#metzli: dangerous things

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current. PARTIES: @muertarte & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: metzli and emilio butt heads when they end up going after the same person. it doesn't end as poorly as it could have. CONTENT WARNINGS: head trauma.

The rapid sounds of feet crunched and thumped against the wet earth while tree branches groaned with the weight of a predator. The prey’s heavy breaths wheezed desperately through overworked lungs, and the sound only brought joy to the vampire’s ears. It wasn’t uncommon for them to toy with their meal, especially when it had taken to an atrocity such as forging. Metzli scoffed to themself at the thought, lamenting the dead prospect of attaining a Renoir. 

The man who called himself Henry brought in a lackluster forgery, offending the vampire within seconds. Metzli’s body reacted far quicker than they had anticipated, forcing the pursuit to begin immediately, much to both their delight and chagrin. They preferred to be a little more calculated than that, but they supposed it couldn’t be helped. There was no other option than to go along with it.

The chase was lasting longer than it took them to see through the prey’s facade. Which, to the idiot’s credit, he was determined to sneak a fast one to the best curator in the state. Metzli had to give him some credit for mustering the cajones to try, though. The vampire knew rumors spread quickly about how people like Henry went missing after a failed swindle at Muertarte. Now he was going to be next.

He’d been watching the guy for a while now. Henry — though Emilio had figured out pretty quickly that that wasn’t his real name — had his hand in the door in so many illegal activities that it was almost impressive. At first, the detective had assumed he was a siren, or maybe a spriggan. Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

His latest client was one of many people who’d been swindled by the guy and, if it were just the swindling and the stealing, Emilio wouldn’t have given much of a shit. People stealing from each other rarely blipped on his particular moral radar given the number of times he’d been in a position where he had to steal something himself, and the people who tended to come to him about it typically had enough money to throw around that it was more of an ego blow than anything significant. But ‘Henry’ wasn’t just stealing. His rap sheet was longer than that. And more than a few things on that rap sheet made Emilio figure that, human or not, somebody needed to take the guy out.

Today was planned as a recon mission. Watch the guy on his latest scam, take a few notes, put together whatever version of a ‘plan’ someone like Emilio was capable of coming up with. (Not much of one, Rosa used to say. Em’s plans are just ‘stab here,’ when you really get down to it. She’d always known him better than most.) He wasn’t looking to make contact, but when ‘Henry’ peeled out like the damn house was on fire and nearly took Emilio out in an attempt to shove past him… Well, there was no time like the present, was there? 

“Hey, what’s the rush?” He shoved the man backwards, slamming him against the brick wall. “You know, it’s funny that I’d run into you. I was hoping we’d get the chance to talk.” A knife slipped from his sleeve and into his hand, and he held it up briefly to keep Henry from trying to run. It didn’t seem as effective as it normally might have; the man shoved against the hunter’s grip desperately, unable to break the hold but clearly panicking more than he should have been. Christ, Emilio thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It’s just a fucking knife. What a goddamn baby. 

In any case, it was clear that there’d be no conversation that was anything less than entirely one-sided. He might as well get the killing out of the way so he could move on to the next case. “All right,” he relented. “Guess we won’t talk. Not much good at it, anyway. Prefer the fun part.” He shifted his grip, preparing to drive the blade home.

Metzli’s path was cut short given the new body in their field of vision. The man seemed to know the vampire’s meal, and while that should’ve deterred them, it only made their mouth water. Made their pupils turn into mere points as they widened their eyes with a quiet snarl. No way a silly man was going to take what was rightfully theirs. 

Wasting no time, they positioned themself above the pair, listening for the right moment to drop. Their ears perked at the finiality in the man’s voice, signaling to Metzli that it was the right time to quite literally let go and let gravity do its thing. 

They landed with a dull thud just behind the would-be assassin, granting the vampire the opportunity to reach around, take Henry’s head, and smash it into the wall, rendering him unconscious. With him taken care of, Metzli grabbed the stranger from behind, ready to snap his neck as they allowed him to explain why he was trying to take their rightful kill. It likely wouldn’t do much to deter them, but they were just trying to be polite. 

“Few seconds before I kill and take mine.” They spoke in broken English, still trying to get the hang of such a stupid language. “Speak.” Metzli squeezed even tighter for a moment, slipping their leg between the man’s to get him to his knees. Having only one arm, Metzli had learned they had to level the playing field somehow. 

It crept up on him, that feeling that made every hair on the back of his neck stand up at once. A familiar sensation, one Emilio had come to know well throughout his life. As a kid, his mother made sure it was the kind of thing he’d recognize in an instant, stuck him alone with every undead thing she could find just so he’d never be caught off guard. Something dead was closing in. It was enough to give him pause, for a moment.

He figured he could deal with it when this was taken care of, take out that trash once this one had been finished off. And maybe he should have known better. After all, for Emilio, things so rarely went as planned. In any case, he wasn’t expecting the vampire to attack him first. He should have been. After everything he’d been through, he really should have. 

They moved quickly, slamming Henry’s head against the wall and turning him to dead weight in the hunter’s arms. Emilio scowled as he was grabbed and yanked around, hand shooting into his coat pocket to retrieve a stake that pressed against the vampire’s chest in an instant, leaving the two of them in a standoff. The vampire, with their hand gripping the slayer’s throat, and Emilio, with his stake pressed against their skin but not yet breaking through. 

“Don’t see your name on it.” There was another familiar shiver down his spine at their accent, at the way it curled around words not yet familiar. Similar to his own, a sure sign that they’d probably both be a lot more comfortable doing this in Spanish. Even with the realization, Emilio refused to fall into the comfort of his first language. He was just petty enough to make things harder on himself if it meant he could also make them harder on someone else, too. His bad leg screamed as the vampire tried to force him to his knees but, using enhanced strength that they must not have realized he had just yet, he managed to stay on his feet in spite of it. “There are plenty of other people to kill. Why go through so much trouble for this specific one?” It would be easy to just let them have it. Emilio wanted the man dead, but he didn’t particularly care how it happened. But stubbornness ran through his veins in a way that wouldn’t let him give in to anything undead, even if he wasn’t losing anything in the process. 

The dance was a familiar one, sharp and furious with a speed that only few knew how to sync with. Especially when the parties were never meant to keep pace with one another. It looked to Metzli that the man had experienced his fair share of tangos, moving to the music of danger and chaos. A delicate and unstable crescendo of instruments that usually came in the form of sharp metal and flesh. 

This time though, wood decided to join in on the symphony, and much to Metzli’s dismay, the musician had no intention of putting it down. They squeezed tighter around his neck, snarling at the lack of tact in his demeanor. Figuring him to be a hunter given the obvious, they decided to use their words instead of their teeth. Not the route they truly wanted to take, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, as if they had any other option anyway.

“And your name? Do not see it on him.” Metzli hissed, letting their body sink into the stake ever so slightly without ever changing their expression. There was no pain to be felt since Eloy taught them to numb themself to it. They really should have cared more, if only for their dress shirt. It ripped at the chest, rendering it trash. Oh well, Metzli supposed. They had to deal with trash first anyhow.  

“Attack my business. My kill.” They admitted with a monotone, looking toward the body. “Why you care? Did he do a crime on you?”

The pressure around his throat increased, but Emilio didn’t falter. His glare bore into the vampire, even as the added pressure made breathing a little more difficult. He’d faced far worse than this; strangulation was one of the first things his mother taught him to endure, long before he was old enough to be locked in rooms with the undead and expected to survive the encounters. If anything, this was easier than most of the training that had preceded it. The vampire had only one hand to squeeze his airway shut with. His mother had always used two.

Of course, the vampire wasn’t backing down any more than Emilio was. In a way, he was almost glad for it. With the asshole behind him unconscious, he’d need something to entertain himself, something to keep him from falling back into his thoughts. Figuring out whether or not he wanted to drive this stake home would be a good means of entertainment, he decided. Though, given the way the vampire leaned into the wood, he might not have to make the decision at all. His grip on the stake tightened a little, just in case this was some ploy to get him to release it. He had more in his jacket, of course — his pockets were always weighed down with more weapons than ought to be possible for one man to carry — but it was always best to avoid being taken off guard.

“How do you know? You don’t know my name.” The statement was dry, the kind of thing that might have passed for a joke if the person he’d said it to had had a heartbeat. Tilting his head up slightly, Emilio studied the vampire for a moment. “He’s done a lot worse than attacking businesses. You think you have a right to him because he lost you money? Hurt your pride?”

Of course the hunter was difficult, they were trained to be. And really, Metzli had a little sympathy for the cretins. There were similarities in upbringings. Torture disguised as training, desensitization used as a ploy to create soldiers and mold them to feel nothing even as white-hot pain threatened to pierce through their steeled flesh. It would be easy to acknowledge that, to find some sort of common ground, but as two warriors on opposite sides of the never-ending war, that truth would never come out without crimson staining their skin. Without boring into each other’s eyes as their torture mirrored one another to give them pause, just as it had for the vampire.

For the first time in a while, Metzli’s eyes were reflected back at them, letting some form of emotion creep in ever so slightly. Something in his eyes hovered like a ghost, like anything that returned from the dead. Those only come back for two things. Love or revenge. And the man in front of them wasn’t around for the former.

“Do not need to know name.” They practically tutted with annoyance at having to speak English when the person in front of them had an obvious accent. Metzli chocked it up to his innate need to do nothing for the undead but kill them. It didn’t matter anyway. They’d just speak in their native tongue and let it be one-sided. He could answer in English if he wanted. “Forgers always have more cons and far worse backgrounds, especially when they think they can steal from me. Which he didn’t because I am not an idiot.”

Metzli shoved the hunter away with a kick to his stomach, completely tearing their shirt. They groaned quietly, wishing they had worn a binder, but they were satisfied nonetheless. There was distance between them now, and their kill was just behind them. All they needed to do was pick him up and ignore the nuisance in front of them. “What is it they call it here? Dibs? I have dibs. Now leave.”

In truth, the expression on the vampire’s face was a familiar one. Emilio had seen it in the mirror more often than he’d care to admit. The careful blankness of it, the way they refused to let anything even remotely human shine through. They had more of an excuse for that than he did, all things considered; physically, Emilio was as human as he’d ever been. He just didn’t feel like it anymore. Everything that had ever made him feel like a person had been stripped from him in that massacre, and everything left now served only to remind him of what he’d lost. He wondered if it was easier not having to hear your own heartbeat, not having to fill your lungs with air. They were both dead things walking. Emilio just happened to look it a little less.

“Wouldn’t tell you, anyway.” Odds were, they’d recognize it. And if things were tense now, he couldn’t imagine they’d get any better with his family’s reputation between them. Part of him wanted to say it anyway, wanted to welcome the inevitable fight that would come with it, but he held back. His pride was the only thing that could outweigh his melancholy and as much as he might want to make a martyr of himself, he wasn’t about to let a vampire be the one to end him. 

He clicked his tongue as the vampire continued in Spanish. “Stupid enough to chase him through the streets. Should have taken care of him on the spot. Would have had less competition.” Continuing in English put him on an uneven playing field, he knew. He wasn’t good with English. (Frankly, he wasn’t much better with Spanish — Elena Cortez had never had much interest in teaching her children to speak. A blade didn’t need to know how to carry on a conversation.) But Spanish was the vampire’s preferred language, and Emilio didn’t like the idea of giving them anything they preferred. Forcing his half of the conversation into a language that didn’t fit well in either of their mouths might be inconvenient for him, but it was inconvenient for them, too. That was what mattered. 

The kick wasn’t entirely unexpected, but he grunted as it knocked the wind out of him all the same. The stake remained tight in his grip, ripping the vampire’s shirt as it went backwards with him and his eyes darted down to ensure that it was undamaged enough to avoid needing replacement. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the mark on the vampire’s now-exposed chest. It was a familiar one. His uncle had sketched it out once, pointing to the curves of it carefully. His mother made Emilio and his siblings memorize it, along with others. Eventually, they would have been expected to take action against the clan, as they had others. It was this particular mission, the one to rid Mexico of any vampire clan that kicked up dirt within the country’s borders, that led to Victor’s death. But not this particular clan. This clan, Emilio had learned, was torn apart much later and from the inside. One of the leader’s own lieutenants, for reasons that evidently hadn’t been a power grab given the way the entire group dissipated once the leader was dead. “You’re a long way from home, no? Though I guess you don’t have much of one anymore. Los Sombras del Sur. Trying to stay relevant?” 

A low rumble thrummed in Metzli’s chest, a growl quietly escaping their mouth, dripping with irritation. It didn’t really make a difference that the hunter was from their homeland, but it didn’t help. A hunter was as much of a pest as a rat, though that was insulting to the rodent population. What made a real difference was the fact that he knew exactly what clan Metzli was from. Not exactly surprising, they supposed. They just didn’t want to be associated with a life that took everything from them. Being relevant had nothing to do with it. 

“Had nothing before, have nothing now. You are an idiot if you think being of any sort of relevance was an option in that clan.” Metzli nearly laughed, but all that happened was a smile began to form. As if it was noticeable. “All that mattered was Master Eloy. Killing him myself fixed that. His and the clan’s existence are done. I imagine you would be easy in comparison to an elder, but I have no use in killing you.” 

They kept their eyes trained on the man, watching for any signs of an attack. So much as a twitch, and Metzli would be on the prowl. For the time being though, they unsheathed their knife and plunged it into Henry’s neck in one fluid motion as crimson eyes bore into the darkness. If they couldn’t take the kill with their teeth, they were spiteful enough to do it with a boring and tasteless blade. At the very least, the sound and smell of sweet iron made their throat and muscles tense. A hungry monster was dangerous. Add intelligence in there, and one had a lot of trouble coming their way. To make matters worse, at least for the slayer, the monster in front of him had a well-known name in Mexico’s supernatural ecosystem. 

It was a fair assessment of the clan, though Emilio was surprised they were the one making it. Typically, vampires were more loyal to the clans they’d come up in. It was an irritation at best — it meant you couldn’t take on the leader of any clan without taking on the rest of them, too, meant that you were never fighting a battle with just one person, meant that anyone manipulated or forced into it wound up as collateral damage. His mother would hate that line of thinking, Emilio knew, but he’d seen plenty of supernatural people who weren’t all bad. Even undead ones. They didn’t all deserve to die, even if the vast majority of them did. But clans, and the elders who lead them, had a tendency to force the people under them into submission. 

Some with less efficiency than others, apparently. A faint expression of vague interest crossed his face as they mentioned killing Eloy, and he wondered if it was true or if it was just some attempt at intimidation. It was plausible enough. He knew the leader of Los Sombras del Sur had been killed by a lieutenant, knew that the lieutenant had survived the ordeal, and had no idea where they’d wound up after. He’d been a little too busy losing everything to keep up with the specifics of what anyone else was doing around that time. 

Any begrudging respect he might have had, though, dissipated as the vampire continued, and he rolled his eyes. “If you did do what you’re claiming,” he said, “you ought to know better than to underestimate an opponent. I may not be as easy to kill as you think.” Plenty others had tried, over the years, and Emilio was still standing. Sometimes, he let himself believe that that meant something. 

He watched the knife bury itself in Henry’s neck with a sigh, rolling his eyes again. He didn’t much care who killed the criminal, at the end of the day. A dead man was still dead, no matter who delivered the fatal blow. But it was a little annoying, if only because the vampire was beginning to grate on him. He didn’t tend to hang around the undead for more than a few moments at a time unless he was ‘questioning’ one, and that faint buzz alerting him to their presence got old after a while. “Great,” he said dryly. “You gonna come at me next? Be polite to give me a warning.”It was the vampire’s turn to roll their eyes. Not only was the Spanish one-sided when it didn’t need to be, they hated when the need to repeat themself arose. Speaking held such little value in comparison to actions. People always tended to fluff up their words and misdirect; lie by any means in order to sate their needs. Metzli didn’t care for lying. So much so that they even detested things like diet soda. It was just a drink lying about being soda. Not even mixing blood in it could make it taste good. The very thought made Metzli want to grimace, but they had a more important matter to take care of first. 

“I killed him, and I did not underestimate you. I merely made an assessment. Which, mind you, I would not be surprised if you proved wrong. Hunters are nothing if not persistent.” Metzli licked the knife, barely humming as the taste coated their tongue with a sweet and savory flavor that they could never get tired of. They had no other choice, not really; all thanks to the fateful bite Eloy bestowed upon them. There wasn’t much use crying over it, and it wasn’t like they would at that moment. It had been many decades since they last shed a tear anyhow. 

“I told you already that I had no use killing you. That includes hurting you. I provoked you when I went after my kill, and now he is dead. My job here is done.” Finishing the final remnants of blood on their knife, Metzli sheathed their knife and studied the body on the ground. Maybe it was the wrong call, but they didn’t feel threatened anymore. If the man wanted to make any sort of attack, they were confident they could handle it. “If you won’t tell me your name though, I will at least tell you mine since you are the least annoying hunter I have met.” Metzli turned back to the slayer, “Metzli Bernal. A pleasure...” They bowed at the waist, sighing when they returned to standing upright. “Whatever your name is.”

It was hard to tell when a vampire was being honest. In some ways, Emilio almost envied wardens for that — at least the monsters they hunted couldn’t spin lies to try to tangle them up with. The safe thing to do, his mother would say, was to assume that anything undead was always being dishonest, to trust those with a heartbeat and discount those without one. But Emilio no longer found things to be so clear-cut. After all, Lucio’s heart had been beating strong when he’d sold his family out. Breath in his lungs and warmth on his skin hadn’t stopped that. And this vampire, in this moment, didn’t seem to be lying.

Maybe, a few years ago, Emilio would have been some version of impressed. Killing an elder wasn’t easy, even for a vampire. He never would have admitted to any respect it might have earned them, of course — doing so while his mother was alive, when it might make it back to her, would have been about as smart as sticking a fork in a light socket and ten times as dangerous — but there might have been some there. These days, though… It was hard to feel much beyond the grief and the anger he’d buried himself in. Most days, all he was was sorry. “I’ve been called persistent, sure.” He got the feeling they didn’t mean it as a compliment, but he’d heard far worse insults.

“Oh, most you could do is try. I’m sturdier than I look.” Still, there was something… interesting about it. A vampire stepping back, leaving a hunter be. His mother would have said such a thing was impossible. Of course, his mother would have stuck a blade in his gut for standing here and having a conversation when there was a perfectly good stake in his hand, so it might be best to take her voice in his head with a grain of salt this time. “Emilio,” he replied, making no move to offer anything beyond his first name. “You’re not the most annoying vampire I’ve met, I guess. But I don’t think I’d call you the least, either.” He inclined his head back towards the corpse now sitting against the wall. “I’m not getting rid of that. You killed him, you take care of the body. Anything else’d be shit manners.” 

Surprise nearly painted across Metzli’s features, not expecting the slayer named Emilio to reveal himself. Wasn’t usual for either side to behave so amicably. It was always bite first, ask questions later. Safer that way for each party. Attacking first meant no one could catch you with your guard down. While Metzli’s wasn’t entirely up, they still had a layer of caution in every movement, knowing that any wrong move could prove catastrophic. Until then, they decided to go along with whatever the two were creating. It wasn’t a friendship or alliance, but it was something along the lines of a temporary tolerance. If such a thing were possible in their world. 

With a sigh, they planted their hand on their hip, looking at the body with a shrug. “You’re right. It is  only fair. I will get rid of him. My friend will consume it. Bones and all.” Metzli gestured vaguely to the body, crouching down to assess how bad the cleanup would be. They tutted to themself, a small chastise for letting their pettiness get the better of them. It was a petulant outburst, but they hardly regretted taking something from a slayer. In spite of this, they still had manners. Metzli was no heathen. Not even to a sworn enemy. “No trace back to you, Emilio. No…shit manners here.”

Metzli stood erect again with a bemused hum, looking down at the man with a blank expression. He’d half-complimented a vampire of all things, and that was an alluring act. It deserved some investigation. “Are you a…what do they call it here?” They tapped their chin, trying to find the right term. “Oh. I remember. A coconut? You have the accent but speak no Spanish.” It was more of a taunting jab to get Emilio to speak their tongue, but their face or tone of voice gave no indication of that. Metzli wasn’t a funny person and they didn’t normally partake in jokes because they were never allowed to—never learned to, but they certainly could now, when it benefited them enough. That was the beauty of their hard-earned freedom. 

Their friend. It seemed a surprising confession to make, given everything. Context clues allowed him to guess that their friend was also undead. If ‘friend’ wasn’t a term that mostly meant ‘pet,’ he could assume that whoever it was was also sentient enough to have friends, which made him lean towards zombie. Part of him itched at that, the same way it always did when he got wind of something undead. Some habits, some thought processes were hard to break free from, and Emilio’s upbringing had left such little room for exceptions when it came to the undead. But this vampire had taken care of a problem back in Mexico, and they weren’t attacking him now. If anything, their goals seemed to align somewhat with his — taking out people who needed taking out. He could give them a momentary benefit of the doubt.

He could always kill them later, if he had to. Right now, he meant it about expecting them to get rid of the body. Lugging corpses around wasn’t nearly as easy as it had once been now that he had a bum leg and a body that hadn’t been properly taken care of in years. “I’ll hold you to that. Anybody comes sniffing, I throw your ass under the bus.” Though he wouldn’t let them be arrested. A vampire in a human prison wouldn’t end well for anyone involved, and assisting the police in any way had never been of much interest to Emilio. More likely, if the police came sniffing around, he’d pay off Javier for an alibi and stake the vampire out of spite. 

As they continued, he stiffened a little. The term wasn’t one he knew, but based on context clues, he knew he didn’t like it. The attempt to coerce him into speaking their shared native tongue was a smart one; Emilio had always responded to jabs before thinking over their motivation. “I speak Spanish when I want to,” he said irritably, the words rolling off his tongue in Spanish so much easier than they ever would have come in English. “It’s not my fault my English is better than yours. Maybe you need the practice.” The taunt wasn’t entirely fair, given the fact that his English really wasn’t much better than the vampire’s and certainly wasn’t good, but Emilio tended to respond to perceived insults in kind.

Emilio was a funny guy, it seemed. Hot-headed but somehow calculated all at once. As an older man, an older hunter, Metzli supposed he had to be a decent mixture of the two if he’d lived this long to be considered that. Hunters his age were short on supply thanks to their dangerous occupation. They were indeed sturdy, like many of the people they hunted, but it was often that roles were reversed in an instant in the heat of battle. Whoever falls as prey, loses their life. Emilio was fortunate—or possibly unfortunate given what Metzli knew of families in their line of work—to have never fallen as prey. They wondered if it was that careful humor he held within him. It certainly gave the vampire pause. Enough to not wish to kill him. Yet. 

“Ah, so not a coconut?” Metzli grunted with amusement, taking a seat next to the dead body to scan Emilio a little further. They could hear how elevated his heartbeat was, but it was much better than it was when they first pounced on him. If they didn’t know any better, Metzli would have to guess that his current bps was simply his baseline. Another gift from the job. Had the vampire had a heart, they thought maybe theirs would be the same, possibly even hiccuping with anger at the privileged choice of words. Not that Emilio was privileged by any means. He was just sounding a lot like those kinds of people. America may have sunk its teeth too far in, much to their chagrin. 

“Calm down. You will start sounding like all those Americans who tell us to go back to our homeland.” Emilio responded to jabs, so Metzli gave another, hoping to irritate him into behaving. “I just got here not too long ago. After killing Eloy, they told me to leave Mexico, but they did not exactly make it easy to do so.” They shrugged, rubbing at their shoulder in an attempt to hide their smile. It was nice to speak and hear their native language, even under those circumstances. “I will learn in time. Our people are resilient and determined. What about you though? Why America? This is not your home.”

“No. Not that.” It was strange, speaking to them in Spanish. Emilio might have claimed it was because they were undead, though it wasn’t entirely true. His native tongue felt like something of a double-edged sword, these days. It was the language he’d used to sing his daughter to sleep at night, but it was also the language spoken by the monsters who had killed her. His nephew hadn’t known a word of English, and neither had his murderer. It was the language with which his mother had praised him when he did well, but also the language she’d used to berate him for his every mistake. Both knife and salve, somehow, making wounds and repairing them in the same strike. 

Gritting his teeth in irritation, he waved a hand in Metzli’s direction at the accusation. He’d had the same experience, of course, throughout his time in the States. Strangers hurling insults because of the way his words came out wrong, scoffing at the way he didn’t always understand the things they said. But this kind of teasing was different when it came from someone who shared your heritage. Less a toss off a cliff face, more a playful shove.

Their question, though, gave him pause. Staying in Mexico would have been dangerous for him, to be sure. The vampires who had ripped through his town and killed his family would be chomping at the bit to take out the final member, with even those who hadn’t been a part of the massacre eager to earn the bragging rights that would come with wiping the Cortez line off the map. But that wasn’t why Emilio left. He hadn’t been trying to save himself, hadn’t been looking to spare his own life. It was somehow both simpler and more complicated than that. “I don’t have a home,” he replied, shrugging a shoulder. “Not here or there.” 

“Hm…” Metzli leaned back against the tree, nearly fully relaxing. It was becoming easier to, especially with the developing rose-colored glasses. Coming to a compromise with an enemy had a cathartic element to it. Cemented the idea that monsters could have light behind their eyes, not just motivated by bloodlust. By rage. Quiet and simmering entities that were empty, dark, and full of malevolence. An all-consuming combination that left its host feeling as if their mind was not their own. 

In Metzli’s case, it wasn’t, and they didn’t know Emilio all that well to speak for him and find common ground in that like everything else they had so far. “I see…I do not either.” They finally replied, close to feeling something. Metzli was a bit more inclined to try to relate to someone when they could compare wounds, and the loss on Emilio was evident. They were surprised they even tried, all things considered. Emilio was a hunter—a slayer, but he had paused. This, in turn, compelled the vampire to extend themself to him. Fight against every instinct to tear at his skin.

“You have my condolences.” Eloy had brewed his monsters together himself and made every fledgling his. He controlled the entity in them, and when he felt any semblance of defiance, he disciplined quickly. Took more of their essence and replaced it with that darkness. Metzli thought they’d get themself back when they killed Eloy, but his death left much to be desired. Whoever they were, they were still lost. All that was left was a numb and dark beast, somehow managing to feel the faintest sparks. Of what though, they didn’t know. Perhaps it was that empathy Honey talked so often about. The thing that made her shed tears when Metzli gathered their thoughts enough to speak about how they felt about their experiences coherently. Had to be. It was a humorous idea. A vampire empathizing with a slayer. But Metzli was nothing if not defiant. They’d always encompassed that trait.

Emilio grunted in response to the vampire’s statement, unsure how to feel about it. He wasn’t certain if they were trying to relate to him or simply stating a fact. He wasn’t sure which option would be preferable. Even now, even after having decided that he wouldn’t be killing them in this moment unless they made it a necessity, he wasn’t sure how to feel about having things in common with one of the things he’d been taught to hunt all his life. Elena Cortez had raised her children up with a mentality that forced a strict way of thinking, and while the birth of Emilio’s daughter had broken some of that spell… it was a hard thing to shake in its entirety. 

Perhaps that was why he bristled when Metzli offered their condolences, why every muscle in his body seemed to tense at once. Or, more likely, maybe this was a reaction he would have had from anyone who offered such a thing. Condolences spoke of a grief that Emilio had been desperately trying to replace with anger since the tragedy that birthed it. Accepting them would place him on a ledge he wasn’t sure he could balance for long. “I don’t want condolences. It is what it is.” There was no home to return to, and that was fine. There were no people to miss him, and that was better. That was by design. He’d left Rhett behind for a reason, after all. 

Deciding a change in subject was necessary, Emilio spoke again. “This town, you live here? You said you had a business.” 

The teeth in the slayer’s words didn’t sting, didn’t leave a mark. It was a small nip from a big dog, demanding Metzli to step away from their offer. They could understand, to a degree. Accepting their condolences would not only mean he’d have to concede his teachings on what vampires were to him, but also acknowledge his loss. “Fine. I did not want it either when my town was massacred.” Metzli ran too—had been running since they learned how to shut themself off from the world. It was easier that way. That’s what they told themself. But the reality of it was that the pain was inevitable, came in waves that could make one drown if they didn’t learn how to swim away. And it appeared both Metzli and Emilio were very good swimmers.

“Yes, I live here. I own the art gallery in town. If you hear of forgers going missing in this area, it is likely my doing. Do not care for liars or dishonorable thieves.” One would think there was no such thing as honor in the act of stealing, but Metzli believed there was. Not everyone was dealt an easy hand, and when they were younger themself, they had taken to stealing food. But stealing highly sought after art that was worth thousands, if not millions. Well, that wasn’t exactly just a necessity, was it? That money was used for far more than just living costs and regular daily expenses. There was a bigger operation, and now Metzli knew both sides intimately. Their beliefs are the reason a shipment of crates that took food from the poor went “missing” during one of Eloy’s many missions. Sadly, like Henry, they were caught and promptly punished, leaving them with one less arm.

“I worked hard to get the business started, and idiots like him,” Metzli pointed a thumb at Henry, “Are usually in with more than just forgery. Trafficking, murder, torture…” They tutted as they shook their head, with a grimace painted on their face. “Rather get rid of them.” Pausing for a moment, Metzli tilted their head, growing curious. “And you? Do you live in town as well?”

Metzli’s statement about their town was so familiar that Emilio had to stop himself from flinching at the words. He wondered, for a moment, if they’d recognized him from the start and were only playing with him now, if they knew exactly what he’d lost and were just pretending not to in order to lower his guard. The paranoia that lived in his chest forced a lump into his throat, insisting that this must be the case, that Metzli was toying with him the same way they’d been toying with the dead man in the alley behind them. He shook the thought from his head as best he could, trying to force it from his mind. If Metzli was telling the truth about who they were — and Emilio had no reason to think they weren’t — they had even fewer connections in Mexico than he did. There was hardly any threat of them running off and telling those left over from the massacre in Etla where to find him. And even if they did… That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To face the monsters that tore his family from him head on. To keep going until everyone responsible for that massacre was dust, or to die trying. That was all he was good for now. 

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he nodded curtly. “I won’t offer any condolences. For any of it. I think we both know I would be lying if I did.” Harsh, maybe, but honest. He liked to think they’d appreciate that more than a pretty lie. And they were being honest enough with him, too, admitting to ‘taking care’ of forgers and thieves around town. It wasn’t quite what Emilio did — he tended to focus more on violent criminals than thieves, though many like Henry fell into both categories — but he could understand it nonetheless. Art thieves were rarely people worth mourning. “Hope you’re usually more discreet about it than this,” he said, nodding to Henry’s corpse. There was something almost akin to a lilt in his tone. The undead rarely saw Emilio’s version of a joke unless he dealt it out with a heap of pain on top of it, but the fact that Metzli hadn’t come at him again meant he was a little closer to whatever kind of ‘at ease’ he could manage, these days. 

“Yeah. I was after him for something like that.” He pulled out his phone, flipping clumsily through a few photos in his gallery before turning the screen around to display a photo of a young woman smiling at the camera. “Was looking into him for something else, and her name came up. They found her on a hiking trail in Florida. Didn’t have enough on him to send him away for it, but it was him. Probably came here to get away from it.” He pulled the phone back, locking it and sliding it back into his pocket. “Some things you shouldn’t be allowed to get away from.” He didn’t care much about the client Henry had swindled, though that had been what put him on the man’s trail. If it were only that, Emilio probably would have been a bit more angry about the corpse on the ground, upset that he’d have to find some way to give the client an update that would still allow him to be paid even when he couldn’t tell the client what became of the problem. But there were some things far more important than all that, and this was one of them. Henry got what was coming to him. Henry got off easy. Glancing back up to meet the vampire’s eyes, the hunter shrugged. “For now. Don’t know if I’ll stay.” It wasn’t entirely true. He’d set up a business for himself here, which meant he was staying for the foreseeable future. But he wasn’t in the habit of sharing that sort of thing with undead strangers, even if he’d decided that Metzli wasn’t the worst person around. It was always better to give away too little than too much. 

Metzli grunted with amusement, not usually one to laugh. To do so, a person would have to feel free to do so. “I was feeling a little more fun than usual. The night was quiet enough for it.” Even with Eloy dead, liberation still didn’t feel real. There always seemed to be some sort of shadow looming just over Metzli’s shoulder, waiting to discipline. For them, that freedom came in cautious waves, leaving them anxious for hours, but painting smiles on those who motivated the sound to ring out. They knew freedom came at a cost, and in time, they’d pay less and less. As frustrating as that was. At least Emilio was funny without being overly so. Metzli wouldn’t know how to handle feeling free or at ease thanks to a slayer.

“You are not so bad.” Again, the vampire grunted. Emilio may not have made a joke, but the overt honesty was somehow humorous. A hunter showed a bit of kindness in not lying, a sort of respect toward a vampire. Metzli saw the irony in it, and then they smiled, genuinely. “You speak plain and your humor is dark. I do hope you stay in town if only for jobs like these.” They nudged their head toward Henry, “Human or…” Their hand gestured to themself, “Not. Species doesn’t really matter. Anyone can be worthy of death.”

With a sigh, Metzli looked at their watch and quirked a brow. It had been far longer than they thought, and now they were late to seeing Honey. She’d understand when they showed up with a body, but punctuality was something Metzli favored. “Hm…I must leave, unfortunately. Have to meet my friend. Do you think you could at least take care of the blood? Consider me owing you a favor. You seem like fun to work with anyway.”

It was strange, the fact that this vampire had the same idea as ‘fun’ as Emilio himself. Even now, part of him felt nauseous at the concept, stomach clenching in a way that reminded him of nights full of far too much whiskey without the pleasant numbness that preceded it. It wasn’t as bad as it would have been years ago, when his mother was alive and anything that might pass as rebellion filled him with a dread so heavy his lungs were crushed by the weight of it. Punishment in the Cortez household was always swift and brutal, but it was the disappointment Emilio had always feared more. He’d known, for a long time, that he wasn’t his mother’s favorite child. He’d never quite found a way to be okay with that. 

He shook the thought off as best he could, coming back to himself in time for Metzli’s compliment to nearly send him spiraling right back down. Instead, he managed a quiet grunt that might have been some kind of affirmation. “Most people don’t like my jokes.” Juliana had, up until the point where that budding resentment between them meant she didn’t like much of anything Emilio had to say. Rosa had always laughed at them, but part of him wondered if some of that was just politeness. The only person who’d ever really thought Emilio was funny with any kind of consistency was Flora, and it was difficult to tell how much of that was just a child idolizing her father. “I tend to lean more towards the not. But… Humans can be just as bad. Worse, sometimes.” He still resented Lucio far more than he resented the vampires his uncle had sold them all out to, after all. 

With a sigh, Emilio glanced down at the corpse. The blood spray wasn’t bad, but cleanup had never been his favorite part of the job. It was part of why he preferred to stick to vampires — they had the good manners to turn to dust when you stabbed them. Made cleanup a hell of a lot easier. But a bit of blood was far easier to get rid of than an entire corpse, so the compromise seemed like a fair one. Especially fair, when you factored in the favor Metzli promised they’d owe him. “I’ll be holding you to that. Go, get rid of this. Consider the blood taken care of.” If nothing else, he’d learned the best practices for cleaning up blood through years of dealing with his own staining his clothes and floor. “I’ll be seeing you, Metzli Bernal.” It was either a threat or a promise. Emilio wasn’t quite sure which. 

#muertarte #metzli: dangerous things #wickedswriting #head trauma tw #s1 writing #season 1

[mama-qwerty]

The Bonkening

A Knucklesverse bit of writing, from the Echinda's Parade discord server. @nights-nonsensical-ramblings wrote the first bit up to the scene break, and I took over from there. This was entirely Night's idea, I just stole it and ran with it, like the greedy little gremlin I am.

