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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

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If It Wasn't for the Nights || Alain and Kaden

TIMING: Not long after Knowing Me, Knowing You LOCTION: Cemetery PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Alain and Kaden meet up for some slay therapy

Alain was not ready to be alone with his thoughts right now, or be caught staring blankly into the distance as he tried to make sense of his life, and so, on this lovely summer night, the slayer was not waiting for spawns to show, but actively looking for them, trusting his hunter senses to lead the way. There were not many ways to find flederprey, but so far, only stray spawns were to be found. Not exactly the toughest opponents, but they managed to keep him busy, and that was enough. Still, as the feeling of having undead around him dimmed out, he found himself once again alone with his thoughts, hearing the things she said to him. He also remembered Kaden’s warnings, and how he had ignored those. Minutes passed, and Alain was starting to regret accepting to see his friend.

Hunting vampires was far from Kaden’s specialty, but he was certainly not inept. And if a fellow hunter asked for help, he’d never say no. Especially not a friend. “Hey,” he called out to the slayer who was sitting there, sullen and sulking. Kaden went to make a quip, tease or jostle him, but something felt off. Something. Right. He knew damn well what was off. What he didn’t know was how to deal with it. Feelings weren’t his forte. “Didn’t know what we were looking for so I brought just about everything.” He had his shotgun on his back, as always, even if it wasn’t the most useful for the undead, it made him feel better, there was holy water in flasks with him, a few stakes, his usual roster of knives. “You want to talk about it or you want to start slaying?”

His regret dissipated as he watched Kaden approach. It had been a while, and he was probably to blame for that. Working on making relationships work was obviously not his strongest suit. Alain couldn’t help his smile as his friend explained that he came prepared. This was no surprise. The beast hunter was not one to fuck around, and it must have been why they got along. Their argument hadn’t been really pretty, but Kaden’s opinion mattered, which was why he had not told him yet to fuck off, no matter how much he wanted to sometimes. Still he wondered if he should have told him about Evelyn. She was the kind of person Kaden hunted after all. One could hope that with time, worry would fade, and that so would feelings. “Mmh?” Lost in his thoughts, he only realized Kaden was speaking to him as he heard his last word. “I don’t know if this is the right place for a conversation,” rubbing at the back of his neck, he stood still for a moment before he nodded. “Let’s do… that.” He sighed, still feeling heavy, “Flederprey is what we are looking for. They usually can be found near spawns, but so far, I haven’t found anything but the latter,” which was not exactly hard, in this town. “I’ve already tried this area,” he motioned to the tombstones dressed on the left, behind him. Clearly, they still had a good portion to scan. “They’re pretty easy to kill,” he explained, “not technically undead, but if there’s a lot of them, I should be able to tell they’re here before we see them.”

Kaden was far from a relationship expert and honestly, still a little shocked by how long his current one had lasted. So getting straight to the slaying was probably a better idea. Even if he was pretty sure he’d have to pry it out of Alain eventually. As much as he didn’t do feelings, if being friends with Bea and Morgan had taught him anything it was that sometimes that talking crap helped a little. But first, “flederprey, huh?” He took his shotgun off his back and got it loaded and ready to go. “Sounds like it’s time for target practice.” The smile he offered Alain felt like a shit attempt at acting like everything was alright. “Lead the way,” he said, gesturing for Alain to start tracking using his slayer senses. For a bit, he followed along in a spot of silence. Should he say something about Evelyn? No, probably not. Let him know that he supported his friend? Nah, he was showing that, didn’t need to say it. Maybe he should mention the shit that went down at the cabin? Maybe. Could be a decent distraction. “So. Fun story. Nadia tried to kill us at that lakehouse the other weekend.”

Well, this was a relief. Alain was concerned for a second that this was going to turn into a therapy session. He did not need it. He did not want to talk about it. If he had not needed to drown his sorrow in alcohol, then it probably meant that he was okay, right? Sure, he still felt like he had a ball in his chest when he thought of Evelyn, but that was only natural. It would pass, he was sure of that. Those things just took time. Besides, it only had been a couple weeks. His radar went on and off as they wandered through the lanes. It would take a bit of roaming around to actually find the nest, but he had good hopes that they would find it, and help save a lot of people tonight. Of course, much like usual, people would never know, but that was fine. Being useful was enough reward. Lost in his thoughts, what Kaden said didn’t immediately bring a reaction from the slayer. Frowning, he looked as if he was solving a complicated equation for a second. “Wait what? She tried to kill who? You and Regan? Is Regan okay?” His brows furrowed and he turned around, a baffled expression on his face. “What happened? Is she… was she possessed?” Again? If Alain had noticed a change in Nadia’s behavior, he wouldn’t have guessed that this had happened to her again, assuming that this was what happened.

“Oh I’m fine. No complications with my stab wound, thanks for checking,” Kaden said, sarcastic edge to his voice. “Yeah she’s fine. Physically at least. Clearly I survived. But it was bad.” He sighed remembering that night. The rain, the confusion, that basement, the betrayal. And his confessions afterwards. Probably not a good time to tell his friend his confession of hunting went a bit better than his. “Nadia’s possessed, yeah. Very. Same bitch from six years ago. And it’s--” The words caught in his throat. There wasn’t a lot of hope for her right now. That didn’t matter. “It’ll be alright. We’re going to fix it. I’ll make sure. I mean, I know Regan would too. If she, uh, you know.” Understood what was really going on. “I mean, I don’t know how yet, there’s apparently no fuckin exorcists in to--” His paused to listen. There was something in the distance. Sounds. Screeching. Flapping of wings. Kaden held his hand up to pause them both so he could find the direction of the sound. He was about to point when the sounds got louder. Much louder. And then it hit him. Literally. Talons swooped by his head and Kaden ducked. A few of them must have broken away from the pack. “Putain!” he shouted and started firing his gun at the fuckers, hoping to get a piece of either Shit they were small. This was going to be a challenge. “Rest must be nearby!”

