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virgil-achyls · 2 years

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Shine a Little Light||Emilio and Virgil

TIMING: A few days before Sad, Sweaty Man LOCATION: A park PARTIES: @monstersfear and @virgil-achyls SUMMARY: Emilio and Virgil meet up to talk about what happened with Hekakleidi. Emilio makes an offer, and Virgil accepts. The meeting is cut short by a hedgehound, and Emilio, without his powers and with Virgil making things difficult, runs away with the Lampade in tow. CONTENT WARNINGS: Suicidal ideation, domestic abuse

Everything was quieter than it used to be. You didn’t realize how much you relied on a thing until it wasn’t there for you to rely on anymore. Emilio was doing his best to work around it, but… It was no easy thing. Distraction, he’d found, was the best medicine. Distraction and… making amends. He was trying to get better at that.

Virgil seemed like a good enough place to start. Emilio carried a lot of guilt for his part in what happened to the kid, for chasing that manufactured ‘happiness’ the demon using Virgil’s body had offered to the point that he’d been willing to help sacrifice people to find it. He owed Virgil plenty, and a conversation seemed like the smallest place to start. Emilio sat on the bench as he waited for the fae to arrive, glancing up when he joined the scene. “Hey,” he greeted. “Thanks for meeting with me. Not always good at the… online shit, you know? Easier to talk in person, sometimes. And I, uh… Wanted to see for myself how you’ve been.” He looked different now. Better, maybe. It was good to see.

Virgil made his slow way to the meeting spot, gait slower and stiffer than normal due to his aching joints. He was better than he had been, but moving still hurt. It pulled at the healing skin, and the bits that stubbornly kept hurting. Keylike marks over his eyelids, the more complex knot in the center of his forehead, and the rest of the prayer marks, none of which seemed to be healing. They’d closed up enough to not bleed, but that was about it. They felt raw despite being months old. Even the acid burns to his skin and the spot on his maw where the demon had split him open from inside were better. But not those cursed marks.

He was still unsettled. The sense of being upside down, of feeling like he was going to fall into the sky, was worse now for some reason. And he was glowing. Not the natural kind which came from his eyes. It was his hair, the prayer marks, and, very faintly, the parts of his skin that’d been burnt worst by the corrupted magic. Hekakleidi’s magic was purged, but he was still feeling the effects. He was used to chronic pain, so his wounds didn’t bother him much when he was focused on other things. It was really just the bright white hair that irritated him; he stuck out like a sore thumb whether he was among humans or in the woods. He no longer felt as connected or protected by the shadows. Not as he had been, before all this.

Virgil took a seat on the bench next to who he assumed was Emilio. He hadn’t been awake for their first meeting, and he wasn’t exactly sure what Emilio looked like. But there were few humans who lingered after dark, and just one who regarded him without fear.

Emilio was a short human with dark hair. Virgil sometimes had a difficult time figuring out what humans were thinking or feeling, but the mixture of cynicism, anger, and regret were clear to even him. It looked like he wasn’t doing well either.

“It’s kind of you to want to check up on me. I am alive. I’ve been spending a lot of time asleep. But I’m bored of sleeping. It’s time for me to get back out into the world, such as I am.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “It’s good to meet you in person. Again.”

He settled into the bench, turning partially so he could meet Emilio’s eyes, and see what he could of the man. Though he was glamoured, it was clear that his humanity was a mere affectation. It was a poorly suited mask, with facial muscles and pulls that were incompatible with his true form. He rarely showed emotion through his face, but that did little to help. He hoped Emilio had a strong constitution.

The shade nearby shifted to point towards him. Shadows curled around him like a blanket, comforting despite his inability to truly be one with them again.

“Are you alright? You look a bit… tense.”

Christ, the kid looked like shit. Emilio was torn between sympathy for someone so obviously in bad shape and quiet relief that, in spite of everything, there was someone out there who looked worse off than he probably did. He knew he looked rough, with the bags under his eyes and the trembling hands, but Virgil seemed to be barely holding on at all. And there was a sense of guilt that came with that relief, sure, but not enough to dispel it entirely. Not enough to make it go away.

It occurred to Emilio, though, that this might be a normal look for me Virgil. Technically speaking, this was the first time he’d met the man instead of the demon. Hekakleidi had been a thing all its own, and the best glimpses Emilio had gotten of Virgil during the demon’s control had been brief at best. A split second when he’d thrown a punch the first time the demon came into his apartment. A moment or two during the sacrifices. Nothing as concrete as this.

He leaned back on the bench as Virgil took a seat, nodding absently. “I’d say you look better,” he said, “but I don’t want to lie.” Blunt, as always. Shifting a little under the lampade’s gaze, Emilio tried to shelf his discomfort. It was easy enough to remember that this wasn’t the same person who’d scooped him out of his own head to make room for someone more malleable. The differences in appearance made that clear enough. But the nervousness was there all the same, the quiet discomfort hard to shake.

The shadows moved, and Emilio’s eyes darted towards them despite knowing that it was Virgil who was doing it, despite knowing that there was nothing to flinch away from. He sucked his teeth, frustration flaring up at his own stubborn paranoia. Glancing back to the fae beside him, he shrugged. “Ran into a few issues recently. Kind of… flying blind right now. My hunter shit is shot.” The confession tasted like acid on his tongue, sharp and painful, but… he figured Virgil might actually understand it, in his own kind of way. “I’ll be all right once I get it fixed.”

“What do you mean, your hunter stuff is shot? I thought it was a part of you, like your skin. How did you lose it?” Virgil asked, not liking the implication there. It sounded like how he felt now: out of his element and strange, like something entirely different. He hoped that Emilio’s problem had a solution, something that could be done, besides just waiting to see if things improved on their own. Although, if Emilio was here talking to him and not out getting his powers back, he suspected that there was no simple answer. Virgil was tired of being patient, and he suspected that Emilio likely was too. Still, he had to ask. “Is it something that can be fixed?”

He thought about offering to help, but refrained. He didn’t want to be bound to another promise now, especially when the most he could do at the moment was be a nightlight. He would listen, and that was all.

“I appreciate your honesty. I’ve recovered somewhat. The restlessness is gone. But, as you can see, I have some lingering wounds.” Virgil waved his hand to his entire body, a slight, sardonic smile marring the blankness of his features. “The hair and general glow are what bother me the most. With them, the darkness cannot embrace me as it should.”

Emilio laughed at the question, dry and humorless. “It’s supposed to be,” he confirmed hollowly, closing his eyes for a moment. Virgil’s description was more accurate than he’d care to admit; he had lost a part of himself here. He might as well have lost his skin, a limb, his heart. That was how it felt, at least. “I don’t know. I hope so. I broke a promise.” He wasn’t sure why he offered the explanation. He wouldn’t have, to most people. But… There was a strange sort of connection he felt to Virgil. Maybe it was because of the shit the lampade had gone through that he’d been a part of, or maybe he just felt oddly connected to anyone who had more demon problems than he did.

He looked Virgil over carefully, nodding absently as he did so. He looked like shit, but still better than he had before. And he was himself. That, Emilio knew, counted for something. “Imagine it makes it harder,” he confirmed with a nod. Not just because it prevented him from using his powers properly, but because it was an undeniable physical change. A stark reminder of what Virgil had been through that no one could close their eyes to. That couldn’t be an easy weight to carry. “You think it’ll fade?”

Virgil’s gaze found Emilio’s eyes as he spoke of a broken promise, shocked at the revelation. “I wasn’t aware you were bound to anyone. What were the terms, if you don’t mind me asking? It seems like an overly cruel punishment.” He could see how a promise might cause problems for the human. The alarm faded fast into sympathy. He knew very well what could go wrong from promises made to the wrong person, and more than that, having one’s free will compromised was not enjoyable. The demon had crawled into his mind and made him their own. Even before that, Virgil had spent a very long year in White Crest doing his best to avoid carrying out his mother’s promise. He could only imagine how difficult it must be for one such as Emilio, given how humans faltered under harsh constraints.

“I do not think the marks will fade, no. They have been too well burned into me for them to go away. I will admit, I’m not the best with my glamour, but they will not be covered even by my best efforts.” He trailed off, gaze falling to the human-colored flesh of his wrist sticking out of the edge of his long sleeve, and the knot of runes carved there.

“I have healed from many other things. I recovered from where the demon succeeded in splitting me open from the inside. My burns are fading, if slowly. The restlessness has left me alone, so I no longer turn everything I touch black. If I had hope, I would theorize that the glow will fade like that demon’s poison did, just slower. But I do not think I will live long enough to find out.” At first, he’d hated to look at the marks, and know that they would always mean that he, in body and mind, was for Hekakleidi in the end. Now, he looked, and wanted to replace the marks with those intended for something else. Someone else, who would keep him, but not consume him in the way the demon would. His great and terrible Leshy. Nature would outlast him, and the demon. And he would die in the name of Solomon before he would surrender his mind to Hekakleidi again.

“I am exhausted with worrying about my body. It will keep hurting, as it always has. I wish to be embraced by the shadows. When the demon was in me, the shadows wouldn’t touch me, and I am glad they didn’t. Doubtless the demon would’ve corrupted them too. But despite the demon’s absence, their light still remains, and the shadows still keep a distance.”

Emilio laughed, dry and hollow and empty. “I was,” he replied, thinking of the two separate fae he’d been bound to, of Regan’s bodyguard job and Marina’s words tying him to Levi. Technically, Marina still had him bound, though they’d changed the terms of the agreement so that he only had to worry about keeping himself from killing the demon. Still, it felt like too much. It felt like freedoms being taken away, like sacrifices he’d never wanted to make. “I promised to protect someone,” he replied, “and I didn’t. Best I figure, the promise twisted me up so I can’t protect anyone now, even if I want to.” He wasn’t an expert on promise binds. He might ask Rhett if he wasn’t half convinced the warden would punch him in the face for getting himself into this mess to begin with.

But… his mess might not be the worst one on this park bench. Emilio knew all too well the weight that came with having a physical reminder of a trauma you’d gone through. His bad leg ached faintly, a quiet pulse reminding him that it was there, a graveyard to all he’d lost. People might not be able to tell it by just looking at him the way they could with Virgil, but it became clear enough when he walked. It wasn’t something he’d wish on anyone.

“It’s good,” he offered, “that some of it’s fading. At least there’s that.” But… the tail end of Virgil’s statement struck him, and his brow furrowed. “You think it’s coming back for you? The demon.” Virgil had mentioned it before, but the thought ticked Emilio’s heart up at the reminder. If Hekakleidi returned now, he’d be in no shape to fight them. Even with his abilities fully functional, he’d been bested on that first night in his apartment. He wasn’t exactly excited at the idea of a repeat performance.

He sucked his teeth thoughtfully, nodding at Virgil’s words with a hint of understanding. “Maybe you need to talk to another lampade,” he offered. “See if any might have some advice.” It wasn’t his best idea, but it probably also wasn’t his worst. He figured that stood for something.

Clarity washed over Virgil, and he nodded at the revelation of a promise to protect someone. That seemed like exactly the kind of binding Emilio would make, whether it was forced upon him or made willingly. But promises to protect were so nonspecific that it was almost impossible not to break them. Virgil had heard many a tale of the elder fae back home talking of bindings or loving vows which always ended with broken promises and disastrous results. Still, he nodded sympathetically at the human. “That sort of binding always goes wrong. Do not think yourself any less for breaking the promise. And… well, I hope you can get your hunter stuff back. I understand that you must be feeling empty. Not like yourself. But you are still a capable protetor.”

Emilio’s question nearly made Virgil laugh. Think. No, he didn’t think they were coming back. He knew that they weren’t done with him. It was one of the few things in life he was certain of. A joyless smile broke out over his face.

“The demon will come back, yes. I’m actually surprised they’ve let me go this long without retaliating. They told me I was their chosen, after all. I cannot just walk away from that, especially not after how things ended last time.” Virgil didn’t know if all demons had monumental egos, or if it was just Hekakleidi. But the way they’d gone out of their way to display that they’d chosen him, that they loved him, and wanted to stay in him forever, to anyone who would listen, and then be rejected in front of their following, was surely grounds for a painful retaliation. Perhaps they’d found a new body, but they would still want something from him. Whether it was to try again to make him an angel, or make him suffer, he wasn’t sure. But there would be something. Even at full strength, Virgil would not be able to do anything against them. And as broken as he was now, the demon could have him with zero effort. He sighed, folding his hands in his lap so he could press a thumb over the prayer mark, feeling it sting. He hated to go on knowing that he was helpless to something that would be the end of him, only he didn’t know how or when. The very least he could do was ruin Hekakleidi’s fun, even if that itself was false hope. “But I will not make it easy on them. Perhaps Solomon can cover them with his own marks. I’ll scratch them out of my flesh myself if I have to. And if it comes down to it, I would sooner sacrifice myself to him- to the forest- rather than allow the demon to touch me again.”

His voice had gone hard at the topic, chest tightening as he spoke for the first time of being helpless. He hated to feel like this, living in fear for the other shoe to drop, and for Hekakleidi to appear again. Solomon would likely not enjoy being asked to hurt him, or possibly kill him if the demon came back for him. But Virgil could only stomach the thought of his own death if it was Solomon doing it.

He swallowed, taking a few deep breaths before continuing in a more normal tone (though he couldn’t quite make himself stop pressing his fingers into the runes). Emilio had asked if it might help to ask another Lampade, and while it likely would, Virgil was more concerned with his life possibly ending rather than his issues with the shadows. “Perhaps it would help to talk to another Lampade. But the only one I’ve met here is… very different to me. I think it has to do with being from different dimensions. But maybe I will ask. It can’t hurt, I suppose.”

Did he think less of himself for breaking the promise? In all honesty, Emilio wasn’t sure. In the end, Regan was herself again even if the path to getting there hadn’t been something she’d wanted when she’d bound him. Plenty of people probably hated him for his part in it — he was certain Kaden did, and he didn’t think the librarian was his biggest fan either — but he wasn’t sure that this was something to be added to the list of reasons why he hated himself. The aftermath, certainly, was something he despised. The uselessness he felt without his strength or senses was unparalleled, something he was so desperate to fix that he’d nearly broken everything else in his attempts to do so, but the events that led him there? It had been a best case scenario for everyone but Emilio himself. Maybe that was part of what made it sting so badly. “Appreciate it,” he offered with a nod. “I’ll get it back.” He had to. If he didn’t… He knew he couldn’t keep going like this. A shadow of himself, a thing that needed protecting instead of a person capable of providing said protection to everyone else. Regardless of what Teddy said, he knew he wasn’t worth anything the way he was now. He had to get back to himself. Otherwise, he was no one at all.

Maybe there was no one who could understand that better than Virgil. Hekakleidi hung over the fae’s head the same way this sudden loss hung over Emilio’s. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be ignored, wasn’t the kind of thing you could close your eyes to. The demon had taken a piece of Virgil with them when they left, held it even now with a promise to return. It wasn’t the sort of thing the slayer would wish on anyone.

That determination, too, was a thing Emilio understood. That stubborn sense of choosing what killed you, that way of knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that you’d rather be slain on your own terms than survive on someone else’s. It was something Emilio had held onto for years now. Some days, it was the only reason he was alive at all. It was why he fought back against everything the world threw at him, why he refused to let Levi kill him that first night or any night that followed, why he intentionally bit off more than he could chew but still threw everything he had into surviving it in spite of that quiet desire not to that lived in his chest. When you’d had everything you cared about taken from you, there was a sense of feral pride in being your own destruction. Tearing yourself to pieces so that no one else could, taking yourself out of the equation just to spite someone who wanted to use you… Emilio could relate to that.

But even so… “He won’t like it.” Emilio knew that from his own experience, from Teddy tracking him down in that graveyard to stop him from letting a bunch of spawn tear him apart, from Ari camping out on his living room after Silas died, from Rhett looking at him with a critical eye any time he said something a little too off-putting. Even if it was the only path forward you had, the people who cared about you wouldn’t like the idea of you tearing yourself to pieces to win an impossible game. Solomon would be no different. “He might not do it.” Emilio’s friends wouldn’t, if he asked them to. But… “If you need a last resort, you can call me. I can’t… sacrifice you to the forest, but I can make sure the demon doesn’t get their claws into you again. I can do that.” He was damned anyway. What was one more unforgivable act, one more awful thing? He’d want someone to do the same for him, were his and Virgil’s roles reversed here. And… giving Hekakleidi the finger in the process wouldn’t be the worst feeling in the world, even if it’d probably blow back on him.

Nodding as Virgil mulled over his suggestion, not sure what else to say. If he knew more about fae, he could offer better advice. The fact that he’d found himself bound to two of them over the last few months seemed like proof enough that he was well out of his depth here. Virgil would probably be better off listening to just about anyone else. “Can’t hurt,” he agreed. “Librarian might know something, too.” She seemed to know something about the goings on in town, given the way she’d reacted when Emilio showed up to retrieve Regan’s bones. “Might have some… books, or whatever.”

I hope you get it back, Virgil thought, but didn’t say. This was no place for hope, or other nonsense. He found that it helped to be realistic about the situation that he found himself in, and deal with how he was now. Whether or not Emilio got his hunting ability back, he was still himself. That didn’t change, even if the human might feel like the lowest scum who barely deserved the air he breathed. “Until you do, try to be patient with yourself. I know it can feel like a death sentence. You might hate to be around the people who know you because you don’t want them to see how little you can do. But just try to work with what you have. You’re still a capable person, you just have to figure out how to do what you want in a way that works for you now.”

Virgil knew he was being hypocritical, and that being marked as useless and weak was not something you could just get over, especially not when it turned out to be true. White Crest just made his chronic pain worse, saddled him with a lightheadedness and a general sickliness. In some ways, it made it easier to deal with here, where nobody knew that he used to be: a farming boy who toiled for long hours to care for his humans and plants, used to hard work and long hours in his efforts to help the other fae. Now, he could barely go up stairs without his joints aching and popping, and the lasting feeling that he was going to black out. But Emilio was used to having a functional body, one that didn’t cause him pain, as far as Virgil knew. It did what it was meant to. Now, without the hunting ability, it was probably more jarring than it’d been for Virgil. “That might mean you pause on doing dangerous shit for a while. Don’t push yourself so hard. Maybe catch up on sleep. But you’re still normal, and you need to figure out what gives you purpose now. Just feel things out.”

It struck Virgil as oddly sweet that Emilio would offer to kill him if Solomon didn’t like the idea. Unexpectedly, the smile turned more genuine, and he allowed himself to let go of the mark, hands stilling.

“No, I guess he won’t like it,” he said after a long pause, undeterred, but slightly less sure of himself. He didn’t consider that Solomon might not understand that it was for the best. Possibly the only way to escape the demon for good. And… he wouldn’t truly be gone if Solomon kept loving him. Whether the Leshy just killed him, or turned him into a mindless plant creature, like he’d confessed to doing while under the Tree’s sway, it mattered little to Virgil. Solomon and him protected each other (not that Virgil was much good at it), but there was no protection from Hekakleidi. There was only making sure the demon couldn’t use him. Perhaps Solomon would take some part of his, such as his antlers (if they even grew back after this), or skull to keep with him.

But Solomon might not realize that it was a good thing right away. He might want to try other things, not realizing that there was no hope for anything except a loving death. But Virgil knew that nothing would stop the demon from using him again, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. They had his mother, and the minds of their fae in the Mirror, and the strength of being a greater demon. If there was a way to kill them, it was lost to him. Virgil’s sacrifice was the only option. And it wasn’t a certainty. Just something that they could talk about, which might give Virgil some peace of mind. A failsafe. He knew that Solomon would be gentle with him. So would Emilio.

“Thank you, Emilio. It means a great deal that you’re willing to do this for me. I know it won’t be pleasant, killing someone you know. But this will put me greatly at ease. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to ask this of anyone, but I don’t think I could do it myself.” He did hate to go against what Solomon would doubtlessly think was best, or make him unhappy. And he wasn’t sure if Solomon would even consider it. But he thought that covering up the marks was a good first step. Solomon would understand that, at least.