Unsure who some of these Knux's are? Check The Knucklesverse Guide for a quick rundown.

~~~~~

Z was bored. Bored bored bored. Everyone in his world was busy and when he made his way to the Sanctuary most of the other Knuckles weren’t there, and the ones that were were all distracted by something or other that Z considered equally boring to the things everyone in his world was doing.

Gawain, Sinbad and Dread were sitting in a circle maintaining their swords and while that had interested Z at first it felt like they had been at it for hours. Nile was also present but was too busy directing his ghosts to clean the place to play or join in with any jokes or games. Beside Z’s fellow undead echidna were the distortions that always followed Cyber. The digitized echidna was being just as boring as everyone else and was simply standing there, muttering to Nile and flicking through his holograms doing who knows what.

Z huffed and sat down on the floor near the Emerald and laid back to stare at the ceiling, not bothering to check if there were any more Knuckles' around.

What to do, what to do. All the other Knuckles' were caught up in what they were doing and Z couldn't come up with a way to get them to do something fun with him.

That was until he heard something light and hollow hit the floor behind him.

Z sat back up to see the twins standing there with a couple of cardboard tubes in their hands and one on the floor by their feet.

The little Zombie's eyes went wide and his mouth shifted into a large grin as he began to pick up on what the almost entirely identical echidna were suggesting.

One of the twins, he was pretty sure it was Yunuen, returned his grin and handed him a cardboard tube, making the little zombie bounce on his heels with excitement. Another constant among Knuckles' was enjoyment of spars and low stakes battles with loved ones.

Z turned his gaze to Metzli, who remained a few paces back with the rest of the cardboard tubes. "Are you gonna give the others their tubes too?"

Z received a head shake in response. "Nah, they're gonna have to take them from me first."

Yunuen let out a playful huff and sent a smirk towards his twin. "Should be pretty easy, you're always phasing through and dropping stuff"

"HEY!"

Yunuen was proven right as the cardboard tubes phased through Metzli's hands and all clattered to the floor.

Z chose to leave the twins to bicker and pick out his target, but not before stopping to give the Master Emerald a look, partly afraid of being scolded. But all he received was encouragement from the giant gemstone and Z couldn't suppress the excited giggle as he ran off ready to cause mischief.

~X~X~X~

Dread sat and focused on the sword in his lap. He may not have always gotten along with Sinbad and Gawain, but they understood the importance of proper sword care.

The three passed the sharpening stone between them, no words being needed. Just the soft 'shhik' as it passed over their blades.

The pirate sensed someone pass behind him, and, ordinarily that would have sent his nerves on high alert. But here, at the Sanctuary, he stayed calm. He was in no danger here. No chance for a sneak attack.

That was, until he felt the soft 'bonk' of something bouncing off his shoulder.

He paused in his sharpening, turning slowly to find Little Z standing behind him, a wide smile on his face, and a long cardboard tube in his hands. The boy stood with the tube gripped in both hands, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

"Fight me!"

Dread stared at him for a moment, before turning back around. "No."

Another bonk.

"Quit it."

Bonk.

Dread pulled his muzzle into a little scowl, flicking his eyes over to Gawain and Sinbad. They sat watching the scene, little smiles curling their lips.

"C'mon, Dread," Z said, and the smile in his voice was evident. "Fight me!"

Dread uttered a frustrated sigh, lifting his sword to examine the edge of the blade.

"Ye wouldn't stand a chance, lad."

Bonk.

"Sounds like you're scared I'll beat you!"

Bonk. Bonk.

Dread turned quickly, scowling at the boy. "Knock it off. Ye couldn't beat me if ye tried."

"Then prove it!" Z bonked him on the forehead, sending his hat askew. "C'mon! Show me whatcha got!"

Dread uttered a soft 'tch' before turning, looking over at Gawain and Sinbad. "Are either of ye gonna get involved in this?"

The other two exchanged a glance and shook their heads.

"Nope," they said, almost in unison.

"He seems to want to play with you," Sinbad said, that smile back.

Gawain nodded. "You should humor the boy. Unless you're afraid he actually would best you."

Dread puffed his chest out. It was common knowledge that the best way to get Dread–hell, to get any Knux–to do something is to challenge his pride. The pirate scowled at the two, before gripping the hilt of his cutlass tightly.

Meanwhile, Z continued his assault.

Bonk. Bonk. Bonk bonk bonk bonkbonkbonkbonkbonk

With a growl, Dread whirled around, snatching the tube from Z's hand and returning the bonk to the boy's head.

"There. Ye're unarmed. I win."

Without a word, Yunuen handed Z the tube he'd been holding. The young boy smiled, gripping the long 'weapon' with both hands.

A smile curled Dread's lips, and he sheathed his cutlass.

"All right, lad," he said, lowering himself to a battle stance. "Ye want t’ fight? Bring it."

Z attacked, swinging his 'sword' wide and wild, and Dread easily blocked each attempted strike. He let the boy push him back, studying the little echidna's form and picking out his weaknesses. The pirate tucked one arm behind his back, moving and parrying with the practiced ease of a lifetime of swordplay.

It didn't take long for Z to tire himself out, and he eventually stopped, breathing hard and letting his weapon droop before him.

"Not bad, lad," Dread said, that familiar smirk on his lips. "But I can do better."

The others exchanged an uneasy glance. Was he going to take this too far? Too seriously? Z just wanted to play—was Dread going to taint the game by being, well, him?

Dread rounded Z, watching the boy like a shark would a dying fish. Gawain and Sinbad exchanged another look, and a silent agreement moved between them. If Dread took it too far, they'd step in.

After a moment, Z regained his breath and Dread moved in. He swung his tube in short arcs, but Gawain and Sinbad noticed that the pirate wasn't moving as quickly as he otherwise could. His swings were also controlled, and to their expert eyes, they caught that he was giving Z a chance to counter his strikes.

Dread wasn't 'battling' Z to win. He was teaching the boy to fight.

"Don't swing from the shoulder, swing from the elbow," he said, giving the boy a quick bonk in the side. "Don't leave yerself open to a side attack. That's it. Good."

The two traded swings for a moment, and Dread backed off when Z seemed winded.

"Keep yer sword up, lad." Dread bonked Z on the top of the head. "Always keep yer sword ready t' block."

The two kept at it for a few more minutes, and in that amount of time Z picked up a few things that made Dread smile. The kid was a fast learner, even if his compromised body meant he didn't have the strength to keep it up for long. When they paused again, Dread moved closer and gave Z a little bow.

"Ye're a fine opponent, L’il Z," he said, his gold tooth glinting as he smiled. "A quick learner. With a little more training, ye'd be almost as good as me, I'd wager!"

A mischievous look passed over his face then, and he leaned closer to the boy.

"But ye know what be better than fighting against each other?"

Little Z looked up, his eyes wide. "What?"

Dread uttered a short laugh, moving to Z's side and holding his tube before him in a battle stance.

"Fighting side-by-side!" he bellowed, and jumped forward to bonk Gawain on the head. "Come, lad! Let us take down the rest o' these scallywags together!"

Z laughed and took off after Sinbad. Gawain raced toward Metzli to snag a cardboard tube of his own, and quickly engaged Dread in a battle of the ages, if the battle of the ages were being fought with rolled up pieces of cardboard.

Soon all present Knuckles had a tube in hand, and a chorus of hollow bonks echoed throughout the Sanctuary.

Some time later, Maddie and Callie walked through their portal, with Wachowski in tow. All three stopped and stared at the scene before them.

Every Knux, even the more stoic ones who tried to keep their aura of seriousness and duty, were absolutely pelting each other with cardboard tubes.

The women exchanged a glance.

Maddie shook her head. "What the . . ."

"I don't know," Cal said, pulling out her phone. "But I'm recording it. This is too good of a blackmail opportunity to let pass."

Little Z rushed over and grabbed Wachowski's hand. "C'mon! We need you on our team!"

The older echidna shook his head, a look of confusion on his face. "I . . . I don't think--"

"Come on!" Z begged, yanking the older boy's arm. "We can't let Gawain's team win!"

Wachowski cast a quick look to the women, who both nodded and tilted their heads toward the chaos happening before them. With a sigh, Wachowski nodded, a look of too-serious determination on his face.

"We will be victorious!" he cried as he lifted Z and tucked the boy under his arm like a football. "Our battle will be one of legend!"

It wasn't long before Callie and Maddie were hauled into the fight, and their height advantage meant they were sought after members of various groups. The teams shifted and blended, gaining and losing members almost too quickly to keep track.

At one point Callie snatched Dread's hat, and the game shifted to one of an altered 'capture the flag'. At first Dread wasn't too thrilled with this, but he soon came around and was leading a mini army to retrieve his precious hat.

It wasn't clear how long this game of 'Calvinball' went on, as time moved differently in the Sanctuary. Various other Knuckles came and went during the battle--Boom was really confused at first, but quickly came around when Callie hauled him to her side--and after a time, the game played itself out, and they all sat on the floor, catching their breath.

Little Z had crawled into Maddie's lap, utterly exhausted from the play. She absently caressed the boy's head, and he snuggled closer, a soft purr rumbling in his chest.

Dread gave Callie a little nudge. "Me hat, if you would, lass?"

Callie smiled and reached up to readjust it on her head. "Aw, but I'm liking it. Think it looks better on me, anyway. Maybe I'll start my new life as a pirate. Callie the Red. Whadda ya think?"

Dread snickered. "I think ye're not cut out for pirate life."

"Oh? And how could you know that?"

"Ye can't swim. Or sail. Or fight."

A pause. "Details, details." She plopped the hat back on his head. "Needs a good cleaning anyway."

#knucklesverse #discord writing #knuckles the dread #sir gawain the echidna #sinbad the echidna #zombby #callie macpherson #the twins #sonic fanfiction #sonic the hedgehog fanfiction #sth fanfiction #knuckles the echidna

[wickedsrest-rp]

Between a rock & a hard place | Group Thread

TIMING: December 5th PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw), Metzli (@muertarte), Cassius (@singdreamchild), & Caleb (@dirtwatchman) SUMMARY: On a stroll through the cemetery, Wyatt disturbs a crystal monster from the mines, sending it into an accidental rage. Metzli, Cassius, and Caleb all happen to be in that same cemetery that night, and hurry to his aid. They beat the thing, but not without some bumps and bruises (and more) along the way. CONTENT WARNINGS: Body horror

Something big was lurking in the shadows of the cemetery, moving among the headstones. It had been a long trek out of the mines, but the creature had only one thing on its mind as it lumbered along, its crystalline body glinting in the moonlight. 

Hands in his pockets, enjoying a rare night off from the Pit and the restaurant, Wyatt thought he’d go give this Mossthorn Bog a look, wondering how much (if at all) it might remind him of home. That would be nice. On the way, he’d become distracted by the sprawling cemetery in Nightfall Grove, doing a little bit of research as he neared its open gate. Loads of missing person cases, huh? Fascinating. Feeling like he could handle whatever this cemetery tried to throw at him, the lamia boldly entered, unaware of the danger that lurked inside. It’d just be a quick loop around the place, then he’d be on his way. Nothing major. 

The beast from the mines had other plans.

It was surprisingly quiet, all things considered. It spotted the shifter from a distance, crouching low into the dirt and looking for all the world like a big, fancy boulder. Wyatt paid little mind as he walked by, hearing some sort of… commotion in the distance, and being far more intrigued by the light he could see moving between the trees and mausoleums. Was someone having a party out here? The rock was only spared a passing glance, and as if offended by his dismissal of its presence, it took a swipe at him. 

Being soft and squishy at the moment, the lamia was sent hurtling through the air. His instincts took over, sparing him any grievous damage as he shifted in the blink of an eye, shredding through the clothing he wore and sending a nine foot tall gator crashing into the tree instead of a very breakable human. Even still, the shock of the sudden impact left him rattled and he had no kind of grip on the branches, dropping back to the hard earth with a loud oof! and, more poignantly, a loud “What the fuck?!” as he stared up at the gemstone beast that’d taken a swing at him. 

“Fuck you!” Very clever, this one. The beast reared back, letting out a roar and lunging for him, forcing him to scramble out of the way. “I liked that fuckin’ shirt—” Wyatt complained, “—and I don’t like fightin’ for free! Piece of—”

There was nothing to move in Metzli’s chest, no swing of a brush or dust from a sculpture could spark any sort of joy. It reminded them of all those years with Eloy, everything coordinated perfectly so that he could retain the power he had accumulated through the years. How strange it was now though that Chuy of all people was in charge, plans of his own to extend his reign now that Eloy was gone. 

It made for a rather difficult time in Wicked’s Rest, their connections feeling more like characters in a book they could stow away for another time. Which was strange because Metzli was the expendable one, not their friends. They supposed it was better that way anyhow. Once Chuy made his move, not feeling their connections torn from them would be easier while numb. That was, of course, if Chuy allowed them to stay numb. Which he likely wouldn’t. 

Metzli sighed deeply, walking and thinking, taking a break from MuertArte in hopes of something activating within. There was nothing, much to their dismay. They were just about to give up and head back when they heard a man yelling about some shirt, followed by a roar. A fight then? Metzli’s curiosity was piqued, and they sprinted toward the sound with their knife in their hand, putting their body between some scaly humanoid thing and sharp claws. 

The razors shot into their shoulders, sending them to one knee with the amount of pressure it applied. But there was no extreme pain, just a hint of warmth that was the tiniest bit enough to feel similar to what their loved ones once caused in their chest. Metzli almost smiled then, cocking their leg up and shoving it into the gemstone beast. It was too heavy to send away like a regular opponent, but it stumbled back, granting them enough space to regard the stranger they just helped. Blood collected thickly from their wound, a black goo dripping as they asked, “Can you fight?”

Cassius hadn’t been back out to visit the cemetery since his crypt had been coated in goo. Well, not his crypt anymore. It was Lydia Hanover’s again. Still, he couldn’t help but come back out and check on it from time to time to see if there was any possible way to retrieve the items that had been stuck inside. No such luck. It was almost comical what had become of what he had learned to call home. 

He thought back to the moments he had with Inge not too long ago, where they had a heart-to-heart followed by some nefarious pacts. He thought back to the countless poems Cassius had penned within its walls, the not-so-wonderful attempt on his life from the slayer he now knew as Owen, and, of course, the return of his sire that he had long-presumed to be dead. Or at least, dead to him. 

His attention was stirred elsewhere when he heard a loud commotion coming from the mausoleums. Every instinct told him to get out of dodge and escape, but he didn’t. Instead, Cassius found his feet carrying him to the direction of the noise. That’s where he found an alligator and a familiar face. An interesting pairing, but a pairing all the same. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” He called out, brows knitting together in confusion. He spoke before he saw it. A giant purple thing hulking over them, roaring as it began to charge toward the two. “Run!” He shouted as it sped up, hurtling itself toward the lamia and Metzli. His shouting had been a terrible ideas, as it shifted its course of direction straight for him. Before he knew what had happened, Cassius had been tossed through the air as if he were nothing more than a sack of feathers. The air was knocked out of him as he was thrown against the side of a crypt. Groaning, he righted himself and looked toward the others.

It wasn't often that Caleb ventured to other graveyards to try and dig up another body or two but these days he was completely desperate. Most of his attempts at, well, murder were either thwarted or complete failures because he was gutless...a spineless, gutless, freak of nature who should have been able to kill a simple garbage human being but couldn't bring himself to do so. Which led him to scour the graveyards in the neighboring parts of town for freshly dug soil in an attempt to find something, anything that could help him stop some sort of horde from forming in Wicked's Rest. His night in Nightfall Grove was not going well. 

Shovel in hand, the zombie started to make his way back to the truck that parked in a shaded area of the cemetery when an angry roar stopped him in his tracks. “What the hell....?” Another loud roar filled the night air, Caleb taking a few tentative steps forward before stopping again. It wasn't until he heard the shouts of others that he took off running towards the voices without thinking. 

The sight that met him was one of the strangest he'd ever encountered in this town and that was saying something. Caleb was behind some sort of creature covered in or made of the crystals he'd been warning people against, running up just in time for him to see it throw a blond man into a crypt. The monster reared its head back to roar out its frustration into the night before it started toward the other two people in its path, people that seemed like they could be injured already. 

“Dammit...I'm about to do this, aren't I?” 

His feet were already moving and there was only a moment's hesitation before he gripped his shovel with both hands and swung as hard as he could at the monster in front of him, sending a small piece of crystal flying. The monster turned on him, Caleb scrambling away from it the best he could but tripping before getting far. He was on his back, shovel still in hand, when the monster grabbed him by his right foot and threw him, the zombie landing and skidding ten feet across the earth. Dust and gravel were both flying before he came to a stop, Caleb closing his eyes as it settled around him. A groan escaped and he allowed himself a split second to let the pain radiate through him before his eyes landed on the crystalline figure heading towards him once more. Once again, he was scrambling, hoping to reach the shovel laying behind him before the monster could reach him. “What is this thing?!”

Yellow, reptilian eyes went wide as someone intervened, looking very… normal. What the fuck were they doing? Before he could shout at them to get out of there, they were taking a forceful hit from the beast and… not crumpling like an accordion? Okay, so there was something there—something that became even more obvious, though still not named, as they pushed the beast away and turned to face him. 

“Ew,” he commented without thinking, gaze fixed on the thick black ooze coming from their wound. “That’s—you should get that looked at.” Oh, right. They’d asked him something. “But yeah, I can fight. S’how I make a damn livin’.” 

Hey, what’s going on? As another person entered the fray, Wyatt pulled himself to his full height and shook off the residual dizziness from slamming head-first into that tree. Why were more people showing up to get themselves killed? Lord, this was why he preferred arranged fights. Then he didn’t have to worry about anyone but himself. The creature was coming at them again until it wasn’t, now heading for loud blondie over there. Wyatt grumbled to himself, giving the person in front of him a curt nod before preparing to leap after the thing—oh. Ow. Blondie took a severe hit, sending him through the air and into the stone side of a crypt. Then there were four, and the lamia cursed aloud, watching as yet another average looking human took a swing at the crystal creature with a… shovel? Why did they have a shovel—never mind. Jesus, never mind. This was insane. 

Huffing out an exasperated breath, Wyatt looked to the person closest to him. “Gonna bite its head off,” he informed them. What is this thing?! the third stranger cried as he recuperated from being hucked just like the rest of them, but Wyatt was too busy to respond. He galloped toward the beast on all fours, leaping through the air once he got close enough and scrabbling up its side like a lizard scaling a wall. Large jaws parted as he reached its back and he lurched forward, snapping them around the monster’s neck and biting down. It wasn’t soft, of course, and while the gator’s jaws did apply a fair amount of pressure, nothing more than a few crystals broke loose. Still, he didn’t let go, trying to shake his head as violently as he could to do more damage. At the very least, it was keeping the creature from being able to see straight, holding it more or less in one spot as it tried to buck him off. 

The verbal disgust did nothing to faze the vampire, not when more people were being added to the rising battle. One of them, in fact, Metzli recognized as he was thrown roughly into stone. They tilted their head curiously, calculating what the next right thing to do would be. At least two of them were actually capable of fighting if the reptilian wasn’t lying about his job, and at the very least, Cassius had his preternatural strength, and the man with a shovel was…resourceful, to say the least.

“Bite head?” Metzli began to circle slowly around the beast, keeping an eye on its legs for its next move as they continued  to speak. “Break your teeth, may…be” And of course, conversation was the last thing the man wanted, cutting it all short as he made his first attack. Sure, Metzli hated conversation with people they didn’t know, but strategizing well was what was going to get them all out safely. Not impulsivity.

“You! With shovel!” They pointed at the man with their knife, shooing him to stand behind the beast as they circled and paced carefully, slowly filling and old role from a past they could not get away from. “Cassius, hurry and get up! Position around.” They pointed to an empty spot. “Do not get hit again.” The man had a good hold, that much was evident. Metzli thought perhaps they could use that time to properly set up the battle, surround the creature so that it could not focus on more than one opponent all the time. It was a common tactic they used with Los Sombras, albeit with a large crowd of humans, but the tactic was still a good one. 

“And you!” Yelling at the crunching stranger, Metzli watched the formation take shape, a blindspot needing to be filled. “Let go and help surround! Attack one at a time!” It would give everyone a short reprieve to gather their wits about them before their next attack, and it would benefit them all to be able to have eyes on each other. “Once we know attack pattern and weakness, we arc and push—” They were interrupted, dodging a sweep to their body. “Then kill. Together. Okay?” As they waited for any form of agreement, Metzli tossed their knife toward Cassius. They had a spare anyway.

Hearing Metzli’s call to get himself off the ground, Cassius groaned and hoisted himself up off the ground, dusting off his pants as if it mattered in a moment like this. He cast a glance over to Metzli, then nodded his head once. He ran over to the spot that they had pointed out for them to stand in, focusing his attention on the giant rock monster. Man, the thing was huge, it had to have come from the tunnels, right? He narrowed his eyes and frowned as he thought to himself. 

For a moment, he was glad Metzli was there to organize everyone, they seemed to be good at it. Cassius only knew that he’d get his ass kicked if it had been up to him. At least this way, they had a chance of taking this thing down. 

He tore his gaze away from the monster long enough to look at the others in the group. A gator, who seemed to be able to understand human speech, which led Cassius to believe they were some kind of shapeshifter. Naturally, in a town like this. He then looked at the man with the shovel. Well, it was definitely a choice.A man with a shovel in a graveyard… hm. Cassius kept his eyes narrowed at Wyatt for a moment longer gefore turning his attention back to the rock monster. 

It let out a creaking groan as Metzli dodged their sweeping attack. Cassius quickly grabbed the knife that was tossed his way, and jumped backward with uncanny speed as the monster brought its fist down to where he had been standing. He began to study its moves. So far, sweeping and smashing seemed to be his hits of choice. Okay, he could work with that. He glanced in Metzli’s direction for a moment, waiting for them to give some kind of order, then turned his attention back to the monster, waiting for its next move.

All Caleb could do was stare as the reptilian creature started to scale the crystal giant, his movements slowing to a stop and his mouth hanging open. He'd seen some things in his life but watching a gator tear little pieces of crystal off of a monster made of the stuff took the cake. Wicked's Rest just got weirder by the day. It wasn't until he heard someone shouting at him that his attention was torn away from the battle in front of him. If there was anything Caleb could do correctly, he could follow directions so the zombie gingerly got to his feet before taking his stance behind the creature as he was told. This person seemed to know what they were doing, Caleb all too happy to be a soldier following their leadership. 

Even if he was a little terrified, an emotion he tried to mask while he grasped the shovel tightly. It wouldn't do anyone any good for his fear to be on display while they were trying to get rid of whatever this thing was. He could freak out later. 

As Caleb waited for his next command, a little piece of crystal that had been torn away from the monster  by the reptile came flying towards him. The zombie tried to sidestep it but the smaller piece seemed to develop a mind of its own and somehow gripped his arm, clambering up almost the same way the alligator had done to the much larger monster. “Oh, hell no.” He quickly pushed the smaller rock off of him with as much force as he could muster, the thing landing with a thud in the dirt and breaking into two more pieces. Caleb wasted no time and brought this shovel down hard onto both of them, smashing them up as much as he could until they stopped moving on their own. 

“This might make things a little harder.” Caleb turned back to face the person who had given him the earlier command while still keeping the larger monster in the corner of his questioning eyes. “I can take on the little ones while you all keep tearing away at him?”

Wyatt wasn’t used to working as a team. In fact, he’d never done it once in his life. As such, he almost ignored the commands that were being shouted back and forth, zeroing in on the enemy and having little room for consideration of anything else. Still… it wasn’t the cheer of a crowd and eventually the gator did come back to his senses, realizing with some delay that the first one to show up had told him to get down and help them surround it. He growled and hissed as he begrudgingly loosened his grip on the creature’s neck, sliding down its back with claws hooked to break away as many small bits as he could on the way down. They rained to the dirt and grass below, and looking up just in time to see—hang on, the guy with the shovel was Caleb? The lamia scoffed as he watched Caleb smashing some smaller pieces of crystal to bits with his shovel. “What are you—” before he could finish asking, the smaller pieces that he’d dislodged during his dismount were springing to life and running right at him. 

Wyatt did not like small critters, he oftentimes felt creeped out by them or like he might crush them if he looked at them wrong, and these miniature abominations were the cherries on top of that particular slice of pie. “Oh, fuck!” he yelped, gaze darting between the little army of nuggets that were only a few steps away and the big motherfucker that was whipping around to try and take a bite out of him, understandably pissed about the whole chomping and gouging thing. Wyatt hunkered down onto all fours again to leap out of the way of the smaller rocks while taking a swipe at the big guy’s head, hooking it by the jaw and dragging its head down close to the ground. Another, much faster bite was delivered—ow—and then the gator released it again to back away, heading for Caleb this time, with his trusty shovel, apparently. “Can you smash those for me I do not like them,” he rattled off quickly as he tried to move back into position without the little fuckers attaching themselves to his scales. 

Everyone was capable, it seemed, but there was still a disconnect in each of their skills. Two were more apt for smaller, weaker foe, while the other two had experience with opponents of the monster’s size, or even just fighting in general. The plan had to shift if they were going to make it out alive and in one piece. Begrudgingly, Metzli decided to call for a separation, deeming the shovel and Cassius’s strength and knife to be suited well for the little rocks. 

Or were they gems? Cass would be upset if Metzli couldn’t differentiate them. Maybe they could ask her later—they shook their head, refocusing on the matter at hand. “Divide!” They exclaimed, lunging forward to sink their knife into the creature’s blindspot. With considerable force, Metzli tugged and dragged, leaving a gaping wound just before clarifying their instructions, in agreement with Wyatt. “He is right! Cassius and Caleb! Attack small things. Me and him will keep this thing—” A gem creature screeched as it pounced toward Metzli, and they reacted quickly enough to punch it straight to the ground. “Busy!” They finally finished, turning back to the beast and trusting the other two to take their plan into more than just consideration.

“You are a good fighter,” They said in a small break in the chaos. The large creature roared and swiped, just barely missing the two in the midst of Metzli explaining next steps. “We attack in pattern, yes?” Another swipe, and another dodge. “Be on opposite and attack only when other is retreated. It will come to defense and leave itself open for attack when it goes after one of us. Have sense?” There wasn’t much time to allow for a verbal agreement, so Metzli had to trust that Wyatt would listen just as he did before. Even if he was slow to do so last time. They groaned to themself, pushing away the thought and instead opting to trust him to collaborate. Everyone seemed smart enough to listen. Metzli just hoped they were all strong enough to survive.

Letting out a withering sigh, Cassius turned his attention to the smaller crystals that were breaking off and forming sentience around him. This was something out of some comedic horror writer’s wet dream and he wasn’t appreciating it very much, thanks. He let out an indignant scoff before having a flashback to his experience with the fury a few months back. “Wait, I… those creepy things from the mines,” he began to explain, trying to remember what they looked like. “They had geodes for faces, one of them attacked myself and someone else, they had these venom sacks that melted the crystals.” He looked to where the entrance of the mines were, and frowned. It would be a gamble to find one of them right now, but it was something at least. 

“It could stop us from having to deal with breaking off a million tiny rock monsters?” He then added, stomping a crystalline miniature hellion into the earth with his Doc Marten. A blonde strand of hair got in his eyes, and he blew it away with an annoyed face, then stomped into another mini crystal creature with his left boot. This would be embarrassing for someone to witness if it wasn’t a life or death situation. Another strand of hair flew into his face, and this time it pissed him off enough to quickly throw his hair into a quick messy knot on the top of his head. 

A group of the crystal miniatures jumped up onto his pant legs, and began to do their little tiny punches into his thigh. “This is more annoying than painful,” he muttered to himself as he chanced a glance behind him at the giant creature that Metzli and Wyatt were currently keeping occupied. The more damage it did, the angier it seemed to become, letting out a creaking groan that sounded more like earth settling more than it did a cry of pain or anger. He began to pluck the little crystal things off of his pants and crushed them in his hands as if they were nothing to him. 

The tiny pieces were starting to become a hassle, Caleb doing his best to smash them as they came barreling towards him with each blow to the much larger version of themselves. They were easy enough to take on but too many of them could prove disastrous, especially since he didn't know what damage they could cause. He'd learned a long time ago not to underestimate even the smallest of creatures. Busy trying to shake off another tiny monster that crawled up his leg, the zombie's attention was momentarily caught by the gator creature, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when it trailed off during it's question. Somehow the voice sounded familiar but he didn't have time to ponder too much before a group of the smaller crystals started to come at them, two of which joined their hellian sibling latched onto Caleb's clothes. These little things were persistent.

Voices were heard while he knocked the three off of him, stomping them out one by one, but he couldn't quite focus on what they were saying while he kept an eye on the giant thing looming over them all. One was speaking about splitting up, another about something in the mines, so Caleb decided his best course of action was to continue with what he was doing. Maybe he could distract the little ones while the tall blond (Who he assumed was Cassius after hearing the names called) went after what they needed.

It was the accent that sparked Caleb's memory as the gator ran towards him with the request, blue eyes widening when he realized who this could be. He'd never heard it from anyone else in this town and the odds of two of them around here were slim. But they were trying to fight a monster the size of a bus that spawned more with every hit it took. This was no time for the many questions forming in his mind. Nodding at the request, Caleb reared the shovel back before smacking the creatures with the curved edge to send them skittering a yard or so away. “Go, I have them.” He turned to look at Cassius. “You too, I can take care of these.”

Giving Caleb an appreciative nod, Wyatt circled around the beast to where Metzli was to draw it away from the other two. Cassius was saying something about a mine monster, and… huh. That did sound better than biting this thing until his fangs started falling out. “Think you can lead one out here?” he shouted to the blonde while Metzli punched the fucking thing to the ground (what the fuck), then gave them a reptilian grin in response to their compliment. “Same could be said of you!” he answered. “But—opposites, pattern. Got it!” Ducking out the way again to take up position behind the cranky rock, doing as instructed and waiting to jump on the thing’s back and do as much damage as quickly as he could before hopping back down and drawing its attention his way, leaving it open to attack from Metzli.

Casting a concerned glance over in Caleb’s direction, the gator let out a loud hiss to get his attention. “Hey, you doin’ alright over there with your shovel, sport?” His tone sounded… affectionately teasing, and the shit-eating grin he was wearing was lost somewhere in translation—alligator jaws weren’t particularly expressive, after all. 

There was a clear crack that shot up a hint of warmth up Metzli’s arm. It was the most they felt in weeks, shooting their pupils into large saucers like some sort of high. They smiled lightly, turning in time to watch Wyatt dodge and compliment, agreeing a lot easier than before. 

With the beast open for attack thanks to the shifter, Metzli pounced. They found purchase on a few gems, cocking their arm back and plunging their knife into it over and over again. Its maw snapped and snarled, poorly attempting to rid itself of the tick on its side. Metzli granted its wish and leapt back to allow Wyatt to make his move, only to be swiped at mid-air. 

The pain that surged throughout their body as they made impact with the ground was enough to force a huff of laughter to escape them. But the claws in their chest? That only served to strengthen the feeling, allowing it to bloom into adrenaline throughout their veins. Metzli laughed, truly laughed, and placed their feet against its chest to keep it from causing any more damage while they waited for help. It worked, for the most part, but if no one charged in soon, they were sure they’d be unable to continue helping.

Once he got the go ahead from Caleb, Cassius took off toward the entrance of the cave. Luckily for him, the commotion had brought out more than one volmugger to the entrance. They skittered about on all fours, their geode faces snapping to attention the second that he stepped close enough. There were three of them in total. For a brief moment, he thought that maybe that three was too many to handle. He wasn’t going to go down like this, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else get exposed to the damn things. With a intake of breath, Cassius rushed toward the closest creature, stabbing it in the middle of its geode, rendering the venom sack behind its non-face completely useless. The acid leaked out onto the knife, beginning to eat away at it. He pulled it out quickly, the liquid dripping down his hand and burning away his skin, exposing bone and muscle tendons.

Grimacing at the pain, Cassius lept backward as the second creature made an eerie clicking sound, then acid sprayed in an arc toward him. It got his chest, burning away the clothes and flesh, exposing more muscle and bone. Black blood bubbled to the surface, and he had no choice but to ignore the pain that seared through him. 

The last two creatures clicked at him and sprayed their acid, and this time he rolled away in the knick of time. It eroded the stone where he once stood, leaving bubbling acid in its place. The blood trickled down his chest, and he chanced a glance down at it. His shirt was ruined, and there was no way that wouldn’t leave a temporary scar. It went through the carnation tattoo that he had, and he cursed under his breath. How the hell was he going to explain that to the tattoo artist? 

Cassius didn’t have time to think, the third creature clicked and sprayed its acid at his face, and lunged toward the second and grabbed its head and pulled, a horrible ripping of bone and tendon cut through the silent night as he ripped its head clean from its body. The body fell to the ground lifeless, and he had secured what he was after. The last remaining creature charged at him, and he dropped the geode-like head quickly, the acid spraying onto his legs. It splashed everywhere, achieving the same effect it had on the rest of his body. Wasting no time, he ripped into the creatures chest and tore it apart, rending flesh from bone, terrible ripping and squelching sounds as he crushed its organs in his hands. 

In a swift motion, Cassius tore another head from its body, then plucked up the other head he had discarded in the earth. With clothes and flesh sufficiently burned away, he ran limped back toward the group. “Catch!” He shouted to Metzli, then threw the geode-like head toward the other vampire. “It sprays an acid, it eats away at the rock!” He explained, then rushed over to the small pieces that were forming tiny creatures and tore out the sac from the center of the skull. He squeezed on it and it began to leak. The blonde made quick work of spraying the liquid onto the smaller crystal structures, which began to melt away entirely. 

With Cassius gone, Caleb was almost overrun with the little pieces taking on a life of their own, most of them turning their tiny fury on the pale man churning them to dust with loud blows of the metal stomping them into the ground. Three more were already up his legs with one the size of his head having made it to Caleb’s waste. They were going for his arms, probably to stop him from using the shovel against them. The sound of Wyatt’s voice brought him back to the bigger fight at hand, Caleb questioning how the man could still sound like he was flirting in the middle of this. “Since when am I ‘sport’ to you? I like firebug better.” 

The larger of the broken pieces suddenly clamped its jaw down on Caleb’s wrist, making it clear that these bastards were definitely going for his hands as a sharp end of crystal sunk into his skin and hit bone, drawing up that tell tale black goo. “Shit!” He jerked his hand away and shook his wrist with force, sending the crystal flying only for it to come running back towards him as soon as it landed on its feet. Caleb swiped at it, the end of the shovel splitting through it before he stomped both pieces out with his boot. “Yea, I’m doing great. But I think they have it worse.” Head jerking towards the person being held in place by the monster, he raised an eyebrow as Cassius came running back looking worse for wear. “Or him.”

“You’re right, I don’t know why the fuck I said that,” the lamia laughed, putting a pin in the thought that they were going to probably have to have a conversation at some point about… all of whatever the fuck was going on here. Which… it wasn’t going terribly, all things considered. It wasn’t great though, and Wyatt was left to duck his head and charge at the beast pinning Metzli to the ground. The first hit rocked it in place but didn’t quite do the trick, and the gator bellowed angrily as he backed up to try again. “Fuck off, Mount Rushmore!” Bodyslamming the beast a second time managed to topple it over, just in time for Cassius to come back from the mines, apparently.

Looking like absolute shit. 

Wyatt held out a scaly, clawed hand to Metzli to pull them to their feet, balking at the sight of the blonde. He threw something their way, which Metzli handily caught. “Dude, you look fuckin’ rough,” he half exclaimed, half laughed, hoping that it wasn’t a future for all of them. It could be, if what he said about the acid was true. Blinking back at Metzli, Wyatt stepped out of the way, giving them plenty of space to spray the big rocky fucker that was getting back to its feet. “All you, friend,” he hissed.

Metzli’s eyes were wide and a bit wild from all the sensations they’d managed to develop. It was a rush, leaving them feral to continue, but they knew that they needed to remain at least somewhat composed if they all wanted to defeat the beast. Even if their mouth was watering at the mere thought of a meal. No, they shook their head, squeezing their eyes shut tightly until they saw stars. It did well to refocus them, and they sheathed their blade in order to grasp the geode in their hand.

“Thank you,” they replied calmly, just barely dodging a swipe from the monster with a roll to the ground. Landing on one knee, Metzli took aim and smiled with satisfaction as the acid began to coat the grisly thing with enough to send it screeching viscerally. Que suerte, they thought, rising to their feet to watch and analyze. It thrashed backwards, trying its best to get away from the thing that caused it pain. “You next.” Metzli said, tossing the geode over to Caleb like some game of hot tomato. Or whatever game that Cass tried to explain to them. 

Waving off the comments that were thrown Cassius’s way by the gator man, quickly side stepping monster’s attempts at swiping. His hand reached for the acid sac and grimaced, continuing to spray the vile liquid onto the smaller pieces that had gained sentience. As they melted away, the giant monstrosity turned its attention onto the blonde vampire. It let out a roar as it changed its path, zeroing in on Cassius and smashing down on him. 

As soon as the crystal arm came down, Cassius fell out of the way as quick as he could. The stone came crashing down onto his lower leg, eliciting a cry from the vampire. The geode head he held in his hands tumbled out of his hold and toward Wyatt, leaving Cassius to scoot out of the way of the monster. He rolled onto his hands and knees, wincing at the pain that came with it. Ignoring the pain best he could, he hopped up onto his good leg, hobbling away from the large monster and toward Caleb and his shovel. The acid that Metzli had sprayed onto the monster was starting to eat away at the creature, crystal bubbling away to nothingness.

Slamming his foot down on one of the last of the little monsters, Caleb looked up just in time to see the geode head flying towards him. “Wait!” But there was no stopping them, it was too late. He dropped the shovel to catch the thing, his numb fingers fumbling to keep his hold firm. It almost slipped fully from his grasp until he was able to tighten his hold, accidentally squeezing some of the acid onto his shirt which burned through to the skin of his abdomen. Teeth gnashed against his bottom lip when the pain radiated through him, his focus on the battle lost. There was something building inside of Caleb, something that terrified him more than anything, but he did his best to bring his sights back to the problem at hand. 