“You’re standing in front of me, come on.” Alain held out his hand, palm up, obviously not having any of the attitude Kaden was giving him. “I’m glad you both are okay,” he smiled apologetically. Whatever had happened must have been terrible, because hunters were not the kind to complain for nothing. “I’m…” Well, he certainly had no word to describe how this felt like. Nadia was one of the kindest people he knew, and he wondered for how long this had been going on. He spoke to her a lot after all. “How is that possible? I thought they got that ghost out of her,” he didn’t know enough about ghosts to understand everything, and so there were things that flew over his head. “There’s not one exorcist in town? Really?” The last part dropped into a whisper. As per usual, the sound of the gun made him flinch. He was not used to working with those, and there was a chance he would never get used to those. “Rest most definitely is not far,” he confirmed, and they seemed to have been drawn by the noise, a few spawns following behind. “Et bien, mon salaud,” his brows furrowed. The weight of his sword adjusted in his hand as he gripped firmly on the handle. The swarm of flederpreys flew around the two hunters, claws and fangs out. It was unlikely that they would walk out without scratches on their face and arms. The good thing was, unorganized creatures like those that just ran headfirst into you were easier to kill as they didn’t know better than to stay away from his arm reach.

The flederprey were coming faster than Kaden could unload bullets. They were a swarm alright. And they brought friends. A few straggling spawn came with them. Good target practice as his dad used to say. And Oscar still did. It was still a bit surreal that Oscar was in White Crest. Not right now, Langley, concentrate. “I got the ground, you get the air,” he told Alain. His gun was going to be all but useless on the small bat like creatures. The spawn he stood a chance with. Before he could so much as reach for a stake, a flurry of talons flew down, dangerously close to his eye and he ducked and rolled out of the way, doing what he could to cover his head. As he lay on the ground, something bigger, much bigger swooped down and Kaden did what he could to swat it away with his gun, brandishing it like a melee weapon, when something sunk into his flesh and he felt his body leave the ground. Putain. Kaden cried out from the pain, as he looked into the eyes of a winged spawn, its hooked claws tearing into him and his face getting dangerously close to his neck. His shout morphed into something of a battle cry as he twisted around and clobbered the monster in the head with the butt of his gun. It screeched and he felt a release from the pain in his sides. Only to also feel the rush of wind fly past him as he fell towards the ground. Aw, fuck. This was going to hurt.

Neither the sword nor the bullets seemed to be ideal for beating the swarm of monsters, and much like Kaden, Alain feared for his eyes more than once. Shielding his face with his forearm, he didn’t immediately notice that his friend had decided to go on a vertical journey through the cemetery, and the slayer, who had forgotten to mention that this might happen, found himself cringing as he thought my fucking bad. This sounded like something that he should have told Kaden about, all things considered. Now the question was should he catch him ? He probably could have supported it, but the idea of getting his eyes away from the rest of these things was unbearable. What he could do however, was kick a spawn under the other hunter. Undead flesh had to be more comfortable than the ground and gravel, right? “You alright,” he didn’t have a hand to offer, as a few spawns were heading toward them. They weren’t done yet with the flederpreys. This was going to get out of hand if they did not move fast. Spawns, he could handle, he had done this hundreds, and hundreds of times, but those pesky little flying fuckers? They were a lot more annoying than in his memories. Or maybe he was just getting old.

“Putain!” Kaden felt his bones crashing into other bones and flesh. Better or worse than the ground? He didn’t know. “Thanks for the help,” he grumbled as he pushed himself up, wiping the dust off his hands as the spawn below him dissipated. He didn’t waste time reloading his gun and letting shots fire into the monsters above him. A good number started squealing and some started dropping. There had to be a better way to take down this hoard, more efficient than their sword and gun combo.Alain was having more luck but Kaden didn’t know what the fuck else to try. It’s not like he had a toothpick launcher to stake these fuckers. Fuck, if only he head a better idea. He pulled out a bottle of holy water and threw it at the monsters and… nothing. “Fucking hell!” Not vampires, not really. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He reloaded and let out more bullets to sink into the monsters’ flesh. The herd seemed to be thinning slowly but surely, not with a whole lot of help from him. He ducked to avoid more tiny talons and locked sight on the winged spawn still swooping around. He might not be able to hit the flederprey but he could sure hit that fucker. He let shots fly, a number of them riddling its wings with holes and the beast gave an ungodly screech as it plummeted to the ground. Kaden covered his head and ran through the field of flederprey towards where the span nose dived, stake in hand. He felt the pricking on his back of the small creatures as he drove the stake through the spawn’s heart, rendering it to dust. . A wing swooped down close to his eye Kaden dove and ducked out of the way, running into the other hunter as he tried to avoid it. Fuck. “Sorry, there’s-- How fucking many of these are there?!”

Kaden’s reaction drew a fit of laughter from the other hunter. As inappropriate and badly timed as it was -vampire dust turning laughter to coughing-, Alain simply could not help but react this way to Kaden’s surprise. Vampires had always, and always would be messy, and it was why he couldn’t consider ever quitting this gig. There were too many, and they could reproduce too easily, and so, it was essential that he did not quit. While the slayer knew that there were more vampire hunters out there that could replace him or do the job, he felt now, more than never, the need to keep going. After all, it was too late for him to start anything new. This had been his life, and this would be his life. Slowly, the cemetery became quieter, and soon enough the sound of weapons being drawn, fired and thrown was no longer heard. “Wasn’t so bad now was it?” With a sigh, he dropped his shoulders and had a look around. “Mmh, give me a second,” he could feel that there was still something close. It was faint, but it could only mean one thing. And so the hunter strode away from his friend. The place fell silent, and then there was a scream. His own. Hanging from the ceiling of a mausoleum was a silhouette, one that he mistook for her, just for a split second. The spawn (for it was one), startled by the sound, threw itself, all claws out toward Alain, who barely had time to protect his face. A gash on his forehead, he stumbled out of the mausoleum, one eye blinded by his own blood. “Bordel de conneries, de putain…” the rest of his curse was lost into the night and he looked around him, searching with one eye for the damn thing.