“I am in your debt. If you find yourself in need of anything I can provide, just say so.” Virgil wasn’t sure if this counted as a promise. He didn’t feel any different. Just less tight around the chest. “An iron weapon should do the trick. And… if I faint and lose my form from the pain, shine a bright light on me. That should make me solid enough to keep going.”

It is a death sentence, Emilio wanted to insist, because he felt it might as well be. Even with their enhancements, most hunters didn’t live to be the age he was now. Without them, it seemed unlikely he’d survive the week. His best chance at making it through this, he knew, was to stop hunting altogether, but the notion was so strange that it was almost laughable. Emilio couldn’t stop hunting any more than he could stop breathing. He knew that. With a sigh, he shook his head. “Patience has never really been my strong suit.” Especially not when it was a kindness he was meant to extend towards himself.

Still, he knew that Virgil’s advice came from a place of experience. They were quite the pair on this bench — two men who’d been one thing all their lives only to find themselves twisted into something else by a force they didn’t entirely understand. Emilio didn’t think anyone else in his life could relate to this particular feeling better than the man sat next to him now, as much as they might try to. He’d lost a piece of himself. A good piece. Maybe the best piece. And he didn’t know who he was without it. Something strange, something unnatural. Something utterly useless. Something he’d never wanted to be. “That’s easier said than done,” he replied, wringing his hands together if only to give himself something to do. “Follows me sometimes, you know. Plenty of people who’d jump at the chance to kill me while I’m easier to kill. And the sleeping…” He trailed off, thinking of the nightmares that made it difficult to sleep for even the few hours needed with his slayer abilities intact. “I just need to get it fixed. That’s all.” He couldn’t stomach the thought of being this shadow of himself for any longer.

As Virgil admitted that Solomon would not, in fact, enjoy the concept of being asked to kill someone he clearly cared about, Emilio thought of the sea cave where Teddy had asked the same of him. He thought of Silas asking him for it in Metzli’s apartment just after Andreas’s death, thought of how often the people he loved asked him for impossible things that he couldn’t deny them. He wouldn’t deny Virgil, either. The relationship might not be quite as tight-knit as the one he had with Teddy or Silas, or the one Virgil had with Solomon, but Emilio still respected the lampade enough to acknowledge that he deserved to go out on his own terms, deserved not to be forced to endure whatever Hekakleidi might have in store for him.

“I’ve done more unpleasant things for less,” he replied. His life, it seemed, was often little more than a series of unpleasant choices, a long line of terrible things to stain his hands red. Adding one more to the list would hardly make much of a difference. “You don’t have to thank me. Not for this. It’s fine. I release you, or whatever I’m supposed to say.” He waved a hand, dismissing the bind as best he could. Even if he was on the other side of it this time, he wasn’t keen on making another fae bind while the one he’d had with Regan was still twisting him up like this. He nodded at the instructions. “I’ll make it quick, if it comes to it. You won’t have to —”

He broke off at a sudden sound from the nearby woods. Twigs snapping in a way he would have heard earlier if not for his powers being shot. He tensed immediately, on his feet before he realized he was standing, knife already in hand. A lumbering shape melted out from the shadows — large, leafy, walking on all fours. Christ. A fucking hedgehound. With his abilities intact, it would have been simple to dispatch. Without them, it would be a little more of a challenge. Emilio positioned himself between the beast and Virgil, knife clutched uselessly in one hand while the other dug in his pocket for his cigarette lighter. “Might want to make a run for it here, wey.”

Something that moved on all fours and had a plantlike hide slid out of the foliage. Virgil thought at first that it might be Alti, come to find him again to let him know that Solomon was in danger. But it was quite a bit smaller than Alti, nor did it act like him. A hedghound, not a cu-sith, judging by the vines encircling its body and the heavy smell of rot. This new creature must’ve come after Virgil. For the second time in as many trips out, his weakness and lack of ability to hide was going to come back to bite him. He didn’t regret coming to talk to Emilio, but maybe he should just take the long road through town from now on to avoid being attacked.

Emilio was in between him and the hound before he could so much as stand. Despite what the hunter had just said about not having the necessary abilities to deal with a threat like a hedgehound, Emilio drew a knife and a lighter, as if he thought he could fight this thing without it consuming him. Virgil found his feet, feeling a wave of dizziness combined with a throbbing, poppy grind to the sockets in his hips and knees. Darkness coalesced around the three of them until it was thick enough to drink from, hopefully breaking the sight lines between the hound and the vulnerable human. Before the demon, Virgil would’ve insisted that Emilio leave, since this creature was fae, and Virgil would rather just deal with it instead of having to risk Emilio getting his guts ripped open and consumed by the creature. But now, he knew that he was in no shape to elude this thing on his own.

“I cannot run. And I won’t leave you alone to deal with this. We both need to get out of here, now.”

But… wasn’t this what Virgil had wanted? For Solomon to sacrifice him to the forest, so he could live without pain? Solomon had spoken briefly of turning a few living creatures into things like this hound. Made of plants, and able to take orders from the Leshy. It didn’t look like a pleasant existence, but at least it was without pain. Virgil wouldn’t be miserable if Solomon was around to make sure he was happy. He could be a hedge-lampade. It would save Solomon the trouble of doing this himself.

Virgil turned to the hound, letting the shadows dissipate ever so slightly. He made no move to run, nor shrink back, even when the eyes of the creature landed solely on him once again, and it snarled hungirly, coiling back into itself in preparation to strike. “Do you think it’s happy like that?” He asked to nobody in particular, having forgotten that Emilio was there. He extended a hand to the beast.

Virgil wasn’t running and, if he was being entirely honest, Emilio wasn’t surprised. This town, he was learning, was filled to the brim with self-sacrificing people who’d gladly give up their own lives just to keep someone else from dying alone. It was, he’d decided, pretty goddamn infuriating. Normally, he might have added insulting to the list, too, because normally, Emilio could take down a fucking hedgehound in his goddamn sleep. But… he wasn’t exactly in full form right now. And Virgil knew it, because Emilio had told him.

Goddamn it.

Emilio let out a half-frustrated, half-anxious sound from low in his throat, trying not to snap at Virgil to just go. He could hold the damn thing off long enough for the lampade to escape, might even be able to kill it without suffering any serious injury himself if he focused up. But he’d seen the look on Virgil’s face on too many others in this town to know that the fae wasn’t going to leave him there, no matter how much he might want him to.

And then, the look shifted into something else. Something just as familiar, though not necessarily because Emilio had seen it on other people. No, this expression was more like the one he caught sight of when he happened passed a mirror. The look of someone facing their own potential death and… not quite hating the idea of it as much as they ought to. Emilio grit his teeth. He might not have his usual strength or speed, but his hand still shot out to catch Virgil’s arm at lightning speed before the fae could touch the hedgehound, yanking the offending limb backwards. “Nothing happy about an end like that,” he warned lowly. He might have promised to take Virgil out if necessary, but… it wasn’t necessary yet. And dying to this wasn’t the sort of thing the slayer would wish on anyone.

There was a moment of conflict still, a moment where Emilio was caught between taking out the hedgehound and getting Virgil to safety. Both, he figured, wasn’t a solid option. Not when Virgil was in danger of either throwing himself between the beast and the hunter to protect the latter or letting the hedgehound at him to stop from fulfilling whatever purpose the mad god who’d taken him over before had in mind for him. Running away left a sour taste in his mouth, reminded him too much of Etla, of the burning warehouse, of all the worst things he’d ever done.

But sometimes, it was just about the only thing you could do.

With a frustrated groan, Emilio crouched down and threw Virgil over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The position allowed him to lift the lampade easily enough even without his enhanced strength, and though his bad leg protested the added weight, Emilio was in good enough shape to maneuver away faster than the hedgehound could manage. “Come on, wey,” he muttered, “I guess we’re running.”

Virgil flinched when Emilio’s hand shot out, and he found himself automatically going completely still, face and body turning blank, mind jumping from distractedly ruminating over the hedgehound to whether or not he’d crossed some sort of line with the hunter. Was Emilio angry with him? He didn’t look any angrier than usual, but Virgil knew that he wasn’t really the best judge about that sort of thing. Despite the self destructive impulses, and the fact that he was offering a parasitic vine creature his hand, he still instinctively went into survival mode, doing his best not to look like prey, or someone who would give any satisfaction if Emilio did hurt him.

But Emilio wasn’t touching him to hurt him, he was doing it to separate him from the real threat, at least in Emilio’s eyes. He batted Virgil’s hand out of reach of the hound, the motion too fast for Virgil to really track, or feel. Emilio seemed to waver for a moment, as if making a decision. Then, with a bit of grumbling, he crouched down and picked Virgil up.

Virgil didn’t try to move away, or put up a fuss despite the fresh flood of stinging pain to his skin. Rather, he trusted Emilio to take his weight. He was suddenly tired again, and somehow sad, though he didn’t know why.

Despite a sickening rush of vertigo, Virgil managed to stay solid as Emilio hefted him up, stiffly curling around the much shorter human’s shoulders. He briefly saw the hound skitter back a step at the motion before his vision blurred out.

He was used to being carried on the hips of either his brother or Solomon, which didn’t require him to shift his head too much. For times when it was necessary to move quicker, Solomon usually let him hide as a formless wisp within the numerous cracks of his true form. He stuck to the shadows even if he fainted, so he was relatively safe from falling off while intangible. And while it wasn’t pleasant for him, he knew that it was necessary at certain times to move faster than he could handle.

Emilio was not Solomon, though. It wasn’t as simple as just willing himself to follow the beating of the Leshy’s great heart to find shelter before it became impossible to move, or stay conscious. Humans didn’t have natural places where the shadows pooled, where a lampade to hide, at least not normally. But despite that, and despite Virgil’s irritating brightness, the night afforded enough darkness for him to sink into.

Virgil dissolved first from his limbs, and then through his body. His physical form, which had always been more of a concentration of smoke dense enough to be tangible, spiraled back into the nothing it so enjoyed being these days. He shut his eyes, trying to breathe, and block out the motion of Emilio running, but it was impossible. Every jolt of his feet made Virgil disappear further.

But it was not enough to shake him loose. He was still with the hunter, just in the form of a mass of tendrils.

It was usually impossible for anyone except perhaps another Lampade to make out the shape of him like this. But the demon’s glow made him visible to Emilio’s eyes, should the hunter peer back. There wasn’t much to see, just a shiny, irregular, greyish blob no bigger than the palm of a hand. He supposed he looked like a will’o’the’wisp, or like the kind of laser that cats so loved to chase, except with him it was strange creatures who seemed to love to chase him. First the exploding not-bear, and now this hedgehound. He missed the times when he could just walk around in the forest and not be seen or bothered by any living thing. Animals, monsters, all used to give him distance, and turn away from him in fear, knowing somewhere in their minds that he should be avoided. Now, they just saw him as something to be followed.

He had purchase on the hunter’s shoulder, in any case. The hound let out an eerie yip, giving chase.

Even with his senses muted like this, the swaying was too much. He felt out of control, dizzy, as if with every lurch he was going to fall into the sky and never be heard from again. He wouldn’t. But somehow, every time he went too fast, it was beyond his ability to keep his composure. Like if he truly gave in and blacked out, he might wake to find himself adrift in the upside down sky, and never find his way back to solid ground.

The only thing that kept him struggling to stay conscious was the fact that Emilio needed him to tell him to keep going. Emilio might think that he’d fallen, and he didn’t want him to stop and allow the hound to catch up. Despite his lack of a desire to keep living, and his curiosity about what it might be like to be consumed, he didn’t want Emilio to be caught up in it. And with him currently untouchable, the human had likely become the hound’s target. He could hear it behind them, its panting mixed with snarls, the padding of four feet through the grass, doggedly pursuing them. Emilio likely didn’t want to know what it was like to be a hedge-human.

“Don’t stop,” Virgil breathed in the lungless tone of a hanged man. It was difficult to speak loudly when he was like this. He was thankful to be perched on the human’s shoulder, and easier to hear. “I might faint. But I’m still with you.”

With his task done, Virgil faded into the comforting nothing of unconsciousness, knowing nothing except the rocking of the hunter’s strides.

The weight in his arms shifted in a way that felt strange. Not like it was moving, but like it was changing. Not for the first time, Emilio wished he knew a little more about fae, wished he’d listened to all of Rhett’s drunken ramblings over the years. He’d always assumed he wouldn’t need it, always figured that Rhett could take out the fae while he took out the undead. But… at the moment, Rhett wasn’t here and Emilio wasn’t capable of taking out either. All he could do was carry on and hope that Virgil wasn’t going to disappear, hope that the hedgehound wasn’t going to catch up to them.

He glanced at the shape on his shoulder, the willowy, shadowy thing that breathed in Virgil’s voice and told him to keep going. He wasn’t sure, if he was being honest, if the encouragement was one he needed or not. For all of Emilio’s self-destructive tendencies, he’d never been the sort of person who could stand the idea of someone else being caught up in his carnage. This hedgehound had more of an interest in the lampade than it did in the hunter, and while Virgil seemed safely intangible now, Emilio didn’t know how long that would be the case. If he stopped, the hedgehound would consume him. If Virgil happened to fade back into solid form when that happened, it would consume him, too. And one of those outcomes was the kind Emilio couldn’t live with.

So he ran. Virgil’s less solid form made it easier, made the extra weight less noticeable in a way that had his bad leg’s protests shifting from blaringly painful to mostly bearable. He couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop. The hedgehound was bound and determined to catch up, and Emilio was just barely faster than it. This would have been a breeze with his usual abilities, enhanced agility and better stamina and all, but as he was? It was a goddamn challenge.

But it was a challenge he managed. Eventually, the hellhound lost interest. There was easier prey to chase, easier things to kill. Emilio didn’t stop until long after the sound of the creature’s footfalls behind him faded, didn’t slow until he was certain it had given up. When he was finally sure it was safe, he slowed to a walk, limping to the closest building and sliding down against it, shifting the vaguely Virgil-shaped shadow off his back and onto the ground beside him. His lungs ached, his leg throbbed, and he let his head fall back against the bricks with a sigh. “Don’t know where you live,” he muttered to Virgil’s unconscious, shadowy form, “but I’ll drag you back to my place when I catch my breath. My couch smells like shit, but it’s comfortable enough. You can sleep there until you’re ready to go home. I don’t mind it.” He closed his eyes, digging his fingers into his knee absently in an attempt to chase away the worst of the pain. “Just gotta catch my breath.”

#monstersfear #wickedswriting #shine a little light

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vievecorcityrp · 1 year

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Welcome to Vievecor City, JESPER! We hope you enjoy your stay. VIRGIL ACHYLS is an ELF with JUNG JINYOUNG face claim. Virgil is a STAGE HAND AT WESTWOOD THEATRE, resides in the district of GAROND and enjoys spending time CHISSOB HILLS.

Follow @virgilachyls

Before you start, be sure to follow the following blogs @vievecorcityrp, @vievecorcitystarters, @vievecorcityevents, @vievecorcitylocations. Please also track the following tags #vievecorcitystarter #vievecorcityfollow #vievecorcityupdate #vievecorcityevent

#accepted

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clayanddust · 3 years

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@virgil-achyls@[pm] I'm alive, and mostly healed up. It's actually normal for me to melt Thanks for checking in. Are you staying safe out there? Still in one piece?

I'm not sure I want to know this but What did you do with the vampire?

[pm]

Thats good, and your welcome. You helped me in a tight spot, I won’t forget that.

Uh, ‘safe’ not so much, but all my pieces are still attached and doing their jobs, so l’m thrivin.

He won’t be preying on your people or mine anymore, isn’t that what matters?

#virgil-achyls

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hecatedahlia · 3 years

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@virgil-achyls

This town keeps revealing more and more of you magic users It’s like a plague Can you really see the future? That’s an impressive talent to have, if it’s real. Have you predicted anything that came true?

...

You’ll have to come by and see for yourself if it’s real. I promise, I don’t disappoint.

I’ve predicted plenty that’s come true. Are you in need something? Got something strange going on in your house?

#virgil-achyls #hope i did this right oops

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wickedmilo · 2 years

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@virgil-achyls

Stay afraid of me, Milo. I enjoy a chase. I did not enjoy being stabbed. If we meet again, I will kill you. My saint is no longer present to intervene.

If you come to me willingly, I may take your pain before you die. The choice is yours.

[pm] What the fuck

[pm] You can’t say shit like that in public you’re going to put a target on Virgil’s back

[ ... ]

[pm] I didn’t enjoy being attacked but here we are

[pm] Wait

[pm] What do you mean by no longer present?

[ ... ]

[pm] You told me Virgil was still in there

#c:virgil #but not virgil #pm:virgil

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 2 years

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A Kind of Revenge || Nicole, Virgil, and Kaden

TIMING: A few days after Everyone Needs Kindness LOCATION: The woods PARTIES: @nicsalazar, @virgil-achyls, and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Nicole asks Kaden for help in the woods. Little does he know that Virgil is waiting for him in the shadows. CONTENT WARNINGS: torture, domestic abuse (mentions)

“He’ll be here soon”.

Nicole’s stomach twisted as she uttered those words. And though she did not appreciate how tense she sounded, it was impossible for her to remain calm knowing what they were planning on doing.

Nicole knew the woods. That’s what she could offer. She knew the spots where no one would disturb them. Knew the places no one would dare to look, if for any reason they needed to dispose of any– No. That wasn’t what they were going to do, was it? They were just going to show Kaden's actions had consequences. Consequences that in this case might be gruesome but, she wasn’t about to feel bad for him. It was his fault for hurting a leshy who was friends with a shadow fae. Just– it was the situation. An incredibly fucked up one. She never expected to be the one facilitate any kind of torture.

She pocketed her phone after sending Kaden the final instructions so he could find her. Supposedly, to deal with a particularly stubborn plague of squirrels disturbing hikers in one of Park’s trails. There was no trail, of course. Nor squirrels. But it was the simplest of lies to lure him where they needed him. Where Virgil needed him.

Nicole had deluded herself into believing the only reason she was tagging along was because that way, she’d be there to stop Virgil if things got out of control. Yeah. It was worth reminding herself of exactly that as she turned towards Virgil, her stomach in a knot. He was partly hidden, and on any other occasion, she might have stopped and admired what he was. Not now though, when she couldn’t stop grinding her teeth. “Couple minutes, at most” she clarified, senses attuned to any disturbance in their surroundings.

In the past, a message like Nicole’s would have sent him running, ready to solve the problem, rid the world of monsters, be the hero or some shit like that. Whatever it was he had let himself believe for years. But now? Kaden had been reluctant to agree to help with what sounded suspiciously like a bunch of agropelters. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t. Only trying to explain why sounded worse than trying to drag himself out to the middle of the woods. Not to mention who was asking for his help. He didn’t think for a second he would be Nicole’s first choice to call in for help, not after how he’d handled things the last time they met up. If she was asking him, it had to be because she needed him. Kaden wasn’t particularly up to recommending any other hunter to go get the job done, either. So here he was, marching through the White Crest National Park on his way to play ranger. Fantastic.

Kaden had decided not to bring a whole lot with him. It was odd, he felt like he forgot to get dressed all the way. The only weapons he had taken with him on the way out were two knives. It didn’t feel like enough. At the same time, it felt like two more weapons than he wanted to be carrying right now. He told himself that it was only going to be used on beasts, uncomplicated monsters. Monsters that were hurting people.