Pointing the head towards the monster that was still being eaten away, he squeezed again, much harder this time while strength started to intensify. The acid sprayed over the side of the monster that was now facing the empty space where Cassius had been standing with its head swiveling around to try and take in all of the enemies surrounding it. Its arm was quickly covered, the limb starting to melt away. “Metzli!” The name was growled as Caleb tossed the head back to them so he could assist Cassius in getting away from the thing. He moved to the man’s side to wrap an arm around his waist and support his weight so Cassius could walk better. “Really are trying to outshine us, aren’t you? Let’s get you away from this thing before it tears an arm off or something.”

Staring down at the head that’d rolled in his direction, Wyatt groaned. “Aw, man. Seriously? Like… seriously??” He glanced around—everyone else was otherwise preoccupied with taking the creature and its little fuck off minions down, and the acid really seemed to be doing the trick. “Fuck me,” he growled, reaching down to grab the head with a grimace. “So gross.” Sticking a clawed hand into the weird creature’s… skull—if you could call it that—the gator sprinted toward their larger foe and gave the sac a mighty squeeze (ew), holding it in front of him like a water hose. Kind of a sad water hose, but at least the liquid did excellent work in small quantities. 

He sprayed all down the thing’s side and it shuddered and groaned, collapsing to the ground. It wasn’t dead yet, however dead a thing made of gems could be, but it wasn’t moving fast anymore. Wyatt kept this up until the volmugger dome stopped giving, then spiked it on the ground like a football. “Take that, Kilimanjaro!! Hell yeah!” Now properly pumped again, the lamia leaped forward and clamped down on one of the legs that hadn’t been touched by acid yet, biting as hard as he could stand and thrashing his head around until it broke free, then hucking it over toward Metzli, who had the last of the acid. 

The familiar sound of teeth chattering almost caused Metzli to abandon everything, a longing in their mind building and completely convinced that the source was a ghost that’d returned to life. But when their eyes landed on what they hoped would be Honey, it was just Caleb, a stranger tossing the geode back toward Wyatt. Zombie then, Metzli surmised, watching the scene halfheartedly when they should’ve been helping Cassius, or really, anyone. What would she make of their state? She would know what to do, would go through hordes of vampires with them if it meant they’d be free again, but that didn’t matter at the moment. 

They turned their attention back to the screeching monster, its wails of agony piercing through the space and echoing around them all. Metzli stayed where they were for a moment, staring at the leg that had been thrown toward them by a much-too-energetic Wyatt. At least someone was having fun, they supposed, pulling out their knife again as they limped somewhat confidently over to the beast that was now too sad to really continue. 

Death should be swift if one could grant it, as Honey would say. It was the respectful thing to do, and they’d honor her by thrusting their knife into the creature’s throat and severing its head as much as they could. Viscera and sinew dangled lamely with its head, body slowly going still. Blood and acid mixed together and sizzled against flesh, but Metzli hardly minded (especially not when it allowed them to feel). Caleb and Cassius already had both their clothes and skin effectively ruined, and a job needed to be done, so they’d be a good sport about it and join them. “Think it is dead,” they droned, backing away and tilting their head eerily as they studied its death.

Thankful for the assistance from Caleb, Cassius nodded his head in thanks. “I seem to be exceptional at getting myself hurt,” he grumbled to himself, wincing as he put weight onto his bad leg. Before they could get away from the fray, the monster fell to the ground. Cassius let out a sigh of relief as Metzli declared it dead. “The fuck was it?” He asked as the two of them hobbled towards both Metzli and Wyatt. “Everyone alright?” He then asked, hoping that he had gotten the brunt of the damage instead of someone else. He was thankful he had a connection in his back pocket when it came to getting medical attention. 

Studying the half-melted crystal monster, Cassius’s frown deepened. “Glad we were all here before it got to a populated area.” He looked around the cemetery, there were smashed headstones strewn about, but that was better than innocent people being killed by the thing. “Do we just… leave it here?” His brows furrowed together, unsure what to make of the situation now that the imminent threat had been dealt with.

It was quite the scene really, a giant alligator and three people all messed up standing around a melting giant rock monster in the middle of a graveyard with geode heads at their feet. His face contorted with disgust when he and Cassius got closer, Caleb hardly believing that he’d been involved at all, much less had one of those heads in hand. He gently kicked at one as Cassius spoke. Yea, that was gross. “It looks like a larger version of the crystals growing out of the ground but at least those don’t move.” And thank god it didn’t seem to affect them like the smaller ones did. That could have been an even bigger disaster if Wyatt had suddenly lost himself to the thing with all the blows he’d dealt by teeth. 

With that thought, Caleb looked over towards the alligator but didn’t move towards him. It was safer to keep his distance with his body trying to heal itself. Besides, Cassius still needed some help. “I don’t know if it’s safe to leave it out here…will the acid spread and melt the whole thing?” It seemed to still be bubbling in areas, eliciting another noise of disgust from the zombie. “That’s really gross.”

“Peachy. Not a scratch.” Well, that might’ve not been true, but who had time for splitting hairs right now? Sucking in a deep breath to calm his wired nerves, the lamia lowered himself into a squat near the beast, claws digging into dirt as he leaned over to give it a closer look. Yeah… would have been a shame if it’d reached whatever party was going on deeper in the graveyard. Which… he might have to check out, actually. He deserved it. But first… they had a point, they couldn’t really just leave it here. Damnit. Wyatt glanced around them, yellow eyes squinted. “I mean, it’s a graveyard, yeah? People bury shit here. Let’s just… bury it?” His gaze danced from Metzli to Cassius and then to Caleb, who wielded the shovel. 

Digging a grave for something this big would take the poor man all night. 

With a snort, the gator lifted his tail and started to dig with his hands, raking the earth between his legs. “Not a word from any of ya,” he warned, thankful that at least this spot in particular seemed to be free of coffins. Well, mostly. He had to change course once or twice, but managed to claw out a hole big enough for what remained of the crystal creature in a fraction of the time it would’ve taken someone with human tools. Then came the pushing of the beast, which had them all lined up on one side of it, heaving with all their might. 

As they threw the dirt back over the top of it and filled in the hole, Wyatt leaned over to Caleb, speaking in a low voice. “So, uh… surprise, firebug! Not exactly how I wanted you to find out.” If at all. “I’d ask about the shovel, but…” He smirked, at least as much as an alligator could. “We can chat later.” 

Metzli shrugged at both of Cassius’s questions, still staring at the dead and deflated beast as it continued to sizzle. Their whole body felt similar, a warm haze humming across the top of their skin. It was subtle and consistent, a welcome sensation by all accounts. They looked around at everyone and then at themself, self-preservation obvious in everyone but them, but there was no time for Metzli to linger on the thought when Wyatt spoke. 

“Peach…y?” It was a strange term, and no fruit was around to logically generate such a response. But then that didn’t matter either. Wyatt began to dig in a sacred place, with no care as to the respect the place demanded and deserved. Metzli opened their mouth to object, but it quickly shut as a tugging encompassed their entire head. Eyes went blank, a desire to head to another graveyard overcoming them. Their legs moved before anything else could be commented on. It was like Wyatt had said anyway. They could all chat later.

Grateful that he had fed before the whole encounter, the Cassius already started to feel his wounds healing. Of course they wouldn’t heal instantly, but it would be enough for him to be able to walk on his own without aid from a stranger. He nodded his head toward Wyatt, who claimed he was all good. Good. At least he was the only one that got himself hurt. He could live with that outcome.

Then, Cassius all but blinked as the alligator man began to dig like his life depended on it. He slowly hobbled away from Caleb, giving him a thankful nod, but he had it from here. He watched as Metzli walked off, and he shrugged a shoulder. Guess it was time to get back to the hotel for the night and hope that this whole situation was just one giant weird dream. But knowing the town, it probably wasn’t. “Good luck with all that,” he murmured toward the alligator before walking toward the entrance of the cemetery. Yeah, Cassius was definitely done living in cemeteries for good. 

The sight of Wyatt digging a hole would have sent Caleb into a laughing fit on any normal night. It seemed like the best reaction, right? Fighting a giant crystal monster with three other people and then watching a large alligator dig a hole to bury it was something out of some supernatural parody show meant to terrify and amuse. Instead, all he did was watch with interest, smiling softly while his thoughts kept flicking between a meal and the chef and the two other…were they undead like him? They were both wounded and still upright, Cassius even walking better after a short amount of time. Had to be undead. He wasn’t going to ask outright though and they were both walking away after the beast was buried before he could think anymore on it anyway, almost as if they saw this type of thing everyday.

Looking back at Wyatt, Caleb took a step away from the gator and grabbed the shovel off the ground, still marveling at how the charm the man possessed was coming through even in this form. “We definitely have a lot to talk about.” But he kept slowly walking backwards in the general direction of his truck, not willing to get close just in case. Even if he was in control of himself right now and could push the thoughts of hunger away Caleb didn’t quite trust himself to keep it that way. “I can’t stay here right now though. It’s best for both of us.” The zombie lifted his hand in a small wave and then, without explanation, turned on his heel, quickening his pace to get far away. He’d call Wyatt later, maybe even look for the other two undead to talk further. For now, he needed to get home and feed before the town had a different monster on its hands.

#season 1 #group writing

[thunderstroked]

Mutt Pup! || Mona & Metzli

TIMING: current. LOCATION: downtown. PARTIES: @muertarte & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona is downtown after the situation with monty! she finds fluffy first, metzli second. things are looking up until they aren't. CONTENT: none.

Wandering around town, the fox decided, might be more dangerous than wandering around the woods. She felt the need to avoid all eyes, and it was a little harder to do when she didn’t look like a typical fox. Lucky enough for her, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and all that were left in the nooks and crannies of alleyways were shadows. It would be easier to maneuver around town this way, she thought. Safer, she hoped. 

Except, the sound of a bark– loud, piercing. It made her ears hurt, far more than the yelling from the children. She recoiled, backing up into a dumpster, half-way slipping beneath it. The barking was incessant, and soon enough, the dog’s scent curled around the fox’s nose. Was she going to die to some mutt? After everything she’d been through so far, she was going to die to a MUTT? Desperate, the fox darted from beneath the dumpster, distracted by the dog at her heels as she ran face first into the shins of a human– no, undead individual. The pain of the impact cascaded through her head to her shoulders and the fox veered around, finding a box to hide behind. She was so fucked, and this was the end. Either the mutt would eat her, or the undead would eat her, drain her blood, or make her wish she were dead with visions. 

The world was loud. Constantly, incessantly loud. Most days, at least as of late, Metzli wondered if being free to experience their environment fully was truly worth all the trouble. They found that the answer was always yes. In the way anger sparked introspection and learning; the blooming of a pleasant buzz in their chest when they saw their loved ones, and everything in between. Though, if Metzli were honest, they thought they could do without the ability to be startled. They jumped and grew confused when Fluffy sniffed at the air, bursting into a sprint as he barked toward an alleyway. Metzli gave chase, skidding to a halt when they reached the irritated canine. 

“¿Qué te pasa? ¡Fluffy! ¡Ven para aca!” They reprimanded, voice firm enough to cause Fluffy to sit in place just as something ran into them. Fluffy still continued to bark loudly until the vampire snapped their fingers, training returning to his mind. It gave Metzli the space to check the source of Fluffy’s distress, and their eyes grew worried and soft. With another snap, Fluffy returned to their side, giving them the opportunity to latch the leash to the collar and dock him to a nearby pole. The dog whined and paced, finally dwindling into a huff when he laid down. 

Metzli relaxed then, attention returning to the small fox that trembled and hid. It wasn’t an ideal spot for hiding, but with so little to work with, the vampire understood. They felt bad for the scared creature, and knowing how domineering they may look, Metzli crouched down and made themself as small as they could. “Esta bien.” They whispered, showing their open palm and half-limb in an attempt to look friendly. Whether or not the fox would understand though, Metzli wasn’t sure, but they still wanted to try. 

 The fox cowered against the brick facing of the opposite wall, nose twitching in response to the way they crouched down to greet her. Immediately, the fox’s gaze traveled over their features, picking up the immediate understanding that maybe they did not mean her harm. She could hear her father’s voice in the back of her head, never trust anything on two feet. But they had reprimanded the dog, had even restrained it, despite its high pitched whines. 

She could either run now and risk being caught in the jaws of the mutt, or she could put faith into the undead individual ahead of her. The sound of cars and footsteps at the other end of the alley told her she had little time to decide. A fox of her kind wasn’t found in most places, and she was sure to garner a few stares– especially because in certain circles, her photos had already been spread. It was unfortunate, but she knew she had no other choice. Putting faith into people wasn’t exactly her thing, but she tried to remain calm as she pushed out from beneath the dumpster. If the people previously had been any indication of how she could trust people, then maybe this would be the same.

The fox sniffed at the individual’s hand, looking up at them with round golden eyes. Her two tails twitched behind her in response to the sound of the mutt’s whine, and she looked him over as if to reprimand it– a little too human like, she realized. Then again, maybe this person would realize they were in semi-like company and be more inclined to help her rather than for the sake of a good samaritan helping a wild animal. God forbid they call animal control. She began to paw at the ground, scratching claws through the dirt there, attempting to spell out something– Help. The p was lopsided, but she hoped it’d be enough. She looked up at them with unblinking eyes, small heart battering in her chest rapidly. This would either go well or terribly, but at least she could light this alleyway aflame if it were the latter. 

The sight of a second tail on the fox caused pause. Never before had Metzli seen that sort of mutation, or if it was a cause of that for that matter. A town like Wicked’s Rest was like a beacon for all things strange, all kinds of supernatural beings. They wondered then if that’s what the fox was. And just when Metzli was going to silently theorize to themself, they noticed how the fox sneered at Fluffy. Almost as if they were irritated and making a face. Just like a human would. 

Metzli’s brows raised in surprise and they looked around to make sure no one else was around to cause the fox any harm. When it began spelling though, that’s when the vampire jumped and frantically removed their suit jacket in a hurry, placing it over the creature. The fox needed help, and it no longer mattered whether it was a shapeshifter or a sentient animal. They needed help, and Metzli wasn’t going to hesitate to do so. 

“Can carry you to my business. It is three blocks away. Have loft there with bed you can use. Is this okay? Can I carry you there?” It felt important to ask, especially after such an ordeal with Fluffy. Even more so because the fox had to make the big decision of trusting Metzli, a complete stranger. “I will not hurt you.” They paused, adjusting the jacket a bit to keep the tails covered. “This is my promise.”

It worked, somehow, and the fox was being draped over with the stranger’s jacket. The wriggled, surprised by the sudden movement. The urge to bite or claw died instantly at their words. She had to trust that they had good intentions, even if everything in her screamed to run. She nodded carefully in an attempt to make sure that her movements couldn’t be misconstrued– or that the undead individual might think she was simply too smart for her own good. 

The promise they gave meant something to her even if she couldn’t hold onto it like a fae could. 

There were too many people she would need to find after this was set straight. 

After she braced herself for the way the stranger scooped her up, she peeked through a small opening within their jacket, immediately taking in her surroundings. This, at least, was familiar. She was getting closer to Felix, she thought– or at least, Inge. 

There was no biting, or scratching, or even a loud warning call to prevent Metzli from picking up the fox. Much to their relief, the creature all but sank into their embrace and settled against the vampire’s chest with a relief of its own. “It will take ten minute walk for us to arrive.” They notified, watching as a muzzle barely peeked out of the jacket. 

The sight was adorable enough to make a small smile form on Metzli’s face, and it continued to grow as they grabbed hold of Fluffy’s leash. It was a slight struggle with only one arm, but after some finagling, they managed to wrap the loop around their wrist without tossing around the fox too much. Meanwhile, Fluffy spun in a circle a few times, barking once more before Metzli made a disapproving noise. “Be good.” He responded with silence, which Metzli approved of, and they began their trek toward the gallery.

“Once we are at the loft, I will leave with Fluffy to get you food. You will be comfortable in there.” A few people rounded a corner and Metzli immediately quieted down and held the fox closer to their chest. They passed by with no issue, but Metzli thought it best to no longer look like they were speaking to no one after some final reassurances. “Have many blankets and a couch and a bed.” They whispered, “You will be safe.” 

She was closer now to Felix than she had been previously. She recognized the area they were in, and as she poked her head out of the undead being’s jacket, she could also see faces of those who might mean her harm if she were to unveil herself. She’d need to bide her time, she decided. The fox sank against the individual’s chest, ears twitching in response to the way the dog yapped, but was immediately quieted down by his owner. 

The walk truly only took ten minutes, and eventually a door was being closed behind them. Slight panic rose in the fox as she popped her head out of the jacket, ears swiveling to take in noises from every direction– to make sure she was not about to be ambushed. Luckily, it seemed to be only the three of them. 

She settled down slightly as she was put down, the dog put away in a different room. The fox looked down at her muddied paws, suddenly feeling guilty for tracking anything in. She looked up at her temporary savior with a blank stare. How was she supposed to give her thanks like this? She hated the idea that she’d need to make rounds, but she’d feel guilt if she didn’t. With a too-human sigh, the fox sat down, gold eyes narrowed in on the subject, waiting for what came next. 

The idea that she might die here came to mind– that she’d been too quick in believing the words they had to say, but she had very little choices out here, and besides, weren’t most undead afraid of fire? If something did happen… 

The fox’s mind wandered as she looked around the loft that, in her opinion, looked like it’d come straight out of a magazine. 

The fox focused on its paws, and while the mess did bother Metzli, they knew it couldn’t be helped. Whoever the fox was, they had been struggling and needed a break. They didn’t need someone reprimanding them for making a mess where they were placed. “Do not worry. Can wash it when you are gone.” Metzli smiled as soothingly as they could, though it appeared too toothy and childlike as it always did. 

“I will leave you now and get food for you.” Stiffly and far too rigidly, they stood upright and headed toward the door. They stopped midway, recalling a promise of clothes. “Oh.” Heading quickly inside the closet, they grabbed some sweatpants and a t-shirt for the person to wear once they were human again. “Now I will leave.” Metzli quietly placed the clothes on the bed, and headed out, bowing their head before closing the door. 

The fox’s ears twitched as they spoke. She knew that to be true, but there was still some guilt regarding the situation. She felt helpless, and though she knew not how to get back to how she’d been before whatever had happened to her thanks to the pollen, she figured that at least one of these people had to of run into her type of situation before and know how to help. Only thing was, how many more people would she see and how many more would either be kind or try and kill her? It seemed 50/50 at this point, and the fox wasn’t willing to sway further onto the opposite end. She quite liked living. 

They spoke of food, and the fox’s stomach growled involuntarily. She could absolutely go for a burger right now, though she didn’t figure that’s what they would bring back. They left clothes, too – far too long for anything that’d actually fit her, but even so, she knew that she wouldn’t be shifting back anytime soon. She stayed put, waiting for them to return. 

Within the ten minutes they were gone, something shuffled at the other side of the door. Four paws instead of two feet. Her head swiveled around, gold eyes boring down on the doggy door she hadn’t immediately noticed. The dog from before– Fluffy, as they had called it, shot through. She knew she shouldn’t be afraid of the mutt, but god forbid she accidentally hurt it should it try and actually hurt her. The fox jumped onto a nearby shelf that was next to an open window, and unfortunately for her, the fabric that’d been laid overtop of the shelf slipped beneath her paws, sending her falling out of the window with a yelp. 

The fox hit a branch on the way down, which in turn helped to break her fall, but the crack in her shoulder sent vibrations of pain through her frame as she attempted to stand, another low whine pulling from her snout. She shook her head, staggering to her feet. The pain was bearable, though troublesome. The fox looked up towards the window knowing well enough that in this state, there’d be no climbing back up in the way she would do so if able. 

Before she could even consider going to the front door and scratching at it incessantly, the sound of something behind her– a voice, loud and booming– accusatory but afraid, caused her to run. Who was she if not a coward?

#para: mutt pup! #para: metzli #wickedswriting

[vanishingreyes]

The Dead Come Walking || Metzli & Xóchitl

TIMING: Last month SETTING: At a cemetery. SUMMARY: Metzli and Xóchitl go to visit Xó's friend's grave. Unfortunately, someone else is there. :/ Metzli to the rescue! WARNINGS: Child death mentions

Cemeteries were bleak places. They were filled with the lingering tears of the grieving, haunted by the dead that couldn’t rest, and stained by those who could never leave again. Metzli was aware of the dangers, bristled at the thought of stepping foot in one, but Xóchitl had requested their presence. 

She was offering to share a painful piece of herself, hoping to spare herself some of the weight that came with losing a loved one. How could Metzli deny her? They couldn’t, not even if they wanted to. Agreeing to something so dangerous was easy when it came to someone you cared about, and  Xóchitl quickly settled into that small group. So, like a good friend, Metzli visited the edge of the cemetery’s perimeter thirty minutes early. 

Nothing came of their surveillance, predictably. It was too early for much to appear, but they’d stay alert. When they’d agreed to meet, the vampire had been clear they should visit before dark, and they’d decided on the moments before dusk. Just enough light to provide some form of protection, but not so much that Metzli would sizzle. It was as safe as they could make the visit, but with their presence, they were determined to ensure Xóchitl returned home safely. 

“Hola,” Metzli greeted from a few feet away, bowing their head respectfully upon reaching Xóchitl and speaking in their mother tongue. “I brought these for your friend. Did not know her favorite so I picked marigolds because of their meaning.” Eye contact, as always, was avoided, but they offered over the bouquet and pocketed their hand when it was free. Anxiety marched under their skin, dulling out slowly as they drank Xóchitl’s presence in. This moment was for her and her friend. Everything else could fall second so that they could be what she needed. “Are you ready?” With a few blinks, Metzli’s eyes fell back on Xóchitl and they offered their hand, giving her the option to take it if she wanted.

She wasn’t much of any sort of fan of cemeteries. Though if given the choice between them and playgrounds, she would choose cemeteries each and every time. At least the dead people there were supposed to be dead.

She’d gone by Mackenzie’s grave with relative frequency since coming back to town. Weekly, at least – which probably wasn’t what someone who claimed to be “over things” did, but Xóchitl supposed that if she were honest with herself, she really wasn’t over much of anything at all, not in the slightest. It was nearly dusk, which seemed to be her friend’s preferred time to hang out. It worked well enough, she didn’t have to take time off from work – though she would have, in a heartbeat – and it was cooler, calmer, now.

“Hola,” she responded to them, “I appreciate it.” She took the flowers, holding them in one arm almost as though they were a child. Xóchitl supposed that they were their own sort of precious cargo. Her gaze found her friend’s grave again, and she bit the inside of her cheek so that she wouldn’t cry. Because everything still felt so heavy, even if her grief was old enough to drink. “I guess so,” she shrugged, laying the flowers down and then quickly grabbed Metzli’s hand in her own. “Thanks. For being here, I mean.”

“Of course. It is an honor to be here.” Death was such a finite thing, or rather, it was supposed to be. The existence of Metzli alone was a mockery, laughed in death’s face. Their life before the bite was not much of one, but it was still a life, their heart was still beating. Unlike now. It almost felt wrong to stand there. They were some vile thing, looking at Xóchitl’s friend’s grave, seeing the place where her unbeating heart would remain at rest for as long as the earth would let it, while Metzli’s would continue until a final death eventually took them too.

Quietly, they squeezed Xóchitl’s hand, silently apologizing for their unnatural existence. That they could not bring back someone she had never stopped grieving. A mountain of love left inside her heart, with nowhere to go. “Are…you okay?” Metzli kneeled next to the stone, not daring to let go of Xochitl’s warm hand, lest she forget that she was not alone. “Will you tell me about her?” They looked up, finally managing to meet Xóchitl’s eyes with a kind stare, as they waited for an answer. 

Crunch!

Metzli’s brows knitted together at the sound, head whipping in a fury to find the source. Though they were alert, they remained quiet. The sound could’ve very well been nothing, and they’d be damned before they let their nerves completely interrupt Xóchitl’s time to grieve. It didn’t matter if decades had passed. Grief knew no bounds, it had no real cure. There was only dulling the pain.

“It is an honor to have you here, too.” Xóchitl responded in kind. Mackenzie would’ve liked Metzli, she decided. There was no concrete evidence to prove that, and there was always the possibility that Mackenzie would’ve turned into one of those mean girls the moment they hit middle school, but Xóchitlliked to think that something like that never would’ve happened. Metzli was kind and lovely and nice, and Mackenzie already had learned a lot of Spanish in the time that they’d been friends, so she would’ve been fluent by now and they could’ve all spoken in Spanish together and made Metzli feel safe and understood.

She shrugged in response to the are you okay, because she didn’t know. “Yes, I can tell you about her. She was my favorite person ever, we met on the first day of kindergarten and —” her voice cut off as she watched Metzli’s head move. Xóchitl grew quiet for a moment. “Are you alright?” She gave their hand the lightest of squeezes, a reminder that they were here, and they were with her, and maybe things might be okay. “She was full of sun and light and brightness – she never –”

This time, it was Xóchitl’s turn to grow quiet. “I don’t – do you hear that?” So long as no whistling started, she figured she could manage. Hoped she could, at least. For Metzli’s sake. That was what she told herself at least. All for their sake. It was easier to do that than to do it for herself.

“I am fine.” They replied simply, with a shake of their head. The squeeze from Xóchitl did well to pull Metzli’s attention fully back, forcing themself to move the sound to the wayside. “You two met very early, then.” Gently, slowly, the vampire nudged themself closer, carefully placing their chin on Xóchitl’s head so she could sink into them if she wanted. And maybe it was to put their body between her and any potential danger too, but she didn’t need to know that part. 

Embraces could do many things, protect in more ways than one. Metzli was just determined to use their skill as a shield to protect her at whatever cost, and do so quietly to prevent any unnecessary excitement. Though, it seemed, as always, Wicked’s Rest had other plans, and it was Xóchitl who heard the earth be disturbed by something unseen. This, combined with the vulnerable state their friend was in, Metzli bristled and tensed, red eyes narrowing at the shifting darkness. “Stay close to me.” Their voice was a hushed whisper, lips softly pressed against Xóchitl’s skull in an attempt to continue being a gentle shield while still remaining firm where they stood. 

Dirt was flung into the air, a nearby plot being dug into, but it was difficult to see who or what exactly was deep within the ground. For all they knew, the answer was easy and there was just a cemetery employee preparing the area for a funeral. Sadly though, Metzli was inclined to believe it was something sinister considering there was a noticeable crack of wood (most likely from a casket) and a stone with a death date from two years ago.  It was time to go. They couldn’t risk Xóchitl getting hurt. “We should leave.” Metzli urged, pulling their friend with them as they took a quiet step back.“Something is over there.”

“First day of kindergarten,” Xóchitl responded. “Would’ve loved it to have been earlier, but I’ll happily take that. We became best friends right away.” As if on reflex, she sank against Metzli, grateful for their height, for their presence. She hoped they could tell that, even if she didn’t quite voice it, but one thing she did know about Metzli was that they were good with silences. Thrived in them, even.

“What?” She twisted her head to look up at them, confused about their sudden change of tone of voice, of all they did. “I – of course.” 

Xóchitl chewed at her lip. “We – what? Like an animal?” She kept her voice quiet, barely noticeable, though she was confused – wondered, for a moment, if she’d been too open, if she’d made her friend uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if I said too much. We can – we can go, of course.” She nodded. “Where – should I stay like this?”

“You did not say too much.” Metzli cleared up immediately, feeling it important to let Xóchitl know that she couldn’t ever say enough about the friend she lost too soon. Sure, they hated when people spoke too much, but when it came to things like loss, Metzli felt inclined to listen, accepting the intimacy of what came with someone’s truth. Especially a friend’s. 

“There is something in a plot. I do not know if it is dangerous, so I want you to be quiet and close to me in case something happens.” Metzli reassured, all but lifting Xóchitl up from their grip on her hip. If they needed to get away, they’d be faster if she was in their hold. They were sure of it. And, as if fate wanted to test this, there was a breeze that rustled the flowers enough to cause a soft sound of shuffling, though it felt more like a boom when the creature whipped its head around.

Metzli planted Xóchitl on her feet, shuffling her behind them as they backed away carefully from the beast. It snarled and snapped its deadly teeth, wordlessly threatening an attack. The vampire scanned the area, tasking themself with finding the best course of action when Xóchitl had no idea what their nature was. “Run to the trees.” They whispered, fully prepared for an argument but not giving their friend the opportunity to say much of anything as they bolted toward the monster in front of them. With no prior experience with cemetery beasts, Metzli thought it best to simply go for an attack that fought against balance, sending the two rolling and battling for the upperhand.

“Okay. I just – I wanted to be sure.” Because she did always, with those she cared about, and Xóchitl did care about Metzli a great deal. She didn’t want to make them feel unsettled or unwanted. Not after she’d gained their trust – she didn’t want to make them think they’d been foolish to place trust in her.

Whatever they were saying didn’t make a lick of sense, but Xóchitl knew that she could trust them, and so whatever reason they were properly worried, she’d make sure to do as little as possible to contribute to that. “I’ll stay quiet and close, of course.” Said in a whisper, so quiet that she almost couldn’t hear herself.

Then they were telling her to run and she wanted to say no, wanted to put her foot down, but Metzli was off before she could even fully form a thought, and so Xóchitl did run towards the trees, but just barely, just enough to say she’d moved, yelping as she turned around and saw her friend and some other thing – some sort of animal, maybe – she didn’t know – and she yelped. “Metzli! Stop! You should – you run too, let’s both –” 

“I can’t run. Go!” There was no time. Was there ever, at a time like that? Whenever things went awry, making decisions became something that was instant to instant. Everything had to move faster than most could anticipate. But Metzli was not like most people. They were hardly a person at all, as far as they had known their entire life. From the moment they had become a vampire, any chance of that was taken, replaced by the evil they did and were capable of. It was why they couldn’t run. Why they had to stand their ground and do what good they could to balance it all out. 

Metzli sent the ghoul away from them, giving themself enough space to register their surroundings and retrieve their knife. Before they could make their next move though, the blade was knocked from their hand with a powerful swipe of the ghoul’s claws. Black blood oozed slowly out of their wound, but Metzli paid it no mind. They broke into a sprint to wrap their arm around what they could tell was a waist, squeezing tightly enough to send the creature screeching. There were a few crunches that accompanied the high-pitched wail, motivating Metzli to squeeze harder. Up until they felt almost too exerted. 

With an exhalation of force, they tossed the beast aside and grabbed for their knife in a blink. Metzli thrusted it quickly into its side and pulled down. There was another ear-piercing screech, accompanied with another powerful swipe of claws that sent Metzli far away. They landed in the trees next to Xóchitl, unable to feel the gash on their stomach, but bleeding slowly onto the ground. 

Her expression said more than Xóchitl could hope for her words to. Why can’t you run? Because that didn’t seem like an ideal sort of outcome for either of them, and she could already feel her stomach twisting around into knots of guilt if Metzli did get hurt. Because that would be her fault, even if she hadn’t been the one to physically harm them, she knew she’d still feel guilt – and that it would technically still be her fault.

Which was a deeply unsettling and unpleasant feeling.

Not to mention, it being coupled with the fact of her seeing something that didn’t make sense brought back a whole host of other unpleasant memories. Ones that had already come up given where the two of them were, but ones that she liked to at least think she was good at pretending didn’t exist. Except that right now, she was having a very difficult time of all that.

Xóchitl did run, finally, mostly because she could sense the desperation in Metzli’s voice and she wanted to follow through with honoring their wishes, always. She didn’t get too far away, huddled next to a tree, doing her best to not look at whatever was going on with her friend. Suddenly, there was a crash, and Metzli was on the ground next to her, and Xóchitl didn’t even pause to think for a moment before bending down, shaking their shoulder gently. They had to still be alive, didn’t they?

“Metzli?” She asked carefully, placing their head on top of her knees. “Can - can you hear me?” An immediate switch to Spanish, because that was what worked best with them, and what Xóchitl felt most comfortable with, too.  

The world was a blur, like a painting smeared across the canvas until a layer of black splashed against it. Pain swelled from their wound, keeping the color from being completely taken. “Hm?” Blinking the disorientation away as best they could, Metzli looked blearily up at Xóchitl, anxious to see if she was unharmed. Pure relief washed over them like a weighted blanket, giving them a moment of tranquil pause. But just a moment. The creature’s continued screeching finally registered in Metzli’s hearing, and they shot up from where they laid. 

“Stay quiet.” They whispered, a shaky breath trembling past their lips. The ghoul continued to thrash and exclaim, looking for Metzli in the shadows. One snap of a twig, and it’d likely attack the pair, so they remained still, their arm moving to hover just in front of Xóchitl protectively. After a few moments of silence, something in the distance broke it, sending the feral beast charging toward it and leaving the pair finally safe. Metzli sighed with relief, taking a few more beats before finally making a sound themself. Just to be safe. 

“Are you okay?” Eyes scanned Xóchitl despite knowing she had sustained no injuries, landing on her face to check her emotional state. It was hard to read, given Metzli’s lack of experience, but still, they tried. “I am very glad you are safe.” They smiled awkwardly, not paying their own wounds any mind. It wasn’t as if they’d suffer from blood loss. Hunger was hardly a visible pain, and Metzli was confident that they’d be able to hold their control until they were able to get home. “We…” They subtly covered their wound as best they could with their arm, continuing once they were sure no signs of pain could be visible on their face. “Should leave. Before it comes back.”

“Of course.” There was no reason to be contrary, and Xóchitl wasn’t often the sort to be contrary anyhow, unless the situation seriously called for it. Which this one very (very) obviously didn’t. Not to mention Metzli mattered to her, and she also knew that they didn’t appreciate lying, and would probably not appreciate a contrarian either. 

“I’m fine. I am glad you’re safe, too.” She sighed. Something felt off with Metzli, even if only slightly, but Xóchitl didn’t want to push anything – didn’t want to frustrate them – not that she was at all opposed to working with them when they were frustrated, but it seemed cruel to even begin to push the edges of what might have made them frustrated. “We probably should. Do you want to come by my place, or…?” She trailed off. “Whatever works for you.”

Metzli was relieved to find that Xóchitl was not only safe, but she didn’t argue with their decision to sneak away and go home. Not that there was much to quarrel about when both of their mortality was at stake and Metzli had sustained some injuries, but Xóchitl didn’t have to know about those yet. Or at all if the vampire had any say. “Your place is closer. We will go there and rest.” Slowly, Metzli rose to their feet and dusted themself off while they continued to survey the area in case the ghoul decided to come back. 

When no sound caused them any alarm, Metzli let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding, and they trailed their eyes back to the grave they and Xóchitl had gathered to visit in the first place. They were unsure of what they’d see, if there was anything to be seen at all, but they were grateful to see it had been unharmed in the midst of all the chaos. A forceful sigh tumbled out of Metzli’s lungs, “I am sorry we did not get to finish our visit, but you can tell me much more about your friend at home.” They offered Xóchitl an apologetic smile that was a little awkward and rigid, but they knew she’d receive the message just fine. “Let us stop at the store and I will get things for champurrado.” At their own idea, the rigidity of Metzli’s flickered away, allowing it to form into a much more pleasant and genuine expression. “Leila always says hot chocolate can make anything better or easier. We will test that.” And Metzli was good at tests, always having to venture into new experiences blindly, but the next thing they did felt like something they’d passed several times before. Albeit just barely, without much time for studying. 

Their arm hooked with Xóchitl’s with ease, sending a happy buzz to their wrist. They could feel it, feel the way they’d done it right, and knew if things like physical interaction could be graded, they’d surely get those flying colors they’d heard so much about.  How did colors fly anyway? Metzli figured they could ask Xóchitl about it once they were home and safe, with cups of champurrado warming their hands. The image had them smiling and tugging Xóchitl along as they mused idly.

“Vamos.”

#wickedswriting #the dead come walking #c metzli #chatzy #writing #child death tw #// thank u to jojo for this i loved it and i love metzli sm <3

[stainedglasstruth]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Muertarte PARTIES: Metzli (@muertarte) & Arden (@stainedglasstruth) SUMMARY: Heading home, Arden finds a dazed and roughed up Metzli sitting outside Muertarte. She helps them out as they catch her up on what's happening with their clan. CONTENT WARNINGS: Emotional abuse/manipulation.

Metzli looked at the sparkling sky, filled with life and death, a stark contrast from what was happening inside. There was no wave of emotion, no swelling in their chest from the breaking news when there should’ve been. Inside of them was a starless night sky, where the brilliance of feelings had been obscured, leaving only a dark expanse where nothing shined. 

It was as if the symphony that began with Honey within Metzli’s soul had lost its conductor, and the melodies of emotion had been silenced. Chuy—Master Jesus had snuffed it all out with one look after an earth-shattering truth, releasing their fledgling into the wild to watch their life be ripped away by their own hands. 

Hands that were…bloody? “Hmm…?” Their face remained neutral, incapable of moving. It wasn’t possible with no wave to motivate it. And yet, their hands shook. Why? Metzli sat against a brick wall, unable to recall how they’d manage to get to…there was a sign. 

Downtown? That’s when it hit them, a small flash, a brief memory resurfacing. They looked at the rest of themself. Their clothes were tattered and stained with their dead blood. Of course, the punishment. Chuy—Master Jesus had made it clear what their place was. Now it was time for reparations, for things to be made right. Destroy what Metzli had worked so hard to create from the inside out. 

It was still difficult, walking alone at night. The fear was logical, especially in Wicked’s Rest, especially after everything that had happened. It was incredibly unlikely that she would ever have the misfortune to be once again be ambushed and surrounded by six whole ass vampires, but there were plenty of other beings and creatures that would be equally, if not more, terrifying to run into. She could maybe hold her own against one being. Maybe. But then again, it had been a while since she'd done any training with Metzli.