When the flock was finally picked off, Kaden leaned over, hands on his knees, trying to catch a breath. Still, even through his exhaustion, there was a hint of a smile on his face. He couldn’t help it, the adrenaline kick of a hunt was hard to fight off. “Yeah yeah, shut it. Next time remember to bring something for crowd control. I don’t like fighting swarms of anything for a rea--” He stopped mid sentence as his friend’s face fell. Kaden’s eyebrows knit together as he tried to stay still, listen. Alain decided to go ahead alone and so he simply nodded and let him. Kaden wasn’t going to argue with a moment to rest. But he knew better than to drop his guard completely. He made sure his gun was reloaded, stake easy to access. When he heard a scream, he was glad he did. “Hold on!” he shouted, barreling towards the mausoleum after him, weapons at hand. He saw the spawn sprint out before he caught sight of Alain. Without hesitation, he aimed and fired at the creature, riddling it with bullets until it squealed and dropped down. Not enough, not with vampires. He ran over and gave it a final stake through the heart. Kaden didn’t pause to watch it collapse into a pile of dust, he ran to check on his friend. The string of curse words was a relief, it meant he wasn’t dead. “What happened? You alright? Putain, it was just another one, what was that?” He searched for an answer in his friend’s face, but all he could see was Alain’s wide, frightened eyes, hear the pounding of his pulse. Shit, he didn’t know if he’d ever seen the slayer this spooked.

When would this end? The thought ran on loop in his head. His eyes were still staring directly at the mausoleum. He would not have been able to tell for how long he remained like this, looking into the distance. The feeling was familiar, but he had not grown accustomed to it. He however, was tired of it. Time passed, and it happened less and less often, but every once in a while, he still would get nightmares, or flashes of horror while he was awake. If he had mentioned to Kaden that he had been having nightmares due to a mara, he never mentioned the terrors he could get while he was out and about, or that sometimes they happened while he was busy hunting. He knew too well where this conversation would have gone, but now, he could not exactly escape from that. This whole situation made Alain furious. Part of him wanted to blame Evelyn. After all, he suspected one of her mara friends was responsible for this. Who else would have wanted to protect her like that? The thought that he had defended that woman made him feel gutted, but not as much as the way she had treated him. He still missed her, but in moments like those, he was just angry. He did not deserve this. No one did. “I thought I saw something else,” it might have taken him a few minutes to reply, or maybe seconds. Fright had a way to distort time and reality after all. “I’m okay,” he assured him. Well obviously no one would believe that.

Kaden’s brows furrowed as he tried to read whatever look was on Alain’s face, see if there was some answer to his questions there that weren’t in his friend’s words. “Well you did, you found another spawn. It’s dead though,” Kaden said, looking over to where the body should have been. Right. “Well, alright it was already dead, I mean dusted.” Yeah he wasn’t used to the easy cleanup that came with slaying. Really it was unfair that beat hunting didn’t have this sort of advantage. “Sure you are.” Kaden started to clean off his weapons, start putting them back where they belonged, pistol in its holster, stake in his pocket, knife in its sheath. “It’s fine, you know. To not be okay,” he told Alain, still not meeting his friend’s eyes, almost as if to give him some moment of privacy with his emotions. “You two seemed really--” Happy. He knew the word would cut like a knife, didn’t want to say it aloud. “So I’m sure it sucks. Finding out that you accepted her. And not the other way around.” It was the reason why Kaden had been too afraid to even try to tell Regan what he was or what he did. And part of him felt like he was still only halfway there. The fear of rejection ran deep and seeing it end like this? It didn’t exactly inspire him to delve deeper. “It’s okay if you’re not okay. I’ve got your back either way.”

Alain, who had yet to muster his feelings together, managed to finally glance away from the mausoleum, from the circle of turpitude he could have so easily thrown himself into. Getting lost in his thoughts had been his main problem lately, and so he tried to focus on what Kaden said to him, although he didn’t smile as the other hunter corrected himself. There was something endearing about it, but he did not budge. Not quite out of torpor yet. “Right,” of course he was full of shit, and Alain did not think for once that Kaden could have believed that. Even the slayer himself did not believe this bullshit. Pinching his nose, he held a hand against his mouth for a moment. Did he want to talk about Evelyn? Or about them? He focused on his breathing. The subject could easily draw him into a fit of anger, or sorrow. He did not want that. He could feel the air filling up his lungs. That was a soothing feeling. That helped. “I should have seen that coming. We live in a world full of hypocrites, don’t we. Look at us.” Hunters who claimed they had a sense of duty, except when they happened to like that one person or creature. Hypocrites, everywhere. Some paid for it, some did not. He happened to be on the wrong side of the coin. People liked to hate hunters, until they needed one. He knew that. He really should have known better. “I guess I’m not okay,” he admitted with a raise of his shoulders. This small shrug might have not been much, but it was not often that Alain confessed to being affected by things. Pride might have been the one thing he did inherit from his father. “I just need the nightmares to go away now,” every single one of those reminded him of her. Without those he could move on, right? “And well, whatever those hallucinations are,” he motioned toward the mausoleum, turning his back on it.