“Hey,” he called out when he saw the park ranger. A small chill went down his spine as he approached her, and he grimaced. This. This was why he wanted to avoid the woods. He was doomed to feel his hunter senses, to be reminded of what he was. And of what he’d done. He inhaled deep and sung the net and snares he’d carried with him off his back. “Which way to the agro– uh, squirrels you were talking about?” His brow furrowed when he realized just how quiet it was in the area. Unusually quiet. Especially if there was a flock of agropelters nearby. Something felt wrong. Then again, this was White Crest; when didn’t everything feel a little wrong? Surely it was fine.

Vigil kept the darkness thick around the two of them, obscuring them from sight. He didn’t bother putting a glamour on, but he was wearing his usual red glasses to keep things controlled. He didn’t want to hit Nicole, nor did he want to hit the god killer before it confessed to its crimes.

At Nicole’s murmured warning, he shut his eyes to stem the bright beam, retreating further into the shadows, taking on the natural hunting stillness of a cat. A moment later, he caught the sound of footsteps amid the din of the forest as Kaden approached. The sound of its voice sent a wave of loathing through him.

When it was near, Virgil’s eyes snapped open. Crimson light flooded the clearing, the resulting shadows cast by the trees tilted towards him, wavering gently as if caught by the gravity of some distant planet. His form was obscured by a heavy curtain of smoky tendrils. Unless the human had very good vision, he was just a pair of glowing red eyes amidst the crawling night.

His gaze bore into the face of Kaden, and its features were bathed in crimson light. It looked unremarkable, if a bit big for a human. In any other situation, Virgil would’ve proceeded with caution, but he wasn’t here tonight to be cautious. He wasn’t going to harm it physically. It was easy not to when your eyes caused madness to any who looked upon them.

Nicole had mentioned wanting revenge too, and Virgil was eager to see what it’d do to the god killer. He was glad that Nicole was here; it’d helped immensely by luring Kaden into the woods, and it was good to have someone around to hold Kaden down when Virgil was done. There was also solidarity between them. Virgil didn’t feel good about coming here to take revenge, but it had to be done. Nicole and him both needed it. There was no going back now. “Is this Kaden?” He asked Nicole, disgust clear in his voice.

The human looked miserable. There was something in its eyes that spoke of defeat even before it even knew what was happening. What caused it was beyond Virgil’s understanding (he doubted that it was guilt over killing Solomon), but it’d make things less messy. He was almost glad to see it.

Virgil slid out of the shadows, footfalls nearly silent, only slightly unsteady as he approached the human. Shadows followed at his feet. Only when he was within arm’s reach of the human did he halt.

“Human, listen to me. I am going to ask you a question, and you’re going to tell me the truth.” Virgil spoke clearly, gentle and low despite the promise of what must be done to the human. “Did you kill Solomon the Leshy?”

His voice wavered just slightly as he asked the question. There was no reason for him to feel upset when Solomon wasn’t dead anymore. But he did. This human was responsible for his being separated from his Leshy for months, his inability to leave the garden, enduring migraines and burns from the sun, not knowing if he’d make it through the day and not caring much either way. Perhaps he was doing this for himself as well as Solomon.

“There must be consequences for what you did. Killing the guardian of the forest is not something you can just get away with doing.”

“Langley,” Nicole’s heartbeat sped up at the sight of their target. Whatever apprehension she held before seemingly dissipated as the man approached. She remembered Solomon’s charred remains by the tree. His blackened heart. Kaden deserved the same kind of agony. She huffed, trying to keep the rage at bay. The kind of rage that was often swift to wrap around her ribcage, burning so fiercely in her chest that she was left breathless. Easy. She hadn’t spoken to the spirit since that night with the exorcist, but she felt it twisting within her. Slithering around her ribs, curious as to what was causing her ire. Wondering how it could it help soothe it. No physical harm, she reminded herself. Kaden was going to suffer much worse than that. The beast wasn’t needed.

“Yeah, uh—” She stepped forward to meet him, ignoring her conscience nagging her to apologize, or warn him about what he was walking into. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. She didn’t. She– But before explanations could be shared, the forest glowed red, smoke expanding everywhere around them. Nicole knew what that meant, she didn’t need or want to look back. She wasn’t gonna risk it. She merely nodded, confirming Kaden’s identity to Virgil. Chills ran all over her body as the fae marched, bringing the shadows along with him. Chills that didn’t stop when she heard his gentle tone demand answers. Fuck. She was lucky to have Virgil as an ally and not an enemy, Nicole realized then.

The darkness swirled around the forest before Kaden had a chance to take one glance around the clearing. The shadows seeped in and the forest began to glow red and all he could think was clearly this wasn’t fucking agropelters. His eyes darted to the source of the strangeness. A figure of shadows and glowing eyes was all he could see. His senses had dulled in the sadness, but his instinct still leapt to his duty after all this time and he took a step towards Nicole, ready to protect her from whatever the fuck was going on here.

And then the creature addressed her and knew his name.

Kaden stopped midway on his path to place himself between Nicole and the shadows. Lines deepened in his forehead as he glanced from the shadow, to her, and then back again. “What the hell is going on here?” He looked back to Nicole, hoping for an answer, still wanting to tell her to run. Something in the look on her face told him that she wasn’t going to. Nor did she need to.

The ranger took a half step back, leaning away as the shadow enclosed the space between them. He tried to get a better look at what sort of creature this was. He had a few thoughts running through his mind. Seemed a little verbose for a bauk or an envy. A prickling sensation traveled down his spine, indicating there was some sort of beast nearby, alerting his hunter’s senses. Only if he had to guess, the creature looming over him was no beast.

As it asked about the leshy, it clicked into place. Fae. This was a fae. Of course it was a fucking fae kicking him while he was down. What was new, there? Still, the question hit him like a ton of bricks. Did he kill Solomon? “I– I helped, yes,” he said once he found his answer. He’d tossed the lighter, sure, but he wasn’t the one that turned the leshy into kindling first. Not that it absolved him. The guilt sinking deep into his pores was proof enough.

Consequences. So that’s what this was about. Fuck. He had spent this whole time wishing for those, even walking into them and trying to find some repercussions for his actions. Now that he was standing in front of it, he wasn’t sure that he wanted it. Then again, it was what he deserved. “Right,” he said, trying to steel himself, “what’d you have in mind, then?”

“He’ll be here soon”.

Nicole’s stomach twisted as she uttered those words. And though she did not appreciate how tense she sounded, it was impossible for her to remain calm knowing what they were planning on doing.

“Human, listen to me. I am going to ask you a question, and you’re going to tell me the truth.” Virgil spoke clearly, gentle and low despite the promise of what must be done. “Did you kill Solomon the Leshy?”

“There must be consequences for what you did. Killing the guardian of the forest is not something you can just get away with doing.”

“Yeah, uh—” She stepped forward to meet him, ignoring her conscience nagging her to apologize, or warn him about what he was walking into. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. She didn’t. She– But before explanations could be shared, the forest glowed red, smoke expanding everywhere around them. Nicole knew what that meant, she didn’t need or want to look back. She wasn’t going to risk it. She merely nodded, confirming Kaden’s identity to Virgil. Chills ran all over her body as the fae marched, bringing the shadows along with him. Chills that didn’t stop when she heard his gentle tone demand answers. Fuck. She was lucky to have Virgil as an ally and not an enemy, Nicole realized then.

And then the creature addressed her and knew his name.

Virgil had to admit that some part of him was glad that the human confessed. He was eager to move on, not wishing to linger in this place any longer than he had to. But the bigger part was just exhausted.

He stared at Kaden, and saw the face of every human he’d ever cared for in his life. All of them had started to look the same after a while. The same dead eyes. The same pleas which Virgil could only pretend he didn’t hear. This Kaden could’ve been one of his. But it also could’ve been the one who snapped and burned down his home and his brother. He knew logically that Kaden was behind his friend’s death. Yet, he couldn’t quite connect the months of nightmares, the black pit of dread that he’d fallen into, certain that one day he’d just lose his form and his voice and become a ghost himself. That was not something that just went away even after Solomon’s return.

I am not my mother. Virgil would not harm this human. He would not touch it. That was all he could promise himself. What do you have in mind then?

“Nicole, please hold onto it. I don’t want it to hurt itself.” He shot Nicole a look, appraising, wondering briefly if it was having more fun than he was. Shouldn’t someone present enjoy themselves? Wasn’t revenge meant to be cathartic? If anything, Virgil felt worse now that he was actually going through the motions. “Remember not to look.”

Virgil breathed a heavy sigh, and reached up to pull his glasses off. Red light switched instantly to burning white, a hundred times more potent than before. Kaden’s features brightened and brightened until they were nearly unrecognizable. Virgil stared into its eyes, unblinking and unfaltering despite everything, waiting for some sign of madness to take hold. You’re doing the right thing. It sure didn’t feel like it, though.

Nicole’s expression shifted as Kaden admitted his fault. Helped. She clenched her jaw, no longer conflicted. It sounded like he was minimizing his real involvement. When she knew. Macleod told her he was the one who set him on fire. She trusted her friend’s word.

But she didn’t know what to make of his reaction. It wasn’t unfolding the way Nicole had expected it. The fact that Kaden put up no fight to his fate– A facade to conceal his fear? She didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility that he might not even regret his actions. No. She recognized guilt. Hated how familiar it was.

Nicole almost looked back at the instruction, catching herself just in time. Even if the glasses hadn’t come off yet, she didn’t want to risk it. She glanced at Kaden instead, considering Virgil’s words. So what if he hurt himself? No physical harm, from their end, that was the deal. That wouldn’t be their doing, technically. And her restraining wouldn’t do much. What if he tried to fight her and escape? He won’t do that. She hated that she knew that. He had all but accepted his punishment. The voice in her head telling her she could still put a stop to this barely registered. If she gave her conscience more time to speak up, she would back down.

She moved quickly then, closing the distance. Gripping the hair on the nape of his neck, she forced him to keep his eyes on Virgil. Her gaze on the other hand, was fixed on the ground. The forest glowed brighter and brighter and her stomach twisted in anticipation.

It. The monster– no, the fae was calling him “it.” It felt awful. Disgusting. Belittling.

How many times had Kaden done that? How many times had he looked at a werewolf or a siren or a vampire and referred to it as just that? Not letting them be people in his own mind.

It made it better. Easier. He wondered if that would be the case for this fae, too. But that would be his cross to bear at some point. Right now, Kaden would have to carry his own.

Nicole pounced on him before he had time to react, yanking him back with impressive speed and agility. The skin pulling away from his neck as she gripped his hair wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling, but the sting of betrayal hurt a lot more. He wouldn’t have exactly called Nicole a friend or best buddy or anything, but he had come out here to help her. He’d trusted her. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have trusted the thought that anyone actually cared for him. There wasn’t a lot of reason to.

Instinctively, he tried to twist away and out of her grip before he figured it wasn’t any use. He was outnumbered and wasn’t it what he deserved anyway? “Guess we’re not going to talk, then,” he said as he felt the fae approaching.

Was he going to die here? If he did, would they leave his body limp on the floor of the woods to rot? Would anyone care? Fear shot through him as he shut his eyes tight and he considered making good on Solomon’s promise for one second before he remembered why he was here. What this was in response to.

Solomon might have forgiven him, but clearly he shouldn’t have. And he wasn’t the only one who had to. With a ragged breath, Kaden opened his eyes and stared into the red, mesmerizing glow.

As he gazed, he could feel the world swirling around him, smell the stench of death. The red eyes turned gold and lifeless in his vision and his heart pounded in his chest as he tried to twist away from them, get away from what felt like the source. He could smell death and flames. They were coming. He was going to die here. And no one would know. No one would care. Kaden tried to hold back a scream, but he swore he heard it. He heard her. She was screaming for him. He was going to die here.

A wave of something vaguely ill feeling passed over Virgil when Nicole took hold of the human’s hair. He could see the strain in Nicole’s arms from holding on, the pain on Kaden’s face made him want to say something. He wished he could tell Nic to be gentler, but it wasn’t his place to say. He knew that Nicole wasn’t going to follow up the threat by snapping Kaden’s neck, or cutting its body open. Nic didn’t seem like the type to do that kind of thing, or at least not without a very good reason. The rough treatment was probably just to send a message to Kaden that it was well and truly trapped. Yet, he was watching perhaps too closely, just to make sure.

Kaden had his eyes shut, and Virgil was afraid that he might have to force them open. But after a moment of thought, it seemed to come to a conclusion, and made the decision to look on its own. Virgil stared back, glad that the bright light and deep shadows would make it impossible to see the rest of him, or the look on his face. He couldn’t feign cold joy, or even indifference. He was tired.

Kaden flinched, shuddering as madness took hold of it. Its features tightened, and it began to struggle. A few deep breaths let Virgil compose himself enough to speak in the clear, cruel voice which he loathed to use. “You will not harm Solomon again. You will not touch him. You will not think about him unless you’re thinking with compassion.”

Virgil stepped closer, keeping his eyes fixed on the human, slowly drawing in until it was within arm’s reach.

“Be calm,” he said, gentler now, trying to soothe it with his voice even as his eyes continued to beam into it. His palms pressed into Kaden’s face, sticky and cool, stroking its cheek with a thumb, claw angled carefully away from the squishy flesh. “It’s almost over. I know it’s frightening.”

Fear and paranoia flooded his senses. Kaden could no longer tell where he was, who was with him? The forest looked dark and red, covered in blood, the trees expanding up and up, looming over them, waiting to swallow him whole. He could feel the branches holding him down, keeping him in place while they waited for their chance to shove him towards the earth and bury him deep beneath the ground.

Solomon. There was a voice booming, coming from somewhere above him, both everywhere and nowhere, and it was speaking to him about Solomon. Would the leshy come help if he asked? Would he keep his word? It didn’t matter, he couldn’t form any, could only scream during the moments he could breathe.

Hands wrapped around his face. Cold, angular, rough. At first he couldn’t tell whose they were. Who was here? Would someone find him? Then he realized. He knew. He knew the hands. They were cold and rough and wooden against his face. The shadow looming above him bathed in red came into clarity and he saw the outline of the leshy. This was his revenge, this was what he had sought in the woods, what he almost got had Kaden not lit the fire. He could feel death closing in on him and it smelled of smoke and ash. The bark would bury him in the dirt, cover him in leaves, and no one would find him and no one would care.

Virgil placed his glasses back on, pulling his glamour up for good measure. The light in the clearing faded, leaving only the pitch black of the night in its place. Now that he didn’t have to look, he turned his face away, taking a few seconds to compose himself.

Kaden was screaming as if it was being carried off by Virgil’s mother.

This was too much. He’d done what he’d come here to do, and it didn’t make him feel better. There was no point in pretending to ignore the suffering human any longer.

Virgil took Kaden’s hand and pressed it to his chest, just over his heart, so it could feel the rhythm. Not quite steady, but better than nothing. At the same time, he leaned in, wrapping the other arm around Kaden’s back, holding it steady. He was careful not to disturb Nicole’s grip as he did. Kaden was too hot for a human, sweating underneath its layers, though it was expected while in the grips of insanity. He didn’t care if Kaden could even feel him, or if it pushed him off. He just needed to do something to make the creeping pit of guilt go away.

“It’s okay. I know it’s scary. But it’ll be over soon.” He murmured into its ear, gentle, yet firm enough to be heard over whatever was going on inside its head. He prayed it wouldn’t snap and try to fight back. “Listen to my voice. I’m not going to leave you alone.”

The figure turned away and the blood red turned into black around him. Kaden thought he might drown in the darkness. Something took his hand and he could only think they were going to lead him to the end, farther into the dark. No, he wasn’t ready to go, he didn’t want to– but he was being held in place and that felt like it would be his end, too. Panic sunk in deeper and his heart beat pounded in his ears. Then he felt it. Beating in his hands. It was slower than the rhythm in his head, irregular. Was that his own heart? Being drawn away from him? Winding down like his time?

Hands. Arms. Gripping. No, it was someone else; something else. Engulfing him, wrapping him. A shroud to suffocate him before he was buried, a blanket to snuff out the fire trying to consume him. It’ll be over soon. That’s what he was afraid of, that the darkness could still grow darker. He had to get out, dig his way out. Kaden tried to wriggle away, to find space, find the light, get away from the darkness trying to pin him down. It was where he belonged, he knew that, but he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be at the end.

Kaden did try to get out of her grip, albeit for just a second. Nicole almost would’ve preferred that. Survival instinct kicking in, to justify their actions even further. Her other hand gripped the back of his jacket, anchoring him as best as she could to the spot. Judging by the steadying breaths he kept taking as he approached, Virgil was struggling too. Second guessing maybe? No. They had to do this.

The light was angled at them and Kaden’s body writhed under her grasp again, but something was different. It wasn’t resistance. It was just agony. Virgil was direct in his demand. Ensuring Kaden would never hurt Solomon again. Nicole kept her head low, her own heartbeat pounded louder with every word the shadow spoke, goosebumps erupting across her skin. He didn’t need that stare of his to be terrifying. His voice did the job just as fine.

Nicole couldn’t imagine what sort of internal hell Kaden was enduring, but his screams were unlike anything she had heard before. Virgil didn't lie, he was capable of driving someone mad. She wasn’t sure there’d be a person left once it was all done. Though being able to physically restrain Kaden was a big ask and it demanded most of her strength, it was his screams that she struggled with the most. She couldn’t take it. Why did she think her ears would be able to handle it? She wanted to let go, cover herself. Before he could burst her eardrums.

The light vanished in an instant, but Kaden was still twisting. When she lifted her head she realized the glasses were back on. It was over. She didn’t understand Virgil’s next move, but she appreciated the extra hand to hold Kaden’s weight. “What are you doing?” she was surprised to hear her own strained voice in the darkness. Maybe it was a fae thing. Comforting someone after being responsible for his agony. It didn’t matter, because Kaden wasn’t with them right now. He was still inside, trapped in his mental torture. “When does it stop?” Does it stop? Virgil said it wouldn’t kill him. She couldn’t have this go wrong now.

“I’m trying to calm it down.” Virgil said to Nicole, mindful of the fact that he was still speaking into Kaden’s ear. “It needs to stop screaming. Sometimes it helps to occupy its other senses.”

While his words stayed logical, he was far from composed at the moment. The noise was too much. Although he knew that his fears were unfounded, and that his mother wasn’t here, part of him expected to hear her crashing through the trees, summoned by the noises of pain, by the agonized wailing which always seemed to draw her like blood drew a shark. She would not give this human any mercy. She’d just toss him in some direction, get him to run, and then the chase would be on. That was a game she never lost. And when it was over, she’d come for Virgil to try again to get it through his skull that humans were not worth any amount of compassion. It should not bother him when they suffered because of him. But it did. It always had. That was not going to stop anytime soon.

His grip tightened around Kaden as he listened to the trees. His mother wasn’t here. She couldn’t reach him here in White Crest. Yet, as Kaden continued to shudder and cry, Virgil grew less and less sure.

“It’s different from person to person. But it should be back to normal in an hour.” He sounded too tight. Too strange. He needed to be calm so that when Kaden found its way back, it could have a presence to feel safe around. “You’re welcome to leave if you want. I can stay with it alone. I don’t think it’s going to fight me.”

Stop screaming. Kaden heard the words ringing in his ears. He wasn’t aware that he was screaming. He didn’t know how to stop. He figured it would stop whenever the breath left his lungs and the thought made the screams even louder. The grip tightened around him. He would be thrown into the pit soon, he was sure of it. He’d be thrown into the earth and buried alive, smothered by the dirt and ash and the destruction he caused. He thrashed against the arms wrapped around him. “No,” he tried to say, unsure if words were forming. He had to get out, leave, before the sky caved in on him. He threw his elbows out, trying to swing his arms wildly so he could claw himself out of the pit and crawl away. He had to get away.