Now that her arm was healed enough, she was raring to get back to it, but with what remained of their clan seemingly hanging around town, they were trying not to draw any attention to their friends, Arden included. And she appreciated that caution, as she certainly didn't want a repeat of what happened with Zane's clan. However, in addition to missing her friend and their regularly scheduled workouts, she was very concerned about Metzli and the whole situation. They had asked her to do some digging into elder vampires, to try to find any weaknesses, and while she already knew that elders were incredibly powerful and dangerous, her research had made her aware of what that actually meant.

Elders weren't bothered by religious symbols, they healed faster, they didn't need invitations to enter private property, and just became generally faster and stronger than the average vampire. They were like Vampires Plus– the older they became, the more their abilities increased and their vulnerabilities decreased. Honestly, it was fascinating and to learn about, but knowing that this was an actual threat her friend would potentially be facing, it was terrifying as well.  Arden hoped Metzli would be getting some backup should they need to deal with their old clan mates. They could handle themself, sure, but not against an elder. It seemed no one person could, unless they were an elder themself, maybe.

She was on high alert as she walked, her hand at her side, ready to pull out her knife if necessary. And she nearly did as she noticed the bloody figure sitting on the sidewalk, back pressed to the nearest building. At least, until her brain caught up to her vision and she realized it was her friend. 

“Metzli?” Arden called, her confusion evident in her tone of voice. She gave a quick look over their surroundings, scanning for any immediate threats before rushing over.

Clearly something was wrong– as she approached, that fact only became more clear. Their clothes were torn and soaked in dark blood, their bloodstained hand outstretched as if they were examining it, and their face was blank, void of any emotion. That itself wasn't uncommon with Metzli, but there was something about it that felt wrong. Their eyes maybe? Or maybe it was just her and the anxiety that was creeping up into her chest. ”Metzli? Are you okay?! What happened?“

A familiar scent danced in the small breeze, swaying quickly into the vampire’s nose. Seeing a friend would normally cause a wave of comfort, or even excitement, but just as with everything else so far, Metzli felt nothing. Their vision began to swim, mind overwhelmed with the amount of new information that Chuy—a zap rushed through their head, pain activated momentarily. It startled them, surprise washing over their face and exasperating them before it disappeared in a blink of an eye. 

“W-what?” Their hand pressed against their head, remembering what they were just thinking about. Chuy—another zap. Right. Right. Master Jesus. Again, everything disappeared into nothingness, the void Metzli had worked so hard to get away from. There was no longer any light to shield them, and they were sure that there was no way to bring it back. But before they could go down that trail of thought, Metzli looked toward Arden, almost forgetting she was there at all.

“I…” They swallowed and looked down toward their feet, unsure of what they were allowed to say. “Master Jesus has finished finding me. Changed me…back.” When no shockwave came, Metzli realigned their gaze with Arden and then to the building around them for a moment. If they could have felt it, relief would’ve surely washed over them. “Was punished, but it is fine. Does not hurt.”

Crouching down next to them, it was clear they had been in some sort of fight. They were littered with cuts and bruises, but most noticeably there was a gash under their eye and a large wound just above their clavicle. It was difficult to tell how bad any of it was with the dark blood and only the light from the streets to go off of. The fact that they were always so nonchalant about injuries didn’t exactly help her, either. Was this even all Metzli’s blood? 

It seemed they had at least registered Arden’s presence, which was something, but for a moment they barely acknowledged her. They simply sat, looking dazed, with a hand pressed to their head. Had they hit their head or something? Could a vampire be concussed? “What?” She asked them right back. “Are you okay? Is your head okay?” 

They finally looked over at her, only to look away once again, staring downward in a way that made her nervous. She was about to question them again when they spoke, though their words only served to make her feel even more confused, a pit forming in her stomach. “Master?” she repeated, brows furrowed. “I thought– Isn’t your master dead?” They were punished? “Fine?! What– Metzli, what–” 

No. Arden made herself take a breath. No panicking. 

Looking over her shoulder to make sure there was no one around, she once again became aware of their location. They were by MuertArte. Okay, she thought, good. Get them inside. Help them clean up. Figure out what the fuck happened. “Look, let’s get you inside, yeah?” The last thing they needed was for someone to take notice of their bloody appearance and starting to ask questions. 

There was no answer said for Arden to find any relief, to paint a picture of what just happened for her review. Metzli remained silent, simply shaking their head as they rose to their feet and limped to the keypad by the door. After a series of beeps, the door’s locks clicked and they held the door open for Arden to pass through. What followed was a blur, Metzli having done the dance enough times to get the pair to the loft without any difficulty or missteps. 

By the time they’d settled into the couch and let their mind catch up to their surroundings, there was needle and thread in their hand, though they were unsure how to proceed. They couldn’t quite see the area that needed to be closed, so they placed it down, believing they’d be fine without stitches. Focusing on Arden would be better anyway. She was a friend and those people mattered. Metzli didn’t. They were nothing. “Are you okay, Arden? Um…” Adjusting their position in their seat, they kept their gaze toward the ceiling, unable to meet her eyes. “You look upset and confused. Can I help fix this for you?”

Without a word, Metzli stood and led the way into the gallery. From there, it was almost as if they were on autopilot, mindlessly going through the motions as if she wasn’t even there. And all Arden could do was follow behind, worried, as they went up to the loft and pulled out some medical supplies. She tried to ask a question, but gave up after it was met with only silence. It was only when they stopped moving that they seemed to come back to themself, eyes darting around like they weren't sure how they got to where they were, seated on the couch, needle and thread in hand.

But then they just put it down, turning to her and asking if she was okay, as if nothing was going on. “Metz, I'm fine. But I just found you all beat up, and you said your master punished you? Didn't you kill your master? What's going on?“ She tried to keep her voice level, calm, but it was difficult when she was feeling so worked up. Still standing, she began to pace, needing to shake off some of her nerves. Though, after a moment, her eyes landed on the needle and thread. 

”Do you need help with that?“ Arden asked.  ”I'm not exactly good at it, stitching people up, but I've done it before. Only once, to be fair,“ she felt the need to clarify, to let them know of her inexperience. ”But, like, I can. If you need.“ It wasn't something she wanted to do, but she needed to do something to help her friend out. And she had seen first hand how ridiculous Metzli's tolerance for pain was, so theoretically it wouldn't be as miserable as it was with Kaden.

Terror and pain were supposed to be like a heavy chain that shackled you to whatever made your fight or flight instincts activate. But there was nothing as the walls of Metzli’s internal maze began to shift. Every step remained uncertain and they knew fear still crept around the corner, wishing it could threaten them to stay in place. If Metzli were honest with themself, they wished for that too. Icy, sharp, fear was better than feeling nothing. Being nothing. There was nothing to do but remain still like a dead clock while the ticking continued on without them. A rhythm they once knew and enjoyed most times was utterly gone, and Metzli wasn’t sure they’d be able to get it back. 

“Master Eloy…” They whispered, eyes remaining on the ceiling, unblinking. “He was not my master. My friend—he was-was not my friend actually. He was using me and became a manipulator so that I can-can help him kill Eloy so he can take over.” Metzli’s body acted out, trembling but having no source of sensation to accompany it. They wished they could be angry like they had been, as embarrassing as it was to look so pathetic. 

“If you can help that will be nice.” Would pretending to have pain or anger be just as good? No, probably not. Shaking their head, Metzli continued, teeth gritting together as they removed their shirt. “He…was…my master this entire time. And now he has wishes to make me punished for being his burden.” They leaned back so Arden could work if she decided to, closing their eyes as exhaustion weighed heavy on their lids. “This will show everyone he is new master and not me like everyone wants. He has done a big reveal and now they have more faith in him. Think maybe final part will be my death once I ruin my life like he wants.”

”What?” It was all she could manage, her eyes widening at all the information given to her. The person Metzli had thought to be their master hadn't actually been their master. Their actual master had been their 'friend,' who had been using them as a pawn in some kind of vampiric power play???

For a brief moment, Arden wasn't standing in the loft above Muertarte, no, she found herself right back in that basement, hands behind her back, Zack at her side, terror overtaking her as Wynne was chosen to die. She blinked, and suddenly she was standing next to Wynne in a shack in the woods, Metzli shackled to the wall, pain and fear radiating off of all of them. But then she blinked again and the odd moment of déjà vu passed. It was just her and Metzli– her and her friend– no chains or spawn in sight.

They were shaking, but their face, their eyes, were blank. Fucking hell. If their master was alive, was in town, he could compel Metzli to not feel, he could have them do his bidding. And he wanted to punish them, wanted to ruin their life, wanted them dead. This was bad. This was so spectacularly fucking bad.

Okay. Okay. Forcing herself to breathe, Arden walked over, kneeling next to them on the couch. “I'm gonna...” She motioned vaguely at their neck, not knowing what to say. As she began the process of cleaning the wound, she tried to sift through her racing thoughts. They would have to kill Metzli's master, an elder. But Metzli would be forced to fight back, right? Was there a limit to the control elder's held over others? If Metzli fled— no, they wouldn't …or would they, given the gravity of this situation? Either way, they were going to need some help— Emilio, maybe Zane? She couldn't think of who else would be helpful in a fight against a fucking elder. Maybe Emilio knew some other hunters? Aside from his brother, of course. Fuck, she wished she wasn't so useless with this stuff. She'd have to double down on the elder research–

She shook her head. Focus. She needed to focus. And she needed to say something to Metzli. Laying a slightly shaky hand on their shoulder, Arden's worried gaze settled on her friend. “Look, we'll figure this out, okay? You're not alone in this, there are people who care about you here.” After a beat, she added, “I’m gonna start now.” Settling back into a more comfortable position, she picked up the needle. Just as she was about to begin, she froze as she was yet again hit by that feeling of déjà vu. Panic, Kaden, running, forest. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep, steady breath before beginning her second ever attempt at stitching someone up.

They’d been around people long enough in Wicked’s Rest to be able to decipher the subtle nuances in people’s tone, so they could hear the uncertainty in Arden’s voice. Without much thinking, Metzli reached for Arden’s hand, laying theirs atop hers. She was warm, inviting, and kind, and when deserving people needed comfort, you provided it. It was almost instinct, the way they reacted. No emotions necessary.

Hope ran through their mind then, the idea that they didn’t need to feel to savor their connections, sparking. Like a lightbulb should, it shone light on the path toward everyone they loved, and they began to believe that they wouldn’t ruin everything as Master Jesus hoped Metzli would. “If you…” They patted Arden’s hand, retreating theirs as they looked around the room. “Squeeze the skin together and pretend it is cloth. This will make it easier. You do not have to keep each stitch close. Width of finger apart. Have sense?” 

Their eyes landed on a picture of themself and Leila, no ounce of fondness lightening their empty body as it should. Slowly, their gaze wandered, jumping around from vase, to shut off television, to the assortment of fidget tools Metzli had received over the course of their time with MuertArte. By the time reality became vivid once more, their wound had been shut and they were being told to hold a rag to their eye. Blinking, Metzli gave a nod and did as they were told. “You are good friend, Arden. I am just sorry I cannot feel gratitude.” They swallowed thickly, exhaustion weighing on their lids enough for Metzli to try and flutter it away. Which was funny because they didn’t even need to sleep.

“Will you stay?” They tilted their head curiously. “Or do you have wish to go?” It was always easier to rest when people Metzli trusted were around, but maybe if Arden couldn’t stay, they could call Leila. Even if they didn’t want her to see them like this. They’d tell her soon. Tomorrow, most likely. For the time being, Metzli needed to plan. To figure out what was coming next. “If you will stay, maybe we can rest on the bed? It always has comfort to hold my people or be held by them.”

During their sparring sessions, Arden had grown used to how physically cold Metzli always was compared to her. She would be sweaty and panting by the time they called it, but Metzli would remain unfazed as ever. Despite that, though, she certainly wouldn't describe them as a cold individual. While they could be very flat and unemotional in their mannerisms at times, there was still an unmistakable playfulness, gentleness, kindness, to them. And, well, she had seen firsthand the depths of their fear, their anger, their despair.  

Somehow, even without the ability to feel emotions, Arden couldn't call them cold. Yes, there was a noticeable emptiness to their eyes and their tone, but there was a warmth to the gesture when they grabbed her hand. And it just made her heart ache for them even more, eyes stinging slightly. Metzli had already been through more than she could even fathom– they didn't deserve this. She caught their eye for a moment, gave them a smile she hoped would be reassuring, even if they couldn't exactly feel it.

But then their hand retreated, and they were advising her on suturing techniques. Right. Okay. ”Got it,“ she nodded. After this, she definitely needed to watch some YouTube videos or something. Maybe she could ask Dr. Kavanagh? Or Zane, even? Regardless, she followed Metzli's instructions, thankful that this wasn't as drastic or awful a situation as it had been with Kaden. Metzli's injury wasn't as serious, and she didn't have the added task of distracting them, since blood loss and intense pain weren't really an issue here. As such, it didn't take nearly as long for her to finish closing up the wound, and these stitches did look considerably better than her first attempt.

After cleaning up, she passed them a clean rag for the gash under their eye, frowning slightly at their words. “I'm sorry, too. About all of this. I'm glad I could help, though.” She wished she could do more, that she wasn't so useless in these situations. Dealing with an elder vampire was so far above her capabilities, though, that she was somehow even more useless than normal. And, god, had she been feeling worthless recently. Her apartment was stuck in sludge, her girlfriend was stuck as a statue, and Arden was stuck living in the cabin, surrounded by Teagan's things without her there, trying not to fall apart. Not to mention, she still hadn't found that goddamn warden, she had nothing on Erebus, and the town was actually falling apart around her. 

But she shoved those thoughts away. Her focus needed to be on Metzli right now. “We’re gonna figure this out,” she said, repeating herself. Tomorrow she would double down on her research into elder vampires, see if Leah had anything that could be relevant. 

Tomorrow, though. Because when Metzli spoke up again, their exhaustion was evident in their voice, and it only served to make her realize how tired she felt. Sleeping had been difficult recently, too. The enchantment on the quilt seemed to be waning and without Teagan or Wynne around, Arden was back to sleeping alone every night for the first time in months. She did have Hobbes and Alffi, but it wasn't the same. 

She nodded, feeling more emotional than she would've liked, “Yeah, I can stay. That... sounds nice.” The cats had food, and Andy had been continuing to keep an eye on the cabin. Besides, Metzli needed the comfort, and it would be nice not to have to sleep alone, even if just for a night.

#emotional abuse tw #emotional manipulation tw #writing #wickedswriting #collab #muertarte #wr metzli

[rn-zane]

TIMING: last week SETTING: outside sofie's office SUMMARY: sofie still has people trying to find her. zane just wanted to check out some antiques

She was in the little store front she rented in Nightfall Grove, sorting through some pieces for a meeting the following day. The client was from out of town, but they had heard about her through a friend of a friend, as people usually did. This time is was Tiffany lamps. Lucky for the man, Sofie had a few. Lucky for Sofie, they could go for a pretty penny. She was about to lock up and go enjoy the rest of her evening when she heard a noise from the back room. She froze. She was fairly certain she’d locked the back door when she’d come in. She stood silently, listening. There was a clank and a hiss of muttered curses. She bolted for the door. 

They’d found her- they must have found her. It has been years and she thought she’d been careful- wasn’t she careful? Apparently not, because as she bolted she heard footsteps chasing behind her. Sofie’s feet pounded against the floor and she took off out the door and started running down the street. She got a few yards before she ran directly into someone. Her mind still racing a mile a minute, she didn’t think as her eyes flared red and her fangs grew. She hissed like a cornered animal, and stumbled to get her footing. “Let me go,” was all she said. 

____________________________________

Talking with the antiquities dealer online had brought up stuff Zane had gone some time without thinking about. He’d never had many possession, even back home with his parents, and all the moving around had never given him a chance to change that. The only things he had from his childhood had been the clothes on his back and the memorabilia currently wrapped in a sock and contained to his pocket. He hadn’t tried to look at it after turning, having packaged it away after some warnings from Alma about the effects on the clan. Now, he wondered why he even clung on to the golden cross, not having worn it for five years and never getting the chance to again. Maybe the antique lady was the perfect person to take it off his hands. 

While debating the rashness of this decision, Zane didn’t really have time to prepare for another person barrelling full force into him. It was all he could do to not fall down, hands bracing on the woman’s upper arms to steady the both of them. Red eyes stared back at him and fangs glinted in her mouth and for a moment, Zane’s panic overtook the fact that she was like him. Just out in the wild. Panic heightened as he finally spotted why this strange vampire had been running - someone was chasing her. Was it another person who tracked down vampires? Shit.

His own eyes flashed red as he looked down at the stranger, hands moving away from her at the hissed warning. The one in pursuit seemed to slow for a second, clearly evaluation the situation before he was nearing again, now at a slower, more calculated pace. “Follow me,” Zane said without thinking, wanting to grab at her hand but thinking better off it, as he took off down the street, away from the danger. Hoping that she would follow him. 

——————————————————————

Red eyes. They had red eyes, like her. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to sob in relief or scream at herself that she was going to get some poor unsuspecting vampire killed with her. A hasty glance over her shoulder told her she didn’t have much time. To make any decisions on how to proceed. It was fight or flight, and Sofie knew in a fight she didn’t stand a chance. If she survived the night she was going to ask Metzli to teach her to properly use a knife.

Sofie didn’t hesitate. She let out a strangled “Okay,” and took off down the street after the stranger, hoping that the hunter fell behind or changed their mind. She glanced over her shoulder every so often, to see if they were still being pursued. She scrambled to keep up, and reached out to hold on to the stranger so she wouldn’t lose them. “I’m so sorry,” she managed as they ran. “-Didn’t mean to get you in a mess too,”

_________________________________________

Zane felt the grip on his sweater sleeve which was comforting. It meant that he was neither alone in running away nor had the woman been turned to dust behind him. This was the first vampire he’d met outside of the clan and he was not going to watch her get turned to dust if he could help it. Maybe she was all alone, didn’t have a clan to look after her and make sure she was okay. Speaking of, at this rate Alma would end up giving Zane a chaperone. These run ins were getting way too frequent. Or maybe he just needed to stop being dumb, who knew. 

There was no real plan to this running, the closest place he could think of was the University downtown, which might provide them with enough cover or at least a hiding spot. The words suddenly spoken caught him off guard. Sorry? She hadn't really done much, this was just shit timing. “It’s fine,” came the quick reply as he spared her a glance. She looked genuinely guilty. “As long as we don’t die,” he added as they were still being chased. 

“Don’t suppose you have any fighting skills?”

__________________________________________

Sofie gave a weak laugh. “No, obtaining some was on my to do list for the week. I guess I should have bumped it up in my schedule.” Wonderful time to make jokes, Sofie. You’re about to die with this poor stranger, but at least your epitaph can say she laughed in the face of death.

She riffled through her purse for something she could use. Anything. She was beginning to realize just how little her sire had taught her. We are perfectly safe, ma colombe, why would we need to fight? A voice from ages past whispered through her mind. This is why, Seraphine. Sofie thought in reply. This is why.

She pulled out her keychain with the tiny swiss army knife attached and held it up. “It’s worth a shot?”

___________________________________________________

Staring at the tiny knife, Zane evaluated their options. They could keep running, sure. But there’s was also two of them and one of him. Vampires were strong and according to what little information he’d gotten from Alma, pretty hard to kill. Not impossible, obviously, given that he’d witnessed a literal execution just days ago. It wasn’t even like they needed to fight him to the death. Just… scare him off. 

“It’s definitely worth something,” Zane agreed, shoving over a trash can they ran past in hopes of slowing him down. “Stop on three and charge at him? Maybe if he thinks we can fight him he’ll run off?” As far as plans went, it wasn’t a good one. Running through the whole town, wondering if he had back up on the way, also wasn’t high on that list. He could grab at something in the vicinity, use it to force the man away, not giving him a chance to stake them or whatever it was he planned on doing. 

—--

Sofie watched over her shoulder as the trash can bounced on the side walk, rolling directly into their pursuers path. At least her new companion could keep his head on his shoulders at a time like this. Another glance over her shoulder and she watched the hunter skid to an awkward halt to reroute around the trash and continue his chase. 

“It’s as good a plan as any,” Sofie grimaced as she said it. “On three.” She agreed. “One,” God this could go badly. “Two,” if she made it out of this unscathed she was going to invest in security cameras and better locks. “Three!”

_________________

Stomach jolting with anxiety, Zane turned, focus divided between his friend in crisis and the now startled man. The choice of “weapons” wasn’t good but the broken bottle would have to do, snatched up from the sticky ground and immediately held out towards the threat. The man looked more confused than scared, really, which Zane couldn’t blame him for. A small swiss army knife and a broken bottle in the hands of two, clearly very incapable, vampires. What, like Zane was going to tear into his jugular with his teeth? He didn’t even really plan on getting those jagged bottle edges anywhere near the man’s skin if he could help it. 

“Back the fuck off.” It was his best attempt at intimidation, a somewhat poor one at that but still. More things to say rattled around his brain, bottle a bit too unsteady in his hand. “There’s two of us now but more on the way,” was what it finally landed on, a bold faced lie but hopefully the intensity of his fear made it sound somewhat believable. He really, really didn’t want this to end in a fight. 

______________

Sofie came to a halt after the word left her mouth. She glanced at her compatriot and his broken bottle. This was either going to go very well for them, or very, very badly. By some miracle she managed not to look surprised at his bluff. No one was coming to help them unless this new vampire had some magical panic button that would have aid on the way. But based on the bottle and the tiny little army knife they had as weapons, that wasn’t very likely.

The hunter skidded to a stop. In the street light Sofie could see them better now. They looked on the young side, and now that they were faced with two vampires who looked ready to bring this to an end, they seemed unsure of themself. They shifted on their feet for a moment, and Sofie took the opportunity to fake a lunge at them. The novice hunter turned and ran, the prospect of more vampires clearly too much for them. She watched as they ran, dumbfounded that it had actually worked. “Thank you,” She said, sounding mystified as she watched them disappear after turning a corner. She finally turned her attention to her new ally. “Thank you. If you hadn’t come up with that, he would have chased me into a corner.”

______________

Zane stared after the man for a moment too long, muscles still tense with worry as he turned back to the woman. “What? Oh, yeah, no problem. Watch enough movies, you get good at bullshitting, I guess. Good call with the fake out, too.” He watched her for a while, brain finally getting a moment to fully comprehend the situation now that imminent death wasn’t on the agenda. Another vampire, seemingly on her own, and one that hadn’t seemed exactly surprised by the man trying to chase her down and stab her. 

Energy swelling up in his limbs now that it had nowhere to go, Zane’s feet were on the move, starting to walk at a considerably slower pace than they’d been traveling just moments before. Getting some more distance between them and the would-be murderer didn’t seem like a bad idea, anyway. “Did you know that guy? Because I saw someone I know get turned into dust by some stranger and he tried to chase me down as well. Is that like… a thing?”

—--

Sofie drew deep breaths into her lungs, even if she didn’t need them. If nothing else, the motion of it was soothing. She shook her head emphatically at his question. “No, not don’t…. At least I hope I don’t.” If she did know who it was, she would have had a much bigger set of issues. “They must have been trailing me, or noticed I kept off hours- I thought I was being careful enough.”

The second half of his sentence registered in her mind and her face fell. “Oh… oh my goodness I am so sorry.” Her apologies were useless, but what else did she have? “It is ‘a thing’ for us, unfortunately.” She explained. “Our existence isn’t exactly…” Sofie searched for the right word. “Palatable. To some.”

___

So it had been a stranger, aware of this woman’s… undeath. Did they have a file somewhere about vampires? How would they even know, Zane hadn’t told anyone outside of his clan so was he on that list now? Had the guy outside the hospital known that he was a vampire and made sure everyone else knew it? Man, he should have told Alma about the encounter with the stranger with the bad knee. 

She was apologizing now, for the death of a vampire she hadn’t even known and Zane decided that he liked her. “Right.” It was all he could think to reply. Not palatable. So Zane had a group of people that accepted him now but as a result, his very existence was an offense to others. Excellent… “Guess they skipped that part in the clan introduction,” he added under his breath, finally slowing his walk to meet the stranger’s eyes. “Speaking of, I should probably get back. I’m not a big fighting help but I could walk you to someone from your clan, make sure you get there safe. Oh, uh, Zane. By the way.” He reached out a hand for a lack of a better greeting even though running from death with someone just made him want to hug them. 

______

Just how new was this vampire Sofie thought to herself, that he doesn’t know about hunters? Or just how lax was his clan on the important details of vampire life? Although she supposed she shouldn’t judge. She knew of hunters when she was still a young creature, but hadn’t accepted the reality of them until years later. 

The expression on her face soured for a moment, but settled into something that vaguely resembled a smile. “I’m the only one in my clan around here.” She was the only one in her clan period. “I don’t live too far from here though, just a few blocks away.” Sofie took his hand and shook it. “Sofie, it’s a pleasure.” The discussion of clans had her interest piqued and she couldn’t help but ask. “So what clan are you a part of that they skip the important detail of slayers in the introduction?”

_________

There was a definite shift in Sofie’s expression as he talked about clans but with the high of surviving death still metaphorically running through his veins, Zane didn’t linger on it. The explanation came, he supposed, in her reply. She was the only one here, which was interesting and also quite sad. Zane couldn’t imagine having to go through everything on his own; getting food, being stuck inside on sunny days, talking to someone about the nagging voice in his head every time he went too long without feeding. “Sorry to hear that.”

Without asking, he had taken on the job of walking her home. As bad as his protection was, at least it had helped her out earlier which was something. The question about his clan made Zane pause, wondering just how hush-hush things were supposed to be. He knew that telling people about town about his newly acquired undeath was a big no but telling other vampires… “I think they’re just trying to ease me in, I guess. They did warn me not to wander about too much but I get restless easy so…” Yeah, it was almost definitely obvious that he’d skipped a whole part of her question but he didn’t know Sofie yet. He liked her, innately trusted her in a way but Alma and the other didn’t feel like his to talk about. “Maybe I should tell them to work on a pamphlet or something. Would probably have made some of this easier. Not that I’m, like, complaining or anything. Just… different, is all.”

__________

The only answer she provided was a shrug. He was young, or so she assumed. It was best not to scare him with stories like hers when he was just getting started. “It’s alright. You get used to it, I suppose.” Sofie lied. Sofie had never gotten used to it. Not the quiet, not the solitude, not the boredom. Not the little reminders of what she would never get back. None of it. 

So when Zane fell in step with her, she was grateful for the companionship. It would be nice to not have to walk home alone. “It’s certainly a change.” She offered a friendly smile, her nerves finally settled. “It takes some time to get used to all of it… How long have you been this way, if you don’t mind my asking?

_____

Zane nodded along, hoping she was right. That it would start to feel more normal - being able to smell people’s blood, no longer having dreams, not feeling his heart race after a good run, sometimes wondering what it would feel like to actually sink his fangs into something… “Here’s hoping. No turning back, anyway.” Just another of his rash, ill thought out decisions to deal with. 

Sofie had a calming effect, he found. Her smile was genuine and it was nice to talk to someone while not having to wonder in the back of your mind what they would taste like. Sure, Zane had that back at the house but at times, he still felt like the new addition. It had been months but for some of the vampires back at the house, it probably seemed like a blip. He was the kid, constantly being reminded about the sun and asked whether or not he’d accidentally eaten someone yet. All jokes, sure, but every one of them chipped away at something unseen. So he hesitated at Sofie’s question, not wanting to get the same patronizing attitude from her, too. 

“Not… not long. Which you probably already guessed seeing as I don’t seem to know shit.” He laughed but it fell flat, the condescending undertone reminding him to shove it all back in. No need to overshare with this still-stranger about the most likely unnecessary worries over his new life. “You?”

—-

A snort of a laugh erupted from Sofie.  “Well, it was a hint. But don’t feel bad. I’m well past my three hundredth birthday, and I’m still learning some things.” She was careful to keep her voice low. It didn’t seem like anyone was around to eavesdrop on their little conversation, but since their introductions had been made while on the run from a slayer, Sofie wasn’t about to take any unnecessary risks. 

“Though if it helps, I suppose you could look at it this way.” She began, looking over at the younger vampire as they walked along. “You were a human all your life. You existed in that state for many years. Did you have being a human completely figured out? Can you say beyond a shadow of a doubt you knew exactly how you would react in any possible scenario? Do you know for certain exactly how many years you would live for?” She shrugged. “It’s not so different existing like this. Unless you plan to spend your now elongated existence doing scientific studies on how you and others of our kind function, you will still be in the comfortably uncomfortable camp of not having all of the answers.” Sofie cocked her head to the side. “Did that make sense, or have I just confused you more?” 

______

Three hundred? Zane couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around living out a whole human lifetime, much less three of them. “You don’t look a day over a hundred?” he replied sheepishly, not sure how else to process this information. He knew that Alma, for instance, was definitely older than she looked but he’d never heard a number this big in regards to years actually lived said out loud before. Questions were already bubbling up in his chest but this wasn’t the time. 

He listened carefully as Sofie spoke, now fully feeling the weight of three hundred years of knowledge. Zane had gone through more than a few existential crises considering his age but realizing that your life wouldn’t end with the world imploding left a lot of things to think about. It had been a stroke of luck to even find a career that he actually enjoyed, seeing as his twelve year old self hadn’t been wondering about what he wanted to be or do when he grew up. 

“Definitely still confused but… comforted, I guess? I don’t know, just… ten years ago I thought I wouldn’t make it to twenty and now I have all this time and no idea if I’m spending it right or even if I made the right choice-” Zane cut himself off, feeling the uncomfortable spiral spinning out of control in his head before he reigned it in. “Sorry. Side effect from almost dying just now, I think. You’re… really nice to talk to. Thank you.”

_____

A delighted laugh rang out, echoing down the empty street. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She grinned. Sofie knew full well she had surprised him with her age. Most people didn’t think the young woman standing beside them on the street had been around since the time the state they were in was still a colony. 

A sympathetic smile unfolded on her face. She could remember back to the start. The memories had grown fuzzy with time, but she still remembered the cyclone of questions that had swirled around in her mind. Time had provided some clarity, but even now she still had questions and what-ifs. She had more what-ifs than anything else in the world. 

“You’ll never be entirely sure it was the right choice.” She sighed, patting him gently on the shoulder. “It was the choice you made. From that choice are endless strings of different futures. But you can’t untangle the knots you’ve made on your string. You just have to keep making new choices, making your string longer as you tie it to new choices.” She shook her head, tossing off the melancholy. “Well, so are you. You can talk to me anytime. I’m sure your clan has plenty of answers on the way they do things. But if you ever want an outsider's perspective, you’re always welcome to mine.” 

_____

It was an odd one, this feeling of instant connection with a complete stranger. Zane could count on one hand the number of facts he currently knew about Sofie but it seemed that running from a weapon together made things like facts matter less. It was as if he knew all he needed to at this moment and apparently, so did she. As of right now, she was the only person on earth that knew about his real identity and, however vaguely, his struggles with it. Confiding in someone had been nice. It had never felt right, talking to the rest of his clan about this as they all seemed so comfortable in their skin, so sure in their purpose. Talking about it would have only made Zane feel like more of an outlier than he already did. But Sofie seemed to be some kind of outcast herself. 

The gentle shoulder pat was comforting in so many ways and never before had he been so grateful for a situation that made him fear for his life. Not that he’d had that many life threatening situations before but the numbers were really racking up these past few months. “I think an outsider’s perspective will definitely come in handy.” Zane smiled, feeling the last of the night’s panic simmer away in the woman’s presence. The offer seemed like a genuine one and he would definitely be taking her up on it. 

#sofiedupont #p:sofie #late night jog #sofie.001 #thread #writing

[thesilentmedium]

Homemade Panaderia || Jonas & Metzli

TIMING: A few months ago LOCATION: Ballard house PARTIES: @thesilentmedium  & @muertarte SUMMARY: Jonas and Metzli have a baking session! CONTENT WARNING: none

With the sky clear and the sun overhead, it was the perfect day to use an umbrella and a pair of shades. Wicked’s Rest was great for its cloudy days, especially in the winter, but the change in season meant more sun. Metzli kept their stride swift and focused, both to get out of the sun and to find the address Jonas had provided them. 

They opted to walk, unsure if the kindness was a rouse to get them inside for an attack. Meant for an easier getaway and to leave nothing behind. It was irrational, but as someone who lived in a constant state of danger, it was always better to err with caution. As exhausting as that sounded to Jonas, Metzli thought it was being practical. Arriving at the address, they walked up to the door and prepared themself for whatever may come. What they didn’t expect though, was to be met with the kindest face they’d seen in a while. 

“H-hello,” Metzli waved, a little perplexed but not showing it. “Am here for baking. May I come in?”

Jonas was setting out the ingredients for the Conchas, he was hoping he got the right recipe as he made sure everything was lined up. There were two separate stations, each with the ingredients measured out beforehand, each in their own bowl fitting the amount needed. The recipe was on a tablet sitting nicely on a stand between the two. Jonas smiled at his work, strapping on the apron and checking the time on his watch. His guest should be here soon.

Speaking of it was not long before Blue came to fetch him, leading him to the door before going to lay in front of the stairs. Jonas opened the door, the smile still on his face as he focused on the stranger’s lips, “Oh you must be Metzli!” He stepped aside, giving them room to step in. Blue wagged her tail from the floor in greeting. Normally she would have been ecstatic to see a visitor but the nightly patrols of the house had left the dog in the mood for a nap now that someone else was around to watch out for trouble. “Come in, I have everything set up. Oh this is Blue the dog I mentioned.”

Not only was Jonas emitting kindness, but his voice was evidence of a lost sense. Metzli didn’t have a lot of experience with such a thing as deafness, but they had enough common sense to make sure their lips were always visible. If Jonas was giving them the courtesy of teaching them how to bake, it was all the more reason to give basic respect. More so, even. “Am Metzli, yes.” They stepped inside, maintaining eye contact, and relieved to find that the barrier dissipated. 

“Hi Blue.” Metzli waved stoically to the dog, passing by her happy tail with a large step over. They followed attentively, making sure to stay close. The last thing Metzli wanted to do was come off rude or stray too far that Jonas couldn’t see their words. When they got to the kitchen, where the scent of sugar filled their nose, Metzli’s eyes widened to see just how thorough Jonas was. Even if they’d somehow done something wrong, it was obvious that anything could be salvaged. 

“English is not very good, and never bake before, but I will try my best.” Metzli promised, bowing their head respectfully. “How start?”

Jonas moved over to grab an apron off the wall, “Well first we um need to get an apron on you to protect your nice shirt.” He handed it over, “Would reading be easier for you than me talking?” He knew that seeing the word could help a lot. “I um have the recipe up here for us to follow.” He bent over to the tablet and zoomed in a little more to make the words slightly bigger for the other. “Um normally you would start by measuring out all the ingredients. I did that for you but have written down the amounts on sticky notes.” He pointed to yellow pieces of paper sitting under the little bowls that had the name of the ingredient and the amount. 

“Baking is very easy, you just um have to follow the recipe exactly as it is presented.” Jonas looked at the first step and went to pull the stand mixer down from a shelf that was a bit too high for him. He frowned a little and turned to Metzli, “Um just a moment I need a step stool.” He shuffled by the taller person to go for the closet behind them. His short height had always been a problem considering everyone else in the house was practically a giant, well except for Lil. 

It took a moment to actually get the old door to let him in. He really loved this house but the amount of work that needed to be done on it still astounded him anytime he had a moment to think on it. When it finally let him in to see the treasures locked behind, the step stool was not there. “Oh…um.” Jonas scratched at the back of his head a little lost as to where the stool could have gone, he swore he put it back the last time he had it out. 

Metzli nodded, quietly taking the apron and putting it on quickly. It felt similar to the smocks they’d wear to protect their clothes from paint. They wondered briefly if baking was an art on its own. Plenty of baked goods had artistic qualities. Even something as simple as a concha. A few well placed slices, and you had the pattern. It was a staple. It was art. Realizing this, most of the doubt Metzli had about their ability to bake was gone. 

“Do you need help?” The vampire asked, mentally smacking themself for not getting Jonas’s attention first. Idiot. Metzli tapped his shoulder and pointed to the mixer he had tried to retrieve. Signaling to give them a moment, they went ahead and reached for it, easily grabbing hold of it by its motor head. It was lighter than they expected, but that wasn’t atypical. Their above average strength made most things light.

“Where?” Metzli made sure that time that their face was turned to Jonas, tilting their head in question. 

Jonas turned when his shoulder was tapped and before he could insist it was alright Metzli was already dragging the heavy mixer from the top shelf. Jonas couldn’t help but be impressed by their strength. He was easily awestruck by shows of strength, when he was little he used to follow Jane around and have her lift him up on her arms. He thought it was the coolest thing in the world. “I appreciate it, just um set it here.” He gently patted the surface next to the ingredients he had set out for them. 

“We will uh need to start by mixing together the dry ingredients for the flour.” Jonas made sure to point to the flour, sugar, yeast and salt. “Put them in the mixing stand’s bowl and make sure to ramp it up slowly to medium, if you um turn it on high flour will go everywhere haha.” He was glad to find the recipe was not very complicated, it would make learning and teaching rather easy for the both of them. His only drawback was that he didn’t have the specific cutter to get the lines on the sugar topping right. They were going to have to do that by hand and while the design was simple, he had seen Lil mess up even the easiest decorations on cakes. 

