotic nature was reigned by ancient rules and, more often, laziness. Killing humans was just too much of a hassle, most days. That said, she thought about the fun she might have stuffing her in one of the cadaver freezers. How long until Rickers found her? She pressed her hand against Grace’s arm, testing the flesh, and thought about it. She imagined the shock on Rickers’ face when they’d cut her open and discovered all her organs had ruptured from the inside. Homicide or accident; what would they rule? Would it be ‘undetermined’? That one was always funny to her. Deaths were always determined. “Well if no one would notice…” she slipped a knife out of her jacket, waving it around with innocence. “Grace,” she repeated, having read her name off the tag when she’d mentioned it. “No one’s very graceful when they die—or fall down the stairs, as it were.” She grinned, considering what she might do now that she suddenly had something fun. With her knifeless hand, she drew a handkerchief from her pocket, and pressed it to Grace’s bleeding forehead. “You’ll want to hold that there, rabbit.”

Grace flinched again, unsure if this woman was using it as a scare tactic, or if she meant it. The look in the woman’s eyes, it told her she meant it. Despite her being so close, so tangible, Grace had a hard time in getting a read on her. It made her stomach turn in on itself. She stared at the woman, willing herself not to let fear rule. She had been faced with plenty, yet it never came easy. This certainly was not a circumstance she had been put up against, but leave it up to happening in the morgue. Grace winced at the feeling of the woman’s fingers pressing into her skin. The urge to rip her arm away, to push her back, it was one that she wanted to play into, but found it hard to do. Though she knew the words she let fall from her lips were ignorant at best, a temptation for her own downfall, she let her expression harden at the sight of the knife. If this was how she went, so be it. At least they wouldn’t have a hard time transporting her body. Maybe Regan would come back to work, one last favor to an annoyance. Grace blinked at the knife, then in a second, there was something being pressed to her forehead. She reached up at the stranger’s words and held it, her hand trembling. “I’ve never fit my name, so it seems right.” Grace winced at the pressure she applied to her own wound as she eyed the knife carefully. “Are you going to kill me, or…?” Grace worried the inside of her cheek, drawing blood. She could try and run, sure, but what would she do then? Who was to say that along with the knife she had drawn, that this woman wouldn’t also draw a gun?

The terrified human was an interesting creature. Desperate, horrified of death, suddenly aware of the precious nature of their meaningless lives. But some humans could be surprising, special. It was up to Grace to decide what she wanted to be now. Deirdre grinned, stepping back. “I could…” She mused, throwing her knife from one hand to the other in a show of whimsy. She might or she might not kill the human, she might or she might not be having fun with the game of it all. “Do you want me to, Grace?” She turned to her, grin turned sharp, eyes sharper. “Do you like your life at all? Your job? Do you have friends? You’re the one that said I’d be doing you a favor.” She moved closer again, now amused that Grace didn’t appear to be fighting her in any way. Some humans froze like this, others ran, few fought. Most screamed. “And I do enjoy doing favors. I’ve always thought of myself as a helpful soul. So what’s it going to be, Grace?”

Grace watched the knife topple from one hand into the other. The woman had no fear, or at least she wasn’t able to sense it, of it accidentally cutting into her skin. She swallowed thickly, the glint in the dark shadows of the unlit basement still visible, though she felt it was more due to its threat and Grace’s flight response than anything else. Grace winced at the woman’s words. Her heart thudded loud enough, so loud that she was sure that the stranger would be able to hear it. She dabbed her lips with her tongue, a nervous habit, before speaking, “I don’t know--” she admitted, her tongue feeling flat, too heavy in her mouth. She, of course, didn’t want to die, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins now, it was the opposite of fear. She had been faced with it a few times, and each of those times she had cried, so why not now? The sound of a door closing at the top of the stairs and feet shuffling sent Grace’s gaze flickering. She could scream, could ask for help, but what if it was Rickers? What if this woman killed him in her stead as punishment? Grace finally let out a breath, one she hadn’t known she was holding, “I think people will miss me, they’ll try to figure out who it was, you won’t get away with it.” Kaden wouldn’t let her just die, would he? Would Regan?

Deirdre wasn’t a murderer now. Pushing humans down the stairs was one thing, having fun with them was another, but not murder. She’d been clean of that now. Of course, what Grace didn’t need to know, Grace didn’t need to know. Maybe if she was smart about it, she could twist this into something about making Grace look at the meaning of life. But, really, she’d just been bored and Grace had just been there. She grinned, wide and uncaring and completely fake. She turned to Grace and stilled the knife in her hand. The sun was coming up, and the working day was almost at its march, there wasn’t much more time for games. Which was a shame, because she’d been enjoying this one. “Well,” squared herself, “let’s test that, shall we?” And she screamed.

It was a misconception that banshees only screamed to destroy. An ancient art was as hard to master and control as it was old—her family liked to think they discovered it. But a certain sound, done just right, didn’t hurt. It just incapacitated. And that was all she’d done to Grace. As her body slumped to the floor, Deirdre dragged her over to a better place than on the wall. She helped herself to a bone, stuffed in her pocket, and decorated Grace’s body with a pile of the rest. If she was being smart, she could say this was a demonstration in the apathy of humans. If she awoke alone, still bone-buried, as Deirdre assumed she would, it meant no one would have missed her at all.

But mostly, Deirdre was just bored.

#chatzy #para: deirdre #para: humpty dumpty

9 notes · View notes