Nicole’s grip almost slipped as another blood curdling scream ripped his throat. Her shoulders involuntarily rose up to her ears, trying to find a way to stop him from piercing her ears. Occupy his senses. If Virgil wanted to do that, he needed to be a little rougher. Take on more drastic actions. They had agreed to no physical harm, but what about that. Right about now – overloaded senses skewing her thoughts– it sounded like the ideal solution. She wrapped her dominant arm across his shoulders, seconds away from putting him on a chokehold to silence him. But she froze. Something stopped her. What if he couldn’t get out once he was unconscious? What if he ended up trapped forever? She was terrified of the burning in her chest, and the thought that followed. Would that be so terrible?

Virgil’s words were enough to distract her from her plan and her thoughts. Her arms trembled, and she couldn’t be certain it was due to fatigue. Eyes widening in disbelief, she turned to Virgil. An hour? Nicole didn’t have to say it, it was written all over her face. She didn’t have enough energy to hold him for an hour if he trashed and twisted and screamed with the same intensity. But she had to trust Virgil. The one who had brought Solomon back to her. She felt indebted to him. She was only doing this because of him.

“Can we at least– help me get him… on the ground?” Without waiting for a reply, Nicole nudged the back of Kaden’s knees to take away his balance, bringing him to the ground with slightly more caution. Kneeling next to him as he continued to squirm, she gripped his shoulders to restrain him. She let him get it all out, as it was all they could do.

By the time the screams began to subside both in volume and frequency, Nicole’s arms were so stiff she could barely feel a thing. Minutes, hours, it had all blended together. It had gotten significantly darker, at least. She craned her neck, looking at Virgil. “Is this it?”

Virgil had very nearly turned on Nicole in the brief moment it’d tried to hurt Kaden. He’d been ready to drop his glamour once more and hit it with his eyes too, just to stop it from harming Kaden while it was down. But in the end, it’d given up the idea, so Virgil let the moment pass.

It was not easy to restrain Kaden. Virgil wasn’t strong enough to simply heft it over his shoulder and carry it home, like he’d done countless times to countless humans in the Mirror. He wasn’t strong here, not with that cursed dizziness, and the feeling that he’d fall into the sky if he moved too much. But somehow, he and Nicole managed it.

Time passed. The struggles lessened, and Virgil shifted from restraint back into comfort. He sat with Kaden’s head in his lap, fingers carding through the short hair in rhythmic strokes, keeping his hands busy so he could stay calm. It felt somewhat similar to Milo’s, though perhaps a bit less dry. Its body temperature seemed to be returning to normal.

“I think so.” He blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and looked up at Nic. “Please be patient with it a bit longer.”

Slowly, the nightmare started to fade away and reality began to poke through. The blood faded away from the trees, the banshee screams left his ears, and the darkness was no longer pitch black, but the night sky, littered with stars. The fear lessened and his heart slowed. Thoughts began to make sense again, he could rationalize what was real and what wasn’t more and more as time passed. Kaden’s head was pounding when things became clearer. He was lying down, mostly on the ground, at least that’s what it felt like, twigs digging into parts of his legs and side. There was someone stroking his hair. It might even have felt nice if it didn’t feel like he was waking up with the worst hangover he’d ever had in his life. There was also a pressure, something pinning him down.

He tried to thread the thoughts together, make it all make sense again. He was in the woods; the trees were obvious enough. Why was he in the woods again? Right. “Nicole?” he said hesitantly, his throat raw and ragged. It was then he realized he was cold. Well, maybe not cold but he was shivering. He tried to push himself to sit up straight if they’d let him. “What the fuck happened?” He remembered death, everything felt like death. Putain, he sure felt like death right now. And he was pretty sure a bloody mary and greasy food and some advil wasn’t going to be the cure.

If Nicole had known hurting Kaden would end up with them having to nurse him back to health, she would’ve considered twice before joining in on the torture. It felt incredibly wrong. Enemies didn’t spare that kind of decency to each other, did they? Kaden wasn’t technically an enemy, no, but he wasn’t someone she liked very much at the moment. On account of all the arson.

She didn’t begrudge Virgil trying to comfort him though, merely nodding at his request for patience. Nicole didn’t understand him. But she also she didn’t know what it felt like to cause that sort of mental distress in a person, what it demanded from the fae. Maybe comforting was something he had to do, for Kaden or himself. Whatever the reasoning was, she was out of her depth.

Virgil took Kaden’s head into his lap, and Nicole sat on the ground steadying her breath after the exertion. As excruciating as it had been to endured his screaming, now that silence had fallen, the ringing in her ears was only a slight improvement. With a frown etched across her face giving away her confusion, she watched Virgil stroke Kaden’s hair. The man finally stirred, coming back to the world.

Nicole examined his face quietly, even when her name was spoken. What could she even say to him? Instead, she searched for signs of change. Differences that pointed towards Kaden learning his lesson. To justify what they did. But besides new creases carved on his skin from all the screaming, there was nothing else. Physically he looked about the same. And Nicole had to sit there, ears ringing, stomach empty as she tried to hold onto the disappointingly small amount of satisfaction she felt. Hearing his question, her gaze flickered to Virgil, wondering how he’d explain it.

“Don’t sit up.” Virgil pressed a hand to Kaden’s shoulder to stop it from doing precisely that. He was probably being overly cautious, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He was absurdly glad to find it at least acting more like itself. Not that Virgil really knew it. But he could sense the shift away from being consumed by agony. It was reassuring to hear it talk, even if its voice was shredded from screaming.

Nic glanced at him, and he realized that it was going to be up to him to provide answers. His hands stilled.

“My eyes drive humans mad. It seems like you had a strong reaction to them. We’re still in the woods.” Virgil peered down at Kaden’s face, searching for signs of abnormal stress in its face. His eyes were safely hidden behind his glasses, so Kaden probably wouldn’t pick up on the tension that still lingered there. But he didn’t feel like a human. His skin was sticky and cool to the touch, and his body never felt quite solid in the way that humans did. Kaden would just have to deal with his unsettling nature a little longer.

“How do you feel? Can you tell us what you remember?”

Kaden grumbled when a hand pressed him down to keep him in place and tried to wriggle out of its grasp. When he got halfway up to being vertical, the forest started spinning and he felt his stomach lurch, his head pound. With another groan, the ranger shut his eyes and lay back down where he’d been. Fucking couldn’t believe he had just been led to the forest, suffered some fae bullshit, and was some kind of fucked up hungover and lying in the goddamn fae’s lap. The cold of his touch almost reminded him of Regan which only made this whole thing that much worse. He cursed to himself under his breath but the pounding in his head was too loud to continue for long. Fuck this shit.

The explanation he got wasn’t what he wanted. “Yeah, I got that much,” he said before rolling his eyes. “I know fae bullshit when I see it. That’s not what I’m asking.” Right, what was he asking, anyway? He tried to remember the moments before the terror had set in. The fae had asked him about Solomon. He felt a pit drop into his stomach at the thought. “Who put you up to this?” he asked, even if he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, even though he clearly wasn’t ready to sit up just yet. “I remember an invitation to help. And some questions about a certain leshy. Still wondering why you’re here, Nicole.” His eyes bore into hers as he spoke, his jaw set firm as he watched her. He didn’t know the fae, had no previous interactions, so he wasn’t entirely bitter about them wanting to give a hunter some comeuppance, but her? They weren’t close, sure, but he was pretty sure he’d done nothing but try to help her in the past. He’d wronged a lot of fucking people at this point, probably too many to count, but he hadn’t thought she was one of them. He was sure she had her reasons but he damn well wanted to hear them. She owed him that much. Especially since she was still here for whatever fucking reason. Putain, he almost wished they’d just left him here so he could have dealt with the pain and the shame by his fucking self.

Nicole dug into the ground, pulling at whatever she could find just to keep herself busy now that Virgil had Kaden. The anxiety spike was evident in the moments following Kaden's awakening. “No one put us up to this” she grumbled, and for a second she regretted even cutting him off. Was it the smart thing to do, to layout the plan? She was new to this revenge situation. Maybe she should’ve fled right after, forgotten about Kaden altogether. Put all of this behind her. Now that she'd gotten revenge, she no longer felt anything. Solomon was alive. There was no need to keep harboring any resentment.

Or so she thought, at least. Until Kaden wondered about her presence and the onrush of rage overwhelmed her. Solomon was alive, but it didn’t fix the weeks of pain. Didn’t erase the lack of sleep or how little she ate; nor the alcohol bender she had to immerse herself in to numb some of the pain. She gritted her teeth, because that 'fuck you' was on the tip of her tongue. When she managed to get words out, she was contained. “You killed my friend” Her first friend. Her best friend. Actually, maybe Kaden was lucky Virgil took pity on him and had a change of heart. She had to look away when her chest tightened, the beast clawing at her ribcage. Trapped. Starved. “I asked for your help to get you out here. So Virgil could– so he could– do that…” she gestured to the man on the ground, suppressing her desire to tell him how much he deserved it. One look at Virgil told her it was the wrong idea.

No one put them up to it. Huh. Kaden couldn’t tell if it was welcomed or disappointing. So Solomon had nothing to do with this. Did that mean he really did forgive him? That it was real? That maybe he– He shut his eyes tight, unwilling to get lost in the what ifs and the feelings and all that bullshit bubbling up inside of him.

It hit like a punch in the gut. He’d killed a lot of people’s friends. And their partners. And their families. He was well fucking aware of that. And as much guilt as he felt, he couldn’t help but mirror her anger in defense, as a way to avoid the crippling guilt that was seeping back into his pores. “And your friend forgave me.” It didn’t matter that he didn’t know why. It didn’t matter that he didn’t believe he deserved it. None of it mattered in that moment. All that mattered was that it had fucking happened. “How do you think he’s going to feel when he finds out about this shit? Grateful?” He knew damn well that Nicole knew the fae a lot better than he did, but Kaden knew enough.

“You didn’t even fucking ask what happened there,” he grumbled, trying to will his head to stop pounding. They didn’t know that he was protecting a kid, or that Macleod had thrown the pheromones to make the fae crumble, or that the forest itself was trying to tear them all apart. They didn’t know how long he’d been pinned down to the couch in guilt. They didn’t know he’d apologized, either. They just knew what he knew: that he wasn’t a good person.

Nicole tilted her head, certain she hadn’t heard Kaden correctly. Her brow twitched in surprise. Solomon forgave him? When? It made sense, a reluctant voice chimed in the back of her head. Making amends with his murderer fell in line with the Solomon she had talked to not long ago. Nicole had encouraged him, in fact, to make up for everything he had done. The pain he had caused, the lives he took. She had held him accountable as best as her conflict averse self could. And yet she had gone and gotten revenge on his name.

Understanding she was being a hypocrite wasn’t enough to stop Nicole from acting like one. Not when she was beginning to realize the wound from losing him was still open and festering. “He’s done worse” she whispered, stomach sinking as she used her best friends actions to justify her own. “I think… he’d– he’d understand what it feels like”. Whether Solomon agreed or not, it was something she didn’t want to think about now.

“We know enough” Nicole replied, trying to pay no heed to the sense of doubt slowly creeping inside her. She trusted Macleod, she wouldn’t lie to her about his responsibility. “You set him on fire” she pointed out instead. Something he seemed prone to, at least in her experience. She clenched her jaw, relenting from arguing further. Fuck this shit. The fire in her gaze vanished as she looked into Virgil’s glasses. “You wanna hear his side? cause I fucking don’t. He seems–fine. We should leave”.

“I don’t want to know what happened either. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Solomon was sick. Perhaps you had a good reason to do what you did, or you were only defending yourself. But you still burned him alive.” Virgil echoed Nicole, trying to remain on its side despite the fact that he was attempting to comfort Kaden. His own burns, though long healed, began to sting. “It’s a horrible way to go. Nobody deserves that.”

It didn’t surprise Virgil that Solomon forgave it. The leshy was far kinder than anyone deserved. He was a well of endless patience for Virgil’s struggles to adjust to this world, and that extended to everyone else he met. Nicole seemed to be friends with him for a similar reason; she seemed to be wilder than most humans here were, more at home in the woods than with her own kind. Solomon was a balm for restless, lonely souls. Virgil was trying to do the same for his friend, to nurse him back to health and help him with the guilt that came from his actions while under the influence of the Tree. Perhaps forgiving Kaden was a step along that path.

Virgil shared Nicole’s desire to leave. He was done with the situation too. But he couldn’t justify leaving Kaden alone in the dark just then.

“It’s been a long night for all of us. I think we could benefit from some food and rest. My house isn’t far.” He patted Kaden on its shoulder. “Try to stand up. Slowly.”

Of course they didn’t want to know what happened. It would complicate their narrative. It would make this feel worse. Kaden sure fucking knew all about that. Part of him wanted to spare them the pain of complexity. The rest of him wondered why the hell he was the only one who had to bear the weight of all the fucking moral complexities of the world. “You’re right,” he said as he slowly tried to stand up. “I threw the lighter. Wasn’t trying to kill him though.” The world was spinning. Putain. He held his head in his hands a moment before carrying on. “I was trying to deal with the fucking killer plants all around, not sure if you remember those.” There was no way Nicole of all people had missed the memo on that one working where she did.

Alright, he guessed he could try to take a step. Nope, bad idea. He paused again and bent over, placing his hands on his knees. “Guessing you also missed hearing how he–” Even Kaden couldn’t be that glib, not if he really thought about it. “How everything took hold so fast,” he added, looking up at Nicole once more. Because if they did, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be alone up here. Her name was on his lips, tempted to point out that Macleod had also been ready to kill the leshy, had also made moves to do so, and also had to live with the consequences of all this. Still, it felt wrong to just drop her name, put a target on her back. Fucking inconvenient that hid moral compass decided to point north now instead of fucking earlier. “Unless of course you gave someone else this wonderful fucking treatment. But you tell me.”

He took a deep breath and tried to walk again. This was going to take a while. “Your house?” He looked at the fae. That sure seemed like a bad fucking idea. “Going to your house? After that?” Kaden couldn’t fucking process this. “You gonna promise me not to fucking do that shit to me again?” Putain. He had been so careful with that word for so goddamn long, too.

Nicole stood up, arms crossed over her chest watching Kaden get back to his feet. She gripped her own bicep to stop herself from doing something stupid, like– god forbid, helping him up. She listened to him recall that day, reminding her of all those months suffering because of that tree, but she didn’t say a thing. Because that would mean coming to terms with the fact that her thoughts contradicted each other. The tree deserves to burn, but Solomon didn’t? When in reality, they had been one and the same, as Macleod had pointed out to her too.

And though Solomon had been present in her mind all throughout the night, as Kaden questioned the fate of others involved in the fae’s demise, it was Alcher who came to Nicole’s mind. She thought of the wolf’s revenge tirade. The one that led her to turn her back on her found family. Her biggest regret. She understood then how easy it was to go down that path. To hunt every single person responsible for her pain. Her throat tightened. She finally understood, and she wished she could’ve told her as much.

Nicole held Kaden’s gaze, shaking her head curtly. She didn’t want that, she had learned from the wolf’s past too. She wanted to be done with it tonight. She was willing to put this behind, whether Kaden agreed or not. He probably needed time to lick his wounds, that was all. She had to accept –albeit reluctantly– that he was entitled to harbor whatever grudges he deemed fair. She was thankful for Virgil, who was ready to put an end to this and head back. “He stayed with you until you were awake,” she defended the fae, letting out a weary sigh. “He’s not gonna hurt you” she swallowed, forcing the next words out of her mouth. “I don’t plan to either”. The idea of the three of them under the same roof after all that seemed like the most fucked up sleepover ever, but she was too tired to go her own way. “Lead the way” she told Virgil, eyes still fixed on Kaden as he struggled to walk.

Virgil watched Kaden move, making sure it stayed on its feet despite the wobbliness. Though not quite normal, it was upright, which meant it was time for Virgil to get on his feet too. He gathered his legs under himself and stood. It was always unpleasant to move his head so drastically, since it always made the dizziness worse. He’d stopped fainting outright, but that wasn’t saying much. He swayed, vision going black, tuning out the conversation until the head rush subsided, a hand going to his temple.

He listened with half an ear as Kaden told them why it’d done what it did. And Virgil found that he couldn’t fault it for what it was saying. On some level, Virgil thought that what Solomon had done was… not right, or justified. But a part of him still trusted the version of Solomon who had been cruel to the humans, who did not love or care for them. He didn’t know why. That Solomon made more sense to him than the one that’d returned from the fire. He would never trust the word of a human over that of Solomon, no matter how sick his friend had been. But he could perhaps see what it’d been like for Kaden, and how difficult it must’ve been in the moment to differentiate Solomon from the tree. He did not expect a human to possess mercy, or to understand the devastation wrought by death.

Kaden’s dismissal of his offer was expected. However, Nicole’s defense of him wasn’t. Virgil glanced at Nicole, surprised it stuck up for him against Kaden’s questions. He’d have expected it to have similar fears to Kaden about his abilities after seeing them in action for the first time. The maddening gaze was dangerous, as he’d demonstrated today. It’d called him beautiful after seeing his true form the night they found Solomon’s body. Virgil would’ve understood if it no longer felt that way. But it seemed, at least for the moment, Nicole was okay with him. He appreciated it, since he didn’t have much to say about the accusation except that he couldn’t promise Kaden would be safe with him. Perhaps it’d become his friend in addition to Solomon’s.

“For tonight, at least, you’re safe with us. You won’t come to any harm in my home.” Virgil turned slowly in the direction of his house, making sure that Kaden and Nicole were following. “I find that a full belly makes forgiveness easier.”

#writing #wickedswriting #chatzy #nicole #nicsalazar #virgil #virgilachlys #a kind of revenge

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monstersfear · 2 years

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@virgil-achyls

[pm] Glad to hear it. I don’t think anyone would be happy if you ended up being eaten, especially after risking your life to save me. [d: You wouldn’t have been put in danger if I’d just] You mean you... got your hunter abilities back? That’s fantastic news, Emilio. How did it happen?

[pm] Well, that’s probably not true. There are plenty of people who’d probably be thrilled if I got eaten. Might surprise you, but I’m not exactly the kind of guy who makes friends everywhere I go.

Yeah. Yeah, I did. Apparently I just needed to talk through it... which explains why I didn’t get them back sooner. Talking shit through isn’t exactly something I’m great at.

#virgil achyls #virgil: home safe

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nicsalazar · 3 years

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@virgil-achyls

[pm] Hello. I can’t say I’m doing better, but I’m looking after the heart. It started to grow, I think. It’s difficult to tell. I keep thinking I can hear him, or see him in the trees even though I know logically that he’s gone

How are you?

[pm] Yeah, me neither. Is your chest alright, though? Wait, what? You’re not fucking with me, right? Are you su He did regrow his arm once Maybe he’s not Maybe he could do There’s no logic in this. If it didn’t hurt so much I’d go back to his clearing, maybe I’d hear him too

Um, it’s been a couple of really fucking shitty weeks It’s like It’s Don’t know at this point Just hope it stops hurting soon At least the tree’s gone, no?

#pm: virgil #pm

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greywoodrpg · 4 months

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Hello Greywood residents!

Bye bye May! Hello June! Can you believe we're rolling into summer time already? Make way for sunnier days ahead and another monthly update. Look out for these characters celebrating their birthdays in June: Katherine Baxter and Virgil Achyls. Remember, if you have a character birthday you'd like added to the main, please message the mods.

𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤

Charity Gala hosted by Amy Baxter near the end of the month!

𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤

Our May open starters are listed below:

Naia welcomes patrons to the Blue Frog Cafe...

Virgil has been caught sleep walking somewhere in town...

Finch accidentally bumps into you outside of a bookshop...

Sofia gets interrupted from her thoughts by an approaching person...

Morgana accidentally bumps into you somewhere in town...

Give them some loving attention or reach out to the mun to start something new if the starter is too old for you.

𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕔𝕜

Done! Those on it, please reach out to the main to request a hiatus!

Thank you for your attention and happy writing!