Jonas was sure Metzli wasn’t as bad as his sister but if the other did mess up he really hoped they didn’t feel bad. Baking was lovely and he didn’t want them to give up on their first try. “We have to wait for the dough to rise now but if you like I can get you some tea.” They could end up sitting around for 2 hours while the bread doubled in size.  Tea and time on the covered front porch seemed like the best way to pass the time. He had a painting sitting out there still waiting to be finished. He had found himself struggling to find the motivation to finish, he was tempted to blame the stress. It was hard to feel safe out there when he knew people were watching. 

He was hoping that having someone else around would make him feel more comfortable and make it easy to start up on it again; he hadn’t gotten the chance to try with Zane given how the man left as soon as he arrived. It was a pity, but Jonas was glad Zane was somewhere he felt safe now and thankfully the bite on his arm didn’t leave any remarkably noticeable marks, just two faint dots that were fading more and more each day. 

With a polite nod, the mixer was placed carefully where Jonas patted. Metzli promptly set to work, heeding the instructions they were given. The hardest part was already done, everything lined up and prepped for mixing. “Dry ingredients first. Okay.” Metzli reiterated, moving almost robotically as they poured everything together. 

The mixer was an interesting contraption, whirring smoothly while the ingredients swirled in the bowl. It was mesmerizing to watch, and were it not for Jonas reminding Metzli of their tasks, they might’ve continued to stare and grown lost to the hypnotic pattern. 

In a matter of minutes, the dough was ready to prove, leaving nothing more to do than wait. Jonas offered something Metzli wanted to decline, but knew it would be impolite to. Small talk. The worst! They grimaced subtly, and looked up to the ceiling to think and avoid his eyes while still keeping their mouth visible. Their index finger and thumb rubbed together anxiously, and they finally nodded to agree to his tea. 

“I like spicy tea. Do you have this?” Metzli’s eyes locked with Jonas briefly and their back stiffened. Immediately, they looked back up and counted to ten, hoping to keep themself from becoming too worried about eye contact.

Jonas took note of the way Metzli seemed to dislike direct eye contact and wasn’t really sure if it would be more uncomfortable if he brought it up or let it be. He decided to let it be and do his best to just keep his eyes on their lips to avoid making them feel worse. “Spicy tea? Hm.” He meandered over to a corner of the counter, there was a little stand filled to the brim with all sorts of containers of loose leaf tea. Jonas liked to keep the empty ones that had nice designs. He figured he could always refill them with and if not they made nice decorations. 

“I um have chai or cinnamon tea. Even some ginger…” Jonas trailed off when Blue started growling from the main hall. He couldn’t hear it but there was a banging coming from the front door. “Blue?” He started to make his way towards the hall before stopping and turning to Metzli. “We have to leave.” He said it as quietly as possible, setting the tea aside and motioning for Metzli to follow him to the back door. He didn’t know if that was really the wisest way to go, if they were out in the front they probably had people coming around the back but it was better than being trapped in the house, plus it would at least give Metzli time to run away if things were actually bad. He paused for a moment, contemplating grabbing a knife before deciding he probably wouldn’t use it even if given the chance. He didn’t know why these people were after him but he knew he wasn’t capable of actually hurting them in return. 

There was hesitation in Jonas’s face and body language. Fear constricting his voice and frazzling his movements. Metzli was perplexed at first, enamored with his reaction until the banging at the door registered in their senses. Blue was growling, hackles raised at the sign of danger. A good boy, really. A reflection of his owner. Both were too good to get hurt, and the vampire decided they needed to protect both of them. 

The banging continued as Metzli stared off into the void for a few moments. Unholstering their knife, they brandished it to Jonas, not realizing it might look like a threat. “I will take care of them,” They reassured, rolling the knife over their knuckles for a stronger hold. “Take Blue and—” CRACK!

The door split open before the sentence could be finished, and Metzli was sprung into action. Salt was thrown into them, followed by a foot aiming to kick them straight in the stomach. Metzli quickly rotated into it, catching the leg between their torso and half-limb. With the leverage, they drove their foot into the man’s chest, sending him into the door frame with enough force to splinter it. Wasting no time, Metzli plunged their blade into the man’s neck. They were quickly pulled away a little too late, and the second perpetrator attempted to compress the wound to no avail. Metzli simply stared as they waited, standing up to become a wall between the intruders and Jonas. 

Jonas reached to stop Metzli but it was too late. The other had already moved to protect him, though Metzli soon proved he was worrying for the wrong party as they expertly dealt with the situation. Thanks to Metzli taking the salt, Blue was able to move to place herself between it all and Jonas but not before he saw the knife enter the stranger’s throat. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him as a hand went to cover his mouth. He had seen so many dead but had never seen a person actively die in front of him before. 

The second perpetrator looked between her friend and the person before her. She was clearly out of her league and the look of fear on her face showed that she knew it. Jonas’ eyes widened as he got a good look at the woman’s face. He knew her, he moved his hand as was about to speak but the woman decided it was better to bail than to stick around. She left her now silent friend on the ground and bolted out the door. Jonas looked to Metzli, “What do we do?” The shock of the whole situation was easy to see on his face. 

“Are you hurt?” There were no visible wounds on Jonas, but the question couldn’t be helped. Not when his expression was filled with concern and fear. Metzli swallowed, looking back at the carnage to see a pool of blood growing beneath the man they’d killed. Jonas asked what they should do, and Metzli didn’t hesitate to take control of the situation. They’d already made the mistake of following their monstrous instincts, the least they could do was make a shift and create a kinder set of actions. 

“Go sit outside with Blue.” Metzli faced Jonas fully, ensuring he’d be able to see their lips. “I will clean this and it will be like it did not happen.” They looked up at the light, avoiding eye contact. “I am sorry. I react too quick and harsh.” Sucking in a deep breath, Metzli turned on their heel and began to roll into the rug by the door to prevent any more blood from reaching the floor. There was a lot of work to do, but Metzli had high hopes that they could get it done in a little over an hour. 

Jonas couldn’t focus on what Metztli was saying, his eyes refused to meet their lips as he stared at the blood pooling on his floor. His body felt numb, his brain frozen in place. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He barely registered Metzli beginning to clean or Blue gently nudging him out the back door. Before he knew it he was seated in the rocking chair on the porch outside staring at the wisteria tree as its purple branches swayed in the breeze. 

His hands were shaking as they moved to pet Blue purely out of habit. His brain was still very much focused on the picture of the man gasping for air as blood pooled from his neck. It was the first time Jonas had seen someone’s eyes go dim as their soul left their body. The ghost had risen from the man only to be expelled by the house, which was disturbing in its own right. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to go back in there or even how he was to resume baking, if Metzli even asked him to continue. His fingers curled into Blue’s fur as he shoved his face against her, the tears rolling down his cheeks disappearing into the soft fluff. The only thing he could think of now was how he wished Lil was here. 

#writing #metzli #muertarte

[magmahearts]

TIMING: current PARTIES: @muertarte & @magmahearts SUMMARY: cass holds metzli to their deal. it might not be the worst thing in the world. CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of past child abuse

She shouldn’t be doing this. On some level, Cass knew that. Sure, fae bound people to their words all the time — Cass even did it herself, when she had to — but this kind of promise was particularly dangerous. Kuma’s fate was still fresh in her mind, still something she was trying to figure out how to justify. Was this a thing heroes did? She couldn’t imagine Captain America doing anything like this. But… it wasn’t like she had a ton of options, did she? People didn’t exactly stick around for Cass. Kuma was proof that even when they were bound to, they might decide she wasn’t worth it. And she was so sick and tired of not being worth it. She was done with it. 

So… so she’d bound someone else. So what? It wasn’t like she was going to hurt them, or make them do anything bad. She wouldn’t do anything like that. She wasn’t that kind of a person. 

But she could use lunch. And she was pretty broke. And asking Metzli to bring her a sandwich was, all things considered, the tamest use of a bind. There was definitely no way anyone could get hurt from this. Right? 

Cass glanced up at the approaching footsteps, flashing a bright grin. “What kind did you get? Ham?”

Frustration fueled Metzli’s gait as they approached the girl sitting, proud grin plastered over her face. They had half a mind to rip it off of her and shove it down her throat, but that, Honey had notified them, was out of the question. Fae binds weren’t something Metzli was familiar with, and they were kicking themself for not listening more intently to Honey’s ramblings about them. Besides a fae themself, she knew the most about them, it seemed.

If they had just listened, they wouldn’t have made what they thought was a petulant promise a child needed to feel better. And why were they trying to do that anyway? She didn’t matter to them, and nothing in the world really had any type of meaning. Not one Metzli could find at least. They supposed they saw a bit of themself in the pixels of her messages, a quiet cry for help that no one bothered to listen to when everyone seemed to run their damn mouths all the time. It wouldn’t happen again though. They’d be sure of it once they made her let them go. 

“You said you wanted the ham. I got ham.” Metzli hissed with a monotone voice. They gripped their umbrella tightly and closed the distance between the two, throwing the sandwich bag at Cass. “There you go. Now release me, girl.” Their neutral face flashed a hint of irritation, and they snapped their fingers to speed her up. 

It was clear that Metzli wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but Cass was sure they’d warm up to it as time went on. Sure, she might not be the kind of person anyone ever stuck around for on purpose, but she could still bring something to the table. She’d gotten a Netflix login from the last person who’d thanked her, and while she didn’t exactly have a computer or smart TV in her cave, she could totally log it in on Metzli’s TV if they wanted her to. It wasn’t like she was offering nothing here! 

So, Metzli needed some time to warm up. So what? They’d get there eventually. Considering the promise they’d made, they kind of had to. It hadn’t worked out with Kuma, but she’d be more careful this time. She’d make sure to be less demanding, less clingy, less… her. If she put on a good enough act, if she pretended to be someone worth being, Metzli would fall for it. Cass might not be able to lie, but she could twist the truth into what she needed it to be. She could twist herself into what she needed to be. She could do that.

Her smile faltered a little at Metzli’s tone, but she recovered quickly, catching the sandwich and tearing it open a little too quickly. It’d been a while since she’d gotten a meal that wasn’t found in a dumpster or scavenged from the woods. Which was fine, those things were fine, but she was a little hungry. She scarfed down the sandwich quickly, barely taking time to chew, and was finished by the time Metzli finished speaking again. Furrowing her brow, she looked up at them. “But that wasn’t the promise. I never said I’d release you for the sandwich.”

Eerily, Metzli tilted their head curiously at Cass. She ate as if she hadn’t had a proper meal in months, further shaping an image of a version of Metzli that was long in the past. Her need for their promise was becoming abundantly clear, but the vampire could be no parent and they had no desire to be. They had enough trouble being a friend, and it was only a matter of time until Cass saw just how incapable they truly were. 

Metzli sighed, growing uncomfortable with the heat surrounding them and their umbrella. A fiery demise wasn��t exactly what they had in mind for that day, but it wasn’t out of the question. The more they thought about it, the more they liked the idea, and they almost smiled as they thought of the release. “Hmph…” Metzli absentmindedly chuckled, blinking to themself so they could refocus on the nuisance in front of them.

“Okay. Fine. Pues, is my job right now done?” They paused, crouching to meet Cass’s eyeline. “Or are you going to work me like dog?” Metzli tutted, slightly proud at how good their English was getting. There was still a mistake, but it was better nonetheless. 

If Cass was aware of Metzli’s eyes on her as she ate, she made no mention of it. She’d spent so much of her life being ignored that she rarely worried about being noticed now. No one had ever said anything about her skinny frame or the way you could see her ribs so clearly outlined beneath her skin before, so why would they start now? If it hadn’t caused anyone to worry when she was ten, it certainly wouldn’t be cause for concern now that she was twenty. She studied the sandwich wrapper for a moment, greedily picking out the crumbs and popping them into her mouth until the paper was all that was left. It was tucked away into her pocket — later, she’d find a garbage can to throw it away in. 

Her expression shifted a little when Metzli spoke again, becoming almost… offended at the implication that she’d force them to work until they dropped. Some nymphs might, sure, but not Cass. Metzli was lucky, really, that they were learning their lesson about promises from her and not from someone crueler. 

“I’m not trying to work you,” she said, a little petulant. “I just thought maybe we could hang out. I’ve got — My place isn’t far from here. I could show you where I live, so you can drop by sometimes. Or we could go to your place? I can log my Netflix in on your TV! Have you seen Legends of Tomorrow? It’s kind of corny, but pretty good. I bet you’d like it!” Never mind that she had little idea of what Metzli might like. The oread was doing little more than grasping at straws, desperate for companionship but unsure how to earn it, even with the promise in place.

“Hang…out?” The phrase still didn’t make any sense to Metzli. No hanging ever occurred when someone asked them to do so. Other activities ensued, but never a hanging. “Hmm…” They mulled over the offer, wondering if there would still be no swaying bodies. If Cass simply wanted to spend time with them, they supposed that was fine too, but there wasn’t much to them. “Is this to…for real hang a person? Or do you mean you want to spend time with someone?” They asked, surmising it was the latter, but still hoping for something a little more macabre. Though, they didn’t really have a say thanks to the promise. 

“I ‘am not’…very good at…hanging out.” Metzli stated dryly, making air quotes for emphasis with their only hand as they’d seen others do. They did it wrong, using them on the wrong part of the statement, but they were still learning, and Honey mentioned that fae liked balance. Metzli was going to test that theory, and hoped that if they had to deal with a petulant girl, she could at least teach them a thing or two about social norms. 

Metzli, Cass was learning, was a very literal person. In a way, it was almost familiar. Plenty of the fae she’d known back home had been similarly confused by metaphorical speech, and Cass herself might fall victim to it from time to time in spite of her relatively successful attempts to ingrain herself into human culture. She thought maybe language had something to do with it. Metzli spoke with an accent, used words that weren’t English from time to time in a way that reminded Cass of some of the much older members of her former aos sí, the ones who’d refused to adhere to the new language when it changed on the island and only began to adopt English when it became abundantly clear that it was going to stay. It did mean that Cass knew how to navigate such a barrier, though. The aos sí had never been good for much, but at least they’d given her the necessary tools to do that.

“No actual hanging, no,” she confirmed, shaking her head. “Just spending time. You don’t have to be good at it or anything.” She paused for a moment, considering her options before adding, “I just don’t really like to be alone sometimes.” Forthcoming in a way she usually wasn’t, but if she wanted to make Metzli her friend — and given the fact that they were, like, the only one she’d managed to bind into a meaningful promise so far, she did — there was going to need to be some kind of give and take. “I can show you my comic books, if you want. You’d probably like Batman.” All dark and brooding. It totally fit Metzli’s vibe. 

Cass didn’t like being alone. That awful truth made something ache inside them somehow and Metzli’s eyes widened minutely, hardly changing from their neutral expression. But, as quickly as that sensation surfaced, it was gone, and all the vampire was left with was confusion. Cass’s honesty, while admirable, shouldn’t have mattered to Metzli, yet it began to. 

Loneliness was a good thing. It wasn’t meant to ignite pain. Having nothing and being nothing, Metzli learned, was happiness. In a world where nothing held meaning, it only made sense to live that way. Be just as the world ran. For Cass though, that didn’t come so easily, further baffling them. But why? Were their beliefs wrong? Was she a version of what they had been when they were human? Is that why the embers from their ignited heart burned instead of warming them like it had around Honey’s affections? 

Blinking the bewilderment and flurry of thoughts away, Metzli nodded once. “Fine.” They finally agreed, dryly. “Show me your books on Manbat.”

It wasn’t like being alone was a new thing. Cass had been alone all her life. From the rejection of her aos sí, where she’d found herself neglected at best. (And at worst? It was best not to think about.) After they expelled her entirely, life had become a series of ‘survival of the fittest’ situations in which Cass managed to make it out the other side through luck alone. Companionship had been nearly impossible to pin down, and even harder to keep. Being alone was familiar.

She hated it anyway.

It was a stupid thing to hate, she knew. You had to learn to enjoy your own company sooner or later, but Cass hated her own company. There were few people in the world she wanted to be around less than herself. It made it easy to understand why no one ever stuck around for long, even if it didn’t make it any easier when they left. But things were different with Metzli; Metzli couldn’t leave. And they’d be better about it than Kuma had, wouldn’t they? They weren’t human, so they knew how things like this worked. They knew the potential consequences. Maybe Cass wasn’t the kind of person anyone would ever want to hang out with without something forcing their hand, but surely her company was better than the consequences of a broken promise bind, right?

She grinned when Metzli agreed to look at her comics, bouncing on her heels. “Batman,” she corrected, already turning to lead the vampire back towards her cave. “Manbat’s a totally different character. He’s ugly.”

With an annoyed roll of their eyes, Metzli gripped their umbrella tighter and followed Cass. She obviously needed someone, especially if she was willing to spend her time with someone as inhuman as Metzli. Sure, they weren’t human, but they didn’t exactly behave like them either. That humanity was stripped away so long ago that they couldn’t recall who they were to begin with. If they weren’t killing or exacting Eloy’s will, what good were they? Of what use were they to anyone? Metzli had faith, albeit very little, that they could be more than just the shell Eloy filled with his ideals and needs. 

“Girl,” They began, trying to get Cass’s attention. “My friend told me you are fae. There are many kind. Which are you?” Metzli usually preferred silence when it came to walks, but they needed to know more about their new companion. She could prove to be more of a danger than she let on. “And how old you are? No parent?”

She could feel Metzli moving behind her. Their footfalls on the earth, the way their toes nudged the stones. They walked lightly; Cass always liked people like that. The terrain didn’t mind if you stomped on it — rocks were sturdy things, after all — but it always seemed a little impolite not to at least walk with care. Cass’s own footfalls were light, though not as light as one might assume by looking at her. She was heavier than she looked, made of stone and magma instead of skin and bones. Her glamour could change the way she looked, but not what was underneath it. 

Glancing back as Metzli spoke, she hummed. The older nymphs in the aos sí would have cringed at the question coming from a non-fae, would have warned her never to reveal her true nature to anyone who wouldn’t fully understand it. But those nymphs hadn’t understood her, so what did they know? She didn’t have to continue following the advice of people who’d abandoned her. “I’m a nymph,” she replied, jumping up to balance on a stone for a moment before dropping back to the ground. “An oread. Back where I come from, I lived in a volcano. But there are no volcanoes here, so…” She shrugged. The mineral abnormality in Wicked’s Rest wasn’t exactly volcanic, but there was something familiar about it all the same. It was enough to satiate. 

“And I’m…” She paused a moment, wrinkling her brow. No one had ever asked her how old she was before. She didn’t know her birthday — none of the nymphs in the aos sí had ever cared enough to remember it, much less share it with her — and she’d certainly never had anyone celebrate her growing older. It would be a guess, really; she couldn’t remember the first few years of life, after all, and it was hard to pick out how old she’d been when that first fuzzy memory had formed. “Less than thirty, I think.” She was pretty sure she looked like the college students in town, and all of them were younger than thirty. The mention of a parent sent a brief look across her face, sad and uncertain and gone in a heartbeat. “No, no parents. I never really met them.” They didn’t want me, she thought, but it seemed a little pathetic to say it aloud. And dangerous, too. If Metzli knew Cass’s own parents hadn’t wanted her, maybe they’d decide the consequences of a broken promise beat hanging out with the nymph after all. “What about you? How old are you? Do you have family? You mentioned a friend, do you have a lot of those?” The questions came in quick succession. Cass found that she’d much rather talk about Metzli than herself.

An oread? Ore and…volcano…? Metzli supposed it made sense, but they didn’t really know much about volcanoes to navigate what questions to ask. They made a mental note to ask Honey to go on the Google with them and learn more. For the time being, Cass was shifting the conversation in the exact direction they were trying to avoid, using their own tactic against them. It was hard enough to talk, but now they were being inquired about a subject had little knowledge on. They hardly knew themself aside from hard facts. At least that was what she was asking for. For now. 

“I have one-hundred and sixty years. I think. Found my certificate after I died but no happy birthday.” They looked down at her, continuing to walk once she moved on from her rock. The more they watched, the more Metzli couldn’t believe she wasn’t actually a child. Below thirty seemed very correct, but it looked like neither one of them got to know her true age, and that irked the vampire. They saw more and more of themself in her and they began to recall pieces of themself that Eloy attempted to dispose of. It was both a relief and a burden.

“No family. Murdered by vampires. I turned, they did not.” Metzli arched a brow at Cass and they sucked their teeth in disapproval at her final question. It seemed so silly. “Do I look like I have many friend?” Most told them they were too cold and too weird to make any, and honestly, they thought by it was better that way. “Only one friend for me. She will not leave me alone when we meet first time, but I like her now.” They smiled absentmindedly, and they paused their walk to feel at their face until it went back to neutral. That hadn’t happened before. Smiling about someone? Honey wasn’t even there. Not wanting to dwell, Metzli moved on, looking back at Cass. “Do fae not stay in community? My friend said this too. She likes you all.”

For a vampire, Metzli didn’t seem to know much about the world. Most vampires — especially old vampires — knew better than to make promises to strangers. Cass was lucky Metzli had never gotten that lesson. If they had, there was no way they’d be hanging out with her now. And she was finding them pretty cool to hang out with. She’d met people far older than a hundred and sixty, of course; oreads tended to be long-lived, and a lot of the older fae back home were nearly a thousand. But none of them were quite like Metzli, and none of them had ever cared much for Cass. The older fae liked her even less than the younger ones did. She’d never quite understood why.

“I never celebrated mine, either,” she replied with another shrug, figuring that was probably what Metzli meant about a happy birthday. She wasn’t sure if other fae celebrated theirs or not. Even when she was living in the aos sí, she wasn’t invited to attend many celebrations. For all she knew, the others had weekly parties and decided not to tell her. It was a little depressing to admit that that wouldn’t be much of a surprise. 

She hummed sympathetically at Metzli’s story, nodding her head. “That sucks,” she offered. “I’m sorry that happened.” To never have a family was bad enough, but she thought it might be worse to have one and lose them. Maybe. It was probably one of those comparisons that was difficult to really make, since no one could properly experience both. “I don’t know. I think you’re fun to be around. And I think anybody could have a lot of friends, depending on the kind of people they meet. There’s people out there for everybody, right?” She desperately needed it to be true, because it would mean there were people out there for her, too. People who might not have to be promise-bound just to hang out with her. There were certainly people out there for Metzli, given the fond expression that came across their face as they spoke of their friend. It was clear that, whoever their friend was, they cared about her. Cass wondered what it felt like, to be cared about. “Some do,” she replied, trying to keep the bitterness from her tone. “I don’t. I used to, but…” She trailed off, shrugging. “They didn’t want me, so… Forget them, right?”

“Hmm…” Nodding simply, Metzli looked away from Cass and tilted their umbrella forward so as to obscure their view of the mirror in front of them. They needed to divert the conversation to something else, or just put an end to it. Though they weren’t sure that was likely. Cass appeared to be the type to not let the beautiful absence of sound grace her ears. Metzli was kicking themself more and more for falling into her pathetic bind. 

Sure, they were supernatural, but Eloy didn’t really take the time to teach anything other than how to fight and what happens if one doesn’t follow orders. Nothing else mattered outside their clan and the undead, especially other species. But, Metzli was discovering they had much to learn, and it was crucial that they did. They had no idea what else could be out there, right in Wicked’s Rest. It was by sheer luck alone that Cass wasn’t as dangerous as she could be. She just needed someone to pretend to care. Taking a deep breath, Metzli sighed and attempted to shake their thoughts away so they could focus on what Cass was saying next. They blinked, just barely catching her voice but not quite understanding. 

“Sucks…? Like, chupar? I—oh. Oh, that is not what you mean.” Metzli stopped again, placing the umbrella down next to them and pulling out a small pocketbook and pen, already feeling the itch the sun’s rays caused. “I should remember this.” They knelt on the ground and propped the book on their knee to scribble a note, careful to balance since they only had one hand to use. Without even trying, Cass was already proving to be helpful. Metzli was beginning to think being forced to spend time with her wouldn’t be so bad, and could actually prove to be beneficial for both of them. They could learn the language better and she could have company. A balanced exchange. “Do is say ‘appreciate’ instead if I am happy with information you give?”

Cass glanced back as Metzli’s footfalls paused behind her, a little surprised to see that they’d lowered their umbrella. The sun was bad for vampires, wasn’t it? She wasn’t exactly an expert on other species — the aos sí hadn’t really taught her much, and the group she’d run with briefly after being cast out hadn’t been much more forthcoming — but she’d picked up on a few things here and there. Some were obvious and easy to find out, like werewolves and the full moon. Others were a little more difficult to unpack, like sirens and mirrors. But vampires and the sun? That was, like, classic storytelling, and there was usually some truth in the classics. Plus, Metzli wouldn’t have brought an umbrella if they didn’t need it. They didn’t strike Cass as the type to want to make a fashion statement.

“You don’t have to write things down,” she said. “I can just remind you, you know. Or, like, I can write it for you.” If she made herself useful enough, maybe Metzli would want to stay even without the promise. It seemed like a pipe dream, like some impossible thing, but she could try, couldn’t she? And if it failed, it wouldn’t matter because the promise would still be there. It definitely made a pretty good safety net. 

Luckily, there were plenty of ways to be useful. Not in the ways that group after the aos sí had wanted her to be, not in any of the ways that made her stomach turn, but in easier ways. Metzli didn’t know much about the supernatural world. Cass knew enough to get by. She could make something of that. She could make it matter. “Sure, you could say ‘appreciated.’ I don’t think anybody can bind you with that. Definitely don’t say ‘I owe you one,’ though. Or ‘thank you,’ but you probably knew that one. The safest thing is to just not have manners, though.” They were getting closer to the cave now, the faint scent of sulfur rising up from the nearby presence of the mineral anomaly. The entrance to the cave was pretty well hidden; most people couldn’t find it unless they knew it was there, though some people had stumbled onto it accidentally. Cass could feel the low thrum of the rocks like a second heartbeat welcoming her home. “Also, if you give me something, I can take it. So, like, ‘I give you my word,’ or ‘take my word for it’ or anything like that. And if somebody asks if they can have your name and you say it, they can take that, too.” Now that she had Metzli bound, she didn’t really need them to be in the dark anymore. It would kind of suck if another fae bound them to something, after all; then they’d have less time to hang out with Cass.

“I like to write the stuff down. I read later and practice. English is stupid and I do not understand what is not plain speak. Does not…” Metzli tutted to themself, attempting to find the right words. “Does not make sense.” They remained knelt on the ground, looking basically at eye level with Cass given both of their heights. 

Information was coming so freely then, and it was easy to get swept up in it. Habits died hard, and one of the many Eloy had gifted Metzli was listening and to not move when spoken to. It wasn’t something they inherently noticed. They were a good listener, after all. Nothing else mattered but the information they were supposed to be digesting. That was why when their skin began to burn instead of only stinging, they just chose to ignore it. They only barely flinched when Eloy ripped away their arm. A little sun was nothing in comparison. It was barely a sizzle, marked by the sound of Metzli’s skin actually sizzling, but it was hardly enough pain for them to really care. Besides, they knew they could handle at least thirty minutes before damage really began. 

“Okay,” They nodded, finally speaking when it appeared that Cass was done. “I like manners so I will keep those.” Metzli said with a look of distaste on their visage. The smell of sulfur began to irritate their nose, strong enough to force an annoyed groan past their lips. They followed the trail of the scent, toward what seemed to be a large opening. Eyes narrowed slightly, attempting to get a better image. “Girl.” They called out, “Is this home?” Metzli stood up finally, umbrella still at their side, completely forgotten and overshadowed by the smell. 

“English is kind of dumb,” Cass agreed with a shrug. It was just about the only thing the older fae back home had said that she’d ever really agreed with. Most of their views were horribly antiquated, but English? English fucking sucked sometimes. Cass had mostly picked it up from the younger fae, perfecting Hawaiian first. It had certainly been the easier of the two. English had so many stupid arbitrary rules to it. “But you don’t have to write it down, like, right this second or anything. I can tell you again when we get out of the sun.” 

As she said it, the oread moved forward slowly, closing the distance between herself and Metzli to take the umbrella and hold it over the vampire’s head. It wasn’t something she would have been able to do if they weren’t kneeling — even as it was, she had to stand on her toes and the umbrella still brushed against the top of their hair — but it was doable in this position. It was definitely preferable to listening to the sizzling of the vampire’s skin. That was something Cass had never quite gotten used to. While other nymphs didn’t mind violence towards anyone who wasn’t fae — and sometimes even promoted it — it always made Cass feel… itchy. Strange, bad, wrong. She didn’t want Metzli to suffer in any way, especially not when preventing it was simple. She gave Metzli a few moments to finish what they were writing before letting the umbrella drop again, trusting that they’d pick it back up now that their hand was no longer otherwise occupied.

Cass simply nodded as Metzli replied that they’d keep their manners. Maybe not the best decision in a town like Wicked’s Rest, but at least she’d given them the tools they’d need to try to avoid other binds. She could probably offer them advice on how to get out of binds, but… She wouldn’t risk it unless necessary. Not when the only reason Metzli wanted to hang out with them in the first place was because of the promise tying them to the ‘duty.’ At the cave’s entrance now, Cass headed inside, stopping when she realized Metzli’s footfalls hadn’t picked up again behind her. Turning back, she nodded. “Yeah,” she confirmed. “You can’t see it really well from the outside, but I’ve got all my stuff in there.” She motioned to the entrance of the cave, largely obscured by its surroundings but possible to make out much easier with the nymph pointing to it. “We’ll be out of the sun inside, come on!”

Metzli stared at Cass intensely as she approached them, surprised she had cared enough to mend their cover for them. She was doing them a kindness, but the reason as to why was lost on them. There had to be a stipulation. “Hmm…” Metzli nodded, pocketing their book and pen, and taking the umbrella back. At that distance, they could see just how sad and tired Cass looked. She was hungry, desperately so. Though, food wouldn’t mend the incessant pain that caused her body to curl with uncertainty, as if she was protesting every one-two punch that life threw her way. 

Looking away, the vampire watched from their peripherals as Cass made her way to the cave. The opening wasn’t noticeable at first, but when she disappeared behind a dense thicket, Metzli was somehow able to make it out clearly. “Girl,” Their brows creased together as they walked up to the entrance, not yet crossing the boundary. “I will need invite inside. Vampire do not enter without invite.” Closing their umbrella, Metzli looked inside the supposed home. It was hardly one, to them, and their brows furrowed even more. The mirror was impossible to ignore. 

Metzli didn’t say much. Cass wondered if it was bitterness, anger at the fact that she’d bound them to be here. She wasn’t as naive as some might assume — she knew that Metzli wasn’t entirely happy with the situation. She knew that they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t have to be, knew that they never would have looked at Cass twice if Cass hadn’t forced them to do so. No one ever did. But… She could still have hope. Hope that, as time went on, Metzli might warm to the idea of friendship. That even if they would never come to like her in the way she so desperately needed to be liked, they might get to a point where they didn’t dislike her either. That would be better than what she had now, at least. Having someone was better than being alone, even if the someone you had wasn’t there by choice. 

“Oh!” She turned back to the cave, nodding her head. This did count as a private dwelling, didn’t it? And she had read about that, with vampires. It was a whole thing. She turned her body fully to face Metzli, flashing a quick grin. “Come in,” she said, hoping it was enough to count. She could make it clunkier — do the whole ‘I invite you to enter my dwelling’ thing — but it would feel a lot less natural. And Cass liked natural. “I usually hang out further back. Sometimes people find the entrance, the front part, but they don’t usually wander back too far.” And when they did, Cass tended to take some methods to scare them away. She liked people, liked company, but some things were hard to shake. She was still a nymph, even if she wasn’t a particularly good one, and that meant feeling at least a little protective over her domain. “I can show you the rest of it later, but we should probably just hang out up here for right now. People get lost, sometimes.” 

Finally given the formal invitation, Metzli stepped into the cave, accepting the shadows gratefully. Darkness was their mother, or so Honey said. She was much too poetic at times, but her statement was correct. It was why Eloy named the clan after the shadows. That was were comfort lay, where they felt most free. The silence ever a blanket of safety. No such grace was bestowed in Cass’s home though. She needed to fill it as badly as she needed to fill her heart, much to Metzli’s dismay. 

“Then it is time to show me the Batted Man, yes?” They spoke as they peered at the infinite darkness behind Cass. They could see it almost clearly, but the light behind them obscured their night vision. As much as Metzli wanted to see what was back there, they knew they had to do as Cass said. To their surprise, it wasn’t as bad as they thought it would be. Sure, they hated conversation and wished to be back home so they could stare at their wall, but her company was tame in comparison to Anita and Honey. “Where are the books of comics?”

This was a strange feeling. Cass wasn’t sure she’d ever intentionally had anyone over before, didn’t think she’d ever invited someone in vampire or no. People had visited the cave, sure, but the typical way things went was that someone found the cave and then found Cass after. She was secondary, even with something as simple as this. And that wasn’t the case this time. Metzli was here, in her home. She almost understood now why Kuma used to say she needed to tidy up any time someone was going to come by. It was like showing someone a piece of you, inviting them into the place where you lived. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. 

“Batman,” she corrected absently, though her tone was kind. Metzli might not understand pop culture yet, but they had a great guide. There were a lot of things Cass still didn’t quite get, especially in the human world, but superhero media made sense to her. There were heroes, in bright and colorful outfits. They tossed out clever one-liners and they saved the day, and sometimes people were afraid of them but they were still good. And there were villains, dark and scary but easy to identify. They tried to hurt people, but they failed in the end. The heroes won, every time. There was some comfort in that. “I’ll go grab them,” she said, because the comics she’d stolen from Kuma’s empty house were stashed away with other things she’d taken from the same location, and there were questions she didn’t want to answer. “You wait here! I’ll be right back.” Giving Metzli no time to argue, the nymph took off further into the cave, moving deftly through the darkness. She didn’t really need to see; in her cave, she could find her way around by feel alone.

“Hmph…” Was the only sound Metzli made in response. Cass was soon swallowed by the darkness, leaving the vampire to stand there and wait. Now that was the best part of this ‘hanging out’ so far. Without all the noise, Metzli was finally able to see the appeal of the cave. It was remote enough to have a veil of safety, but close enough to town that she could venture in whenever she needed to seek out company. The latter made Metzli recoil and grimace, and they opted to admiring the texture and patterns of the cave walls to pass some time. It only took a matter of seconds for their attention to dart back to their mind. 

They figured it likely wouldn’t be long before Cass returned but they retrieved their pocket sketchbook and sat down on the cold stone. Metzli dragged their pencil over paper, combining lines and shapes until a face began to form. The button nose, apple cheeks, and almond shaped eyes were the first to render. Then came the hair and the ears, ending with the eyebrows and a finite line placed with a practiced hand at the base of the neck. From memory, Metzli sketched Cass near-perfectly. A few details were a little askew since they had just met her, but it was easy to recognize who it was. They almost smiled then, happy with the opportunity to create, but they kept their expression neutral when Cass returned. Without saying a word, they ripped out the page and held it out for her to take. “For you. Do not overreact. Please.”

Bouncing a little, Cass wound her way through the cave. The tunnels were like something of a maze; it was no wonder that there were a few rotting bodies of hikers and spelunkers who’d gotten lost and never found their way back out again. Cass skipped past the old bones of one such unfortunate soul before darting off into another hallway, until she’d finally made it to the opening where she stored her comics. She knelt down beside the box, flipping through the covers. Metzli wouldn’t like that one. The art in that one sucked. That one was okay, but you needed to read, like, six more to really understand it. Finally, she found a handful she thought would suffice and gathered them into her arms, ducking out of the chamber and back into the twisting passageways of the cave.

She made her way back to Metzli in record time, finding them right where she’d left them with a look of concentration on their face. She watched from the shadows for a moment, not yet making her presence known. There was half a second where she thought the vampire might smile, but the notion seemed to vanish as quickly as it appeared. It was then that Cass finally reentered the main opening of the cave, comics in hand. She blinked as Metzli ripped a page from their book, stepping forward curiously. They told her not to overreact and, ever eager to please, to prove that she could be worth caring about if only given the chance, the nymph worked to school her features. It was hard. Her chest felt so warm that she was a little worried her glamour might fail beneath the magma, and she couldn't keep her hand from trembling as she reached out to take the paper. A drawing. Of her. Cass thought she might burst. “I love it,” she said quietly. It was the closest she’d come to accidentally thanking someone in years. “You’re a really good artist.” 

Emotion likes waves of the ocean reigned in, casting over Cass’s face. Flowing in powerfully, and receding just as quickly. Much to Metzli’s relief, there was no overwhelming reaction to be dampened. They never knew what to do in those scenarios, especially with their hands. It was either standing there awkwardly or back away, and they tended to avoid the former. The reaction to that was arguably worse. Dios, the yelling and frustration when someone felt disregarded was enough to cause Metzli’s own panic. 

Thankfully, there was no such thing occurring with Cass. She chose to listen, causing their brows to raise for a moment in surprise. Then, she complimented them, sparking some sort of feeling that immediately fell into the void. As all emotion did for them. Regardless, Metzli smiled—or rather, smiled in their own way. Their face remained completely neutral, yet they described it differently. 