There were plenty of times Kaden wondered why people bothered with him. He didn’t always know what to do with emotions or how to be properly supportive. He wasn’t Morgan or Bea, he didn’t know how to have a conversation or how to force it. He didn’t know what Alain actually needed beyond staking a few vampires. Catharsis through anger and violence, that’s what he knew. That he understood and could facilitate. Anything else? He was lost. It didn’t help that his situation was in a different position. Their similarities were so palpable and differences so stark by comparison. Still his brow creased at the word hypocrite. Sure. That wasn’t wrong. But the word didn't settle. He couldn’t let it, couldn’t swallow it down. If he did, he’d have to live with that feeling of being wrong, feeling wrong. He’d prefer to stave that off a little longer, keep it at arm’s length, delay the inevitable. “Yeah, well, still sucks. I’m sorry. You can do better, anyway.” Kaden continued pacing up his gear, inspecting it, making sure nothing needed repairs or care later. He didn’t know if Alain believed him or wanted to hear it, but it was true. He could do better than a monster. He didn’t have to hang his hopes on someone who couldn’t accept him for what he was or what he did. He could have better than that. Maybe now wasn’t the time to bring it up, though. He sighed. “No shit you’re not okay. I can see you. I know.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his way. He was no expert on how to avoid bad dreams. His plan was usually just not to sleep. “Well, you can always try that baku that Blanche has.” His blood curdled at the suggestion of a supernatural solution. It felt wholly wrong. The supernatural was the problem not the solution. Wasn’t it? He didn’t know anymore. “That or time, you know. It fades with time.” That’s what everyone said, anyway. The grief of loss faded with time. He supposed it was true. It did dull. He wasn’t sure it faded or just meant less. Guess the reason didn’t matter if the result was the same, right? “Well, looks like we cleared this place out. Want to head back?”

Kaden’s dismissal of the hypocrisy drew a grumbling sound from the other hunter. Alain didn’t make any comment but he looked a mix of disappointed and offended as he looked away from the other man. His brows furrowed and he shook his head. It was not so much being with someone that he missed. Being alone was fine, really. It was her that he missed, but that was something he had to work on. He couldn’t afford to dwell on that, he did not want to, and maybe Kaden was right when he said that he could do better, whatever that meant. Not Alain cared enough for relationships to find better. He had been content being by himself all those years, and he had to be realistic : he did not have many years left anyway. It was selfish to start something with anyone. Rubbing at his face, he nodded then shook his head at the next suggestion. As much as Alain wanted the mara’s after effects to fade away as soon as possible, he was not keen on the idea of letting a monster in his house again. He remembered what Evelyn had said about those too. Then, he really wanted those nightmares gone. They no longer happened every day, not even every week, but he still had some every fortnight, and they stuck. “I suppose time does that,” of course it would fade away, the memories, the meaning of things. “We can head back,” he agreed, kicking at the dusty remains of that mausoleum spawn. Fucker. “You wanna stop by the house for a drink or you’re good?”

“Yeah I think I can do that,” Kaden said with a smile. He gestured for Alain to lead the way. Truth was, he had almost intended to go back to Regan’s right after. It felt wrong, though, running back to her when his friend was hurting more than he was going to let on. It didn’t matter. She’d wait. Hell, she might not even be off of work for another hour or so. Either way, that didn’t matter. Whether she understood or not mattered little, too. The slayer needed some support, even if it was small and silent solidarity. That much Kaden could manage. “Let’s hope the way stays clear on the way back. Or not. If you think you still have it in you, old man,” he said with a joking elbow as they made their way out the cemetery back home.

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #alain #carbrakesandstakes #If It Wasn't for the Nights #yes that is an abba song b/c ofc it is

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deathduty · 4 years

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Moonlight Sudoku || Deirdre & Otto

By some miracle, Deirdre gets someone else to do some sudoku with her in a cemetery. Except this person is very cool. Too cool. ( @gravityfissure )

By some miracle, Deirdre found herself in a cemetery again, with sudoku, waiting for some poor man to show up and hopefully get thrashed by some spawns. Admittedly, she was curious to what kind of a man Otto was. He seemed so charming online, in that way some people could be. And either naive or reckless enough to agree to this dumb idea of hers. But unlike Alain, this man would be fun. She perked up as she heard the telltale crunch of dry dirt and leaves, snapping up from where she sat on a tombstone. She flung the light of her flashlight in the intruder’s face, grinning widely as he came into view. “You must be...Otto?” And to think, he was more handsome than she thought too. “Did you bring your sudoku?”

Otto had parked up his bike in the parking lot just outside the graveyard. He didn’t make a habit of hanging around cemeteries if he could but sometimes his spell stores required resupplying and that meant going out to gather some goofer dust. The dead didn’t tend to mind so long as you asked permission before you took what you needed and if they did - he’d found a dusting of salt tended to silence any issues they might have. Then of course there were plenty of other dangers lurking around the graveyards, vampires for one loved to hang out here and their proclivity for counting things? This lady’s interest in the dead and sudoku had left him wondering if that’s the sort of person he’d be dealing with tonight. A natural precaution left him with a simple wooden stake, dagger, bottle of holy water concealed beneath the hang of his tailored black blazer. Present more for his own peace of mind. His steps slowed as the flashlight was swung in his face and the woman spoke. Oh, well that was interesting. “And you must be Deirdre the screamer, I should’ve realised you were Irish - snap,” he flashed a playful smile as he sauntered nearer, flourishing a little sudoku book in his hand, “right here darling… Right here.”