#greywoodupdate #greywoodadmin

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virgil-achyls · 2 years

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The Current Flows On Without End|| Lil & Virgil

TIMING: A week before For My Song Has No Beginning LOCATION: Virgil’s House PARTIES: @lilian-adamson and @virgil-achyls SUMMARY: Hekakleidi sets Lil straight about them being a “demon.” CONTENT WARNINGS: body horror, cosmic horror, blood, sibling death (Virgil’s ghost brother makes an appearance)

Lilian Adamson wasn’t an especially talented exorcist. Still, putting down her knife in the car was something that made her heart twinge with fear and sadness. She let herself feel the dread for the moment, knowing that going through that door was tantamount of playing a knife game with the devil. After a moment though she took a breath whispering a prayer as she put her necklace away knowing that the medallions would piss off the demon in the house. She calmed her face, letting a wave of peace go through her.

She wasn’t a talented exorcist, but she was one. She welcomed whatever happened here as a way to stop the bleed. Lil wouldn’t die here - she had to believe that and believe more that she could somehow help. Even if it was through her absence alerting other exorcists - although she didn’t let that thought dwell. There was no point in regret or fear now. She had made her choice and she would live with it.

Getting out of her car Lil looked up at the building, hardly differentiating it between the others she’d seen. She’d rather not remember it if she was being honest. Still raising her hand to the door, she said with a steadiness she didn’t feel. “Goddess? I am here as you requested.” Her words burned her mouth, but her eyes were steady waiting for the inevitable.

Hekakleidi opened the door, making no effort to hide her displeasure upon seeing Lilian there.

It wasn’t difficult for humans to guess what she was. She didn’t try to hide her true nature. But sometimes the lofty title of god blinded them to what she really was. A demon. A greater demon, to be exact. One who’d been growing greater and greater over the years spent being fed by Myrrha. For now, though, she liked the fact that people here thought her a god. It felt like quite the lofty achievement. She didn’t want this stupid human to mess the game she was playing.

She stared at Lilian through the eyes on Virgil’s antlers. The human looked weak, as all of them did. They’d just have to see whether this was true or not.

It would be fun to see how the exorcist held up against her, though. She’d dealt with those in the past, and they were always annoying. She didn’t need to possess Lilian to subject her to her will, but it might be fun to try. Hekakleidi was, after all, quite a bit more powerful than all the times she’d dealt with exorcists in the past.

“Come in.” Hekakleidi opened the door wider. Antlers like fingers stretched far above her saint’s head, glowing white, curled into each other to avoid dragging on the ceiling. Caustic magic glistened on his skin, turning it from charcoal to light gray, and dripped down sizzle and smoke where it hit the hardwood floor. Unnatural doglike jaws protruded from his mouth. The maddening eyes were safely hidden behind sunglasses, though they still lit up the dim evening red.

The demon slammed the door on Lilian’s heels with a push of magic. “There. Now we can speak alone.”

Behind Virgil’s body, a shadowy figure loomed in the hall. It stood over a foot taller than him, with broken, half crumbled antlers, which looked more deer like than whatever Virgil had on his skull currently. Burnt completely, there were no features, nor a mouth which could talk. However, the set to its shoulders indicated that it was somehow exhausted. It might’ve been angry, or afraid recently, but time spent being helpless had numbed it.

Nassus met the eyes of Lilian, tentative, not quite sure if there was any point in it anymore.

“I am sure you understand why I cannot allow you to go around accusing me of being a demon.” Hekakleidi gripped Lilian by the collar of her shirt, and dragged her through the hall and into the dim kitchen, placing her into a chair pushed up against the counter. Nassus drifted silently behind. “You are ugly. So concerned with gods who will never hear you, with priests who never respond. I, however, am right in front of you. I am listening to you, and I can grant you wishes. Make anyone who’s ever ignored you pay.”

Lil wanted to back away almost instinctively seeing - whatever the form that the demon had taken. It wasn’t something she’d seen before, but to be fair that wasn’t what was keeping her mouth shut. Lilian wasn’t a demon exorcist. They had more power, skill and even just years than she had. If Hekakleidi had hidden herself, Lil may not have sensed her at all, but she didn’t seem to care and the energy radiated around her. She wanted Lil to be uncomfortable, to be fearful and frankly it was working. It was almost nauseating of her as she tried to keep her chin steady as she entered the room at her command. It took everything in her not to scream.

Lil had been to demon exorcisms before, hell her left hand itched at where the scar was - where her dad had - . None of that really mattered now other than to say that she knew damn well she shouldn’t be in front of a demon alone. Especially one that clearly was as powerful as she was. Lil’s eyes focused on the form in front of her. Even if Lil was trying to keep fear off her face, she knew there wasn’t any defiance there either. She didn’t dare, even as she tried not to flinch at the closing of the door.

For a moment though, Lil’s eyes focused behind the demon to a shimmering figure as Hekakleidi seemed to pause for a moment. She hadn’t sensed them before, the ghost there, but when she met where their face should be she wondered briefly why they were staying around the demon. It couldn’t have been pleasant, and Lil thought maybe they thought that too their shoulders shrugging down. She almost wanted to reach out, tell them to run - but she wasn’t about to get anyone else into this mess. If Hekakleidi hadn’t noticed the spirit yet she wasn’t going to give them away. She really didn’t have the time to do so anyway.

After the moment, Lil was suddenly picked up closer to the demon's form. She hadn’t met Virgil - didn’t know how much was his body and how much was this false goddess, but she did hope that he was at least asleep at this moment. It was almost an out of body experience for her, to be dragged like a rag doll and suddenly pushed into a chair.

Focusing on the word she was saying, Lil’s breath shuddered as she listened not knowing if her voice was really there anymore. What was the idea? That you wouldn’t give in when the odds were tough? She never really understood it when it came to self protection. She would do anything to keep her family safe after all, even if it went against anything else. Still, there was a stinging sensation in her heart she didn’t quite know how to pace. It hurt. It hurt knowing that she wasn’t strong enough. There was also a sting with the other’s words.

She had been abandoned hadn’t she? Lil always fought against that notion, that she was wanted and that if she asked for help she would get it. However, how many calls did she just send out hoping that just one of them would pick up? The only person she could have asked here for help had already been infected by this demon, and she really doubted Emilio could have done anything. Bobbi was just a human, a lovely one but not one who could have prevented this. The people who could have helped her abandoned her. The people who she busted her ass off to help - she needed to let that go too.

As she finished Lil raised her eyes to the Demon, and said softly, “I understand. I apologize for the accusation. It was wrong of me.” Her eyes saw the flicker of the ghost, wondering if they didn’t see that she couldn’t do anything for them here. “I see that you’re here. I -” her voice cracked something she was hoping wouldn’t happen. “ I see that you’re here and he isn’t. That you could actually grant wishes and not ignore people here. That you won’t abandon people.” Her mouth stung at the words. “I believe you know what I am, Goddess. I fear - that I would create an undue burden on you. How can I follow you? How can an ugly person follow you?”

Hekakleidi pushed her Saint’s mouth into a wide grin at the words of the human. There was something satisfying about being told these things by someone who was not under her control, and didn’t know instinctively what she wanted to hear, but wished to appease her anyways. It rarely happened since her solution to almost every conflict was to take over the mind of her opponent and avoid any argument. She reveled in the frantic begging, wrought out of the human by terror and the desire to get out of this alive.

“You are right to be sorry. And you are right that I do not leave people like those of your silly faith do.” The demon gave Lilian a long look through the eyes at the base of her antlers, taking in the unobtrusive shape of her, at the lines of fear lining her face. She almost wanted to try it. To see if she could possess an exorcist, corrupt her with magic and let her see the real power of something ancient and powerful. But in the past, exorcists had proven resistant to her methods. And while Lilian wasn’t nearly as powerful as her predecessors, the demon was still doubtful of her success in trying.

That was alright, though. There should be witnesses to her power that were not on her side, who could see her and know what she was doing. “You are not a burden. There are other ways to pledge yourself to me, should you desire it. Perhaps not as beautiful as my other servants, but you will still serve. That is enough for me. Beg me to tell you, and perhaps I might enlighten you.”

Lil knew all too well she wasn’t getting out of this scott free. The devil always wanted a price, and she assumed demons did too. She had a suspicion that the other was possessing people in some way, but Lil had hoped there was one thing left to defend her mind. She was sure if the other tried though, that she could slip into her brain. It was a terrifying thought. Lil had seen a lot of people possessed and it never stopped crossing her mind as a fate worse than almost everything else. It’s why she cared about it so much.

Whatever poetics about her life that Lil could wax, it wasn’t time for that anymore. Instead she focused on this moment. Lil tensed as the demon talked, her eyes not looking up at her. She tried not to look at the ghost either, not wanting them to be focused on unnecessarily. Part of her wanted whatever this was to be over. She’d already been living in fear now about this, and she was tired. She was so tired.

Lil hadn’t expected the other’s words. She figured that she’d either possess or kill her, and it didn’t seem like that’s what she wanted to do. Lil didn’t have much hope though that it was a kindness. Her eyes did look up though, still not quite meeting the other’s eyes. It was another humiliation then. She seemed to like to do that, even if her words would have been comforting, there was a want for Lil to fall to her feet.

So Lil complied. After all she wasn’t going to be the hero of this story. She knew well enough she couldn’t go toe to toe with a demon like her. It was humiliating, and scary and fearful, but she had to cast that aside now. She needed to trust that she didn’t have to be the hero this time.

“Please tell me, how can I serve you?” Lil said a bit of panic in her voice that she hated and sadness. She felt as small as she did the day she’d failed her test - and she probably sounded as fearful. “How can you enlighten me? Please. I want to.” It wasn’t exactly truthful, she just didn’t want to die. Still she was sure that Hekakleidi would know that by now. She wasn’t amused to keep her alive because Lil was blindly obedient, she was sure that she was enjoying seeing her fearful and struggling. She wasn’t defiant, but she wasn’t changed in her heart either.

“Please tell me what to do.”

To say that Hekakleidi was pleased was an understatement. It always made her happy when humans begged like that,

It also helped to keep the bloodlust contained. Having humans sing her praises and worship when she acted with mercy was a nice reward. It quelled the urge to fly into a rage and massacre every living thing who’d spoken badly of her, or criticized her. Lilian had better keep singing her praises, or Hekakleidi would splatter the human blood all over the pristine walls of her Saint’s kitchen (which, in the demon’s eyes, was an improvement).

“It is simple. I require your blood.” She wished for a knife, and her magic twisted one from the block on the counter. A long, thin blade kept sharp by her Saint for cooking, though the layer of dust on the handle said it’d been disused for a long time. The magic turned it on its side midair, handle towards the human, close enough to reach out and take it if she chose to. Lilian would be the one cutting herself today. “Take the knife. Make a cut. Tell me that your blood is mine. I will do the rest.”

The demon usually loved to take part in these things, to cut with her own sharp parts, and feel the way the pulse raced as pain set in, but she wasn’t confident that she could do this without losing control. It wouldn’t do to cut the fleshbag’s arm off; humans were so terribly fragile. Hekakleidi fixed all of her eyes on Lilian: the burning gaze of her saint safely hidden behind his red glasses, the ones at the base of her antlers, and the rest which peered out from the cracks in her Saint’s skin. “Cut your palm. There’s no need to be squeamish.”

Nassus came closer to the pair, so focused on Virgil that he appeared not to have forgotten Lilian at all. The appearance of the knife seemed to agitate him. He gave a slight flinch, watching it closely, but wasn’t relieved when it didn’t immediately stab Lilian.

He reached out, trying to take it and lower it safely to his side, but the large clawed hand passed straight through it. His voice creaked out in a slithering whisper, but one that was filled with concern.

Fear was a funny thing for Lil. She’d been pushed to be fearless, reckless for her own life in the hope to keep others safe. When she was alone though, she usually was scared. There was no one to keep her safe here and she was outside her depth. Maybe that was why she was so scared, but when the demon spoke to her again she seemed to steady some part of her remembering her father’s voice in her head.

It wasn’t that she thought that her odds were suddenly better, but the die was cast. No amount of fear was going to change it, and the only real hope she had was that there was some out later. So, when she looked up at the mention of her blood she steadied. “Okay,” Lil said softly, her voice barely rising in a sort of quiet defeat that she hated.

She wondered idly why the goddess wouldn’t do it herself, but maybe there was something about it being her. Or, simply the demon knew that it would bother her. Giving an exorcist a knife and asking for their blood - that was bold. Still, Lil and Hekakleidi both knew that it wasn’t much of a threat. The other would have killed her if she thought Lilian could have done something. To be fair to herself though, she doubted even if she was powerful she’d be able to exorcize the demon before she killed Lil.

It did sting though, to be asked to cut her palm. It wasn’t the pain, but the small scar there was forged to protect not to make deals with demons. Not every exorcist had it there, but it was a pretty traditional spot. It felt wrong to do so. Still, she reached out to the knife floating in front of her - seeing the spirit there. She couldn’t quite tell - but he seemed to be trying to stop her. Lil hadn’t met many ghosts that were worried about her, and maybe she would have tried in the past to comfort him. It wasn’t okay, but he didn’t need to worry. He wasn’t at fault for any of this, and honestly she probably would have told him to go. It wasn’t pretty. Instead she glanced at the spirit for a moment, knowing that it was too risky to actually communicate. Maybe if she got out of here she could help him later.

It did feel a bit ironic though, that she was still seemingly worried about someone else. Old habits die hard again.

Lil grabbed what probably was a kitchen knife firmly in her right hand. It was for the first time that she realized that was the room they were in, noting it somewhere in the back of her mind. At the demon's statement Lil nodded, slicing her palm not wincing from the action. At one time she had, but now she used all she could not to show it. It hurt, but it was bearable.

Raising her hand up her palm for Hekakleidi, she didn’t bother trying to cover the wound, letting the blood sit there as she lowered her head. Her hand letting the knife go on her lap, making sure to show she wasn’t trying to use it for anything else.

“My blood is yours,” Lil said a little louder, her voice as steady as she could make it knowing that it must have sealed her fate.

“Good,” Hekakleidi murmured, the sound rasping from deep in their chest. They watched closely as the blade bit into the marred flesh of the palm, slicing easily through the skin. Red beaded up after it, welling up around the path of the blade. Something like an intense hunger welled up inside them at the sight of it.

Lilian offered the blood, palm open. Hekakleidi took it reverently with the hands of their Saint, brushing his thumb through the blood, letting it mix with the caustic magic which dripped from his skin.

Expert hands brushed the blood into the shape of a prayer mark over her eyelids as the demon chanted a bit of their own summoning song. Shapes not unlike keys, with a more complex knot of a rune in the center of her forehead. The mixture of blood and magic smoked faintly as it sat on Lilian’s skin, not quite enough to brand or burn, but enough to irritate the skin. The mark would be there until her body naturally healed itself. But until then, the prayer marks would stay. A body marked as the demon’s, even if they could not possess the mind. The shapes mirrored the ones carved into Virgil’s face, and Hekakleidi had to admit that Lilian looked better like that.

They sat back, tilting her chin towards the bright overhead lights. Though Virgil’s face remained blank, the demon was beaming.

“Beautiful,” they said, a smile clear from their voice. They lifted a hand up to their antlers, letting the bone fingers clean off the mixture of milky white magic and blood. It tasted truly unique. “It may sting a bit. But I think you are much better like this. My marks are irrefutable. Your former god is gone from you now. Only I remain.”

Nassus had seemingly given up trying to stop the blessing from happening. He merely watched from behind the saint, an arm draped over his shoulder, stroking his arm as if the saint could feel him to be comforted.

“Tell me how it feels. Sing me my praises. I am hungry, and I would hate to have to eat an ungrateful exorcist.” Hekakleidi demanded roughly.

Lil wanted to pull her hand away almost instantly as she felt the demon’s hand on hers. It didn’t help that there was suddenly a searing pain that made her want to whimper. Instead she bit her lip, not knowing if that was considered disrespectful to cry out in pain her eyes closing. Hekakleidi seemed to be more interested in what she was doing than to really pay attention to the fact Lil was desperately trying to stay quiet and calm herself down.

She didn’t take her hand away, as she felt the other - writing in her blood even as her arm shook. It was the only way she could really describe it. It looked like a ritual, and for some reason that made Lil nauseated for a moment. The demon seemed to be using her blood for a ritual painting her own blood across her face. It hurt, but moreover it felt wrong, sacreligious even. Still, it was a little too late for her to protest it.

Suddenly, at least to Lil she couldn’t really tell at this point, the demon had let go of her hand and leaned back from her and she couldn’t help but cradle her hand to her chest. She didn’t dare touch her forehead. She wanted to cry, to scream, to say something but instead she looked at her hand for a moment seeing the irritated skin there. She still had her mind, she could tell that. Whatever the others had felt, happiness or contentment it didn’t fill her brain. She could - still feel her Will too, and maybe that’s because the Goddess in front of her didn’t particularly care to make her not an exorcist. It did seem to truly be about her faith, and if she wasn’t so relieved she might have been sad about that.

“Only you remain. I don’t - I don’t believe in him,” Lil said softly, her head now bowed not looking up. It wasn’t - well it wasn’t a wrong assertion. She wasn’t lying. Where there had been a sort of quiet reverence there wasn’t anything. She could still say god's name, hell she could still do her rituals but that bit of her that clung to faith was suddenly just - gone. The reverence was gone. The guilt she felt was gone. It should disturb her, should make her cry or call out for forgiveness but it didn’t. If anything it just confused her. Why had she been so scared of this? This was not the worst case scenario. The Goddess could have done a lot worse.

“It hurt - but it doesn’t hurt anymore. I am grateful that you’ve spared me. I didn’t deserve that much.” Lil probably could have lied, spun fantastical tales but instead she continued honestly in a sort of odd reverence she wasn’t sure how to place. She didn’t love the Goddess, but well from her experience from others of their kind Hekakleidi had been honest and spared her life. They hadn’t taken everything from Lil either and that type of mercy wasn’t something Lil thought possible. It was most likely a trick, but for the moment Lil just let herself babble about that “I still feel like myself, and - I appreciate that you let me stay this way. I appreciate what you’ve done. I know you could have hurt me with that, and you didn’t. It wasn’t as bad as - it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

Lil stopped for a second, her breath becoming ragged at the thought of all the times - things she didn’t want to think about. So she continued to speak, her voice becoming light. “ I think that you’re merciful and that’s very awe inspiring especially because I was unkind to you before. I’m grateful for this.”

Lilian flinched from the pain, and Hekakleidi welcomed every little twitch and waver, eager to see that their methods were doing something. “You belong to me now. The marks will let any other entities- be they gods or demons- that you belong to me. And I will make sure that you are never ignored.”

Satisfied at the praises, Hekakleidi managed not to give in to the impulse to eat Lilian whole. Instead, they marveled at how beautiful she was. It was shocking how little it took to raise a human from its natural ugliness. Lilian would not be terribly useful to them because they couldn’t expect the kind of blind reverence they got from those they’d merely possessed. But Lilian didn’t need to be that. They could merely love Hekakleidi with their mind intact.

Hekakleidi sent the knife into the sink and stood back from Lilian. “This will be good for both of us. You will live with my blessing, and I will have an exorcist in my pocket. I have made you beautiful! Do not look so sad, Lilian. You should celebrate.”

“You are free to leave now.” The demon made a dismissive gesture, then raised the hand that held their blood to their antlers, smearing it into the surface, and shivering with pleasure as it absorbed, giving them a minor boost in mood and power. “It has been your pleasure, Lilian. I have other matters to attend to. You may see yourself out.”

Hekakleidi passed by Lilian on their way to the front door, exiting. Only Lilian and Nassus were left behind. Nassus seemed to sigh, both relieved and upset that Hekakleidi was gone. He turned to Lil, apologetic, and tried to speak again. Nothing came out but a crackly sigh. Frustration briefly overcame him, and then defeat. He held a hand out to her, though he didn’t seem hopeful that she’d take it. The ghostly lampade wished to speak.