“Your compliment is nice. Made me smile.” They paused, avoiding Cass’s eyes. “I have gallery and am an artist. Am supposed to be good.” Once the drawing was in Cass’s hand, Metzli put away their sketchbook and looked back to the fae, straightening their posture. The way she was looking at them began to unsettle them. It was too sweet, too…hopeful. Of all people, Metzli knew they weren’t one to have faith in. They were nothing, barely able to connect. Putting them in a bind would prove to be a mistake soon enough. 

She held the paper like a precious thing, careful not to bend or fold it. She’d have to find somewhere safe to keep it. The cave, as much as she adored it, was moist and humid in a way that wouldn’t do well for the sketchbook page in her hand. She may be able to preserve it a bit longer if she tucked it away between the pages of one of the comicbooks, but it would only be a temporary solution. Maybe she’d ‘acquire’ some kind of a frame for it. That was a thing people did, wasn’t it? They framed things and hung them up on walls. There were plenty of rocks along the cave walls that would work well enough as shelves, if she chose to use them as such. 

Carefully, Cass allowed herself to look back to Metzli. She was worried if she looked at them too long, the feelings in her chest might burst through, might cause that ‘overreaction’ Metzli had warned her against. And she didn’t want that. She wanted Metzli to like her. She wanted to be the kind of person they could like. So she only let herself meet their eye for a moment before looking away again, locking her gaze to a spot on the wall across the ‘room.’ 

“I’m glad,” she said, offering a smile of her own and working to make sure it wasn’t too wide. “I wanted to.” She glanced back involuntarily at the mention of a gallery, excitement thrumming in her chest. Was Metzli inviting her to something? It was difficult to tell, and she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but it seemed like the beginning of… something. “Maybe I could come by sometime,” she said, testing the waters hesitantly. “I’d love to see more of your work. I like art.” It was true, though it came with another truth that she hadn’t said aloud: she didn’t understand it. People always described the way art made them feel, and Cass had yet to have such a moment of tranquility while staring at a painting. She liked comic books, but that was because of the story. She liked the sketch in her hand, but that was because it was the first time anyone had ever done something that was just for her. Maybe she’d like Metzli’s art because she liked Metzli. Maybe she’d finally understand what people meant when they talked about art when she was standing in the gallery of someone she hoped to make her friend. “What kind of gallery is it? Paintings? Statues?” She was a little proud of herself for remembering that humans — and species that had once been human, it seemed — liked to display different kinds of art. She’d only really heard it spoken about once, in passing, by a stranger in a cafe, but she had a habit of latching on to information gleaned from strangers’ conversations. It came in handy. When people didn’t talk to you directly most of the time, it was pretty much the only way she knew how to learn anything.

There was something bristling beneath Cass’s skin, as if she was holding something back. Years—decades of being seen and not heard had aided Metzli in honing the skill of observation. A mouthful of silence tended to lead to a head full of unwanted secrets, and in that moment, they were getting intel on Cass. She wanted to react, wanted to show her appreciation in an explosive way. The more that Metzli looked at her, the more they could see how Cass attempted to end the spark on the fuse. 

They huffed to themself, tapping their foot anxiously as they realized what the two things they needed to do. Neither were options they wanted, and knew they’d regret. But…Metzli couldn’t ignore the reflection of a past so desperate and sad. They were right there, and needed somebody—anybody. The undertones of words slipping through clenched teeth screamed so loud and Metzli was the only one listening. They were always the only one listening. 

“Girl!” The word came out sudden and forlorn, a stark contrast to the usual robotic and dead tone. Metzli looked down at Cass and resigned themself to a decision they knew couldn’t be avoided. If they wanted to destroy the soldier Eloy had created, to undo what their parents had done, they had to start at the beginning. Maybe neither of them didn’t have any meaning, and maybe it would be pointless in the end, but Metzli still wanted to try. Still wanted to see a different outcome. “First, I take you to the gallery and show you the exhibits. Okay? Do not react.” Their fists curled as their whole body tensed for the next part. The one where they told Cass to disregard what they had just said. “Second, you can react however you want—but…” They tensed their hand through their hair, preparing, “Only for seven second. No hug. No touch. Okay?”

Metzli’s voice was sudden, filling the cave all at once. Part of Cass had to hold back a wince at it, too many memories of sudden voices and sudden violence that followed. But Metzli wasn’t like any of the people Cass had known before, and she knew that. There was a moment of anxiety, a quick uptick in the pounding in her chest, but there was only a moment. She’d already decided she trusted Metzli. And Cass wasn’t one to go back on trusting someone unless they’d really earned it. 

Carefully, she continued to school her expression as Metzli said they’d take her to the gallery. It wasn’t quite a promise — Cass couldn’t bind them to it — but it was about as close as things got without crossing the line. And she believed them, anyway. She nodded, maintaining her version of stoic. It wasn’t very convincing. “I would like that,” she said, slow and careful to keep from breaking the rule of no reaction. If this was who Metzli wanted her to be, she was going to have to get better at being it. She’d practice in the cave after they parted ways today, stare at her reflection in the cave’s puddles until she could smooth it down into something a little… less. 

But… then Metzli got to the second thing. Gave permission to react in whatever way Cass wanted to react. And in spite of that trust she felt for the vampire, Cass hesitated. Metzli might say she was allowed to react however she wanted, but did they mean it? Could they handle it? Everyone Cass had ever tried to get close to had found her too difficult to stick around for long, too much of herself to ever be something worth keeping. Her parents hadn’t even tried, and the fae who’d taken her in after their departure had made it so abundantly clear that Cass, when she was being herself, was not an easy person to love. And it wasn’t as if they could lie about that, was it? So she paused, the hand not holding the sketch Metzli had given her clenched into a fist so tight that her fingernails dug deep into the palms of her hands. “That’s okay,” she said carefully. “I don’t need to.” 

Hesitation was written over Cass’s face, uncertainty that came with the transgressions of others. She was holding back. For what, Metzli didn’t know, but they didn’t like it. They could feel the tension in her body taking the whole room, and they sighed. She couldn’t find her voice in fear of theirs. Funny thing was, Metzli barely had a voice of their own. In that, the two were equal. Both of their worlds attempted to drive out the one thing that was supposed to be most intimately theirs, and Metzli would be a hypocrite to let the thumb pressing Cass against the floor to continue to crush her. 

“Do it, girl” Metzli beckoned, a hint of agitation permeating onto their breath. They had half a mind to compel her to do what she felt but that would make them as bad as Eloy, and the situation they were in wasn’t an emergency. “If you are happy, be it. Be you...” They paused, standing even taller. “Be you, idiot.” Metzli allowed a corner of their lips to curl ever so slightly at that, and they leaned forward, brow arched as they waited patiently for Cass’s response. 

She would be wise to allow herself to be honest with her feelings, to present herself wholly and fully. Despite being unable to completely feel their emotions or understand themself, Metzli knew this at their core. If there was no sincerity in her actions, then every smile will inevitably be a forgery so good that she fools herself. Maybe even Metzli, too. They hoped they wouldn’t fall for that. Their attention to detail was a little too good for such facades. Or so they hoped. Whatever the case, they waited for the illusion to dissipate so that Cass could let it all out. Well, whatever seven seconds would allow, at least.

There was some part of her, deep down, that wondered if it might be a trap. If Metzli was trying to convince her to be herself so they’d have an excuse to leave, just as everyone else had. Like the nymphs who’d tossed her out with the claim that she was too dangerous to love, like the people who’d left her behind the moment she stopped being useful to them, like Kuma and the love that had only been unconditional until it wasn’t. But Metzli couldn’t leave. Not without consequence. And unlike Kuma, they knew it. They knew what those consequences might be, had a friend who knew enough about fae to give them a fighting chance. They wouldn’t lay a trap knowing it would doom them just as much as it would Cass. They couldn’t. 

And there was the smile, too. Small, barely there, but present all the same. Though she’d only known them a short while, Cass knew Metzli well enough to know that this was a rare thing. Not something they’d waste to bait a trap that wouldn’t actually do them any good. Even though they had the capability to do so, Metzli wasn’t lying now. Cass could tell. 

Just like that, it was like a switch had been flipped. That excitement, poorly contained before, spilled out in a little squeal that bounced off the walls of the cave. Cass bounced on her feet, grin so wide it nearly split her face, and the thrill of excitement in her eyes shone so bright that her glamour flickered for a moment, allowing her eyes to glow the dull orange of the magma that danced beneath her skin. “This is the coolest thing ever! I can’t wait to see more of your art, it’s gonna be so cool!” 

Watching Cass react just as she wanted was like staring at the sun. Blinding and jarring in all the worst ways. And to make matters worse, Metzli wasn’t allowed to look away. Not when they were the one who told her to let it out. As horrible as it was, it was a relief to see that they didn’t reflect the damage they had been given. Rather, they were a reflection of what the treat they had yearned for.  But god, did it have to incite such a loud reaction? 

Metzli stood stoically and waited for Cass to settle, and wasn't surprised when she continued. She had two seconds left, and they were happy to see the finish line. They were worried if she had been allowed any more time that she surely would have literally exploded. While Metzli didn’t necessarily care if they died, it wouldn’t exactly be convenient when they were just getting to experience more than just Eloy’s clan. 

It probably wasn’t fair to cut Cass’s reaction short, but she was given enough, Metzli thought. More than she ever had, or so they were gathering. “With that done,” They leaned in, nudging their head toward the outside of the cave with only a slight grimace from the overstimulation. “Bring your books and we go to gallery. I show you art and you show me books after, sí?”

It was strange, the way Metzli didn’t look away. Cass was a lot. She knew she was a lot. Everyone she’d ever tried to get close to had told her as much, usually unprompted. She was loud when she was supposed to be quiet, quiet when she was supposed to be loud. Most people couldn’t stand to look at her for long, and she was used to that. It sucked, but she was used to it. But Metzli wasn’t looking away, and Cass knew it was only because she’d bound them, knew that they wouldn’t be here if not for their ignorance about all things fae, knew that there was a big difference between someone choosing to look at you and someone being forced to, but it felt good anyway. 

When Metzli announced that the ‘time limit’ they’d set in place was over, Cass quickly put the mask back up, forced her excitement down as far as it would go. She liked this thing with Metzli. If she wanted to keep it, she had to play by certain rules. That was okay. There were always rules to interactions; Metzli was just nice enough to say them aloud. 

“Okay,” Cass agreed, careful not to let the excitement back into her voice. “I’ll grab my books. And you can keep some at the gallery, if you decide you like them. Just give them back when you’re done reading them, right?” She gathered the comics under her arm, tucking Metzli’s drawing in between the pages of one of the thicker ones to keep it safe. “Come on. Let’s go.” It would be hard, not being too much. But Cass could do it. She’d make sure she was worth keeping around this time. And things would be different. They had to be.

#muertarte #metzli: eat fresh #wickedswriting #child abuse tw

[deathisanartmetzli]

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli @braindeacl​ @monstersfear​

SUMMARY: Metzli and Emilio team up to save Eilidh.

WARNINGS: amputation, gore

Waiting until nightfall was difficult the moment James blinked into Metzli’s apartment. Macleod was in danger, held captive by an Elder, and the only reason she was still alive was because the vampire wanted to have its fun. Minutes felt like hours as James explained. Even as they shot up from their seat, they knew they couldn’t do anything but drive. Setting out for a fight while the sun was out would be suicide, and they needed to get to their partner alive so they could kill the vampire and bring her home to safety. Gritting their teeth, they waited, taking the time to call in a favor to the last person who wanted to help the kind he swore to kill. Macleod would be pissed, but Emilio, a slayer, was one of the few people they trusted to handle an elder. He could blab all he wanted about how he needed Metzli alive for the sake of killing every Cadena clan member, but there was something else between the two. A connection that derived from pain, that stemmed from one man.

“Get out of the fucking way!” Metzli honked at the car in front of them, swerving over the yellow line to pass. Tires screeched as they veered into position, finally free of any obstacles ahead. “Pinche cabrón…” they muttered, squeezing the steering wheel in an effort to force the car to go faster than 190mph. It was risky, especially with someone with a beating heart in the car, but their love was on the line. If she died…no, they couldn’t think about that. They couldn’t think of losing another soul. Moving the gear shift, they barked at James, “Go check on Macleod and give me an update. And don’t give away anything.” James didn’t go in an instant, digesting the command a little too long for their liking. “Now!” Punching the steering wheel and running their hand roughly through their black forest of curls, James blipped away, finally doing what Metzli needed to quell their nerves as much as they could. What they actually wanted to do was cry. Sob into the steering wheel and beg Fate for another way. To take them instead. But they couldn’t. They wouldn’t. Instead, they pumped that energy into anger and held onto it like a lifeline. Like it was the only thing holding them together.

Metzli could feel eyes on them, seeing Emilio’s face in their peripherals. He was probably judging, as he always did. “What?” The vampire had gotten good at thinking before speaking, but all their thoughts were consumed with Eilidh. And that fueled their impulsivity more than they would have liked. “No me miras así.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Metzli so desperate before. Even when the world was falling apart, they always seemed to have an underlying smugness about them. Privately, Emilio had always been a little grateful for that. It was so much easier to hate someone when they exuded a hint of arrogance even at their lowest moments, and he’d needed to hate Metzli since long before he’d met them. Eloy was dead, and what was left of his clan was spread thin and growing smaller with each stake Emilio drove home. Metzli offered a convenient target for his anger, for his grief.

But only when they were their normal self.

They hadn’t been, when they’d come to him for help. There was a desperation clinging to them like he’d never seen before, one that hadn’t been present during that first fight when Emilio left them in the snow, one that had been absent in their apartment when he came to tell Milo and Silas about Andreas’s death. Although it was a kind of desperation Emilio knew well, a kind he’d seen in the mirror more often than he could count, it wasn’t one he’d ever seen on Metzli before. And part of him thought he should have been enjoying it a little. Part of him thought he ought to be glad that something finally knocked them off their damn horse, but… There was something empty about it. It was hard to feel decent at all.

He studied them for a moment, taking in their state. He’d heard them talk about their partner before, but never met her in person. He’d always figured that was an intentional thing. It was why it was a little surprising that he was the one they’d come to for help here. Maybe it was just because he was the only slayer they knew who owed them a favor, maybe they knew he’d say yes to anything that let him turn someone to dust and risk his own ass in the process. Maybe they just needed cannon fodder in case shit hit the fan. It didn’t matter much. What mattered was that he was here, and he had no intention of failing, if only for his pride. He’d get Metzli’s partner back, lord it over their head for less time than he’d pretend to want to.

When they snapped at him, it wasn’t much of a surprise. Emilio held up his hands as if surrendering, glancing out the windshield instead. “You good to do this? Because if not, I can go in there on my own. Get her out, take care of this. You can stay in the car, if you need to.” And then, because it sounded a little too close to concern for his liking, he added, “I don’t want you watching my back if you’re not up for it. I’ve got shit to do, you know. Don’t want you getting me killed.”

“I’m fine to do this!” Metzli barked back at Emilio, irritated with the idea that they might not be capable. They’d killed plenty. Done so with ease. With someone they loved on the line, why wouldn’t it be a piece of cake? They were a protector now. Power was back by love instead of abuse now, and that was way more worth conserving than a master’s life. “I need her.” Teeth gritted together, trying to force tears to not fall. “She-she needs me, okay? I know you don’t think I care about anything or anyone but myself, but I want to care for her. And Milo. And everyone in my life.” Their breath hitched, clashing into the lump forming in their throat. “I may not have a soul, but I want to. I want to be everything that was taken, and that means doing this. That means you’re making it out, and so is she.” They paused, coming to a powerful conclusion. “Even if I don’t.” Eyes stared off ahead, letting the words wash over them.

Eloy had taken everything from them, made their life only have one purpose. Everything they were, everything they did, was for him. Metzli never had the chance to be a person until they met everyone in White Crest. And they knew how important that was. They were a child of a loveless and abusive upbringing, only dreaming of the day they might know what the warmth of true love felt like. By no means would they go down easily, or by some grace, at all. There was still much to experience, and they wanted to do it with everyone they loved, to everyone who gave their life a greater purpose. But they just couldn’t ignore the very real possibility of death standing behind them. Now that they had everything, Metzli knew it would be okay. Their mark had been made from the silent wishes of their heart because it knew that to live as nothing meant to die as nothing, with no trace of their print on the world. Having lived as something now, they could resign to the idea of dying in the name of that love. At least then, their death finally had meaning. And that was way more than Eloy or their parents wanted them to have. “You ever gone against an elder before?”

The anger was a familiar thing, even if it wasn’t familiar in Metzli. Emilio found himself clenching his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms unconsciously. Was this what he looked like when things got bad? What he sounded like? Snapping at every little thing, turmoil clinging to every inch of him? It was hard to look at. Maybe it wouldn’t have been if it had felt a little less like looking in a damn mirror. Emilio hadn’t liked himself in years now; the less he saw of himself, the better. And right now? He was seeing more of himself in Metzli than he’d care to admit. “I was offering you an out,” he said, and it came out flatter than he’d meant for it too. “I wasn’t saying you’re not capable. I know you can handle yourself.” A pause. And then, “And I know… The other shit, too.” At least, most of it. He knew Metzli cared for the people in their life on some level, even if years of slayer conditioning made it impossible to accept the depth of that care. He’d been taught, since he was a toddler, that everything for a soulless vampire only went surface deep. Metzli was the first one who’d ever challenged that way of thinking. Metzli was the first one who’d ever had time to. Every soulless vampire that came before them wound up with a stake in their heart long before they could invite him into any kind of a conversation.

Sometimes, he still thought things might’ve been better that way.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Kind of need you to make it out of this one, too. I’m not sure I’d trust your partner not to take a bite out of me if you got dusted in there. And the boot of this car’s not big enough for her to ride back there while I enjoy the quiet, so… Gonna need your fucking A-game on this one, all right? You can die later. When it won’t cause me any fucking problems.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, resting a hand on the door handle. As far as he was concerned, just this once, Metzli was the one calling the shots here. He’d go in when they said he ought to go in. Not before. Even if it was a hard rule to follow, given… everything. At the question, he exhaled a long sigh. “Never without more backup than this. Usually I’d have…” His siblings. His parents. His uncle. All people who were gone now, who’d been gone for years. “More slayers watching my back.” Not that he’d faced many. Elders were rare; slayers like Emilio’s family made sure of that. They killed them before they got to that point, and for good fucking reason. Nobody was meant to live forever, no matter what some species seemed to think. It did things to a person’s mind. It twisted them up inside. “But, hey… Got a lot less to lose now, so we’ve got that going for us. Glass half fucking full, right?”

Right. They were probably both going to die here. Emilio hoped Silas would remember to water his weird tree.

“I don’t need an out when my partner needs me. That wouldn’t be the right thing to do, especially if I claim to love her.” Metzli knew they had been selfish enough for the lifetimes lived. The current in their life had changed its course to one that was turbulent and unpredictable, but they would allow themselves to ebb and flow. As chaotic as it was, there was a method to be followed. Tides passed with the weather, and they weren’t setting a course alone. Manning their ship were two people that were more than capable of passing through what crossed their path, with a sense of dark humor too. For that, and more, they were grateful. “Well…” Metzli sucked their teeth and let out a dry chuckle, thinking of Eilidh. “She probably would take a bite outta you. Thinks I’m crazy for making friends with hunters, but I can’t help it.” Gears shifted once more, allowing a short pause. “Can’t ask hunters to give me a chance if I don’t give them one.” Shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug. “Maybe it’ll get me killed, but effort goes hand in hand with success. Plus, I kinda like proving people wrong.” For the first time in hours, Metzli found themselves able to joke. They were settling a little easier into their role, and even found a bit of leftover confidence in their reserve. It’d be hard, but they really believed they could make it out. With everyone’s life intact.

A mansion in the distance came into view, just over the hill, making the steering wheel bend to Metzli’s grip. “I think we’re here. Gonna park about a little bit away so they don’t see us.” Crossing over the shoulder, they parked behind some trees and brush, happy to see their decision on purchasing a black car was the right choice. “Grab what you need from the trunk and follow me. I’ve already got my shit strapped to me.” Tensing their muscles, Metzli walked a few paces, staring at the dwelling that held their love inside. Eilidh’s scent was in the air, prompting a small smile to curve their lips. Death, forest, and honeysuckle. Home. Their smile fell, faded away by worry growing like the heaviest weight on their chest. I’ll get you back. Just wait a little longer. They thought to themselves, squeezing their fists shut in an attempt to hold it together as their eyes fell on a pile of ash. And then another. Their smile returned. “Looks like she kicked some ass before being captured.”

“All right,” Emilio replied, because contrary to popular belief, he did know a losing fight when he saw one. Normally, he might push anyway, if only to be stubborn and infuriating and overall a pain in the ass, but time wasn’t really on their side here. Besides, he had no real desire to fight an elder on his own. Even with all his arrogant pride, he knew how that fight would end. “Yeah, well, plenty of people would say I’m crazy for being here, too. Not sure I’m not one of them.” There were a lot of reasons why Emilio was helping Metzli and their partner here. He wasn’t sure how many of them could be called noble. He wasn’t sure any of them could. “And we’re not friends. For the record. I just owed you a favor.” He had owed them one, that much was certainly true. Metzli telling him about Marina’s friendship with Teagan Myrick may not have released Emilio from his bond, but it had given him something. The least he could do was give them something back. “Effort goes hand in hand with a slow, agonizing death, too,” he said dryly, but he was here anyway. He was going in anyway. Whatever that said about him.

The mansion was vast and looming and fucking cliche. Emilio rolled his eyes at the sight of it. “Somebody got a little too into those old novels,” he muttered, half to himself and half to Metzli. He sprung out of the car as soon as they put it into park, happy to be able to move after having been cooped up in the vehicle for the frantic ride. Walking back to the trunk, he rifled through its contents. His pockets were already heavy with his usual weapons, but killing an elder would take a lot more than Emilio’s walking around arsenal. He ran his hands over the hilt of a sword, swallowed at the sight of a flamethrower. That’d be the smartest thing to pick up, but he knew his hands would shake if he held it. He wouldn’t be much good in a fight if his mind was jumping back to the cave where Levi had him burn the chimera made up of his family, he knew. After some consideration, he picked up an axe and tested the weight of it in his hands with a satisfied nod. That’d do fine. Closing the trunk quietly, he came back around to the front of the car and followed Metzli towards the mansion, glancing around as he did so. “If we’re lucky, she took out most of the underlings and we can focus on the pendejo in charge. If we’re not…” He trailed off, considering. “It’ll be good stress relief.” In comparison to an elder, most higher vampires died easy. Emilio had been killing them for so long now that it was almost robotic, more often than not. He wasn’t worried about that. But if they could get to the elder without having been tired out by its clan, it’d boost their chances.

James joined without a word. Both from the abruptness of his arrival, and the very thing being forgotten on his lips. Experience and the concept of his being would have told him he was only seen and heard when wanted. Silent eyes. Watching ears. Even if seen, even if heard, there was no flesh to touch. No where for sinking teeth to harm him again. But such a logic was found in the mind, and his was crowded by doubt. Was he still invisible? Still unheard? He had held a breath he did not have, as he spied on those prowling monsters. Pressed against a wall so he may as far as he could — watching for as long as he could. When one looked to his direction — not at but through — his mind had told him it was the former. Poof! There he was. Back to the car, lost to words. Looking to another monster, but one he wanted to be seen by. Needed to be seen by, if he were to get Eilidh back. He did not trust Metzli with much, but he could at least trust them with this.

“Um. I- Well.” Slowly, the images James saw were remembered. Began to trickle from the mind to the mouth. “Right. So, it’s just the elder and two more vampires. Ei- She got the rest. I think. Maybe. I didn’t… see anymore? Unless they’ve been hiding all this time, I don’t know. I haven’t seen any uncounted faces, sure, but that doesn’t mean much.” His words became so fast, they were nearly gibberish. “They could’ve been hiding this whole time. Vampires like cramming themselves in all sorts of places, so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for-” The look on Metzli’s face registered and he realized he was rambling. After an unsteady cough, he continued. “Yes. Right. Um, Macleod. She’s… It’s not good. But at least she’s still kicking?” He laughed alone. Only joined by his nerves. “...Bad joke. Sorry.” Though he failed to realize Metzli wouldn’t get it. Yet. “It has her in the… main part of the building. Where you walk in? Would that be the living room… No, there was a table. Whatever. It’s really big, so you can probably- yeah.” James wasn’t going to pretend to know anything about strategizing. That was up to the two of them. His part of the story had been done.

“Right, right. That’s why you went out for drinks with me the other day.” Eyes rolled, annoyed and a little relieved to have the air be somehow lighter with the slayer’s presence. Even with his dark humor. It made the vampire laugh. “Slow death? Don’t turn me on before battle. That’s a bad combo.” Metzli laughed to themselves, feeding into the humor. Soldiers set to war often needed the reprieve. Situations turning grim were too intense and heavy to not make jabs and lessen the gravity. They figured out of everyone, as a slayer, Emilio would understand what Metzli was up to. Encountering multiple battles, the vampire didn’t know fear for a long time when all they did was fight for Eloy, but now, they had something to lose. They had people that could lose them. While fear didn’t consume them, it still rattled their bones in a way that brought them a strange sort of tranquility. It was nothing to be ashamed of. They finally knew why fear could not only be a warrior’s greatest enemy, but their greatest asset. Fear meant there was a lot on the line, and not everyone had that. Like Emilio. Metzli didn’t feel anything for him, but they wished they could. Wondered if it felt anything like what a year ago did to them, when they had nothing. They looked over at the slayer with kind eyes and turned before he could catch them, and chuckled at his observation.

Emilio was right, the mansion was definitely cliché, much like the axe in his hand. It was a little too on the head for Metzli’s liking, but it was a good distraction until James made himself known. He rambled on and on, not getting to the point fast enough. They growled at the speed of information, the sound quickly cut off with an amused huff of pride at the dusted vampires, promptly turning into a confused grumble. “What the fuck do you mean ‘bad joke’?” Eyes darted to the mansion, fearing the elder had done something to their love. “Forget it. Let’s go, Emilio.” Metzli walked through James, rushing toward the door with a stake gripped in their fist. If she was in the main room, they’d go straight there. No point in going in quietly. “Sounds like we are lucky, so let’s just get this over with.” Their leg hiked up, prepping to kick the door in when it creaked open to reveal a vampire playing butler without the stupid getup. “¿Que chingados…?” They stumbled backwards, defensively raising the stake just in case.

Franka had been eagerly waiting. Their scents had done the knocking for them, and the intruder had been their request. The table was already set for their arrival. Hugged by silk linens and covered in glass trinkets. Carefully crafted dinnerware for any sort of food imagined, despite the lack of the sort. There were a few, of course. Ragoût de Pattes de Cochon that had gone cold and a loaf of stale bread. All for looks. Well, usually. She figured the human would find use for them. No, the real feast was in the glass goblets. Clear and sparkling, except for the banshee blood resting inside. One such sat on her palm. She lifted it to her guests. “Bonsoir!” Her accent was as thick and forced as the sweetness in her voice. Her smile was equally juxtaposed. Though, it matched her nature for a moment. The laughter caused her mouth to open wide, but not revealing emptiness. Her lips were merely replaced by a forest of fangs. Those lips slipped down, sheathing her teeth again with a pleasant smile. She began to beckon over the two… No. The three. One who her nose could not see. “Ah! A ghost I had felt-” He popped out of existence before she could finish. That laughter returned, and so too the fangs. The disappearance meant nothing to her, for he wouldn’t have appreciated the occasion.

Franka’s attention returned back to those who could. The vampire and human. The vampire and hunter. What a peculiar pair. She had expected the sort, but it was hard to believe. Until the proof was plainly presented: the look in his eyes and the assortment in his hands. “Vas-y mollo.” She patted the air, as if patting his head. The great distance between them kept the action from being the latter. “There is no need for that. Dinner, I want you two to join. We will make company.” She had needs like any other. Needs that were hard to fulfill, when eternity looked her in the face. In the repetition of time, novelty was so hard to find. The very nature of their strange companionship was already fitting the bill. “Since this is not a good one.” With a dismissive hand, she motioned upward. To one who watched them all from above, but not willingly. The rope around the zombie’s legs kept her securely dangled. Her missing arms ensured her place there. Of course, the zombie had been a novelty in her own right. But one that had no dinner manners. She was better suited for a fixture. So there she was, Franka’s chandelier for the evening.

When anger first touched Eilidh, it was blinding. Everything else ripped away without a care, directed to those who did the very same to her arms. Her fury was less to the indignity of the situation, but the position it placed her in. Dangling from the ceiling, she was lost to everything but time. Drip, drip, drip of her wounds had been the ticking of her clock. But even it eventually abandoned her. Thankfully, the pain remained. Turned to a dull ache, but she would accept anything over nothingness. Her mouth tried to fill the missing pieces. The air had been overcome with ancient curses and snarls; at least, the ones that managed to fit pass the thing blocking her throat. All were gone unnoticed by any that weren’t her. She only found those empty mouths that needed no words. They had certainly been talking to each other, in that silent way an elder and their collection did. The synchronized movements, like drones in their hives, had provided some entertainment. Fancy dinners and their pleasantries were hardly an interest, but in that circumstance she found herself mesmerized by the preparation. Until it stopped, leaving her too. All that was left was waiting for the one she knew would come. Her sweet one. The sweetest.

The vampires’ shared assurance of their arrival, shown by their mirrored waiting, had returned Eilidh’s anger. It was this anger that kept her sane, until the arrival finally came. One the elder welcomed with a laugh, which called to the growl in her throat. Her neck strained back. Curled in desperation until she could see the opened door. All to see those eyes she had waited for so long. The ones that brought a warmth without pain. The fires in Metzli’s eyes made the warmth into a blaze. The weapons in their hands, joined by the ones held by the mysterious man, turned the blaze into unbridled delight. It was her turn to laugh. It strained and choked against the obstruction. More a gleeful squawk than laughter. The twinkling in her eyes made the message clear.

The strange display caused Franka’s smile to falter. Threatened to make it a scowl, before she dismissed the zombie once more. Her guests were more important. “Come! Come!” The curling of her finger called to them. Like a string was wrapped around the finger and their necks. All she needed was to pull. “Rapidement.” Her smile returned. “I do not want to break my new chandelier.”

“What, you think I’d turn down drinks? Clearly you don’t know me very well.” The banter was comforting, in its way. It made it easier to forget that they were probably walking into certain death here. Not that certain death was a thing that bothered Emilio as much as it ought to; Metzli, too, seemed to have already made their peace with the idea. Emilio huffed at their words, rolling his eyes. “Try keeping it in your pants until after we get your partner back. I’m not interested.”

He didn’t question whatever intel Metzli was getting from the ghost; he might not entirely trust the vampire, but he trusted that they wouldn’t endanger an operation that was their only hope at saving their partner. If there was something he needed to know, he figured Metzli would tell him. The best chance they stood at getting Metzli’s partner out of this in one piece was by working together. Metzli knew that just as much as Emilio did.

So, he followed them. Up to the house, axe at the ready. But whatever he’d been expecting… It wasn’t this. It wasn’t a door swinging open like they were invited guests. It wasn’t a spread of food on a table and a woman making conversation. This, to Emilio, was far worse than an immediate attack would have been. He tensed, gripping the axe so tightly that his knuckles were white where they wrapped around the hilt of it. His eyes flickered down to the food on the table. “Actually, I ate before I came,” he replied dryly. No way in hell was he eating anything this vampire offered him. Even if not for the increased paranoia that had been squeezing his chest as of late, there wasn’t a thing on Earth that could have convinced him to do that.

He looked up as the vampire indicated to something above their heads, grimacing at the sight of the zombie hanging there. Arms removed, righteous anger rippling through her. It didn’t take a genius to surmise that this was Metzli’s partner, the one they’d come here to save. The good news, he figured, was that she wasn’t dead.

The bad news was… everything else.

Glancing to Metzli, he tilted his head in silent question. Every instinct in him was screaming at him to surge forward, to swing his axe, to end this shit one way or another, but he knew it would only end with him in pieces on the table. And unlike the zombie hanging from the ceiling, Emilio wouldn’t be able to maintain an angry exterior when something started picking him apart. More likely, he’d bleed out and end up a pretty useless footnote here. It wasn’t quite how he wanted to go out, if only because he was sure Metzli would find a way to be smug about it. So… he’d let them take the lead. He’d let them decide how to proceed. And if they got themselves killed, he’d be the one who got to be smug about it in the afterlife. It seemed like a win/win.

James blinking away was no surprise, and was at least a little amusing. Eyes rolled and focused on the threat, on the elder speaking. Every word out of Franka’s mouth set off a powerful blaze, burning Metzli’s insides as if they were coal in an engine and their body was the machine. Gritting their teeth and tightening their fists, the stake in their hand split in two as they walked toward the table. Too much energy simmered under their skin, and it needed to boil over. Burn everything to save Eilidh. But where was she? They could hear her, and even smell her, but she was nowhere in sight. That was, until they reached the table and looked up.

Stopping at the edge of the lavish and gaudy arrangement, Metzli’s eyes widened as they digested the infuriating sight. They finally understood James’ bad joke about Eilidh still kicking. If it had been any other circumstance, they might have let out a chuckle, but their partner needed help and they were only able to take a single step before that voice made their gait wobble. The allure in Franka’s words danced around the sweet melody in her tone, forcing them to walk even closer. Eilidh snapped and growled, and so did they, growing feral with their rage alongside her. “Callate la pinche boca.” They hissed through their teeth, on the brink of losing control. Her compulsion was strong, but Metzli’s hatred was far stronger, only growing as the elder called Eilidh chandelier. Enough was enough.

“Catch her or cut her down, and protect her head. I’m going after the elder.” Bounding forward, two knives were retrieved from their holster. If Franka thought Eilidh had bad manners, she was in for a treat. Metzli was going to show her even worse behavior. “Take this.” As they stepped onto the table, they stuck one knife into the wood, leaving it behind for Emilio to take. Metzli was sure he had plenty of weapons, but it always paid to have more than needed. “We don’t want your fucking dinner!” Making it obvious, they kicked over several cups and plates, smashing everything in their path as they made their way down the ridiculously long table. It was certainly a party thanks to their arrival.

Metzli had never fought against an elder before, and while they were scared, they knew they had to adjust that energy. Needed to force themselves to be what Eilidh needed, what they knew they could be. What Eloy had created them to be. A mindless fighter. Only this time, the person they were fighting and protecting was more than worthy. And so they attacked. Much to their dismay, Franka was able to dodge every single swing, jab, and attempt at grappling, frustrating Metzli considerably. They growled and continued, landing only a single slice. To which Franka quickly grabbed their arm and twisted, forcing them to their knees with her foot to their back. Her hold was way too strong to break from, but that didn’t stop them from trying.

It was so difficult to find good company. Good conversations. Something thick and juicy and dripping. Franka had pierced many flesh, but a good talk was the rarest of them all. It seemed the two were lacking. Disappointing, if not drearily typical. She shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up for those that associated with her chandelier. If only the intrigue of their companionship, or very least familiarity, had transferred to their tongues. But, no. All the hunter had to offer was something trying to be a quip. She laughed as if it were any good; her humors produced by something else. “We will wait until hungry again you are.” She certainly had enough time to spare. Far longer than his hunger. Or even him at all. “Come.” Without even a parted lip or parting glance, she instructed her collection. Told the one at the door to close it: locked and tight. Told the others, unseen, to prepare their teeth: sharp and swift. They did as they were told. At least someone did.

It seemed the two only had enough talking to spare amongst themselves. Something about catching and protecting. Franka knew the latter must be for her chandelier, for the look in the vampire’s eyes held anything but. The vampire danced towards her, across the table. A display she found amusing, if it weren’t for the destruction of her glassware. Shattered to the ground along with her limited patience. If that’s how they wanted this to go, then fine, she’ll go along. The vampire tried to put up a fight. Nothing she hadn’t seen before. When their arm was gripped in her grasp, her lips curled. “You act same as her. You join her. Casse couille.”

Snap.

First, the bones. A dent under the skin that hid broken splinters. Shattered bits of white that soon peeked out as Franka continued to twist. And twist. The bones pierced the flesh in their severance, soon departure. The skin followed behind. Tore away with ease without the bones’ stability. The torn forearm rested in Franka’s grip for a moment, like a resting babe. Before the ash consumed it. Made it crumble into nothing but a stain on her floor. Disgusting. She’ll have to get someone to clean that up.

Eilidh too held disgust, just differently placed. Her mouth was overwhelmed in ferocity. Her shrieks of damnation. Despite the obstruction in her throat, it rang out. True and clear. It was the only thing clear to her then. Nothing else mattered but the broiling mixture of anger and spite. It threatened to become a volcano, the thing in her throat its lava. Fuck the plan. She didn’t care what the man intended to do. All she wanted to do, needed to do, was to bite. To tear and rip the flesh of the fucker who did the same to her love. She needed to bite. Again.

Franka’s battle cry was far more quiet. A simple twitch of her brow was the only hint of her signal. Those who waited in the shadows descended, finally called to the light. The feast may have not gone as she hoped, but at least her vampires would indulge. And she would indulge too, in the entertainment.

It was the first time in a long time — the first time ever, maybe, that all the rage and all the anger in a fight belonged to someone other than Emilio. He could feel Metzli simmering with it, feel it coming off them in waves. It was understandable, of course. If it were someone he loved hanging above that table, he didn’t think he’d be holding it together half as well as they were. He would have jumped in already, would have leapt into the fight with little regard for how it might end. If it were someone Emilio loved hanging over that table, the fight would have already been over; they would have already lost.