Deirdre clutched her chest, flinching back in surprise. “You recognized my accent?” She stood up a little straighter, beaming and proud. “So many Americans have been calling it Scottish that I lost faith.” But clearly this man knew his European accents. But when he said it like that, Deirdre the screamer---Irish---he sounded like a warden putting the pieces in place. She’d never met a charming warden before, but tonight could be a night of firsts instead of seconds. “Fates,” she breathed, watching him reveal his sudoku book with a flourish. “I love you. I think I might be falling in love with you. Did you know the last man I took out to do sudoku at a cemetery just said it was a stupid idea?” Granted, she was making claims about her sudoku cult, and trying to get twenty dollars off of him, but that was neither here nor there. She gestured to the tombstone opposite to her, wanting him to sit. “You wouldn’t happen to want to get naked now too, would you? Because I’d adore that.” Her grin was lopsided. Well, now that she liked him, she was a little sad the spawns would inevitably come out and try to make a meal out of him. Or would that be more fun? Clearly a man like him, with a brain, wouldn’t come to a cemetery unless he knew how to defend himself from the risks. Her mind wandered back to thinking he was a warden. She could only know for certain with some prodding. “Do you meet girls in cemeteries often, Otto?”

Otto winked before clarifying, “well, Americans can’t tell the difference between most things. So it’s your lucky day, A because I’m not American and B because I was born in Dublin. Plus, your name’s old Irish.” His laugh rang out with genuine amusement as she declared her sudden infatuation. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one but darling we’re just getting started aren’t we? No need to rush,” as she gestured to the tombstone he moved over and hopped up to perch on the edge of it. “It’s certainly unique,” he admitted to her saying that someone had thought it stupid, stupidly dangerous perhaps but that was part of the thrill of life wasn’t it? “Now now,” he started with a sly smile as he flipped open the sudoku book he’d brought along “we’ve only just met, and while I do appreciate your enthusiasm, all good things come in time.” He paused, cocking his head as he took out a little pen, “after all, if just meeting me is enough to make you love me, who knows what’d happen if you saw the rest of me hm?” The question caused his eyes to flicker up and study her for a passing moment before returning to his book. “Sometimes,” a slightly evasive answer but that was part of the fun wasn’t it? “Depends what I’m getting for meeting them in graveyards.” Which wasn’t untrue, though mostly it was ingredients and hand-offs that saw him in places like this. “Do you invite strangers here a lot then?” he faked a look of sadness a hand gracefully moving to touch his heart the act and everything about his persona reading easily as casual confidence “and there was me starting to think I was special.”

Deirdre grinned. Now, she really liked Otto. “Oh, I couldn’t tell. You don’t sound…” She gestured to him, knowing he’d fill in the blanks. “I assume you must have moved to America young then...right?” It was the only reason she could think of him not having the telltale accent. Or maybe he was just one of those people that lost it over time, but he didn’t seem the sort to be so easily swayed. But oh, did she like him. So many humans could be so dull, with nothing of excitement to offer. But this one at least had charm, and enough charisma to impress her. “Why, aren’t you cheeky? I think you and me will get along perfectly fine, Otto. Especially if a little danger excites you.” And turned to her sudoku, easily working her way through the puzzle in front of her. “Oh, just a couple of times a year. I’ve been trying to start a sudoku club. But you know---” she looked up, smiling. “Some people are just so scared of cemeteries. That wouldn’t be you now, would it? Do you believe in the things that go bump in the night?” She could feel them around her, their chill shooting down her. They lingered around in the darkness, she was sure. Spawns weren’t smart, but they did always have impeccable timing. “I might just have ulterior motives for bringing you here, Otto. Something more than getting you naked.” Like getting him eaten, even thought she knew it wouldn’t happen. But maybe the spawns could take a leg or two.

“I know and yes, I did” Otto knew well enough that he didn’t really sound like much of anything. Too young to fully adopt his home’s accent and stubborn enough to resist the American way he’d been raised that ultimately left him in a strange middle-ground of neutrality. Not to mention his grand-mother’s insistence on speaking Cantonese around the shoebox flat when she’d been alive. “You don’t get anywhere in life without a little cheek” it was a good lesson to learn early on “but if this is a usual for you we might indeed.” His pen moved across the paper, filling in boxes and noting potential answers in the margin. “If I were afraid of cemeteries I wouldn’t be sitting on a tombstone doing sudoku now would I? Plus, life and death are cyclical. They feed one another, to be afraid of death is to not appreciate the complexity of life, don’t you think?” he answered in kind, always prone to answering a question with a question. It made for a curious rally and a useful insight into someone’s mind. His pen paused mid-jot, a surreptitious glance being cast towards a few of the shadows that seemed to stir in a strangely unnatural fashion. “Oh?” he arched a brow and fixed her with a curious look though he saw another shape flit through the darkness a shudder of anticipation shot through his nerves “ahhh, so I am special. Don’t tell me, you’re going to get me naked then try and sacrifice me to some ancient unfathomable being to bring it back from whatever false reality it's been chained to? It wouldn’t be my first rodeo of that sort…”

Deirdre smirked, listening along to Otto. The sudoku in her hands was a distant thought now, mostly filled in, and completed in her mind anyway, she had far more interesting things to focus on. She tilted her head, “I’ve often said the same thing.” It was like he was reading a page out of the banshee philosophy handbook. “I agree.” But it was a strange thing for a human to say, she’d never once heard one speak that way. Something, though she didn’t know what, was special about Otto. Did he know how to impress? Did he know what she was (not that it was too difficult, Irish and sitting in a cemetery)? Beyond them, a branch snapped, some spawn’s pathetic idea of an ambush. She continued to eye him, unflinching. Was he simply probing her? Trying to set her up to say the kind of thing that would reveal her hand? Eventually, she shut her sudoku book, uncrossing her legs to cross them again on the other side. “You’re the one that agreed to meet me in a cemetery at night. In this kind of town...you had to be expecting danger.” Her grin grew wider and crooked. “And maybe I like watching humans flounder around.” And wider. “And maybe I think it’d be fun to see you squirm, Otto. But don’t worry, you’re not going to die today. Not that it matters, right? You’re not afraid of death, are you, love?” And then the hissing of the spawns cut through the tense night air, curling around their conversation. She could feel them growing closer and closer...until they finally darted out, predictably focusing on the one with the human heart first (something about her cold skin and slow heart had her mistaken for a corpse where spawns were concerned, but even the dumbest of flesh-eating creatures would eventually realize she was a meal too).