Lil wasn’t sure if the Goddess was threatening her or not, but she accepted what they said anyway. After all, part of it might be nice to not be forgotten, and she was alive. She couldn’t discount the fact that she was very close to being able to leave this place alive. There were so many exorcists in the world, that surely someone as weak as her wouldn’t make a difference in the plans of gods and demons anyway. If it came down to it, Hekakleidi would probably try to use her, and - like her father almost always reminded her - she would fail. She wasn’t strong enough to be a good pawn anyway. Any problems that came up, they were tomorrow’s problems and pain. Right now there was the satisfaction and comfort of being alive, and being shown mercy.

Lil tried to give a smile, but there was still a sadness there that she couldn’t quite explain. There was still part of her that wasn’t going to be happy, even if there was some sort of relief of feeling safe. It wasn’t super unusual for Lil to feel like this, so she figured part of it was just because of how close she was to death.

Lil nodded at the Goddess and gave a bow as they left, not sure how to address them without anger and knowing that they were satisfied with her words before. She didn’t want to disturb them, letting them leave before her and not daring to leave the room until she heard the closing of the door. Finally she looked up, a weariness in her soul as her shoulders relaxed fully.

Then her eyes met the ghosts, who hadn’t left with the Goddess. He seemed like he was trying to talk to Lil, and a flash of worry for the spirit flashed on her face. She wasn’t quite sure where Hekakleidi went, and although she was fairly sure that they wouldn’t hurt the spirit in front of her there was still enough fear to keep her cautious. Her mind was still fully aware that they were still powerful and could hurt them both. Lil couldn’t protect this spirit like this.

So Lil shook her head slightly and said softly, “ I know. I can see you’re worried and you need help and I - want to help you. I - if I don’t leave now I won’t be able to. I’m sorry but I can’t.” Part of Lil wanted to cry again, or at least reach out to the ghost - knowing that her hand would fall through his anyway. She wanted to tell the ghost that she’d contact the Vatican, she would get someone here and she knew that it was scary but it would be okay. Still, she was fearful that it was too much to speak, that the Goddess would come back in and punish her after showing her mercy. She couldn’t risk it, that she’d end up dying here after all. So Lil mouthed the last of her words as she pulled her things up and flexed her hand.

Come find me someplace safe. I’ll help you.

#the current flows on without end #lilian-adamson #wickedswriting

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fermataheart · 3 years

Text

Not a Squatter | Virgil & Silas

TIMING: ~ 1 month ago, shortly following ‘this isn’t fair’ LOCATION: silas’ apartment. PARTIES: @fermataheart & @virgil-achyls SUMMARY: silas returns home after a rough day to find a stranger has taken up residence. CONTENT WARNINGS: suicidal ideation

He hadn’t been home in what felt like weeks. Not that he was missing much, the Bend didn’t really offer great quality when it came to living conditions. His apartment building was just as dilapidated as the rest of them, a crumbling brick exterior with cheap, paper-thin interior walls that did very little to keep cold out or sound in. Didn’t matter, Silas didn’t sleep much, and preferred the cold for obvious reasons.

It was a small, one-bedroom setup with very little furniture—a mattress on the floor in the bedroom, something that resembled a couch in the living room, and no kitchenware to speak of, though for some reason his plastic tote of clothes had found a home there. The hardwood floors were scuffed and uneven, the windows dirty and ill-fitted to their frames, and none of the light bulbs had been replaced after burning out. Squalor, if you wanted to sum it up with one word. The zombie lived in squalor.

Heaving himself up the steps, long hair framing a tired, emotionally drained face, he made his way down the hall to the door of his apartment. Lucky number 11. Keys slid into the lock, jiggling to get it to disengage (because naturally, it was also half-broken), and Silas stepped into the dark entryway. The untouched kitchen was to his immediate left, the living room dead ahead, and the bedroom and bathroom down a two-foot long hallway to the left. Without noticing the figure that was perched in the living room, Silas kicked the door shut softly behind him and moved, head down, into the small kitchen. Pulling his dirty, blood-stained clothes from his body, he rifled around through his tote for something clean to wear, dropping a black long-sleeved shirt on the floor before hunting for his favorite pair of joggers. “Fuck me,” he groaned to himself, annoyed to be down another outfit when he had so few to spare. The blood never really washed out.

—

Virgil jumped as he heard the door slam, automatically pulling the long shadows of the apartment to cover himself. He’d spent the past week watching a medium who lived here, trying to figure out its schedule so he could have it in his mind when he was ready to start actually taking humans. Normally he was fine to just watch from outside, but with the forest off limits, he wouldn’t have anywhere to vanish if he was spotted. Also, it was cold, and he didn’t particularly want to stand around and risk getting frostbite. So he went into an apartment which looked abandoned, with no working lights and walls that seemed to be crumbling to dust. Nobody had come or gone from it in the few nights he’d spent. And it had a great view of the medium’s apartment, so Virgil could easily make notes of when it came home and left for work, and when it was there alone. While he had his sunglasses on so as not to draw attention to himself, he was unglamoured, and therefore sure to cause a panic when he was seen. At first he thought it was someone breaking in, and then he had the notion that someone might’ve seen him, and was coming in to get rid of him. He turned to the doorway, waiting and ready to either disappear or drop his glasses. But the intruder didn’t even notice him, it just slouched into the kitchen, banging around while swearing to itself.

It had keys. It wasn’t acting like an intruder. It was acting like this was its home. And it was covered in blood. Human blood. Virgil had seen enough of it in his life to know for certain what it was. And from what little he’d been able to glimpse, there was a lot of it. Enough to be fatal to whoever lost it. Something morbidly curious welled up in Virgil. He had no desire to see dead humans, nor any parts of their insides; he’d been exposed to more than his fill of that back home. But he wanted to know why the human whose home he was invading was that bloody. His humans back home had always had each other’s backs, united as they could be against the horrors of the Mirror. This human seemed to be carrying a heavy burden. He didn’t care about its feelings, nor the pain it must be going through. It was more like asking a stranger to gossip with you for the sake of some brief entertainment. And after spending days with nothing to do but watch the humans go by, he was itching for some stimulation.

Virgil walked to the kitchen, making a conscious effort to make his footfalls noisy, so it didn’t seem like he was sneaking up on the human. He paused in the doorway, pulling his glamour into place so he at least looked human on the surface. It might be less scary if the human thought he was just a neighbor who’d come by to gossip.

“That’s a lot of blood. Are you okay?”

—

Footsteps. Loud footsteps, coming right up behind him. Silas should have been freaked out, should have whipped around in a panic to confront whoever—or whatever—was about to be breathing down his neck, but instead he just slowly straightened his spine and turned to face them, bare-chested and with his jeans pulled halfway down his ass.

There was a long silence that passed between them while the zombie tried to process what the fuck was going on, his reaction utterly deadened by the events of that night. It was around five or six in the morning at this point, he hadn’t slept in at least 24 hours, and his tolerance for confrontation was at an all time low.

“... I’m… yeah. M’fine,” he responded warily, narrowing his eyes at the intruder. People who were out to get you didn’t usually open with a line like that, or at least not spoken so earnestly. It was weird, extremely weird, but so far not exactly threatening. Silas bent down to pick up the clean shirt he’d dropped earlier, tugging it on over his head and pulling his hair free from the collar. Sparing a glance down at his legs, then to the bin of clothes behind him, Silas decided that he cared less if this stranger saw him naked than if he spent another second in these damn pants. Returning to his hunt for something to wear, the zombie kept Virgil in his peripheral vision, just in case.

“You a squatter?” he asked plainly, figuring that the guy must have been here for a while—it wasn’t like there was anything worth stealing. That said, he looked a little too groomed to be homeless, so who knew? “S’fine if you are, I get it. Cold out there.” Finding what he was looking for, Silas stood back up again, shaking out the sweatpants with one hand and hooking a thumb over the waist of his jeans with the other. “Look, uh… don’t make a difference to me if you stand there or not, but I gotta get out of these things,” he explained, giving the intruder a moment to turn away if he wanted. Regardless, Silas tugged and wiggled out of the bloody, muddy jeans and undergarments, kicking them into the corner before slipping into the much comfier joggers. “Fuck, that’s better,” he sighed to himself, feeling the tiniest flake of the shit-cake that was his night break off and float away, making the burden that much lighter.

—

“No, not a squatter. Just taking a break to do some people watching. I find it helps to calm my mind. I thought this place was empty, and it has a pretty good view of the outside, so I came in to get out of the cold. It’s freezing out there, isn’t it?” Virgil looked around the place as the human took off its clothes, not particularly interested either way, though he knew some could be fussy about it. What did interest him was the state of the place. He understood making do with what you had, and having an old home which one could only repair so much. But this place was a complete disaster, and it all became more serious now that he knew it wasn’t abandoned. There was no attention paid to the things that could be controlled, like swept floors and a clean counter. Virgil almost wanted to beg this human to let him clean it up just a little bit. Humans could easily get sick from living in filth. He understood that sometimes neighbors had to step in and help with the things others had trouble handling. He’d never minded cleaning. But then he remembered that here, he had problems keeping things clean too, not because he just couldn’t, but because if he looked down for too long, he got dizzy enough to collapse. He pressed his mouth into a thin line and took a breath. The human would have to sit in its mess for now. Still, how could it handle it? “I appreciate that you’re being chill about finding a complete stranger in your home. And I apologize if I scared you.”

Virgil paused for a beat, wondering if he should just call it a night and leave. He hadn’t expected to speak to a human tonight, and wasn’t mentally prepared for it. It’d been quite a while since he’d had to act like a human since most of the company he kept knew about him. He was a little rusty, and without time to practice moving like a human, or even smiling like one, it was only a matter of time before he revealed himself. He could already tell that his smile was just a tad off, perhaps crooked, or showing too many teeth, conveying something cold and predatory rather than some genuine human emotion.

But he was loathe to go back outside in the snow. And perhaps he owed the human something for using its home to stalk other humans. He was also morbidly curious about the blood.

“So,” he said warmly, to distract from the severity of his smile. “Whose blood is that? I assume it’s not yours, or you wouldn’t be standing.”

The shadows in the room, long and strong from the house’s perpetual darkness, seemed to reach for Virgil, curling around his feet like cats. Despite the mess and the stranger, the house was comfortable. His kitchen had fluorescent white lights which always seemed to make his eyes sting when he was trying to cook for his Lucas. This place had nothing. It was dim, and he somehow felt at home in it.

“Are you hungry? Or maybe thirsty? I can fix you something to eat, if you’d like. You must be hungry. You look half dead with exhaustion.”

—

“People watching,” Silas parroted him, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “Hey man, whatever gets your goat…” As he was offered an apology, the zombie shook his head and shrugged. “Forget about it,” he sighed. “Mighta scared the fuckin’ hell outta me any other day, but I’m just—” He didn’t owe this guy, whoever he was, his whole life story. Letting the thought die there, Silas gathered the bloody clothes from where he’d dumped them, opening the cabinet beneath the sink to throw them in the little trash can that was hidden there. The action seemed to pique the stranger’s interest, which drew another curious stare from Silas. Except this time, he noticed it. It was a hard thing to pin down, but it was off. It was wrong.

Something about this guy was very, very fucked up.

Not allowing the fear that slowly settled over him to show, Silas straightened up and gave him a nod. “Yeah, you’re right about that. It’s kind of a long story… an accident.” He squinted at the guy, looking for any other tells of his weirdness but finding none.

Was he hungry? What an unintentionally loaded question. “I’m fine…” he started, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he could swear he’d seen some sort of shadow on the floor. “... I always look half dead. Or whole dead, if we’re being honest.” Silas lifted his gaze again to meet Virgil’s. “Undead, if we’re being pedantic.” He shifted his weight, arms folding across his chest.

“What, uh… what’s up with you? You’re weird. Weird like me, but in a different kind of way. You got too many teeth, man. I ain’t super familiar with shit outside my wheelhouse, but I ain’t dumb, neither.”

—

“I will forget about it, then. I’m glad I didn’t scare you.” Virgil listened intently as the stranger hopped from term to term before settling on the one that actually meant something to him. “Undead? That’s interesting. Are you a vampire? I seem to be meeting a lot of vampires here.” He thought fondly of his Milo, and wondered if these two knew each other. His first reaction to imaging the two together was that this creature would be a bad influence on his Milo. His second was that they’d probably get along perfectly.

Virgil watched heavy awareness settle over the stranger’s face as it took in his teeth, then looked at his feet as if trying to pick out a shape in the dark mass of shadow. Not quite fear, but it wasn’t quite at ease with him either. That was fine. Virgil had no desire to be genuinely threatening towards this individual. But at the same time, it was disheartening that after all this time living in White Crest, he still couldn’t blend in at all, or fool even the most distracted humans when forced to interact with them. Then again, there was always something liberating about being freed from the confines of his (admittedly poor) human charade.

“I do? Oh dear, how embarrassing!” He covered the smile and leaned in, as if this was some inside joke between them, and chuckled at himself. “It’s difficult to get my glamour just right sometimes. It’s never been natural for me. You’ll have to excuse me.”

This creature was sharp, Virgil had to admit. But maybe not that smart for calling him out on it instead of just rushing him out the door with fond goodbyes. “You’re a smart thing, aren’t you? For noticing so fast. I’ll keep it on even if it’s not quite right. The real thing might scare you.”

Now, Virgil had dropped any shred of humanity besides the glamour. He was completely still, like a spider, or a cat, who was just waiting for their prey to come within reach. Even his eyes were fixed directly onto those of his host, unwavering. The only thing that moved was his mouth, which stretched oddly as he spoke, as if animated by a maw that was much wider than the one his human disguise had. The shadows nearest to him twitched and swirled, contrasting his stoicism. The darkness began to ever so slowly creep towards his host.

“I mean you no harm,” he told it, which was at odds with his appearance, but true nonetheless. “Since I invaded your house, I feel it’s only fair if I do something for you. Is there something you need done? I can do a bit of cleaning, if you’d like. Get that blood out of your clothes. I could cook you something, though I’m not sure how to prepare dinner for the undead. It looks like you’ve already eaten, anyway.” He waved a hand at the gore still covering the stranger like a second skin. “Or you can send me away. No hard feelings. I’ll go without a fight. Just let me know.”

—

Vampire? “Oh, no, uh… zombie. Other kind of undead. Less cool, if I’m honest.”

Alright, that was weird. Virgil’s reaction was more off putting than the realization he wasn’t human, but Silas did his best to stifle it. “Uhh, no problem, mon frère,” Silas muttered, inwardly desperate to recoil. The real thing might scare you. Jesus christ, what the hell was this dude?

Silas quickly realized he didn’t want to know, watching the way he just… froze up like a shitty glitch in the matrix. “You sure about that?” Silas scoffed at the assurance of his safety, though it was halfhearted at best. No point in pissing this thing off, he’d been… weirdly pleasant so far. Thick eyebrows rose as the zombie noticed the shadows moving again, closing in on him in a way that was most unsettling.

Cleaning. He wanted to… clean? The offer to just shoo him away was tempting, but when Silas took a moment to consider the alternative—sitting alone in his shitty apartment, stuck with the thoughts of how pissed Milo and Emilio had been, replaying the night over on repeat… fuck. Some creepy creature was definitely preferable.

“Uhh, no, that’s—I mean, I guess… if you want to stay, you can. It’s not… great in here, I know. If you really want to clean, knock yourself out. But you don’t have to, I’m—you can just…” Realizing he was just talking in circles, Silas fell silent. There was a slight pause, then he sucked in a sharp breath. “Sorry, why were you people watching from an apartment you thought was abandoned? Ain’t there better places to do that, like the Commons?” The cold. “Oh, wait, nevermind. S’cold out, right.”

God, he was so shit at small talk.

“What’s your name?”

—

“A zombie?” Virgil repeated, and tried to put the name to meaning. All he could come up with were commercials for human shows and games about zombie invasions that played before his cooking videos. He’d never really heard the term before coming to White Crest, and he didn’t know of anything that was comparable in the Mirror. The only thing he knew for sure was the fact that this creature was, as it’d said, undead, and apparently ate humans. “I don’t know much about zombies, unfortunately. You eat humans, right? What parts?”

It was obvious by the zombie’s rambling and posture that it was uncomfortable with him. Perhaps even frightened. He would’ve thought that staying in his human form was the right choice, since his true form was the one that humans historically reacted poorly to. But this creature was acting like the problem was his glamoured form, staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“I owe you a debt. You can trust the word of a fae.” Virgil spoke clearly so it would know that he wasn’t going to let its nerves affect him. He stepped away from the doorway and to zombie’s side, moving slow, letting it see the stiffness in his neck and head, and the uneven way he walked, as if he was on a boat, contrasting the coiling way he stood. His steps were still nearly silent, drowned out by the swishing of his long coat around him. Darkness followed him like a cloak. He supposed there was only so much he could do to put the zombie at ease. “Do you have cleaning chemicals? A rag? I was thinking I could do the counters and then sweep in here. I don’t want to keep you all night.”

He didn’t usually show his weakness to strangers. It bothered him that he was doing it now. But if it got this creature to relax a little, to let it know that it had more control over the situation than it realized, he supposed he could deal with it. He found its fear confusing since it could easily overpower him if it came to a fight, and if it wanted him gone, he’d leave. He had nothing to gain by invading some zombie’s home and attacking it, nor any desire to partake in violence. It’d said that it was cool with him staying, so why was it acting like it wasn’t?

“The Commons might be a better place to do it. But I was just watching one specific human, and it lives here, so I’m here too. It’s honestly really boring to sit around and wait for it to come home, but it’s just one of those things that has to get done, you know?” This kind of mundane talk was something that Virgil would’ve spurned as below him, unwilling to go along with behaviors that were so obviously human. However, he found that staying in his glamour made him want to keep up the act. Not to try to fool this zombie, but perhaps to learn something for the next time he found himself speaking to a human. “What do you do with your spare time?”

“I’m Virgil.” He extended his hand, slow and harmless, in greeting. “What can I call you?”

—

Grimacing, the guilt of what he’d done far from gone, Silas shook his head. “I mean, I try not to,” he said softly, guilt dripping from his words. “It's mostly animals. Any part’ll do, but the brains are… preferable.”

Owed him a debt? Wait—wasn’t that a really reckless thing for a fae to say? Surely this… whatever he was knew that. Even Silas knew it, and he barely knew shit about other types of supernaturals. Wondering if that was some kind of indicator that this guy really was harmless, the idea was only backed up by the awkward way he shuffled forward, looking terribly off balance. Silas was about to ask if he was okay (why did he care?) when Virgil inquired after cleaning supplies. “Oh, uh… yeah, I—yeah, hang on,” he muttered, turning toward the sink to open the cabinets beneath it again. Reaching past the waste bin, Silas snatched up a bottle of some kind of all-purpose cleaner, noting that it itself was covered in dust.

Man, he’d really let the place go, hadn’t he?

Next was a roll of paper towels, plucked from atop the unused fridge and set on the counter beside the bottle. Turning back to the fae when he explained about the… what sounded like stalking… Silas raised a brow. “Sure, man. Just one of those things,” he agreed, finding the sentiment almost funny. This guy was weird, but in an endearing way. So far, at least. “Virgil,” he repeated, reaching for the extended hand. “I’m Silas. Don’t do much these days, play music, that’s about—” His words died on his tongue as their hands made contact, a bizarre feeling coming over him. The zombie, who was quite cold to the touch for his own part, noticed a certain… stickiness to the fae’s grasp. Hm. Well, if the way he seemed half made of shadows was any indicator, it was probably safe to assume it was normal for him, and not the result of something nasty on his palms. Deciding to ignore it, the zombie smiled for the first time that evening. “—it. You all good? Looked a little… stiff, there,” he remarked gently. “Outta your element. Not from around here, m’guessin’?”