Even with his slayer abilities, the elder’s compulsion was strong. It took everything Emilio had to remain rooted, nose twitching in irritation as the vampire spoke again. Wait until he was hungry. His eyes darted up to the zombie playing chandelier above the table. Something told him the elder’s version of hospitality wasn’t something he’d ever really be in the mood for. “Pass,” he replied gruffly, jaw clenched. He glanced over to Metzli, offering a brief nod in response to their instruction. He didn’t respond verbally, didn’t confirm which option he would attempt even in the comfort of Spanish. There was no way of knowing that no one here spoke it, and they were already at a disadvantage. If they could have any semblance of the element of surprise on their side, they needed to maintain it.

Surprise seemed to be Metzli’s goal, too. They moved forward quickly, and Emilio launched into action right behind them. Yanking the knife from the table as they went to distract the elder, he tossed it up at the knot holding Metzli’s partner in place. His aim was good; it always was. The blade sliced through the rope, and Emilio jumped onto the table, knocking plates and glasses aside to keep Eilidh from landing on her head.

A snap caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see Metzli’s arm turn to dust on the table, detached from their torso. In spite of himself, he winced at the display. There was no time to focus on it, no time to leap in to intervene. The elder called to what remained of her clan, and they began to descend on the table. Cursing, Emilio adjusted his grip so that he held the axe with one hand, pulling a stake from his jacket with the other. “Any chance you want to hold one of these in your teeth and help me out a little here?” He glanced to the zombie, armless and clearly pissed off. There was every chance she’d rather go to Metzli, and Emilio wouldn’t blame her for it, but he didn’t like being quite this outnumbered. Glancing over his shoulder to Metzli and the elder, he grimaced. This had definitely gone to shit.

A painful scream echoed in the room, falling silent instantly as face met floor. What the fuck had just happened? The amount of white-hot pain didn’t allow for many thoughts to pass through. Especially when Metzli realized what was hitting their face. Plumes of the ash, from their own arm, spread in the air and forced them to shut their eyes tightly. They didn’t bother saying another word, knowing there wasn’t anything to utter besides a guttural growl. One to protest the agony piercing through every nerve and fight back instead. It wasn’t time to give up or linger on what-ifs. All they could do was pick themselves up and take solace in the fact that they weren’t weathering the battle alone. They could wince and groan over their damn arm later.

Picking up a stake that lay near the pile that was once their limb, Metzli stood up and saw Macleod’s display of pure rage and power. They couldn’t help but pause, even in the line of danger. Their relationship was founded on their faith in one another, so they took that breath to compose themselves enough to settle their fury appropriately. Finding the strength to put themselves back into battle, Metzli slammed a stake blindly into a fledgling’s chest running up behind them, feeling the ash settle just as they headed towards their love. “Macleod.” They stated with a bated breath, unable to say anything else before more vampires interrupted. Whipping their head left and right as they headbutted and kicked. The elder was gone and Metzli angrily grabbed their and threw it at a fledgling’s head, sending them down with a dull thud. This had all gone to shit, and if they couldn’t get rid of the elder, they would save their love. “We need to go!”

Metzli knew Macleod wouldn’t run from a fight, even if she was in danger with no arms. “Stay close to me. I’ll get us outside and through these pendejos.” They’d be a weapon she could use and ensure her safety. They’d be whatever she needed to buy her time, act even if their life was a maxed out credit card. The debt of which they had only begun to consolidate. Their severed arm was the first payment of many. And while that was a larger sum than most were willing to put down, Metzli would do it again. A million times over. Even without a soul, they were sure of that.

Eilidh was so lost to anger, she hadn’t realized she was moving. Falling. As that realization finally came, it had met its end. Punctuated with a crack and a crackling of nerves. The kind that threatened to be followed by silence if the angle was too skewed. But she had suffered through enough of nothingness, and Fate agreed. The pain only continued to blossom, turning her back into a scorching flame. The kind that did not burn, but electrified. It spread into her lungs, finding release in her harsh cackling. It felt divine on her lips. Finally! Her body struggled to follow her demands. Cracking and spitting like any fire would, with her legs wobbling like the flames. They soon slipped back into their proper shape, at least the parts of her still present. Perhaps it was the lack of arms that had kept the vampire’s eyes off of her. Thinking she was not even worth spitting on: too weak. The look in her eyes said otherwise. Directed at the Elder with enough bite that had no choice but to become real. She simply followed it. Unknowing of the man’s words, or anything really but the thumping in her chest.

One that was interrupted. A random opposition stood in Eilidh’s war path. As if this vampire could keep the fires at bay. Before the vampire could even flash a threatening sneer, her foot made contact. Shoving them off the table and onto the floor with the rest of the elder’s trash. The second vampire was more stubborn, but her tactic was too. Once more, her leg kicked out. Straight to the knee. Crack! The impact caused a new dent to her tfoot, and the very same to the vampire’s leg. Forcing it to bend the other way. His screams of pain soon turned to those of rage. But just as her own had been interrupted, his fires were immediately quenched — choked out by her bite. With all her untapped hunger, she tore into his neck. The tattered skin met that obstruction in her throat, making it all cascade down her chin. Stained it with gray as it dissolved to ash. Her shoulders writhed in eager wanting, forgetting their lack of arms. All she wanted to do was pin and feast. The vampire did so, too. Not with teeth, but with fingers. Tearing at her flesh with the same ferocity as she bit into his.

Eilidh began to snap down on his spine when the vampire peeled away. She assumed it was a tactic — a means to end her quicker. Her teeth moved to latch on again. To choke out that want before it could be fulfilled. Until she heard that familiar voice… saw those familiar eyes and that familiar hand. Now no longer plural. Her love had her opponent secured. But she found her first, her true target, was gone. Metzli spoke more, words she would have gladly listened to, if her rage hadn’t drowned out her ears. Instead, she shrieked like a banshee. That scream wished it could damn that elder to her death. But all Eilidh could do was scream. Fate did not listen.

It was clear that Metzli’s partner neither wanted nor needed Emilio’s help, and that was fine. He’d much rather be tasked with saving his own ass than he would with the ass of someone who couldn’t protect themselves and, arms or no, the zombie could clearly look out for herself. So could Metzli, for that matter. If nothing else, it gave the three of them a shot at making it out of this thing in the same state of living they’d entered it in. Not exactly unscathed, and not technically alive in Metzli or her partner’s case, but… More or less okay. He told himself that was a good thing.

Still, rage flared up when the elder seemed to decide they were no longer worth sticking around for. “Fucking coward,” he seethed, kicking back one of the underlings that approached him. They were all chomping at the proverbial bit here, he knew, and despite the acidic nature of his blood, he was probably the most tempting meal of the three. Slayer blood was a delicacy when purified. If anyone managed to get a taste of his, Emilio was going to be beyond pissed.

He slammed a stake into the nearest chest, so blinded by his anger that it was something of a small miracle that said chest belonged to one of his enemies and not to Metzli or their partner. “You told me I’d get to kill an elder,” he snapped in Metzli’s direction, irritation clear in his tone. “I’m feeling a little cheated.” He didn’t want to leave the fight. It wasn’t a fight they could win, and he knew it. Staying here would mean dying, but leaving would mean admitting defeat. And Emilio hated that. Not long ago, the concept of living might have been a hare more enticing than the idea of giving up was disappointing, but lately… It felt like more of a toss-up.

Hunger was starting to bite at Metzli’s stomach and they dropped to their knees in pain. Getting an arm ripped clean off wasn’t exactly good for their body, and it required a significant amount of healing. With no blood, their body began to grow stiff. They wanted to stay on the ground, but they had to keep moving. “¡Cállate Emilio! It was never a guarantee! You should’ve been faster!” They barked, panting, utilizing breath to ease the burn and ache as much as possible.

It all felt so overwhelming. The screaming, the pawns, the pain. Metzli growled as they slid their feet back underneath them, rising tall again as they found strength in the foundation they laid down. One put together by desperation and a need to just live one more day. Or at least, get Macleod another one. Out of anyone in that room, they knew their wrongdoings put them at the bottom of the list. No illusion, not even one by Houdini himself could mask that. So they moved, staking a vampire before wrapping an arm, their only arm, around their screaming partner. She was angry, and she could get angrier if she wanted, but she had to do it outside. Do it where she’d be a little safer so she could continue to give her beauty in her every day motions. Plant her existence and let it bloom longer. And what was so funny was that Metzli knew her worries, her fears of being left behind. The very idea that she was a backup plan was laughable, especially then. Venturing out and needing a backup plan herself, and Metzli willingly became hers because they would make no exodus. Never with their partner.

Metzli picked Macleod up and she continued to scream. Thrash around in need to find that elder. She was ferocious that way, and that’s how Metzli liked her. All bark and bite. It felt so good to see she still had that energy, and having her finally in their grasp caused a few tears to form. As violence surged through her body, relief pooled in theirs and they didn’t want to let go when they reached the grass at the bottom of the steps. They fell to their knees and held her closely, feeling their heart clench in preparation for a fall, for a last minute wave of brutality. It made their voice strained and beckoned tears to finally fall as they settled into the car. “Why were you in there, Macleod? ¡A veces estas bien loca!” They pulled her in, fighting against the stiffness in their body and the beating heart near. Love was more important. It had to be. “I can live without everything else, but not you. Never you! I need you to get that.”

From a second story window, Franka watched them retreat with a goblet in hand. One of the few that still remained. How ungrateful letting all that good food go to waste. Letting all her preparation and plans to be shared go to waste. At least those she had hoped to be guests found their new designation: out of her damn house. Though, not without stealing even more from her. She could feel parts of her collection fading. Lights flickering out into a permanent dark. A part of her was sad to see them go. Perhaps even tempted to seek out revenge, with those deserving still in her sights. But she could admit, this merely proved whomst amongst her flock were the most capable. She’ll have to go and make more. Stronger ones. The thought of finding new ones to indulge in, share in her company, pushed aside any of those angry thoughts. So, she enjoyed the conclusion to the show as she poured the sweet blood down her throat.

Trapped on Metzli’s shoulder, Eilidh had no other choice but to look. To glare and snarl, in lieu of hands that itched in phantom wanting. Her eyes tried to do all the tearing instead, when she noticed the elder. Only a silhouette against the glass, protected by the night’s shadow, but Eilidh knew it was her. Watching and laughing. She could see the smirk on her face as clearly as if it were inches away. Burnt into her eyes by her vitriol. It consumed her. Turned her into a convulsing, thrashing thing that only wanted to bite. Her hunger eagerly stoked that flame, for it bit at her with equal frenzy. She was merely following its example, to fulfill that natural need. Biting and biting and biting. Wanting to bite someone, anyone. Even the man who had helped her moments before. Her hunger certainly demanded a sacrifice… Until her snapping mouth was called to other things. Wills of the heart instead of the teeth.

Eilidh blinked at Metzli in a daze, for she was lost to one. The air surrounding her suddenly shifted from dripping blood to dripping pain. Those tears crashing down her love’s face. Her eyes still shook with temptation to glare at the elder. That last grip of obsession refusing to relent to a dying cause. But the tears finally had their way with her. Waves across her anger — washing it away. Before she was engulfed, instead, by a familiar embrace. She wasn’t sure she should trust their words. Words than rang true on their tongue, but struggled to do the same in her heart. At least in the beautiful moment that Fate allowed, she felt she could believe it. It fit nicely in her ears, but not yet reciprocated by her mouth. Her teeth still chattered in unfulfilled hunger. The only sounds she could produce, she soon remembered. Despite her attempts, she could only muster meager squawks and grunts… Right.

The thing she came there for.

Eilidh’s throat was overwhelmed in what seemed to be growls. But the rumbling did not care for violence or the threat of it. No, they were there to guide. With each strain of muscle, the rumbling grew louder. Clearer. As if her throat was waking up from a deep slumber. Pop! That thing finally dislodged. Like a mother bird to her chicks, she offered her gift to Metzli. The elder’s skin soon found its new home on their lap. Freeing her throat for a chuckle, and then to words.  She leaned into Metzli’s ear. It was a miracle she managed to drop her voice to a whisper, for the moment swept her into a sudden fit of delight. It found itself in her gentle giggle, “Call me Eilidh.”

“I was a little busy saving your asses,” Emilio griped, ducking as a vampire swung at him and returning the blow with a jab from his stake to send it up in dust. He had little choice but to follow Metzli and their partner in retreat; even if he could take down every remaining vampire alone, he’d be stupid to go up against the elder without backup. The temptation was still there, still clawing at him for reasons he pretended had more to do with killing the elder and less to do with the possibility that he might die trying, but he pushed the thought aside. Metzli made it pretty clear that they had no plan of leaving him here, and as much as he might say he disliked them, he didn’t want to get them or their partner killed. He’d fucked up Milo’s life enough already. If he got the kid’s surrogate family killed on top of everything else, he didn’t think he’d ever find any kind of way to be okay with himself again.

The trip back to the car was a blur, and Emilio positioned himself behind the wheel with a glare that dared either of his two undead companions to argue. Both Metzli and their partner were short a few limbs, so it was only logical for the slayer to drive. Besides, with him up front, they could sit together in the back and talk about… whatever the hell that was. Emilio eyed them both in the rearview, brows furrowed together as Metzli’s partner began to growl. “If you bite me, I’m gonna stab something,” he muttered irritably, glancing back to the road.

A new sound drew his attention back to the mirror, and he watched as something fell from the zombie’s throat. The pieces started coming together, little by little. “Is that…?” It was hard to tell from his position, but… What else would it be? “Christ.” At least the trip wasn’t a total waste.

Whatever Emilio was saying, it didn’t really matter to Metzli. For the most part, all they captured was that he was going to stab something, and if they remembered, they’d find a moment to poke at him for being vague. But for the time being, his voice was a mere murmur as Metzli looked down. The skin that had been so far out of their grasp was now in their lap. It was the final piece of their puzzle, their chance to finally be whole again. “You…” An unfinished thought. What Macleod—No, Eilidh, had to say was much more important. She was busy giving a piece of herself to them, filling the cavity their soul was supposed to be in. Eloy had emptied them so they would feel nothing, and that hurt worse than any wound or broken bone. But Eilidh had filled them with love, care, and purpose. She did that without expecting anything in return, and because love was a currency that worked best in reverse, Metzli would spend their days ensuring they gave more than they got. Hell, they’d give an arm for her.

“I love you.” Metzli muttered quietly, pulling her even closer. “I love you, Eilidh.”

#wickedswriting #words in blood #writings #arm-y of three #metzli and eilidh #metzli and emilio #gore #amputation

[monstersfear]

the best part // teddy & emilio

TIMING: current (just after clarity) PARTIES: @eldritchaccident & @monstersfear SUMMARY: after his latest bout of sea monster-ism, teddy comes home. emilio, not one for patience, meets him halfway. CONTENT: discussions of suicidal ideation and sibling death

Restlessness was the sort of thing that had always clung to Emilio’s bones and made it hard to sit still. Given his upbringing, he figured it made sense; hunters who sat still for too long tended to be hunters who died young, slain by their own inaction. It was worse now than it used to be, of course — since the massacre in Mexico, he couldn’t even lay in bed for more than an hour or so without a strange dread creeping up the back of his neck and forcing him to pace around the apartment or go out for a hunt — but it was still a familiar thing. 

So when Teddy let him know that he was coming home, that he was himself again, Emilio figured he’d put some of that restless energy to use and meet him halfway. 

His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he walked, fingers tapping the hilts of the knives always tucked away in his jacket. The chance he’d need them was never zero, in White Crest, but things seemed quiet tonight. Quiet enough for Emilio to get as lost in thought as he was capable of doing given his paranoid mind, quiet enough for him to only nervously sweep the area a few times over as he walked. 

A noise nearby caught his attention, and he tensed for only a moment before the sound of a familiar heartbeat reached his ear and he relaxed, shoulders slumping as they let go of a tightness they’d been holding since the moment Ari told him Axis’s door was gone and Teddy was nowhere to be found. “I’m a hard guy to sneak up on,” he called, a hint of amusement to his tone, “but it was a decent try. Get your ass out here, Ted, or I swear to God I’m gonna start taking my clothes off in the street just to tempt you.” 

—

Theodore Jones was anything but focused on that walk home. Too many things to think about. Too many feelings to process. Half of which had an extra layer of guilt surrounding them for actually feeling because lord knows most of them involved Levi in some manner. Which meant the demon would be feeling it right alongside him. Which meant it’d be upset at Teddy for feeding more shit into the shit machine. He was so lost in his mind that the fact that he managed to make it as far as he had from Metzli’s without running into some sort of danger was a miracle. One that only seemed to double when he got as close as he had to a familiar voice calling out as if he’d tried to be stealthy. 

Emilio’s words hit Teddy like a physical thing. Knocking him out of his trance and into a heightened state of alert and delight. His eyes may not have been as good as the slayers at seeing through the darkness, but the silhouette just beyond the streetlight was Em. No doubts about it. A breath hitched in his throat, as a step turned into a stride, then an all out run. His muscles ached with the strain, only just having been shifted back together hours ago. But there was a certain lightness that had been absent the moment he stepped foot in the town proper. Like his mere presence among normal people was something to be reviled. Now it blossomed into a giddy race, towards the man he revered. 

“I thought you were meeting me at the apartment!” The joy in his voice loudly proclaimed any surprise on Teddy’s behalf to be a pleasant one. His shoes (well, Metzli’s shoes that didn’t fit quite exactly right but still worked well enough) hit the pavement with electric slaps as he pushed his feet about as fast and as far as they would go. Wanting absolutely no space between himself and his partner. Blissfully casting aside the ruminations he’d caught himself in the last… month. He was finally home. 

—

Teddy’s voice, joyful and loud and a little hoarse in a way Emilio figured must stem from the time he’d spent without using it, was like a salve working to soothe aches the slayer hadn’t realized he was muddling through. It brought a certain lightness to it, made it a little easier to breathe. He’d known Teddy was all right, of course. They’d been in contact ever since the first time the florist messaged him, been chatting as if things were normal even when they weren’t. But Emilio had always been the sort of man who needed tangible reassurance. A thing wasn’t real until he could touch it. A person wasn’t alive until he could hear their voice. And he could hear Teddy’s voice now, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that. 

“Got tired of waiting,” he responded to Teddy’s exclamation in his usual gruff tone, though his expression was soft and fond. Teddy, he knew, was well aware of Emilio’s inability to sit still. He was the one who got woken up any night he managed to convince the slayer to lay in bed with him, the mattress shifting every time Emilio needed to get up to wander. Teddy’d never faulted him for it. Teddy’d never faulted him for much of anything, no matter how much he probably should have. 

The sound of Teddy’s feet slapping against the pavement drove Emilio forward, too, albeit at a slower pace than he might have liked. Teddy’s absence combined with Emilio’s recent bout of… big feelings had left him out and about even more than he typically might have been, with no stopping to rest and not even much of an attempt at sleep. He knew he probably looked ragged and worn down. He didn’t care much, in the moment. All he really cared about was the way he and Teddy met under the streetlight, the way his hands fisted in the back of the florist’s borrowed shirt. The clothes smelled like Metzli, a scent Emilio didn’t even realize he’d recognize until he did, but the familiar scent of salt air and flowers that he’d come to associate with Teddy lurked just underneath it. “Hey,” he muttered hoarsely into the florist’s neck. “Missed you.”

—

Tidal waves crash against cliffs softer than the florist crashed into his hunter. Nearly knocking the both of them off their feet, if not for the slayer’s enhanced strength. Teddy would have welcomed the fall though, tumbled right into Emilio’s arms. Pressed his own body into all the curves of the man’s figure he’d come to know as his. His place in the world. His rest amidst the tempest. Where their energies entwined, syncing like an orchestra to the tuning fork. Somehow both calming and exciting them in ways no one else really could. In a pinch, he could settle for upright though. Settle for the husky voice and the gentle brush of stubble against his neck. The way it sent a shiver up his spine to be held like the world was trying to tear him away. To feel like he was something to fear the loss of. 

There’d be more than enough time for their less than vertical dances when they actually got to the apartment. 

“I missed you too, too much.” As if to prove as much, a tear strolled down Teddy’s cheek as he squeezed Emilio with just enough of his own enhanced strength. The way he knew would rile up the slayer. Maybe even push him over the edge. Good. Now was not a time for restraint. Against all odds, they were together again. 

Again. 

It was starting to feel like fate really did mean for them to be together. Had to be something more than luck at this point. Slayers didn’t live this long, Humans didn’t survive this many fatal slips. Maybe it was a rush of chemicals to the brain, but Teddy had to believe that they were made for each other. Emilio’s hand in his. Their lips together, hearts beating a twinned rhythm of hope in the darkness. 

–

It probably looked strange to anyone watching; two men running at each other on a street, crashing into each other like the physical contact was as necessary to them both as the air in their lungs. Emilio had never given much of a shit what strangers thought of him, of course, and now as no different. He was just happy to have Teddy back after another bout of uncertainty, after another painful stretch of not knowing whether or not this time would be the time where the changes to the florist’s body were of the more permanent variety. 

He relaxed into Teddy’s grip, the strength of it a welcome thing. As much as they joked about who might be stronger, there was some relief in Teddy being a bit more durable than the average human might have been. Emilio had lost so much already. Any reassurance that Teddy’s name wouldn’t be added to the ever-growing list of people he’d buried was a blessing. 

But… there was more than one way to lose someone. There was more than one way to fail them. And with this most recent demonic ordeal, Emilio couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done just that. He pulled back, eyes darting up to meet Teddy’s briefly, a hint of hesitation behind them. “I’m sorry,” he said, a little uncertain. In spite of the joyful reunion and the conversations they’d had over text, it was somewhat difficult to know for sure where they stood. The last time they spoke pre-demon, they hadn’t left things in the best spot. Emilio’s grief and his rage were louder than anything else, most days. Even when they shouldn’t be. “I didn’t mean to… I never wanted to, uh… To hurt you.” 

—

Instinct was a pretty hard thing to kick. When Emilio’s inevitable apology came, Teddy could feel the ‘it’s alright’s and ‘it doesn’t matter now’s bubbling up inside of him. But if there was anything this past month had imprinted on the florist, it was that he had to be in tune with his more negative emotions. Had to feel them. Had to process them as they came up so it couldn’t cannibalize the thing inside him until it was a feral beast separate from himself. 

They were the same. 

Starving one mouth starves the other. And if the beast was hungry, everyone else seemed to pay the price. Teddy couldn’t have that. Could barely stand to look at the edges of the streets where the drains sucked down the very last of whatever storm had rolled through last. He wasn’t sure if he actually still smelled the blood, if that scent would just carry in his mind forever now. Thrumming just below the surface, even now, wanting more. 

“Well, it–”  In a way, he was relieved. Every moment Emilio was alive after Teddy had so thoroughly believed that he was gone for good was like drinking in ambrosia. “--it was shitty.I was so worried, Em. Y-you weren’t listening and I thought– It was just like with Arthur. Nothing I did mattered, and everything else was so out of my control that I couldn’t– and I–” There was a crack in his already hoarse voice as all the feelings he’d tried to bottle up burst forward. 

“I couldn’t lose anyone else– especially not you. Never you. But it was like you were already gone–” There was a long pause, the only thing filling it was their heartbeats, loud enough in Teddy’s ears that he was sure it must have sounded like a drumline to Emilio. “I was so mad at you for thinking there’s ever a way that I’d be better off without you.” He finally admitted after spending a bit too long scanning the man’s features. Noting how deeply the bags under his eyes sagged, how worn and stressed he looked. Ted swiped a thumb over the man’s cheekbone. The anger was melting away. Not in a ‘conceal don’t feel’ sort of way, but gently flowing away with the genuine catharsis of having expressed it. 

—

Neither of them was particularly good at talking about their feelings. It was something Emilio learned early on, but certainly something that had been magnified with this most recent ordeal. Teddy, so afraid of inconveniencing people with his emotions, would claim things were okay even if they weren’t rather than risk rejection. Emilio, always so uncertain about what he felt and why that it did little more than confuse him on the best of days, would close his eyes to all the things he didn’t quite understand and pretend that the things you couldn’t see couldn’t hurt you, like a child hiding their face under a blanket. It was the kind of combination that could carry serious consequences. It was the kind of thing they both probably needed to work on. Emilio wasn’t really looking forward to the effort, but… If Teddy would try, so would he. He figured he owed the people he cared about that much, at least.

“It was shitty,” he agreed, eyes darting down to look at his feet. Given Teddy’s history with his brother, Emilio should have known better. And… maybe he did know better. It was hard to know for sure what he knew and what he didn’t when his head got to spinning, when all that rage and grief tangled themselves together to become something bigger than he knew how to deal with. There were some things that didn’t turn to dust when you stuck a stake in them. Those had always been the hardest for Emilio to deal with. 

His hands dropped down, intertwining with Teddy’s in front of him, thumb rubbing absently on the florist’s. “I feel like I am, sometimes,” he admitted. “Already gone. Like I’ve been dead for years now, and I’m just waiting for the rest of me to figure it out. To catch up. Things happen sometimes, you know, and it’s good. I know it’s good. But I don’t feel it. I’m trying to work on that. I’m — I want to be somebody who deserves the good shit I’ve got. Somebody who deserves you, and Ari, and Rhett. I want to try.” He was surprised to find that it was true. For a long time, he’d felt like all he was doing was waiting for something to kill him, waiting to die, waiting for things to be over. And he still felt like that, sometimes. More than he’d like to admit lately. But… he didn’t want to feel that way anymore. He figured that counted for something.

—

“I know how it feels–” The florist leaned into a nod. One that slowly drifted down until he found his favorite spot. Nestled under Emilio’s chin. Listening to the slayer’s heart as he continued. “Like you’re just a shell. Like every bit of air has been sucked out of the room and you’re the only one who notices.” Teddy welcomed the pressure on his hands. Helped solidify the idea that he was back, that he was able to make himself back into himself. Though that line of distinction had never been thinner. “And I know– That pain never really goes away. Just kinda gets quieter and louder from time to time. Ebbs and flows like the tide. Bringing with it everything else that got twisted up inside it all along.”  

Supported by the florist’s, their hands lifted up and up until they were eye level and Teddy could demonstrate a concept, knowing Emilio was often better with visuals. “When it’s fresh, it’s knotted up tight.” He closed his fingers around the hunters, pressing their palms almost painfully together. “You feel it in everything you do because it’s tangled, But-” He relented. Opening up like a balloon was filling in between them. “In time, the space widens. The hurt has room to roam without making you feel all of it at once. It’s not… better… but it gives you a chance to fill up with things that help.”  He planted a soft kiss on Emilio’s jaw then stepped back, almost twirling out like a dance. “Things that soften the blow. Besides– it seems like you beat yourself up enough for the both of us, so why don’t we go home, okay?” 

—

“Yeah,” Emilio confirmed quietly, nodding his head. He hated that Teddy understood that feeling, hated that one of the best men he knew suffered the same shitty flood of emotion that often brought the slayer to his knees. But… It was kind of nice to be understood, too. It was kind of nice to have someone who got him, even if it was a terrible thing to get. 

He watched as Teddy brought their hands up to demonstrate what he meant, brow furrowing a little as he took it in. Teddy was right — Emilio understood things he could see far better than he understood the strange tangle of feelings that lived inside his chest. He’d never been good with abstract concepts, never been able to grasp anything that wasn’t right in front of his face. He’d never really needed to. The Cortezes hadn’t exactly been concerned with the emotional well-being of their children, because they’d never had to be. Hunters were tools to be used, knives that would cut until they were dull and broken and tossed aside. And it didn’t matter how the knife felt about that. It didn’t matter how the knife felt about anything. 

But lately, sometimes… Emilio wasn’t sure he wanted to be that anymore. And he was trying to learn not to feel guilty about it. He brought Teddy’s hand, still intertwined with his own, up to his lips and brushed them faintly against the florist’s knuckles. It was a quiet thank you, a display of gratitude he knew Teddy would understand even if he didn’t voice it aloud. It was another apology, too, even if Teddy seemed to think he’d said enough of them. (Emilio wasn’t sure there was enough time in the world for him to properly apologize to the people he loved for not knowing how to love them quite right. He’d try, anyway.) “Yeah,” he agreed, a hint of mischief sparking behind his eyes. “Got big plans once we get there, too. Hope you’re ready for a long night.” 

—

The look on the slayer's face was one that the florist had missed. Yearned for. Far, far too much time had passed since that glimmer shone amidst those dark beautiful eyes. Perhaps even before all this shit went down. There was a shroud of grief over everything as of late. Weighing them down and keeping them from moments like this. “Oh yeah? We might need some caffeine on the way.” 

—

“You tired, babe? Because I know a way more fun than caffeine to keep you awake.” Emilio let their intertwined hands drop down again, smile faint but genuine. “I’ll make you some coffee when we get home. Don’t think I can stand the idea of stopping anywhere.” He’d spent too much time with Teddy not home already. His patience was pretty much shot, at this point. Taking a few steps backwards, he tugged Teddy along. “Think the showers are still spitting cheese, but the bed works just fine.”

—

“I mean, I’m not the one who looks like he lost a bet with the sandman.” Teddy grinned as he was led forward. Feeling those old familiar butterflies rise up in his stomach. Something he’d never get tired of. Not in a million years. “But I’ll take some of your coffee, detective.” The grin split wider until the florist was laughing. Raspy as it was, it felt good. Great, even. The particular shape of demon he’d spent the last week or more in didn’t seem particularly built for laughter. Any sounds that could be considered a ‘laugh’ were more like a sound you’d hear in a horror movie. It felt better to be here, like this, racing as fast as Emilio’s knee would allow back to the warmth of the home they shared. 

“I still don’t believe the cheese thing, that can’t be real. I know some funky shit has been going on, but cheese? In the faucets?” Where did it come from? What kind was it? Worse still, were the questions he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen asked nor answered yet. What did it taste like? Was it good cheese? Teddy was already too giddy to stop giggling as they rounded the last few streets toward Axis. Once again, if it weren’t for the obvious signs of stress and aging they sported, they’d probably look like a couple of teenagers having a bout of raucous fun late at night. 

—

“Nah, I could go all night,” Emilio insisted dryly, though he was pretty sure it was very untrue. Now that the stress of the situation was wearing down and the adrenaline offered by the burst of relief that Teddy’s text had brought with it was fading, he could admit that he felt dead on his feet. He hadn’t slept well in years now, but he hadn’t realized how much better he slept with Teddy in his bed until the bed was empty. “I’ll make you the best damn coffee you’ve ever had. Gonna be begging for more coffee.” He wasn’t sure if it was an innuendo or not, but Teddy was laughing and Emilio felt his own smile widen as a result. 

Turning, he allowed himself to fall into step beside Teddy rather than continue walking backwards in front of him, letting out a quiet huff as the florist expressed doubt on the cheese front. “No, it’s real. Turned on the sink as soon as somebody mentioned it. Tastes like shit, but so does the tap water in the apartment, so I guess it makes sense.” As much as anything about cheese coming from a faucet could make sense. Emilio pulled Teddy along into the apartment building and towards the elevator, each step easier than the last. “Guess we’ll have to use bottled water to brew that coffee, though. Think I’ve got some in the fridge.”

—

Okay, maybe the florist didn’t mean it as an innuendo, but it sure was one now. And Teddy, decidedly delighted at the prospect, was about to become the barista’s favorite customer. A regular coffee snob. Though that could make it sound like the coffee served at Axis was anything but the toxic sludge that repulsed pretty much anyone but the pair of die hard old coffee machine enthusiasts who lived there. The uh, ‘spicier’ coffee however, was pretty damn good. The best even. “Well, tell me about this coffee, Em. I’m getting pretty invested, I need to know more.” He replied with a sly grin, even if it was a bit hard to not soften at the slayer’s smile. Such a rare event, it should be savored and cherished. 

“I’m serious though, what’s gonna be the final straw before we just move away from here? I love this town, sort of. I mean, hell I moved back here after being out. But this is just a whole new level of fucked huh?” If not for the very hungry look in Emilio’s eyes, Teddy could have easily gotten lost on a laundry list of tangents. What were hospitals doing? Restaurants? How was Vida handling all this? Instead, the distractible florist found himself gazing fondly out at often be-grumped detective. Finding solace between the two dimples on either side of the man's face. 

The elevator dinged and Teddy was already pushing him into and through the barely open doors. Thank goodness no one else was inside because the almost-demon wasted no time crashing his lips against Emilio's. Couldn't wait any longer. The impulse, far too strong. He tangled his fingers into the man's hair, noting somewhere in the back of his mind how long it had gotten. And how nice it looked. Their foreheads touched as Teddy came up for air, a breathy panting laugh trailed out of him. 

"Maybe we can skip the drinks" 

–

“Talking about coffee isn’t nearly as much fun as drinking it, is it? How about I show you?” The glint in Emilio’s eyes made it very clear that he wasn’t talking about coffee anymore… if he ever had been. Teddy had a way of bringing out a certain hunger in him, and it was all the more prevalent after days apart. The relief that Teddy was all right crashed together with the joy that he was back now, stirred up by the soothing knowledge that the shitty apartment with the broken door would feel a little less empty tonight. It all came together to form something far much less innocent than the sum of its parts, somehow. Emilio had only ever really known two outlets for his biggest feelings, and he certainly didn’t feel like fighting right now, so… The second of the two took over. 

Huffing a quiet laugh, the slayer shrugged. “This is the last straw for you?” Cheese faucets was hardly the strangest thing White Crest had given them, and it was far from the most dangerous. But… maybe finding a new place to live wouldn’t be the worst idea. Emilio had come to White Crest with the intention of dying there. If he no longer wanted to do that, maybe leaving was something he should consider. It all felt hypothetical, in the moment, though. Leaving felt easy only until you went to do it. And… there were people here he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave behind. That was a strange feeling, after everything. 

He was torn from his thoughts as the elevator doors opened and he was shoved into the hall, Teddy’s lips against his. He laughed into the kiss, not pulling aways as he pulled Teddy towards the door. “The good news,” he said when they broke apart for a moment, “is that we won’t have to mess with the door to get inside. Haven’t gotten it fixed yet.” Which Teddy would probably dislike a little, even if the door had never actually done much to keep the things that wanted to make Emilio’s life worse from making their way into his apartment. At this point, Axis’s door was decorative, anyway. Yanking the florist into the apartment, Emilio grinned. “Drinks are overrated, anyway.”

#eldritchaccident #teddy: the best part #suicide tw #sibling death tw

[stolensiren]

wants & fears // sloane & cass

TIMING: current PARTIES: @faetedwill & @stolensiren SUMMARY: cass and sloane's pb&j date at sloane's house is interrupted when sloane's parents come home unexpectedly and throw a real wrench in things. CONTENT: none!

Despite not having been to Sloane’s house often, Cass found herself fairly comfortable in her friend’s bedroom. She hung upside down off the bed, flipping through pictures on her phone. Ever since their trip to the eighties, she’d been researching both the blue ghost that attacked them and the siren that had saved them, but she hadn’t found a ton of information on either. Charlotte, it seemed, had survived the ghost’s attack if the information the sketchy guy online was right, but her trail seemed to grow cold a few years later. It was almost as if she’d deliberately vanished, and Cass couldn’t find out why. The ghost thing, too, was full of dead ends. Metzli didn’t know anything about it, and Cass didn’t have quite enough details to do very good research. Add to it the fact that she was bad at research, anyway, and it felt like she was hitting dead end after dead end.

But at least she had company for it. If you had to get stuck running into walls, Sloane was a pretty good person to be stuck with. Honestly, Cass didn’t even mind the frustration when it meant she got to hang out with the other girl. They’d been clicking pretty well lately; it was probably worth the ‘blue ghost mystery’ of it all. “Okay,” she flipped herself rightside up, squinting at her phone. “Hear me out: Holograms. Ghost guy was a hologram. With… physical knives.” She made a face. “Okay, yeah, it’s a stretch. I think we’d do a lot better if we had some food, though. Wanna make a run down to your kitchen? I make a mean PB&J.” 

It was risky, letting Cass come over. Sloane knew that, but she let her friend in through the door anyway. If her mom knew that she’d begun to grow close to somebody, it could put Cass in danger. She sincerely hoped that if asked, Sloane could pass it off as a tutoring session. Then again, it always seemed like her mom knew when she was lying. The nerves that’d struck her by the mere thought of having to introduce Cass to her mom had been squelched the moment that her friend explained she really wanted to find the ghostly apparition that had tormented them when they got sent back to the 80’s. Sloane was more than happy to help, especially because it’d all been so weird. It would do her better, knowing what they were dealing with, it if happened again, or if it happened to somebody else. 

Sloane looked over at Cass as she spoke. “Holograms?” She arched her brow. “I don’t think that the 80’s had holograms, and I also don’t think they can like, pick things up and also throw them.” She leaned back in her chair, pulling her legs up onto the seat so that she was sitting criss-crossed. “How do you make a mean PB&J? I only make them sadly.” Sloane stuck her tongue out at Cass before she grabbed the edge of her desk, turning herself left and right slowly as she began to stare into space, mind working against the possibility that being in plane view could go awry if her mom suddenly showed up. “Yeah, sure, but we only have weird expensive jams, if that’s cool with you.” Her mom took her jam seriously, and it was one of the only things that they splurged on as a family. Sloane untucked herself from her chair and stretched her arms above her head as she walked over to Cass, looking down at her. “You should wear more purple, by the way. It totally suits you.” Of course, Sloane was referring to the purple of her bedspread that was scrunched beneath her, but she hadn’t quite put those pieces together yet. “Let’s go?” She stuck her hand out for her friend to take with a smile. 

Okay, so, in retrospect, holograms weren’t the most sound theory. But time travel was a very new thing to Cass, so she was kind of grasping at straws here! “The eighties didn’t have us, either!” She pointed out, though the fact that she laughed as she said it probably betrayed the fact that she wasn’t really a firm believer in the ‘theory’ she’d put forth. Honestly, though the experience had been terrifying and harrowing when they were going through it… it felt easier to laugh about it now that they were back home. It was actually kind of cool, in retrospect; they’d time traveled to another era, they’d met someone they never would have known otherwise, they’d survived a fight against a big, scary thing. And they’d done it together. There was something about that that made it all the more exhilarating. 