Part of being a spellcaster was being able to recognise and comprehend the duality of the world. Light and dark, life and death, dusk and dawn, war and peace. Two sides of the same coin that kept on spinning holding the world on its knife edge at risk of slipping at any given moment. Otto could recognise the patterns in the chaotic threads of the world and where others saw blind ruin he saw moments of possibility hidden within the chaos being put to order in that destruction. Possibility that could be wielded to his own benefit in some, and manipulated to suit a given outcome in others. Reading people, and gauging how to interact with them was another facet of his talents. Deirdre was… well, strange, and clearly had some hangup on death. So tapping into that seemed the most ideal method to try and understand her mentality. Did he think she had an ulterior motivation? Yes. Was that going to scare him off? Absolutely not. Was that reckless? Absolutely. Did he mind? Not at all. He wouldn’t be here otherwise. The snap of the branch gave direction, and while every sense in him urged him to turn and look in that direction he fought them and instead casually leaned back a fraction one hand on the cold stone behind him nearer to the holy water stored on the back of his belt. “Ah, well if it’s me squirming you’re looking for…. Well, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint.” No answer but a laugh was given, as with a surprising catlike grace of a dancer, Otto spun off the side of the tombstone rolling into a low crouch as two spawns leapt at the spot he had just been sitting swiping out with claws before crashing into one another instead. He watched the pair barrel away ass over teakettle into the nearby gravel hissing and spitting at their ‘ambush’ being foiled drawing the small dagger and unstopping the holy water with the other hand to pour it over the blade.

The container was dropped aside and a manic glint lit in his eye, sharp and intent as he next drew out a handful of crushed slate which he dropped in a circle over the hand holding the blade. “Corio,” the incantation was spoken clearly as a haze of purplish-black energy sparked like a tesla coil, one dagger seemingly becoming three as it was launched at one of the two spawns which in their confusion tried to split out of the way uncertain might be a true blade. Their confusion hindered them long enough for the single dagger to strike home with more force than any one blade should have the power to inflict. The blade ripped skin and muscle and was there a crunch of bone or was it the sound of the gravel underfoot? Who could say, but the spawn howled in anguish as the wound engulfed in flames a moment later. The spawn recoiled, bolting straight into the other that was attempting to right itself.

“Reditus,” a sharp hand movement followed in a jerking motion that had the blade come spinning in reverse back to his hand. There was a separate spawn to the two he was dealing with, but Otto seemed less easy prey than initially thought. Enough that it turned its attention to the other stranger in their territory clacking a row of haphazard teeth menacingly as it stalked a circle around the women’s tombstone. She would be an easier meal tonight.

Deirdre had watched several slayers do their work, but none muttered incantations—prayers, maybe but never words that sparked magic. She watched him curiously, working with a professional's grace, and a wise man's flair. Otto knew what he was doing, and he was showing off. She watched the blade fly out and come back to him, honing true as if magnetized to some invisible force within him. Could witches do that? Alchemy was Morgan's expertise, and Deirdre never bothered to inquire more from her about the other kinds. Magic never was much of a concern, but it was mesmerizing watching it played like a concerto before her. "Impressive," she whistled, uncaring of the spawn that gave up on him and now stalked towards her. "What kind of magic is that? I thought only mediums could do the whole—" She waved a hand around in the air, "Teletubbies thing." The spawn coming to her snarled, hissing, stunned to momentarily confusion with her ignoring of it. But maybe that was the mark of an easy prey? And so, pushing whatever basic instinct told it that something was wrong aside, it lunged at her.

And with the same speed, Deirdre opened her mouth, screaming one sharp note aimed at the spawn, its effect diverting harmlessly away from Otto. The spawn stumbled back, whimpering in confusion. She shifted in her seat, yawning, watching the spawn flinch at the sight of her mouth opening again. She enjoyed that most about being a banshee, she could sit, and with no effort at all, end the lives of anyone she pleased. She could kill Otto if she wanted, even with his fancy magic. She wondered if he knew that, or if his faith in his own abilities outweighed the rumor of hers. "You know, you're wrong, Otto. You don't disappoint, even if I wanted to watch those things take an arm off." The spawn she knocked to the ground had already righted itself and settled its eyes back on her. "Tell me, do you always need to use tools to get the job done?" Her eyes flickered to his dagger. To emphasize her point, she whistled another scream at her spawn, knocking it back down as it recoiled in anguish. All she needed to do was open her mouth, did Otto's magic carry the same power? Curious to know more, she urged that he continue his show.

Words had power if you knew how to channel them right. Otto’s words combined with the fluid gestures and sigils his fingers seemed to tut out were what gave rise to this display. Which it was in a way, each calculated movement designed to maximise the limited capacity of energy he had to expend as efficiently as possible. Years of training within a coven had honed skill but this was something else, a pulling on the very essence of reality and that which grounded things to this very existence and bending them to his will. Each target was focussed on in turn, his eyes narrowed in precise focus so that a misstep was never made because if he made a wrong movement, set his foot in just the wrong stance, these could easily backfire considering the experimental nature of it.