—

“We have something in common, then. You’re no stranger to hunting animals,” Virgil said, noting the way it raised a brow when he brought up following a human, and wanting to remind it that it was also a predator. “Do you have any loss of sensation?”

He watched the zombie putter around its kitchen, fetching cleaning supplies from completely different places as if they’d been scattered by the winds of time. When all were located, Virgil thanked his host with a polite nod, already having decided that the counters were first on his list.

“Silas. Nice to meet you.” Virgil couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it when Silas stopped mid-sentence to shudder at the sensation of his skin. Still, he kept going as if he didn’t notice, smoothly shaking the cold hand. The sensation of the zombie’s skin confirmed that it was in fact dead, and Virgil’s mood reflexively dipped. Silas was neither truly dead nor one of Virgil’s humans, but he was so used to a final goodbye when humans felt like that, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of loss.

When they separated, there was a slight tearing sensation as the skin of his fingers tried to stick to that of the zombie’s. He almost wanted to keep the contact, to assure himself that there was life in the movement of its body even if its skin marked it as a corpse. His eyes flickered up to meet Silas’ through the red tint of his glasses, finding them exhausted yet alive, which somewhat helped.

He grabbed the cleaning fluid and gave the counter a heavy spritz, then let it soak in while he unrolled a few paper towels to wad up. It amazed him that Silas had paper towels, that people here could use disposable paper for cleaning instead of just whatever scraps of clothes had gotten too threadbare to keep wearing. Despite the gubbiness, the apartment suddenly felt a lot more glamorous.

At the mention of being a musician, Virgil’s attention was genuinely piqued. The music from White Crest was one thing he enjoyed more than the kind they had at home. In the Mirror, Fae played on whatever they had, mostly providing background music for parties, events, or plays. They’d certainly been good, but it got a little repetitive to hear the same sound and the same songs over and over. Here, there were all sorts of instruments and technologies that were combined to make new, invigorating songs the likes of which he could never even dream of. Some of those music videos were incredible. With admiration, he regarded the zombie again. “That’s not an easy thing to do. What do you play?”

Virgil tilted his head down to his work, listening with half an ear as he cleaned. The smell of bleach filled his nose, familiar, and with a little elbow grease, the counter began to look better.

“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.” Just as predicted, the zombie had taken the bait. It relaxed visibly, and Virgil considered himself successful in convincing his host that he wasn’t dangerous, even if his pride was stinging.

Silas was once again displaying that it was too smart for its own good. The offhand guess was far too on the nose for Virgil’s liking. You have no idea how right you are, he thought. What was that line he’d used back when he first came? He scrubbed at the counter, pensively removing some built-up scum. It’d been so long since he’d needed to devote any effort to those little sayings, the ones that were vague enough to be true without really giving anything away. It wasn’t really this stranger’s business where he was from.

“No, I’m not from here. I came to White Crest to help out the family business, so I’m here for the foreseeable future. I can’t say I’ve been adjusting well,” he said finally, and then, as a diversion from the topic of himself, added, “Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t know how anyone can live here peacefully. How do you stay sane when the world is constantly trying to kill you?”

—

Loss of sensation? Silas smiled ruefully. “Yeah. Can’t barely smell, taste, or touch… sucks, most of the time. Y’get used to it, though.”

Watching Virgil go about cleaning, the zombie couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, despite there not really being a reason for it. The stranger had offered, and who was Silas to insist that he—a weird non-human he knew nothing about and whose intentions were still murky at best—leave? He couldn’t really take Virgil at his word that there wouldn’t be any problems, as much as he wanted to. So he decided he was just going to roll with the punches, and keep the guy at least somewhat entertained until he decided to take his own leave.

“Oh, uh… a lot of things, actually. I only own a guitar n’ a fiddle, but… I can play just about anything you put in front of me. Went to school specifically for music composition, so…” Feeling strange just standing there watching, Silas grabbed a handful of paper towels to help. An added bonus was that this allowed him to stare at what he was doing while speaking, rather than at Virgil, who was still eerily off putting in a way he couldn’t wrap his head around.

The next question came as a surprise, blunt as it was, and Silas almost stopped scrubbing. “Well…” he began, brows furrowed in thought, “... I guess you don’t stay sane.” His expression softened and he looked up at the fae, considering all the things he’d gone through that night alone. Tears would have sprung to his eyes if they could, but as it was, a distinct sadness settled into his features. “‘N it sure ain’t peaceful, I can tell you that. Just last night, I—” He didn’t owe this man anything. There was no reason to open up to him, to confide in him or show him any sort of weakness, but Silas wasn’t strong enough to stop himself. Overwhelmed, he didn’t even try to stop it as it spilled out, delivered with the quiet desperation of a person who felt they had no one left to turn to. “—I lost someone real important to me. Someone I should hate, but I don’t. And the people I shouldn’t hate, the people who cared enough to help me outta a bad situation, I just fought with all of ‘em. Burned bridges, fucked it all up.” He gave a mirthless laugh, gaze averting toward the ceiling. “Been threatened by death even after dyin’ once, by all sorts of things—even myself. It sucks, Virgil. It sucks real fuckin’ bad and I’m afraid I don’t got a good answer as to how we keep truckin’ on. Guess it’s just… human nature.” Falling quiet again, the zombie shook his head and resumed cleaning. “Anyway, hope for your own sake that you can get back to wherever you came from sooner rather than later. Y’don’t wanna be ‘round here, trust me.”

—

“Music composition?” Virgil echoed, taken aback by the odd answer. He only had a vague understanding that humans learned very different things than him. School was a word he’d heard floating around a lot, though he had little idea what humans did there. He’d been taught how to make cloth, grow food and medicinal herbs, cook, repair homes, and tend to animals, though his experience was more about survival than mastery. Even the musicians back home were just folks taking a break from their day jobs. It never crossed his mind that musicians might learn to be professionals by going to school for it. Again, he felt a flash of admiration for Silas, who had an education in something that sounded so strange it was almost magical. “What made you decide to learn about music?”

Virgil’s eyes flickered to Silas, taking in the troubled expression on its face as it spoke of burning bridges and spurning the people who tried to help it. He felt for it. Silas must be hurting quite badly if it was telling this to Virgil, who was still regarded as something of a threat. He listened, letting it finish getting it out before he reacted. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch, to offer comfort with his hands in the way that was so familiar to him. That was overstepping a bit, even for him. But it didn’t feel right to just stand there like he didn’t care that this stranger was sharing something traumatic.

A less kind part of himself was intrigued by the admission. He knew that humans, and by extension Silas, dealt with death all the time. It was part of their lives in a way that it just wasn’t part of Virgil’s. Sure, he’d had humans die on him, but they were nothing more than blips compared to the loss of his brother. Virgil had been blindsided by his death, with no idea how he should feel, or what to do, so he just locked up the memories that remained and kept them deep within. He was almost eager to hear what a human (or, former human) might be feeling about the loss of someone it knew.

“Who did you lose?” He prodded gently. “Why do your friends think you shouldn’t love them?”

—

“Ah, guess I’ve just always had an affinity for it,” Silas answered slowly, surprised by Virgil’s continued interest. “Been playin’ stupid songs for myself since I was a little thing, with whatever I could find ‘round the tra—house.” Falling silent, the zombie tried to focus on what he was doing.

His expression hardened at the questions, and suddenly he wished he hadn’t said anything at all. “Doesn’t matter who he was,” he muttered. “He’s dead now, and I’m sure I’m better off. I’m sure.” His voice wavered, throat constricting. Seeing Andreas dead had been difficult enough, but the manner of his death was altogether another hurdle that Silas hadn’t quite been able to leap. Head severed from his neck, the evidence of a struggle surrounding his corpse… Silas had struggled to haul him out of the decrepit cabin, and going back for his head had almost made the zombie sick.

Now he was pushing daisies, buried as deep as Silas could stand to go before the grief had overwhelmed him. Before he had come running back home, exhausted and looking like hell. Before he had encountered a strange fae in his apartment, stalking one of his neighbors.

“Think this is about as clean as the counter’s gonna get,” Silas said with an edge to his voice. “I’ll take care of the rest myself. Appreciate the help, stranger. I… I’d like to be alone now, if y’don’t mind.”

#. para ;#. para ; not a squatter #. with ; v. achyls #suicide tw #[ it's BEDTIME no graphic for this one ]#wickedswriting

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clayanddust · 3 years

Text

Crossbow and Cyclops (Virgil +Clay)

Characters: Virgil Achlys (Lampade-Jesper), Clay Hale (Hunter-Tapir)

Timing: Before New Spring

Location: The rooftops of Amity Road

Summary: When a Fae is adducted by vampires, Clay and Virgil become allies of circumstance.

Trigger Warnings: Drug Use (Fae Blood), Head Trauma

Virgil felt a bit out of his depths amid the pounding of the bass, which was loud enough to rattle his bones despite not being in the club. The light through the window turned the back alley a bright pink. Places like this, places with loud music and flashing lights, gave him an out of body experience which he supposed was the point, but he hated it. The night in town was far too lively.

But he needed to find prey, and it was easier to find powered humans in the oversaturated clubs and bars than out in the wild. Bexley, a witch he’d bullied into helping him figure out how to get home, had told him it had a theory to test. And if its theory held up, Virgil was going to be visiting home soon, and therefore he’d need bodies to offer to his mother. He didn’t intend to be picky about it. These humans weren’t going to stay with him for long. He just needed to give his mother whatever he could, and hope she didn’t kill him on sight when they met again. But the opportunity to be home, even if it was just for a few hours while he handed over his bounty, was enough to make Virgil go out of his comfort zone to prepare.

He’d been following the trail of a medium, but it disappeared into the club, and Virgil wasn’t stupid enough to try to track it in there. So he gave up for the night, slipping into the side alley to catch his breath.

There were two creatures back there already. One pinged Virgil’s senses as a fae. It was on the taller side, gangly like a little stick bug, with curly blue hair and striking club makeup. The other was a vampire if the glint of fangs twisting its grin were anything to go by. It was so bald its head was shiny like a crystal ball, and it was wearing a black pinstripe suit with a collared shirt the color of mustard underneath. Both garments were unbuttoned and open, creating a plunging v-shape so low it nearly showed its belly button. The grin was friendly, but its eyes were slitted in a way that made Virgil think of how his mother looked when she played with her food.

Virgil felt his curiosity pique. He hated clubs. He never wanted to get a good look at what went on in the alleys and streets around them. But for some reason, this reminded him of the night he and Milo first met. Of course, Virgil was the predator between himself and Milo. He’d been so new to playing human that he was completely lost as Milo asked him repeatedly for a lighter. He’d thought the scrawny thing was just a very unhealthy human, and thought it could be fixed with a hot meal and bath. Now he knew better, though. He understood that this vampire and the fae were different from himself and his Milo, but he listened in anyways, pulling out his phone and pretending to send a text so he didn’t appear nosy.

“Just come with me, pretty boy. I’ll show you a good time.” The vampire spoke in what it probably thought was a sweet voice but ground in Virgil’s ears like a bag of rocks being shaken. “I promise I’m telling the truth. C’mon.”

The fae made a noise that almost sounded like a nervous ribbit, throat bulging as it shrank away from its breath. “No thanks. I’ll pass.”

Virgil was shaken out of his reminiscing by a wave of disgust.

The vampire leaned in, eyes flashing red, a note of hypnotic command in its voice. “Sleep.”

The nymph slumped over, completely out. The vampire caught it, slung it over its shoulder, and slunk further into the alleyway. It turned a corner, shot Virgil a smug glower, and disappeared.

Virgil’s body was flooded with equal parts panic and rage. He pocketed his phone and stalked after the vampire, temples throbbing as he gritted his teeth.

That vampire had taken a nymph. Even if Virgil had no real family here, that nymph might as well have been his neighbor. Just a kid who might come around asking to pet the human. Virgil might see it on the streets with a few friends. He didn’t know it personally, but he didn’t need to. Whatever the vampire intended to do, Virgil had to stop it.

The shadows in the alley lengthened and warped, flickering as if pulled towards him by a breeze. Slowly, the pink light began to drain away to an all-consuming darkness.

He didn’t know how to navigate in cities. Every dirty alley looked the same to him. And he wasn’t fast enough. If he tried to run, he knew he’d just pass out, and then the only person who knew about the fae’s abduction would be out for the count. He paused at the mouth of the alley, thinking. Maybe he could go into the club and recruit a bouncer to help track the vampire.

There wasn’t time. He’d just have to chance it. If he became a shadow, he could travel faster, be higher, and remain undetected until he could figure out what to do.

Just as he was about to dissolve, he caught faint footsteps behind him. He turned, ignoring the dizziness, something wild and bright in his eyes. He didn’t know who he expected to be there. Maybe a second vampire, or an onlooker. Instead, an unassuming human met his eyes. Great.

Virgil straightened, nodding to it, and offered his best human smile, internally cursing himself. He didn’t much care about what some stupid human saw, but he couldn’t handle the distraction the human would be if it saw some random human just disappear into the shadows. If the human tried to follow him, it’d be even worse. So he made an effort to appear polite, cold eyes hidden behind red sunglasses. The articulation just wasn’t happening right with how worked up he was. “You startled me! I’m sorry. Can I help you?”

“Mhm sorry,” Clay said with an off-handed brusqueness of a mind focused on something else. He stared past Virgil straight in the direction the vampire had gone, brown eyes unfocused as if the Hunter wasn’t using physical sight to track his prey. Clay blinked, the trance seemed to pass, and his gaze fully focused on the stranger in front of him.

“Yeah Cyclops,” Clay answered Virgil with the curtness of someone who could feel time ticking away. The lean Slayer did not cut an imposing figure in his brown military jacket and faded workwear pants, but the pistol holster and knife sheaths at his belt hinted at lethal purpose. “You see a tall thin bald guy in Mad Men pinstripes and a tweety-bird yellow shirt?”

“Mad what?” Virgil repeated out of reflex, and then the pieces clicked together. The human was talking about the vampire he was letting get away. He pointed towards the alley. “Oh, yeah, I saw it. It snatched up some kid and went into that alley.”

Virgil looked closer and saw the various weapons, which sent a cold shiver down his spine. He noted the blank look, as if the human was tracking something that Virgil couldn’t see, and the confidence with its weapons, and the way it seemed just slightly more spry than your average human, and thought that this human must be a vampire slayer. He thanked his lucky stars that it wasn’t a warden. “Are you hunting it?”

He pressed on, not waiting for its answer because he knew what it’d say already. Instead, he went on, talking fast, leaning in to get the hunter’s attention on him instead of its quarry. Neither of them were in a positon to waste time, and there’d be time for questions later. “Look, I’m going after that thing too. But I’m not fast, and I don’t know the city. If you show me the way, I’ll help you fight it. Deal?”

“A hostage, great,” Clay murmured unenthusiastically, but before he could thank Cyclops and haul ass out of here, his purpose was discerned. From the way Cyclops said ‘it’, they were either just your average Silicon Valley sociopath or aware that very aware that Mr. Pinstripes weren't human or even alive. Clay and the newest hostage didn’t have time for dissemblance, but he didn’t have time to do much more than nod before Cyclops elaborated.

Cyclops wanted to help and Clay didn't have much time to suss out how. Clay was a team player by inclination. The undead were no joke. Even the beastial vampire Spawn could easily rip a man in half, and Mr. Pinstripe was no mere Spawn. While Clay didn’t like endangering anyone he didn’t have to, Cyclops had the air of knowing something of the danger he was choosing. He wasn’t gonna waste a hostage’s precious time with an argument. “Kay that’ll work for me,” Clay affirmed. “It feels like they’re heading to the end of Amity Road c’mon.”

Clay led the way through Amity Road’s picturesque side-streets of cobblestones, handing signs, and street lamps casting the tourist trap shopfronts into a subtly more sinister light. By night Amity Road began to reveal its true self from the coastal postcard facade. Foxfires danced in the second windows of shops that allegedly just pawned off Atlantean crystals and aromatherapy on the impressionable. Behind ‘Closed’ signs certain outlets were receiving customers whose shadowed outlines had limbs and proportions that would’ve caused mass panic in daylight. Dingy clubs that were supposedly ‘under renovation’ during the day were throbbing with music and milling crowds whose hungry eyes refracted the dance club’s strobing lights.

But Clay didn’t walk into any of these establishments.The seasoned Hunter’s presence might’ve started unnecessary fights if he’d tried. Instead, Clay led Cyclops down several backstreets. The dark brick walls became narrower and narrower as the Hunter took them further into the urban labyrinth around Amity Road. The lanterns hanging from apartment doors and storefronts began to be spaced farther apart and the pair entered patches of darkness where the two men couldn’t walk side by side without scraping their shoulders on the alley brick.

“There’s an urban garden where some vampire farmers prep victims to milk for blood to sell at the Nightshade Market,” Clay said before taking a running leap to grab the bottom railing of an overhanging fire escape. The athlete swung him up onto the grating and climbed over the railing. He unlatched the fire escape ladder and lowered it down for Cyclops to climb. “We’ll go across these rooftops to get at them.”

The dark underbelly of White Crest passed them by as they made their way through it. Virgil followed the slayer as it led him along turns and alleyways and past dingy shops. He didn’t necessarily trust the slayer, but he was temporarily letting it guide him, and since they had the same goal, the slayer was allowing it. Grateful not to have to fumble for some misdirection about his stake in the whole thing, Virgil followed it silently, letting it focus. As the alley got smaller, he and the slayer walked closer together until they were squished into each other. It was unavoidable. Virgil didn’t mind; he enjoyed the sensation of its human warmth against his arm, and it felt like something briefly intimate between strangers. But he was worried that somehow the human would feel him, and notice how he produced very little body heat, or perhaps rub against his skin and feel how rough it was. He didn’t want it to be put on the chopping block in addition to the vampire they were following.

The slayer halted before a building, and then just hopped up as if it was nothing. Virgil was almost dumbstruck by its agility. He watched with equal parts awe and terror as it swung up to the rusty ladder, scaling the building in no time flat. It lowered the ladder, intending for him to climb up after it. While it was a much more reasonable method of ascending, Virgil was reluctant to follow it. “Sure. Rooftops. Great idea. Just give me a second.”

Virgil’s sight slid from the slayer to the sky stretching out above it. The infernal night was luring there, open and upside down and hungry for the moment he made a single mistake, slipped up, or tripped, so it could suck him up and send him spinning into its unending vastness. Virgil hated the thought of leaving the ground behind. It felt stupid to put himself at the full mercy of the backwards gravity. He wasn’t stupid, and he didn’t take unnecessary risks. A foray onto the roof sounded like a colossally stupid idea. The human seemed right at home up there, but Virgil was getting lightheaded just staring up at it.

But the vampire had a nymph. He couldn’t just leave it to its fate. Sucking in a breath, he grabbed onto the ladder’s rungs and clambered on. His vision blurred. He took measured breaths as he carefully climbed the ladder, resolutely not looking up.

His skull throbbed. He blinked rapidly, took deep breaths, but neither did anything to calm the storm. He felt the distinct sensation that he was moving, perhaps leaning, but he didn’t know if it was forward or to the left or right. After what felt like an eternity of robotically putting his feet in the rungs, he cleared the ladder. Virgil felt the familiar sickening drop as he nearly lost consciousness, but managed to remain awake as he stepped (flopped) onto the rooftop. He reached out for the edge of something to lean on, taking measured breaths as his vision swam with a blur of concrete gray and slayer-colored blobs. He put a hand to his temple, staring straight ahead to convince his eyes that he was still even as ripples shook his peripheral vision.

He was standing. He’d made it up. He was going to help that godforsaken nymph if it killed him.

He sucked in the cool air, giving his head a few seconds to calm down. Instinctively, he drew in the shadows to keep himself and the slayer unseen. The darkness around them thickened until the bright lights in the distant garden were reduced to dull smudges of light, leaving Virgil and the human wrapped in comforting confinement. It’d block them from being seen by the vampires, so as long as they were quiet, they should remain unnoticed.