He heard Deirdre’s running commentary, like an entertained theatre goer enraptured by a performance but no response was given as he turned his attention to the second spawn – the first having thought better of this little confrontation and scuttling off into the dark from which it came. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow, the addictive rush of power returning once more. It felt so good. Like a high he never wanted to come down off of. But he glanced in Deirdre’s direction as the other spawn raced at her and she… screamed? He blinked, curious and intrigued yet distracted enough for the second spawn to lunge all gnashing teeth and raking claws. One catching his side as they toppled over and slammed into the side of a mausoleum, the fucker was strong and a white hot pain flared across his ribs where a stray clawing hand caught him. The weight kept him pinned as he fought against the creature, keeping it away from his throat with the flat of his dagger as he focussed another spell, letting the nick of another claw serve as the fuel to power it. Kicking out the creature was launched away as if it had somehow lost several kilos and barely weighed an ounce sending it in an arc. Otto knelt, dashing his hand through his own blood and raising it forth above his head, palm upturned in the direction of the arcing spawn before his fingers curled into a fist and with a loud cry wrenched his arm down. The spawn’s body contorted, and a sudden pulse of violet magic exploded as gravity seemed to firmly reestablish itself. The spawn’s mangled body suddenly jerked straight down, pulled by some unseen force before pummelling into the floor with an overwhelming force that snapped several bones leaving them jutting out at mangled angles thick black-red blood glistening from their broken shards.

Stumbling to his feet, he tugged out the stake from his belt kicking the mangled spawn over and jamming it into his rough approximation of where it’s heart should be. A terrible agonised scream filled the air before its form burst into flame and Otto staggered back, grabbing onto a tomb-stone for support as he caught his breath and tried to fight off the wave of dizziness that threatened to overcome him. Even then he only heard a fraction of what Deirdre (still looking impeccable as when she’d arrived) said and he snorted a laugh. “Not always,” he huffed, swiping a hand over his brow to wipe away the sweat, the foxish smile and coy glint returning even as he braced his remaining hand against his side, “but then again who doesn’t enjoy a good toy when you have one to hand?

She was an observer, first and foremost. Deirdre’s mother drilled the concept in her. She was to watch, never to intervene. But what was devout accordance to duty in practice, always morphed to strange, sadistic pleasure in watching someone else struggle and fight. She didn’t think Otto would blame her, he seemed like a performer, an actor. And the magic he did was special, and she swore she could see that he knew it too. That some part of him did enjoy this rush; his power. Who wouldn’t? Deirdre enjoyed seeing creatures fall to her screams just the same. Power itself, and the acquisition of it, was intoxicating. Otto did his work, and Deirdre watched. The spawn was crushed with invisible force and she looked on with delight---the bodies she’d seen mangled from large falls came to mind, and yet, that manner of force was seemingly summoned from Otto himself. This wasn’t alchemy or necromancy, this was hardly telekinesis. It was something better, grander, and she wanted to see more.

Otto, on the other hand, didn’t look up to the task of performing more. The rest of the spawns had scurried off, favoring self-preservation between Otto’s power and Deirdre’s screams. Yet, instead of offering her help to the man, clearly injured, she watched him. Observed him, scrutinized his breathing and posture. She was wrong to think he was a warden, but what he was...she thought she might just have more fun with. “I like knives,” she said, her face impassive, “I can scream. But I like knives. I like watching the blood spread under my strength against another’s flesh. Sometimes, I think it might be my undoing, to want to use a knife instead. That’s my toy.” But just as soon as the admittance tumbled from her, the glaze over her eyes fell, and concern pulled up her features. The woman who thought she might just find artistry in murder, the girl who looked curiously on to death and the her acts of it, was replaced with the one that knew better. She rose, moving slowly towards Otto, pulling the handkerchief she kept in her pocket out to press against his wounds. “Do you need a hospital?” She asked him, “It might please you to know you’re not dying, and won’t be any time soon, but ironically, cemeteries make a poor place to rest.” She tilted her head, “what kind of magic was that?”

The taste of power was honeysuckle sweet, pure temptation injected into his veins and left Otto riding a high that felt like it would never end. Even the sting of the gash was dulled in the heights of his power ebbing and flowing through his body a dizzying and infinite height of pleasure that couldn’t be abated. How could anyone not get lost? In being able to take and bend the very essence of something and apply a force that could crush, splinter and crack a body to something beyond all human recognition. Good thing they aren’t human, a voice reminded him.

It was that thought that brought a sudden flash to the forefront of his mind, and his graceful moves staggered as the mental image of a mangled body rag-dolling to the floor flashed through his mind's eye. Eyes pleading for mercy that wasn’t given. A life taken a mistake, but blood on his hands. The memory was enough to startle Otto’s concentration enough that he felt a sudden twist of sickness in his stomach. He stumbled, hands going to press flat to the mausoleum as he bent over screwing his eyes up as he fought off the urge to empty the contents of his stomach right there. He sucked in short sharp pants, in and out, in and out spitting out a globule of saliva into the grass as he set himself to rights the latent tingling at the tips of his fingers urging him to just do one more. One more spell wouldn’t hurt.

He had to clench his fists against the urge. And where some might ask for help, Otto didn’t, used to being alone on jobs that he had to sort his own shit out or risk facing the consequences of being caught. He could feel the wintery coolness of an observational gaze but he pushed it out of his mind. “Nothing wrong with liking knives,” he mustered a grin brandishing one of his golden gilt daggers “no kink shaming here,” Otto joked. He might look a little peaky and rough around the edges, but hell if he’d let an opportunity to quip pass him by. “You’re fae, no one else speaks quite so poetically yet succinctly about death,” more a statement of fact than a question “vampires get all flowery and morbid about it.” He grimaced at the pressure but he couldn’t help the pained chuckle “I’d rather avoid hospital. Don’t fancy explaining a spawn scrap to the attending.” Not dying. Well that was good news at least. “Really?” there was a mild touch of wryness to the question but slowly they walked away from their perch back in the direction of the entrance. “A highly experimental type,” he answered after a moment seeing no harm in sharing considering she had as well and the new bike.

Deirdre smiled, watching Otto. He didn’t look well, but as a credit to him, he didn’t act like it. She flashed the inside of her jacket, revealing the knives that lined it, in a muted attempt at knife-based solidarity. He wasn’t going to die, she knew that, but that didn’t mean he was well. Or that he wouldn’t, if she just left him here. Strange as it was to be worried about him now, when she brought him here in the first place, Deirdre was not without some compassion. “Did you just figure that out now?” She cocked her head to the side, “if the Irish accent and the love of cemeteries didn’t give it away before. And you’re a witch.” Maybe she should take more people out for sudoku in cemeteries, it clearly revealed a lot. “I’m known for many things, Otto, but my medical care isn’t one,” she withdrew her hand. “No hospital then, but you have to go somewhere. Where can I take you? That is--because you don’t seem like you’re in any state to drive a bike.” She followed him out of the graveyard, gesturing to her car, the immaculate Aston Martin parked poorly off to the side. “And maybe you can tell me if that experimental magic is of your creation, or something ancient. It’s remarkable and…” she trailed off. She didn’t know Otto well enough to make any strong claims, but she was starting to get a sense of him. “...dangerous,” she continued. What were his limits? And would it matter at all if she knew? Would she have to worry about which side of his friendliness she fell on? “....exactly who are you again?” She whispered, her breath a wisp in the cool night. She opened her car door for him, pausing as she realized he might not come along with her. Otto was, above all, a mystery. And Deirdre knew better than to force the unraveling of his game. “What will it be, Otto?”

Growing up in the kind of environment Otto had there wasn’t any time for letting yourself act anything other than good. Even with the rolling of his stomach he knew better than to do anything other than pull his shit together and carry on. “I had a suspicion, but…” he waved his hand vaguely to the carnage around them his grin a tad slanted in its amusement “all that kinda confirmed it.” Still, Otto snorted strangely amused by the notion of Deirdre being a doctor “yeah, your bedside- no, you’re graveside manner could use some work.”

There was a natural distrust of hospitals in him, or perhaps it was the fear of documentation. “Home’ll do…” he answered after a moment’s thought. Home would do just fine. The trickle of blood was slow, but the gash was relatively superficial. Nothing he couldn’t stitch up at home if needs be. “Mm… I hate the thought of leaving it here.” But what else could he do? Glancing between the bike and the Aston Martin he weighed up his options. “A nice little mystery for you to perplex yourself with if you care to try,” he answered, cryptic as anything before ultimately he relented “fine. But only because it means I get to ride in your fancy car.”

He climbed into said fancy car, wincing a little at the gash in his side that twinged with the movement but as he reclined the seat a little it made it a tad more bearable. His eyes closed taking just a moment of respite inside his own mind as he heard the soft click of the driver’s door closing and shift Deirdre getting in the car and he answered her earlier question. “As for the magic I uh… can’t rightly say I know. Mostly my own creation but I know my ancestors may have tried to figure it out without much success...” Not like there was anyone left to ask. Still, he laughed quietly, shifting once more to try and ease the new batch of discomfort and not bothering with his belt.

A suspicion. Deirdre tilted her head. Some part of her teaching to be more cautious filtered through her head. Her eyes glossed over Otto, she didn’t trust him not to go off and spill her secrets; she didn’t trust anyone. It was arrogance that kept her flippant, her species being a secret she could see little reason to keep better. Who could hurt her? Not some warden, and not Otto with his experimental magic. “Where to?” She asked quietly.

The night scene streaked past them as she drove, following Otto’s directions. For his sake, she tried to avoid the bumps in the road and any sharp turns. He hid his pain well, he hid himself well, but come reactions could not be stopped. Otto, for as much as he was a mystery, was only human. “You’re enterprising, I’ll give you that.” How dangerous was it exactly to devise your own magic? How much trouble would Otto find himself in? And, when it came down to it, would Deirdre be watching? “I wonder how long you’re last, Otto. I wonder how long you’ll think you’ll last.” She glanced over at him, bleeding against her plush leather seats.

“The docks will do,” Otto answered simply, it wasn’t too far of a walk from there and the air would do him good after tonight. Plus he’d have to go back and get his bike tomorrow but it was the least of his concerns right now. His head rested back as the lights of the town streaked past the windows and Otto observed them quietly until Deirdre spoke again and his mirthful expression returned, “would it be cliché of me to say I’m only human?” Otto was keenly aware of his mortal coil, the environments he’d lived in hardly let you forget it. “That’s a good question, I guess we’ll have to see.” Eventually the car pulled up and Otto leaned forwards catching the handle but pausing before he pulled it and got out, “well Deirdre m’darlin, tonight was a thrill. We should do it again sometime but maybe next time we can have some booze? Stop by my place when you have some time, I’ll fix us up a real fun night.” With a promise in his eye he tugged the handle swinging the door open and climbed out stiffly, his side throbbing yet the pain was masked discretely away. “Tarah love, don’t be a stranger” he winked playfully swinging the door shut and tapping the roof lightly before pivoting and swinging his way lazily back towards the warehouses in which his apartment was located.

He was human, Deirdre reminded herself. It was easy to forget that with his showmanship, with all that she’d come to learn about humans. But he was human, nonetheless. And death would catch up to him. She would catch up to him. When she leveled her blade against his neck. There might have been pity, sadness. She watched him leave, retreating into the dark where her vision could no longer follow. “Don’t die boring, Otto.” But he was too far off to hear her now.

#wickedswriting #c: otto #chatzy #moonlight sudoku #otto is really badass in this #and deirdre spends a lot of time going 'ur so cool UNLIKE ALAIN'#anyways she started the first season making someone come to a cemetery with her and she'll start this season doing the same thing

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