“Let’s go.” Virgil straightened, taking a deliberate few steps away from the edge of the roof. His sunhat was meant to protect him from seeing the sky while he was out of the house, but he was finding that it was pretty much useless now, which was great. He was already exhausted and they hadn’t even started. He was embarrassed to not be able to just climb a ladder. It was stupid. He’d never had problems back home. He could fix roofs, tend his garden, and run up and down the stairs all day without even a twinge of dizziness. But White Crest was a flipped, limitless horror show, and his body was intolerant to it. He was better than he’d been when he first came, but it was still bad.

Wanting to move on, he pulled back the shadows just enough to be able to see out of, peering around for the urban garden the slayer had been talking about.

There was indeed a miniature garden on the roof of a building just to their right. A line of small trees bordered the center, forming a square. In the summer, it would’ve been a beautiful sight to see, full of life, with plants of all kinds on display, green in the way that only growing things could be. But now, all that remained was a layer of nearly-dead autumn leaves on the branches of the trees and the dormant, wrinkled skeletons of things which couldn’t survive the winter.

Without the cover of the foliage, it was easy to see the distant figures, which were gathered at the center of the garden. Virgil caught the glint of lamplight off a shiny bald head, and recognized the vampire who’d gotten away from him earlier. It was still holding the blue-haired fae, so at least nothing horrible had been done to his neighbor yet. But the bad news was that there were now two more vampires, who were conferring among themselves, as if trying to figure out how best to share the meal between them. They weren’t acting on edge, or like they’d even noticed that they’d been followed.

Without taking his attention away from the vampires, he leaned towards the slayer.

“I count three.” Virgil kept his voice to a bare murmur, holding up three fingers in case the slayer couldn’t hear it. A moment too late, he remembered that the slayer could sense the creatures and thus would know how many there were, and felt foolish. “I can get them to drop the kid. Distract them. Can you take that many at once?”

While Clay didn’t technically need his companion’s hostiles count, he took the help in the spirit it was intended. He nodded while his eyes remained unfocused, the Slayer letting the horizon of his clairvoyant awareness sweep the area and buildings below them for the cold sickening feeling of undeath. When the only vibes that came were the same cluster of three about a hundred meters, Clay refocused on the immediate moment in an inhale that relaxed his shoulders.

“Mr. Pinstripes can perform Compulsion, meaning he’s probably around a century old,” advised Clay. “Gonna guess his muscle are more newly turned. Sooooooo,” Clay looked over from where he crouched towards his companion. “Not to ruin the whole mysterious team-up vibes here Cyclops but how exactly are you gonna make them drop the kid?”

“I’m going to drive them insane with my eyes. I think if I can get behind them, I can scare them into running towards you. That should make them drop the kid,” Virgil said, able to focus more clearly now that he didn’t have to climb things. He didn’t know how the slayer managed it so easily. “I can grab the kid while you stake the vampires. But you’re the one who does this for a living, so if you have any expert opinions on what we should do, I’m eager to hear them.”

He hesitated a beat, then risked moving his head again to check in with the slayer, making sure that it was going to be cool about his lack of humanity. He’d basically just admitted to having abilities that no human could have. And as a person who presumably hunted vampires because it thought they were all evil, Virgil wanted to make sure that he himself wouldn’t become the next target. He wasn’t evil, but his appearance tended to draw strong reactions out of humans. He didn’t want the slayer to turn on him once it saw what he was. He could probably escape before it killed him, but he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the nymph behind. He got the feeling that the vampires would just panic and kill it if they noticed the slayer’s presence.

“Look, I’m not human. I’m only here to make sure that kid is safe. We’re on the same side here. You’re not going to stake me if you see me turn into something scary, right?”

The revelations of inhumanity wasn’t particularly surprising given that Cyclops had both shown he both knew about vampires and was pretty chill about following said fairytale bloodsuckers across town. Clay generally tried to focus on supernaturals that were actively hurting people, but was well aware there were Hunters out there with no such restraint. Clay had never understood that personally. Wars were won with focused objectives, not just vaguely gesturing at a horizon and saying ‘uh yeah just like kill stuff there I guess’

Above all, Clay played to win. If that meant teaming up with some dude with a Care-Bear-Stare, who gives a fuck?

“Insano-vision sounds like a good plan,” Clay whispered back as he unclipped a thick metal baton from his belt. With a flick of his finger on a latch, the baton snapped into the shape of a crossbow. “It’s ok Cyclops, I don’t scare easy,” the Slayer assured with a smirk as he slid a wooden stake into the crowbow’s flight groove. “No friendly fire on Team: Amber Alert.”

Virgil didn’t have time to wonder what the hell an Amber Alert was. Instead, he nodded gratefully to the human, pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t bothered by him. “I’m glad to know you won’t be coming for my hide. I appreciate it. But don’t look into my eyes or you’ll join in on the insanity. Maybe just keep your eyes closed until you hear them start running.”

Virgil dismissed himself with one last look at the slayer, then dissolved into nothing but shadows. There was a brief instant where his glamour dropped, and his true form was revealed. Black antlers like skeletal fingers pointed to the sky. Charcoal skin, anglerfish teeth, long curved claws on the ends of his fingers. His eyes, pointed firmly away from the slayer, lit up white behind his sunglasses.

Then, the long, dark mass of his true form unwound, dissolving into a shapeless blob of sinewy smoke with white pinpricks for eyes. Sometimes he could devote concentration towards making this form have limbs, but there wasn’t time for it now. Instead, he flattened himself to the concrete, sticking to the spots where the darkness pooled naturally, and propelled himself forward with tendrils.

Virgil wanted to be stealthy, and his true form wasn’t exactly intended to be discreet with the eyes which were brighter than a spotlight. His shadow form would suit the situation much better. It could get him close to those vampires without them ever seeing a thing.

Virgil moved quickly toward the vampires, keeping half an eye on them as he circled the edge of the garden. If they’d heard the slayer and him talking, they weren’t showing it. The bald ringleader cut the Nymph’s wrist and held it to his mouth, desiring a sample before draining it. His two companions watched, enthralled, eager for their own taste.

He came around behind them, scarcely daring to make a noise. Finally finding himself in position so the vampires would turn and run straight for the slayer, Virgil braced himself for the transformation back.

The vampires must’ve heard something, because one of the cronies turned around, took in Virgil’s form, and practically flattened itself to the leader’s side, patting it frantically. “Jeff, we’ve got company!”

The bald one turned, the blue-haired kid still in its arms, and blanched. The nymph was dropped. It landed on the ground with a thud and a pained grunt, but didn’t stir. At least Virgil could tell that it was alive. His cousin was out of the grasp of the vampires, but still very much in danger.

Virgil drifted closer to his enemies, fully solid, drawing himself up to his full height, letting his antlers tilt down just enough that the vampires would feel caged by them. The look on his face drove the vampires back one step, and then another, following them until the nymph was safely behind him and out of the way.

He reached out with hands tipped and grasped the leader by its chin, gentle except for the press of his claws to its flesh, disgusted by the fae blood that dripped down from it. Virgil fixed his eyes on the wide red orbs, and something fierce and protective unfolded in him with the understanding that this was the moment that decided if the nymph would live or die. The vampire's eyes locked onto his, unable to look away. Its face was bathed in white light. Its pupils contracted until they were nothing but pinpricks. In the background, its cronies were frozen with fear, because if Virgil could do this to their superior, what could he do to them?

The bald vampire stared, enraptured, unable to move, to even look away as Virgil’s bright madness bore into its mind and burned away its sanity. Its mouth spasmed, but aside from that, it was completely still.

“You should not have hurt my cousin.” Now, all traces of humanity were gone from his voice. He spoke softly, as if he was murmuring his last platitudes to a child who he’d managed to lure off the main path, and was now going to leave it to wander and die alone. “I hope your last moment on this earth is filled with agony.”

He dropped the vampire, who crumpled into a heap with an odd hiccup.

Its two new friends were staring at him, slack-jawed. Smiling, Virgil directed his gaze to them, and like moths to a lantern, they stared back, trapped in the bright beam. For a long moment, they swayed, frozen under the weight. Then, Virgil turned his gaze back to the vampire at his feet.

One croney let out a high, thin wail as it found itself freed from the paralytic effect of his gaze, and stumbled towards Virgil as if to embrace him. The other took off at a sprint so frantic he could hear it stumble and fall over itself, whimpering, unable to move in a straight line, yet headed towards the slayer nonetheless. Virgil felt a flash of cold satisfaction that the plan was sort of working.

“Run.” Virgil caught the eye of the one shuffling towards him, pairing the command with another blast from his eyes. It switched directions and followed its companion, though it was limited to a slow limp, as if that was all it could force its body to do while its mind struggled to function through the implanted insanity.

As if it could tell that its companions were gone, the bald one rose to its feet, swaying and blinking at the obscured form of Virgil. Pupils still just pinpricks, it was scarcely upright before it lurched towards him, in fight mode. Virgil scarcely had time to think, oh, shit, before he caught the glint of claws moving too fast to see.

Something slashed at his midsection, and he felt the sickening, all-too-familiar sensation of being opened up by something sharp. His world narrowed to just himself and the vampire, who’d gone feral in just the way Virgil always feared when he used his eyes. Pain flooded through him, and he pressed a hand to his abdomen, feeling the hot sensation of black blood pouring out of him and dissolving into smoke, further obscuring the air around him.

It’s okay, Virgil thought, taking a tight step away from the nymph behind him, trying to keep it out of sight and mind of the vampire. He was determined to stay in control despite the pain, refusing to listen to the little reactionary voice that was whispering that he’d messed up somehow if it was coming to blows. He was fine, and he wasn’t going to let himself lose focus when there were lives at stake. I’m fine. I just need to-

He never finished the thought. The vampire had grabbed him by the antler. It shook him briefly, like it was a dog with prey in its mouth it wanted to stun.

It was like reality had dropped out from under Virgil, and he was once again plummeting between worlds, through endless water, having gravity completely reverse, not knowing which way was up or down. His body and head were no longer connected to each other, each floating further apart with every shake. There was nothing except him and this endless movement. He couldn’t tell if the vampire was still going. There were waves of distortion in his peripheral vision, which made it impossible to see anything except a night-shaped blur. He knew that it was best to keep his head still, but he felt like he was tilting in some direction, swaying first to the left and then the right. The world looked tilted somehow. Was he falling?

He wasn’t falling. He came back just enough to see that the vampire had him. It’d taken his weight, keeping him upright on instinct as its own claws held too tightly to him. It was using its grip on his antler to keep his head shoved to the side.

He didn’t have enough presence of mind to change form so the vampire couldn’t touch him. Rather, he found himself stuck in a sort of in-between state, where parts of him had dissolved, others were solid, and the rest was an almost soupy mixture of the two.

He could feel its hand wrap around his skull, bracing. Feel its fangs sink into him, not trying to drink, but to kill. They drove into the half-solid flesh at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Virgil thought about seeing home again at long last. Seeing his brother. Resigned to his fate, he shut his eyes and did nothing. The slayer was gone from his mind, as was the nymph hostage he’d come here for. Rather, he was just spinning, numb to the distant, heavy sensation of being gnawed on.

The soft snap of Clay’s crossbow string releasing its tension sent a stake bolt humming through the air. In an eyeblink it’d crossed the distance into a vampire’s chest. The wooden shaft plunged between ribs and disintegrated the heart within. The vampire seemed to melt around the crossbow bolt, body mass collapsing on impact into a mass of pale dust and empty clothing. The wooden stake clattered against the rooftop.

Clay was already running before the stake fell, dropping the crossbow as he sprinted across the rooftop towards the jump-off between the two buildings. The other member of Mr. Pinstripe’s hired muscle was hurling herself toward Clay, luminous scarlet eyes unfocused and ablaze with delirious fervor. Cold air nipped around Clay’s ears as and neck as he ran, stone alleyways and a sheer drop lurking below.

The vampire's eerily avid features enraptured come into view as she charged towards the gap between the two rootstops, dark hair hanging in disheveled tufts as she jerked in erratic convulsions, shying from threats and accusations that didn’t exist. Clay reached the gap first, but hadn’t lived this long as a Hunter by just running straight into the arms of a berserk vampire who had at least a good foot and a half on him.

With an incoherent mumbling snarl the vampire leapt, superhuman strength carrying her in an souring arc between the rooftops.

Clay’s right forearm snapped forward in a baseball pitch.

The water balloon stuck the descending vampire full in the face. A gurgling wail broke out in the crisp night air as her predatory pounce turned into a blind plummet. Clay stepped aside as the vampiress hit his roof with a dull thud, like a rag doll thrown against a car windshield. The clan muscle rolled around on the flat-top roof beside Clay, frantically clawing at her eyes, the holy water inside the water balloon having boiled her face into a steaming mess.

Clay unsheathed his machete and swung it down in an executioner's arc on this helpless opponent, leaving a pile of dust behind him

“Hey Pinstripes,” Clay shouted as he landed on the edge of the rooftop garden and advanced. “Leggo of Goth Bullwinkle and walk away”

Far away, Virgil thought he heard noise. Talking, perhaps. It wasn’t anything more than a vague sound, with no meaning attached.

The vampire at his throat suddenly paused, as if it was listening too. Virgil felt the way its body pulled away from his as it twisted around to snarl at something behind it, a warning not to get too close.

The instant the fangs at his neck disappeared, Virgil was gone. He didn’t open his eyes (something told him that was a bad idea), which just made the dizziness worse. Rather, he made the change to his shadow form, dissolving in an instant into an intangible nothing. Without dictation or purpose, he naturally pooled on the floor, sticking to the deepest shadows. His head still felt like it was going to float away despite being completely secure.

The vampire, off balance from bracing against a figure that was no longer there, fell next to him with a thud and a howl of pain. The fainter footsteps of the human picked up. Let the hunter finish off his prey. Virgil would stay out of the way.

Pinstripes thought he was finished as the Slayer immediately seized on his loss of footing with a full-bodied tackle worthy of a rugby match. Sharp pain blazed in his chest, but the vampire’s flesh didn’t turn to dust. Pinstripes sat up to find the Slayer had gotten off him and backed away. The Vampire reached back to find a dagger, not a stake, plunged into the back of his neck, piercing directly up into his brain stem. “Not the brightest bloke in Hellsing school I’d wager?” Pinstripes was up to his feet in an instant, yanking the dagger out of his neck and tossing it aside with a disdainful flick of the hand.

Clay just gave a smirk of glacial warmth. The Slayer slowly circled the last remaining kidnapper on the flat rooftop.

Pinstripes looked from the eerie puddle of black void that’d been the Fae he’d been draining dry to the monster hunter who’d sheathed his machete and hadn’t touched the pistol at his pistol. A much wiser voice in the back the vampire’s head warned him to run, something was way off here. Yet, the Fae blood had already started to do its work on Pinstripes, a shivering warm buzz that seemed to spread out from his throat like wings of bliss unfurling inside him. A fever pitch of euphoria hit with a force that made the lights of White Crest night cityscape vibrate in his vision, banishing uncertainty in an exhilarating rush.

“Trying to compensate for your pencil-dick by taking me on with just fists, feel like a tough guy ,” spat Pinstripes with a fanged sneer. “Do you even know who the fuck I am?”

Clay raised his arms into a boxer’s guard, moving through the flourishing hedges and flower beds of the rooftop garden with slow measured paces.

“I’m Lazarius Galenfell,” pronounced the vampire, “and I’ve slit open the throats of a dozen Slayer fuckers like you…”

Clay ducked and weaved as Lazarius lunged at him, stepping away from the main forward force of the vampire’s tackle and knocking aside the hand that lunged at his throat.

“They called me Lazarius the bloody-handed,” the vampire continued, the words coming out slightly slurred in his fervor. Lazarius met Clay’s martial composure with a body-check whose superhuman ferocity plowed the Hunter straight through one of the garden beds, sending a wave of dirt, roses, and broken pottery tumbling over the roof’s edge into the alley below. “I’ve been killing for a thousand years,” claimed Lazarius, bloody face oddly stiffened in a sneering expression of rapture, as if rigor mortis had begun to set in. “These streets are mine. You fucked up taking a shot at me.”

Clay flipped back up to his feet from where the impact of Lazarius’ tackle had sent him sprawling to the edge of the roof. The Slayer shook his head, trying to get the moist garden dirt and rose leaves out of his black hair.

“Look at me,” Lazarius snapped, but his scowl at the Hunter’s pissant nonchalance felt off somehow, like his face was made of hardening wax. “I’m going to dash your fucking brain on the sidewalk and…” Yet the words were choked off in Lazarius’ thickening throat. The vampire’s charge to body slam Clay off the edge of the roof collapsed into a flopping stumble.

Clay reached out a booted foot to stop the vampire’s rag-doll momentum down the slight slope of the garden roof. “Heya Larry Gaffel.”

Larry’s eyes widened at the lesser mystique of his real name. He strained to throw the Slayer off his chest, but his arms won't move. His throat felt like an inflexible iron rod.

Clay bent down to pick up the paralyzed vampire and throw him over his shoulder in fashion more befitting potato sack then a fearsome millenia old super-killer that definitely hadn’t been born in mid nineteen twenties Scarsdale. Clay walked through the ruined garden towards the shadow puddle Cyclops had become, briefly stooping to retrieve the dagger’s whose edge still glistened with the Infector Mortis that’d been delivered directly into Larry’s brainstem.

If Larry hadn’t been high as balls on Fae blood, Clay figured he might’ve been more cognizant of something being up. Even while high and with poison coursing through his veins, the superhuman strength of the vampire had hit Clay like a truck. If Clay had played fair, the fight against these three might’ve gone very different.

Which was exactly why Clay preferred to cheat. No one is keeping score of the Shadow Deer we weaponize along the way.

Clay crouched down next to the living patch of utter darkness on the rooftop. “Still with me Cyclops? Or did Dorathy melt you?”

Virgil watched the slayer play with its kill like some kind of animal, feeling like he was watching a performance instead of a real fight. He was almost certain he’d heard this legend before, where naming the creature let you get rid of it. But Clay didn’t seem intent on getting rid of it.

The vampire grew more sluggish as the fight went on, face twisting so much it looked like a grotesque imitation of itself. The slayer kept taunting it, making it angrier, and Virgil feared for what the vampire might do if it caught it. But it didn’t. In the end, it fell over, fully paralyzed and open for the slayer to swoop in and haul it up over its shoulder like it was nothing. Apparently it wasn’t even a challenge for the slayer.

“I’m still here,” he said in response, faint and wispy, yet with unmistakable resignation. He was still in pain, still shaken, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near that vampire no matter what state it was in (he was also slightly wary of the slayer). Mostly, however, his pride was stinging to have been caught, bitten, and then have a dizzy spell in front of some human. “Who the hell is Dorothy?”

Eyes still shut, the formless wisp took shape, wisps swirling into shapes of limbs and a torso before taking shape. When he was solid, he pulled his glamour over the his dark form and let himself look like a human again, though the illusion was broken by the presence of black blood dissolving into the night sky. There was a large gash on his abdomen, but it was the one on his neck that worried him. He pressed his palm to the wound, letting out a huff of pain. He was standing, so it couldn’t be too bad.

“I appreciate the help. I’d tell you we make a pretty good team, but I never want to do this again. I’m too old to be jumping around on the rooftops.” He opened his eyes, and was glad to find that the slayer seemed to be uninjured. “I’ll take care of the kid. You enjoy your paralyzed vampire.”

Not wanting to know why the slayer was keeping the vampire, Virgil didn’t ask about it. Instead, he turned to the nymph and made his way to its side, confident that he could patch it up and get it home before dawn. He was eager to be gone from that rooftop.

#clay #virgil-achyls #virgil #head trauma tw #drug use tw #wicked rest writing #chatzy #faetal attraction #amity road

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