Snorting a quiet laugh at Sloane’s words, Cass feigned a serious expression. “I am a PB&J expert,” she said, really lathering the drama into her tone. “Have you ever seen Top Chef? That’s me, but with PB&J specifically. I’m gonna rock your whole world.” It was funny; research usually left her tired and more than a little bored, but there was a strange sense of adrenaline to it here. Hanging out with Sloane always left her with a certain level of energy in her chest, like an electric charge looking for an outlet. “I’ll make a gourmet PB&J then. Even better!” She took Sloane’s hand as it was offered to her, letting her friend pull her off the bed. Glancing down at her outfit — a faded t-shirt and old jeans, neither of which featured half as much purple as the bedspread she’d been lying on — Cass smiled faintly. “I can totally rock more purple if it impresses you that much,” she joked with a wink. “But first, I wanna impress you with my cooking skills.” Did making a PB&J count as cooking? It had to at least be considered cooking adjacent, didn’t it? Whatever. “Hey, I’m not gonna be, like, ruining your dinner or anything, am I? When are your parents supposed to be getting home?”

Sloane rolled her eyes playfully. Even though she knew that anything was possible, especially in this town— such as time travel, it wasn’t totally unfound that a hologram could throw knives at them. But knowing White Crest, it was something a lot more screwed up. She briefly thought of Charlotte and the way the knife had plunged into her shoulder. Even though they’d only been in each other’s company by chance (as fate would have it), Sloane still hoped that the girl was okay. She imagined she was, especially seeing as neither herself or Cass could find anything about her dying back in 1988. 

“Top chef? What is that? Do they wear top hats or something?” Sloane was serious in her questioning as she looked down at Cass. There was pure joy written across her features, and Sloane secretly hoped that she had done something to put it there. The only anxiety the banshee felt was the one her own mother brought forth. She hoped that she could have these moments with Cass and not worry about being swooped in on, even if what she and Cass were doing was harmless enough. To an older banshee who had every intent on activating her daughter, however, it could potentially end in disaster. “I’m so looking forward to it.” As Cass got off of the bed, Sloane’s gaze flit to the bedspread, then back to her friend. She felt her neck grow warm with embarrassment and she rolled her eyes at Cass’s words. “Impress all you want, my kitchen is yours for the destroying.” Only, it wasn’t. Her dad would freak. 

Sloane guided Cass out of her room and down the hall. “What am I, a toddler?” She threw a look over her shoulder at Cass as she padded into the kitchen. Steve was out with her dad at the cemetery, so it was just the two of them. “My parents? Uh…” That was a good question. Her mom sometimes dropped back in if things were slow, but she hoped with the number of freak accidents happening, orders would be piling up. That was fucked up to hope, but Sloane had good reason. “I dunno, but don’t worry, you don’t have to meet them or anything.” She smiled at Cass as she dug into the cabinet that held the peanut butter. “The jam is on the counter over there.” She pointed with her elbow before grabbing the bread out of the bread box. “This better be like, really good, or I’m going to tell everyone you’re a phony.” 

“No! It’s a show. Where they compete to be top chef.” Cass paused for a moment, considering. “Cooking in a top hat would be, like, really fun, though. I’m definitely gonna buy one. Why should chef hats have the monopoly on kitchen wear? It’s not fair!” With most people, Cass put up a front. She subtly shifted herself into someone else, often without even meaning to. She drew on those limited empathetic siren abilities, found out what a person wanted her to be and became it. But… She’d never felt the need to do that with Sloane. Maybe it was because Sloane had really only ever wanted Cass to be herself. And that was something Cass could do, even if she sometimes felt like she was still trying to figure out just who that was. “Oh, you should be. It’s gonna knock your socks off.” She glanced back, following Sloane’s eyes back to the bed and recognizing her friend’s slip just a moment later. She opted not to say anything, not to draw any attention to it in hopes that Sloane might be just as forgiving if she somehow noticed the flutter of Cass’s heart in her chest.

Laughing, Cass scrunched up her nose in quiet protest. “That’s totally a thing people say! Not just to toddlers!” In all honesty, she wasn’t sure. She’d definitely heard it on television, but not so much in real life. She hummed as Sloane spoke of her parents. “What if I want to meet them? I’m, like, super good at charming parents, just so you know. They’d love me.” They probably would, though Cass was sure Sloane’s desire for her to be only herself wouldn’t be one her parents shared. Most people wanted Cass in pieces; never whole. Walking over to the counter, she considered the different jam flavors before settling on one, grabbing the jar and bringing it over to the bread box to join Sloane. “Oh, it is. You’re gonna be impressed. Mark my words.”

“You keep explaining it, but I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” It was cute, watching Cass try to explain herself. At the mention of her purchasing a top hat to fit the mold what Sloane had thought Top Chef meant, she snorted. “I mean, you might have a point. I’m sure that rat chef from Ratatouille would definitely back you up there. Imagine how much easier it would’ve been if that guy wore a top hat.” She wasn’t sure where her tangent was leading, but she was sure that it would make sense somewhere. Or, at least, she hoped it would that way she didn’t look totally dumb in front of Cass. 

Sloane scoffed at Cass. “If your PB&J curbs my appetite for dinner, then I totally owe you an apology.” She grinned at her friend. If she were somebody else, then maybe Cass could visit and meet her parents and even have dinner like Teagan had. But Cass wasn’t somebody else. Cass was… important to Sloane. What that meant, Sloane wasn’t quite ready to unpack. “I don’t know, I think they would think you’re a little annoying.” Even though it was a joke, there was a slight burn at the back of Sloane’s throat from the lie. “I’m sure they would love you,” she quickly recovered with a sigh, “my mom is just… weird.” That was an understatement, and it wasn’t quite a lie. She pulled open the bag of bread and slid it over to Cass. “Okay, you’re on.” The banshee smiled innocently at Cass before flitting away to grab a knife and two plastic plates from the drawer across the kitchen before returning with the items. “Here you go. Let’s see you work your magic.” 

“We’re having a Food Network marathon at some point,” Cass vowed, because it was just necessary at this point. Sloane didn’t even know what Top Chef was. That had to be some kind of a crime! Though the mixup did birth a great idea, because cooking in a top hat sounded like Cass’s idea of fun. “A top hat would have been so much roomier for Remy the rat!” She agreed. “He could have put a lawn chair up there. Really made himself at home!” 

Grinning, Cass decided to take Sloane’s words as a challenge, vowing to make a PB&J so good that her friend would have no interest in her dinner. Something else settled over her, though, at the way Sloane was so quick to insist that Cass shouldn’t meet her parents. Cass had always been more than a little self conscious, especially in regards to how other people might feel about her. The idea that Sloane’s parents might not like her was a little upsetting, even when Sloane insisted that they would. One of two things was true: Either Sloane really did think her parents would dislike Cass, or she didn’t want Cass to meet them for some other reason. Neither option sat particularly well with her. But she shook off the feeling as quickly as she could preferring, as she often did, to focus more on what was happening in this moment. Cass was good at throwing her bad feelings to the side, even when it wasn’t exactly the smart thing to do. Taking the knife from Sloane, she forced a very serious expression onto her face. “Watch and learn,” she said dramatically, leaning in close as she meticulously spread peanut butter onto the first slice. She did it with far more care than she usually did, theatrically squinting as if working on a painting instead of a sandwich. It was a good distraction.

“Let’s do it.” It helped that she enjoyed her time spent with Cass, so accepting the far off plans came with ease. Sloane wasn’t sure what a lawn chair had to do with a top hat, but she was sure that Cass had a reference somewhere out there that she didn’t quite get. Sloane still laughed, for Cass’s sake. The idea was funny, even if she didn’t understand why. “Maybe make it stop animation or something, I’m sure people would love that.” 

Sloane made a show of watching Cass begin the preparations for the PB&J, doing her best to ignore the way that her friend’s face clearly fell. If she could tell her why, she would, but the idea of telling one of her closest friends that her mom might murder her if she found out they were close was not exactly the kind of conversation one had over a PB&J. “I’m watching, but I’m not sure I’ll be learning much.” Sloane grinned at Cass as she leaned against the counter, close enough to Cass so that she could feel the warmth of her arm against her own. “You’re a real Picasso. When I finally get my sketchbook back, I should let you take a crack at it.” She thought about the rough sketches in the back she’d started to do of Cass. Ari was in there, too, and if asked, she could use that as some kind of defense. Again, Sloane brushed the thought and feeling off before she pointed towards the edge of the bread. “You missed a spot.” 

Sloane’s laughter seemed to fill the empty space, and Cass felt a little proud, in spite of herself, for being the one to spark it. She knew she was hardly a perfect person — there was still a knife shoved in the back of her kitchen drawer that would never quite be clean again, still a guilt that clawed at her chest that never went away, still a lot of things lacking inside of her — but if she could make her friends laugh like this, make Sloane laugh like this, it must mean she was doing okay, right? She flashed a grin, wide and bright and genuine, and nodded her head. “If we get started on it now, we can totally finish in time to score an Oscar nomination. Because we’d definitely get one. This is a genius idea.”

In spite of the twist of concern in her gut, the one that always came with the concept that someone might not like her, Cass relaxed a little under Sloane’s watchful eye as she made the sandwich. “You could learn if you tried,” she insisted, returning Sloane’s grin. It was fine, she decided, if Sloane didn’t want her to meet her parents. It was fine. It didn’t have to mean anything. It was fine. “When you get it back? Back from where?” She glanced up, a hint of concern in the expression. Sketchbooks, from what Cass understood, were kind of a private thing. Missing one was bound to be stressful. She hummed as Sloane pointed to the bread, shaking her head. “You can’t rush a masterpiece, Sloane, you know that!” But she spread a little peanut butter to the spot, just to be sure. She really did want Sloane to like the sandwich — maybe to a ridiculous degree now.

“Do you teach classes? What are the rates?” Sloane twisted around and hoisted herself up onto the counter, ankles crossed while her heels hit the cabinet below. “I’m very cheap, if you didn’t notice.” She waved towards the assortment of mismatched cups. Any that actually matched were her mom’s. Meanwhile, she and her dad liked to collect them from gas stations and other tourist traps to commemorate where they’d been, even if most of the cups had a scrubbed off NE written on it in an off-brand comic sans font. 

Sloane looked down at the bread as Cass worked, smirking slightly as she ran the knife back over the spot that Sloane had said she missed. “Huh? Oh, my book?” Sloane’s brows knit together and she looked down at her lap, reaching to pick at a frayed part of her shorts. “I accidentally swapped bags with a friend, but they haven’t gotten back to me about giving it back yet.” She thought about the selkie skin upstairs in her closet. How long could Saylor go without it? “I think their phone is broken, but it’s not a big deal.” There was no burn in their chest, because really, Sloane hadn’t been able to get a hold of Saylor, so she really wasn’t sure what was going on. Sloane gave Cass a reassuring smile before she splayed her hands over her thighs, poking burgundy chipped nails into the small loops the frays had created. “Is it rushing, or is it critiquing your art?” She arched a brow, tilting her head to the side. “You haven’t even started on the jam section and you’re already making baseless accusations.” 

“For you, I’d give a discount,” Cass replied with a wink, heart stuttering in her chest with the action even though it was one she’d done a million times before. She’d even done it with Sloane before, but… Things had felt different lately. Sometime between the zoo trip and the eighties fiasco, something had shifted. Cass couldn’t quite put her finger on what, or why it was that the back of her neck felt so hot or why it was hard not to stumble over her words. “I don’t think you’re cheap! I think you’re very classy. Other people just don’t get it, is all.”

She wondered how long Sloane’s sketchbook had been missing, hoped the friend she’d swapped bags with was taking good care of it. Cass didn’t always understand art, but she knew how important it was to the people who created it. “Maybe we can go check on them,” she offered. “Your friend, I mean. We could take their bag to them and see if they’ve still got yours?” Depending on how long the bags had been swapped, it might be overkill. Showing up at someone’s door the day after such an event would probably be a little dramatic. Rolling her eyes playfully at her friend’s comment, she wiggled the peanut butter-covered knife in Sloane’s direction. “I don’t take criticism,” she warned. “I only take cash or credit.” She squinted at the peanut butter again before deciding she was satisfied and setting it down on the plate, taking the bare bread and the jam jar in its place. “You’re the one with no faith in my process! Trust the jam, Sloane. Trust it.”

“A discount? Really? How much would that be?” Sloane kicked her feet forward, ankles dropping against the cabinet with a low thud. “Oh, I love the vote of confidence.” Sloane knocked Cass’s shoulder with the back of her hand playfully before she turned to grab something out of the neighboring cabinet. “How much would you hate me if I ate a granola bar right now? Are you afraid it’d ruin the experience?” 

At Cass’s suggestion, Sloane shrugged. “I’m not actually sure where they live if I’m being honest. I’ll just hope that they get back to me soon.” It was a burden, carrying around somebody else’s livelihood. Maybe this was good practice for what was to come. Sloane stuck out her tongue teasingly at Cass as she waved the knife around. “I’ve got some coupons for Al’s, will that do? You, me, veggie burgers, and milkshakes.” She felt heat settle against the back of her neck at the suggestion after realizing the implications, but she made no move to clear them. They were friends. Friends went out to eat all of the time. “Oh, I trust the jam, I’m just not sure how much I trust you.” Sloane grinned at Cass, the burn in her chest slightly more noticeable. “But okay, I’ll trust you.” 

“We can totally discuss payment.” It came out a little… different than she’d meant for it to. A little less playful, a little more breathless. The tips of her ears burned, and she quickly looked back to the bread and pretended to be utterly captivated by the act of making the sandwich, turning only when Sloane’s hand knocked against her shoulder. “You’d better not!” Cass laughed, grabbing Sloane by the arm and pulling her away from the cabinet that presumably held the offending granola bars. “You’re going to ruin me ruining your dinner!”

It made sense, of course. White Crest was a small town, but not so small that everyone knew where everyone lived. Cass hadn’t even been to Sloane’s house before now, as the two typically hung out at Cass’s apartment instead. “Hopefully they’ll get their phone fixed soon, then, right? I mean, I can’t imagine going without a phone for too long these days.” The world kind of operated in a way that made technology a necessity now, after all. “Now that sounds fun. I’ll totally take you up on that offer.” Maybe she was a little too eager with it, but it really did sound like a good time. “Hey! I’m super trustworthy!” To Sloane, at least. There were a lot of people Cass would lie to, but Sloane wasn’t really one of them. The most she’d done were small lies of omission here and there, and those were often necessary. She wanted Sloane to keep liking her. She wasn’t sure that could happen if the whole ‘technically a bird’ secret came into the light. 

Finally satisfied with the sandwich, Cass meticulously stacked the pieces of bread on top of one another and cut it in half with a grin. “You’re totally gonna eat your words. Along with the best PB&J you’ve ever had!” She held one half of the sandwich out to Sloane with a grin.

Maybe if Sloane’s eyes had been on Cass and not the sandwich, she would’ve noticed the way that her ears burned a deep red. Instead, she was fixated on the best sandwich she would ever have. Sloane would swallow the lie and let it burn, even if that weren’t true. No way was she going to tell Cass to her face that the sandwich wasn’t that great after all the effort she had put into it— which, really, hadn’t been a lot, seeing as the ingredients were what Sloane already had in her kitchen, but still. When Cass grabbed Sloane’s arm, she let out a soft yelp as she nearly fell off of the counter. “Hey, okay! Okay, I won’t eat one.” She dropped the granola bar with a great show and splayed her empty hands, palms facing Cass. “See? I dropped it.” 

Sloane watched Cass with an amused smile before she leaned her head against the cabinet. She could feel her pulse in her throat. Was that normal? “Yeah, I’m not really sure.” Sloane cleared her throat, lifting her shoulders into a shrug before dropping them dramatically. 

“Super trustworthy, got it.” Sloane nodded as if in approval before she watched Cass close up the sandwich. Sloane plucked her half from her friend’s grasp and held it up to the light, making a noise of approval in the back of her throat as she examined it. She shifted it around slightly. “A good jam to peanut butter ratio you got here. Where’d they teach you that?” She grinned past the sandwich at Cass before she took a bite. It was a good sandwich, and really it was nothing out of the ordinary, but because Cass had made it, it tasted even better than she remembered her last PB&J. “Damn, you might be onto something.” Sloane nodded and gave Cass a thumbs up before she took another bite. 

If Sloane noticed Cass’s blush, she didn’t mention it. And Cass was glad for that, the relief swimming through her all at once. The last thing she wanted was to be weird in a way that might alienate her from her friend, especially when that friend was Sloane. Sloane was, without a doubt, one of the best friends Cass had in White Crest. It was evident in the way she could always make Cass laugh, like right now as she dropped the granola bar dramatically. Cass grinned, picking the bar up off the ground and putting it down on the counter just out of Sloane’s reach. “You better not! I got my eye on you.” She squinted theatrically, as if to demonstrate this.

Maybe Sloane was a little more bothered by the missing sketchbook than she let on. She seemed a little nervous, in the moment, clearing her throat in a way that made Cass wonder if she should be, like, totally setting out on a mission to track down Sloane’s friend and retrieve her stuff for her. Maybe she could ask Marina or Levi or Metzli to keep an eye out for it, just in case. “Well, hopefully it won’t be too much longer,” she said, vowing to do everything she could to make sure of that. The last thing she wanted was for Sloane to be unhappy.

Cass laughed as Sloane took the sandwich, quickly forcing a serious expression onto her face as the other girl ‘inspected’ it. The way her heart was pounding in her chest was a little odd; she hadn’t realized how much she wanted Sloane to really like the sandwich until her friend was holding it. “I am self taught,” she said stoically, borrowing the phrase from every cooking show she’d ever seen. It was impossible to keep up the serious persona when Sloane bit into the sandwich and complimented it; the grin that split Cass’s face was so wide it almost hurt. “I told you!” She took a celebratory bite of her own sandwich. It was pretty good, if she did say so herself, though she was pretty sure a lot of the credit had to go to Sloane’s mom’s fancy jams.

Were these butterflies Sloane was feeling, or something else? As she watched Cass over her sandwich, her lips split into a grin. “Self taught, huh?” It occurred to her then that neither of them had really discussed their home lives. She wanted to know her friend wholly, even if that meant the nitty gritty. It was clear to the banshee that everyone in White Crest had a secret. Hell, even Teddy had exposed himself as non-human when she inadvertently outed herself. 

“Hey, you definitely told me! You did.” Sloane felt her nerves erupt like lightning, fingers tingling with the understanding that she had done that— she had made Cass smile as if she’d never smiled before, it was even like this was the first time that Sloane had witnessed it. “I appreciate it, it’s a good sandwich.” She smiled at Cass before polishing off her sandwich. After she swallowed the bit, Sloane nodded towards the fridge. “Do you want a drink? I don’t have anything that’ll really match the delicacy, but hey, I can try.”

“Mmmhmm,” Cass nodded noncommittally, chewing the sandwich. Elaborating more on the topic might mean getting into the way she’d lived off peanut butter sandwiches for a while there, when the group homes were so full that they couldn’t afford to give everyone a hot meal. She got good at making sandwiches for the same reason she got good at most of the things she was good at — because there was never anyone there to do it for her. 

But she didn’t want to talk about that right now. Not when the air between them felt light and breezy and fun. Not when Sloane was smiling and eating a sandwich Cass had made like she was really enjoying it. Not when they were both having a pretty decent time. “I’ll make it for you any time you want,” she replied, heart ticking up again for just a moment with the words. She nodded at the offer, glancing towards the fridge. “Peanut butter does make me thirsty,” she agreed with a grin. “Gimme what you got! I’m sure it’ll be great, no matter what.” 

Right as Sloane was about to turn towards the fridge, the telltale sign of a car pulling into the driveway stopped her in her tracks. Without missing a beat, she rushed to the furthest window of the house that still had a view of the driveway and saw both her mom and dad sitting in the car. She was lucky that she had picked up Cass instead of Cass arriving on her own. How would she answer to the random car parked on the side of their lawn? “We have to go.” Sloane quickly dropped the knife into the sink and grabbed Cass’s hand. 

The warmth from moments before was gone, and now all Sloane felt was panic. Even though she could tell a small lie and get away with it, her mom would know instantly that it was one to begin with. If Cass said anything at all, it went through one ear and out the other. She rushed towards her room and slammed the door shut. She still hadn’t heard the front door open, but that didn’t mean anything. “You have to go. Um, go through my window.” She didn’t have time to explain. If her mom saw her alone with a friend, she would decidedly gauge how close they were and possibly use Cass as the means for her activation. While Sloane wanted to be activated, this couldn’t be how it went– Sloane refused to lose Cass to her own selfishness. It was becoming increasingly difficult to find the line of what she was willing to lose, actually. “Please, I need you to go.”

The mood changed in an instant. Cass heard the sound of a car pulling up and perked up slightly, glancing to the window. Sloane said Cass didn’t ‘need’ to meet her parents, but if they were already here, it would be silly not to introduce them, right? She looked to Sloane, about to say something to that effect, but paused at the look on her friend’s face. “Sloane, what —” Before she could even get the question out, Sloane was dropping the knife and grabbing Cass by the hand, dragging her into her room.

“I have to — Through the window?” Cass looked at the window dubiously, shaking her head. Why did Sloane want her to leave so badly? Even if she was worried her parents might think something was… going on, that they might react poorly to that, it would be simple enough to just say she’d been hanging out with a friend, wasn’t it? Unless Cass was the problem. An insistent, deafening voice in the back of her mind brought up the possibility, so loud that it seemed to echo in her thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t the idea that her parents might get the wrong impression at all; maybe it was just Cass. Maybe Sloane was worried she’d say the wrong thing, or do something stupid. Cass’s chest ached just a little. “Come on, just… I’ll go out the door. I won’t even say hi to them if you don’t want me to.” Just let them know I was here. Don’t be so embarrassed of me that you can’t even handle that much. Please. Please. 

Fear split Sloane in two. Her needs and wants were thrown out the window at the very thought of losing Cass to her own selfish self-actualization. For something she had wanted for so long, Sloane felt no harm in discarding it to ensure her friend’s safety. The idea of being the cause of Cass’s death, at one point, may have sat with her in a way that wasn’t heavy. But now? Even if those feelings of warmth were absent, she would still feel evil to decide her friend’s fate. To intervene with fate, even if death had not yet taken her, felt perverse. But she had to. It was a different feeling than it had been before. She had been okay with it, the idea, had understood the implications, but Cass’s hand in hers pulled her to the opposite side. 

“Through the window,” Sloane insisted, nearly out of breath. She began to pull it open, only sparing a glance over her shoulder as it seemed like her friend was hesitating. She didn’t understand the severity of the situation, and Sloane couldn’t explain it in the time they had to get Cass out safely without her mom asking questions. “No, you can’t.” Sloane turned and grabbed Cass’s hand before dropping it soon after, her own fear and desperation reflecting upon her features as she tried to figure out a way to get Cass through the window without an argument. “Please, Cass. Just listen to me. This is– I need you to go through the window. I’ll drive you home, just give me like ten minutes. Please.” She heard the front door open and she shook her head. “We don’t have time. Please, go.” 

It felt like a rejection, the way Sloane desperately wanted Cass out of sight. For a moment, Cass was a kid again, in foster homes where she was brought forward as a display of the family’s charity but tucked to the side when she became unseemly to look at for doing silly things like feeling or thinking. It was a stupid thing to think, because Sloane wasn’t like that. She wasn’t. She must have had a reason, must have had an excuse, but… In this moment, all Cass could feel was the sting of it. The way Sloane took her hand only to drop it a moment later, the way it hung there after, feeling cold. 

Cass glanced to the door again, and some childish part of her wanted to just… walk through it. It wanted to walk downstairs, wanted to introduce herself to Sloane’s parents, wanted to say look, I can be good, I can be something you put on display instead of something to be ashamed of if you’ll let me. But Sloane looked desperate, and Cass wanted, as she always did, to be liked more than she wanted to be right. So she swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded her head, and walked to the window. “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to drive me. It’d be weird to have to explain why you were leaving, right? I’ll walk home, or get an Uber or something. I’m tired, anyway.”

Sloane’s heart was in her ears. All she could think about was her mother using this to her advantage. If she saw the desperation on Sloane’s face, it would be over– Cass would be dead. Maybe not today, but soon. There’d be no convincing her mom that Cass meant nothing to her, because that wasn’t true. The reason that Sloane was rushing the girl out of her house was because she meant something. If Ari were here, she would do the same. 

She hated the look of betrayal on Cass’s face. If Sloane could tell her the truth, she would, but doing so would take time to get the other girl to understand, and they didn’t have time. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but you have to go.” She could hear shuffling from downstairs and Sloane continued in a hoarse whisper, pain in her voice, “I’ll text you, okay? I’m sorry.” She held the window open for Cass to climb through, hands shaking. 

Sloane, we’re home! 

“Coming down, be one sec!” Sloane’s voice shook and she cleared it before looking at Cass, brows creased. 

It was funny; earlier, Cass had been awed by the way Sloane only ever wanted her to be who she was and now, it felt like who she was was the sort of person her friend felt the need to sneak out windows and hide from her family. Because that was how it always went, wasn’t it? Cass had never been the kind of person anyone wanted to show off. She’d never been the sort of person people wanted to introduce to their loved ones. Maybe she never would be, no matter how many pieces of herself she carved off. 

She forced a smile, ignoring the way it hurt. She was pretty sure it was the first time she’d ever had to pretend to be happy with Sloane, the first time she’d ever felt the need to push some part of herself down to make her easier for Sloane to be around. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d have to do before this very moment, and being wrong had never hurt quite this badly before. “Yeah,” she said, forcing it to come out bright and easy and nothing like what she was actually feeling. “For sure. You still owe me Al’s, right?” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, because everything did. Cass slipped out the window, balancing on the sill for a moment. “I’ll talk to you later, Sloane.” 

And then, she pushed herself out and onto the grass below, slipping off like a thief in the night. It wasn’t a comparison that had ever bothered her before now. It wasn’t a thing that had ever hurt like this. Funny how things changed.

#faetedwill #sloane: wants & fears

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Metzli Bernal Species: Vampire Occupation: Artist / Art Curator Age: 160 Years Old (Looks about 32) Played By: Jojo Face Claim: Roberta Colindrez

"Art speaks for you when nothing else can."

TW: Emotional abuse, domestic abuse, parental death, torture

Metzli Bernal was born in Jalisco, Mexico in 1862 to a carpenter, Baltazar Bernal, and his wife, Guadalupe Bernal. The family lived in the small, quaint town of Teocaltiche, in a run-down house that Baltazar found and renovated into a humble dwelling. There was always work, but the money never really made a difference with bills, an unexpected newborn, and the growing presence of what the town believed to be a gang. This meant that every peso was stretched and an abundance of food became a luxury, leaving the family to struggle.

Poverty came with its frustrations, resulting in Metzli receiving both physical and emotional abuse as punishment for any and all misbehavior, or rather, whatever annoyed their parents that day. Metzli learned quickly what it meant to overcome, adapting constantly to the adversities that came with their parents' stress. It was with this that Metzli sought comfort, and found it in illustrating and painting.

Scrounging what little money they were given for the help they’d give their father on jobs, they purchased pencils, paints, and a notebook, which they took wherever they went. Any chance they got, especially when they were set free from the basement, Metzli ventured around the town and its woods to find beautiful subjects. This was their means of escape from the atrocities at home, and it did well to shape their love for the arts.

On one particular day though, Metzli returned from the woods, only to find Teocaltiche’s citizens being torn apart, and homes being destroyed by what seemed to be feral people. Watching in horror, Metzli saw as the monsters bit into and drained people right before their eyes, motivating them to bolt home. Despite what their parents had done to them, they couldn’t help but worry, fear that their family was in danger. 

Metzli reached their home, just barely escaping detection, and found several vampires feeding on their parents. For what seemed like hours, all they could do was stare fearfully, until all signs of life left their eyes. Without even a chance to run, Metzli was attacked by those same vampires, prompting them to fight for their life. No matter how hard they fought though, they were eventually overtaken and bitten, about to meet the same ending as their parents, until a man named Eloy Coronado stepped in. With a wave of his hand, the vampires retreated, and he smiled down at their blood-soaked body, just barely hanging onto life. “Such resolve and determination. How refreshing,” Was the last thing Metzli heard before everything went black. 

Metzli woke up days later in white-hot pain, surprised to find that their wounds were healed and they were no longer home. But, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Laughter echoed around them as Eloy approached them, happy to see his new recruit made it through the change. From then on, Metzli was forced to fit a mold that Eloy felt suited his needs the best, becoming a powerful part of the clan. They became a numb soldier, a murderer on call for whatever their master needed. They felt nothing, and really, they made themself believe that was fine, that it was better. Even physical pain did very little, proven when Eloy ripped part of their arm away as punishment for failing a mission. 

There was so much pain before, and Metzli began to think that they liked being free of it, even if it came at the cost of losing touch with everything else. That was a small price to pay. They were better off numb and needed to submit to this new, monstrous life, even if they knew their life was meaningless. But art, on the other hand, was something they couldn’t let go of. It still held a place in their heart that still sparked some sort of past humanity, much to Eloy’s dismay. He began to resolve the issue, little by little, and soon enough the emotion creating art ignited, slowly faded. Until it was nothing and they were just a shell of a mindless soldier. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and after over a century of Eloy’s terror, they planned their escape. It took months, but finally a coup was coordinated, and Metzli and their own army of vampires attacked Eloy, killing him.

With their newfound freedom, and a push to leave Mexico, Metzli traveled the U.S. and found Wicked’s Rest. The town was perfect, pulling them in until they settled in and opened a gallery where they could curate other’s artwork, including their own, whenever they deemed a work worthy of being displayed. This has given them a faint spark again, but they were still uncomfortably numb. Now they’re beginning to wonder where did Eloy’s erasure of their emotions begin and end, and when did they begin to do it themself? Metzli was feeling more with each passing day, but it has since plateaued, causing them to wonder if they would ever be able to comprehend the full spectrum of emotion, or even express them correctly. 

Regardless, Metzli is determined everyday to live their life fully and give their life meaning—if there was one to be found, that is. They invest this determination primarily through their gallery, painting and analyzing incoming pieces to ensure authenticity. Sadly, with their line of work, people take to either stealing the art, or simply cash in a piece’s worth, utilizing fakes. This meant people attempted to forge well-known art, claiming it to be legitimate. Attacking them for money was one thing, but forging artwork was blasphemous. Nothing got past their eyes, and in a strange town like Wicked’s Rest, they could hand out the appropriate punishment: death by their bite. And why waste their blood? Metzli would never let that go to waste. Besides, it was always better to sate their hunger. Keep it under control. What blood tasted sweeter than bad blood anyway? Metzli does recall having a sweet tooth.

Character Facts:

Personality: Nihilistic, Pessimistic, Stoic, Loyal, Deadpan, Passionate, Honest, Curious, Quiet, Witty

Usually has a dry sense of humor and doesn’t understand most jokes. They just want people to speak plain. 

Expressionless and hard to read, but the occasional smile does happen.

Had their left arm torn off by their Sire, Eloy Coronado.

Has started developing the ability to compel, and they only use it when extremely necessary as they don’t want to be like their master.

Enjoys pranks, but their idea of them differs from most. Like making pictures askew or moving décor an inch off.

#bio #taken #taken vampire #taken undead #vampire #undead #roberta colindrez #emotional abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #parental death tw #torture tw

[wickedmilo]

ALL I NEED | MILO & METZLI

PLACE: Milo and Metzli’s apartment TIMING: Takes place after The Hard Part  SUMMARY: Milo faces the consequences of his actions WRITING PARTNER: @deathisanartmetzli CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcohol mentions, drug mentions, withdrawal, vomit

Fingers absentmindedly strummed and plucked at the strings of a guitar, creating a half-thought out song. Being so late at night, and having neighbors that were probably human, Metzli knew better than to be making too much noise. Normally they’d be playing a video game of some sort, but they wanted quiet and calm for an evening. There were too many evenings as of late filled with chaos and mayhem, and while Metzli enjoyed those times, it was nice to sit back and let the noise settle into a whisper. Something they could sit in without worry of making a mistake over not thinking thoroughly enough. Which, to them, they rarely did.  

Metzli’s plucking came to a halt, the gesture too harsh and creating a strident and twangy half-note. The sound made them wince, but the sound of retching made them hiss, knowing all too well what was happening. Lips pressed into a thin line, debating on how to approach the matter appropriately. Milo was hurting, feeling like he was dying very much in the same way Metzli had only a short while ago. They knew what withdrawal felt and sounded like. While it was a short-lived stint, it left an impression like a deep crater in their chest, not willing to go forgotten. With a sigh, they left their bed and propped their guitar on its stand, heading to Milo’s bathroom with a reluctant gait.

Milo needed someone, but all he had was their roommate who felt nothing at the sight that was revealed when the door slowly swung open. Metzli knew they had had a similar experience, but they didn’t think they were the right person to be there. “Hey,” They whispered, swallowing thickly at the sight, not knowing the next step. There was a big chance they’d get it wrong, and they didn’t want that to happen. Not when it was their family. “What do you need?” 

Milo hunched over the toilet bowl, willing himself to stay quiet. With Metzli so frequently at work it had been easy to hide just how bad he was feeling, but as the hours crept by he found his health deteriorating. When they finally arrived home from their most recent shift there wasn’t a lot he could do to mask his undeniably rapid decline. After a few texts to insist he had a ‘vampire’ cold, they begrudgingly agreed to leave him alone. Even if vampires could catch colds, though, this was no longer passable as a mystery illness. It wasn’t lost on him that Metzli was going to understand, they were nothing if not observant, and they knew him better than anyone. He had just been hoping for a little more time to himself. Resting his head against the cool ceramic of the toilet seat, he was too lethargic to feel disgusted by the action. He no longer cared about hygiene, he only wanted to feel okay again. His entire body was tense, shivering and twitching without his consent. His stomach lurched with every breath, and he had begun to repress every impulse to inhale, hoping it might alleviate the vertigo. It had worked for a handful minutes, though the relief was followed by a fresh wave of nausea, one that he couldn’t contain. Retching audibly, he raised his head again, watching as a few drops of blood trickled from his mouth to hit the toilet water, tasting old, and bitter as it mixed with bile, or stomach acid, or the supernatural equivalent. He hated it, he hated it more than anything, and it was so much worse knowing what his body was crying out for. A single pill, that’s all it would take for things to go back to the way they used to be.  

Only they couldn’t go back to the way they used to be. It was dangerous, it made him unpredictable, and unreliable. If he didn’t want to become Julien, this was the way. He needed to see this through to the very best of his ability. Swallowing against the uncomfortable sensation in his throat, he let his eyes fall shut, giving up on attempting to be subtle. He could already hear Metzli approaching the bathroom, so he may as well submit to defeat. Not opening his eyes as his roommate pushed open the door, he didn’t want to see the expression on their face. Whether it be concern, or frustration, or a well deserved apathy, he couldn’t bring himself to face it. Reaching up to pull off his glasses, he dropped them clumsily to the floor, readjusting his position to try and get more comfortable. His skin was coated in a sheen of sweat, causing his clothes to cling to him, and make him itch. “Hm,” he hummed in response to Metzli’s greeting, taking comfort in their presence. He was dreading the conversation to come, but he loved them. He was safe when they were near him, he knew that. In reality, he only wanted to be alone because it would be easier to pretend he wasn’t the cause of his misery. Every sharp pain, every aching bone, every shiver, or cough, or desperate scratch at his skin was proof the people in his life who questioned his decisions, who implied he had a problem, or outright told him to seek help, had been right. He had been cruel to a lot of those people, and they had been right. What do you need? He could think of a hundred responses to the question, and though they were definitely honest, not a single one of them would be productive, or even appropriate. “That’s kind’f a loaded question…” He murmured. Brushing off the admission with a tired gesture, he hummed again. The strength it took him to speak was extortionate. “...’m fine. Jus’ waiting for… y’know… whatever illness this is t’… to pass.” 

Metzli grimaced, already kicking themselves for their poor choice of words. What Milo needed and wanted was an instant fix, one that would be to the detriment of the path he had only just begun. The path he wasn’t quite putting a name to yet. “Yeah. Stupid question. Sorry.” They chuckled dryly, navigating their way to sit at the edge of the tub. The sight of the toilet made Metzli wince, and they were grateful they didn’t need to breathe. They could only imagine how badly the mixture of scents smelled, and quite frankly, they didn’t want to even do that. Seeing it, even with Milo’s head covering most of the contents of the bowl, was enough. He looked even rougher than Metzli did when they had their come down, and they were almost positive Milo’s stint had gone on for years in comparison to their few weeks. Based on that, they could already tell the journey was going to be a hell of a ride, and they would be there every step of the way. Even as he avoided confirming what they both already knew: he was in the first stages of withdrawal. Doing so would only affirm how heavy it all was going to be and had been from the start. 

“You don’t need to pretend, Milo. You can pretend with other people, but don’t pretend with me.” Moving unsteadily, Metzli combed their hand through Milo’s damp locks, hoping they could bring any semblance of comfort to him in his time of need. “It’s not just a simple illness. We both know that.” They moved to reach into a cabinet and grab a small cloth. Turning on the sink, they soaked it in cold water and rung out most of the water before placing it gently on the back of Milo’s neck. Metzli may not be able to truly empathize with Milo, but they were motivated enough to not be a monster that they hoped their efforts were enough to imitate the empathy the situation called for. They hoped it was enough to be everything their parents and Eloy should’ve been. It had to be. It was all they had  to offer. “Relax. I got you.” 

Milo hummed again, it was much easier than searching for words, and still showed his roommate he was hearing them. In fact, he wasn’t just hearing Metzli, he was listening to them, their voice cutting through his pain, and discomfort. Still staring down as they approached him, after they took a seat on the edge of the bathtub he couldn’t resist the urge to be near them. The contents of his stomach were lining the toilet bowl, and despite his urge to heave he was confident there was nothing left inside him to come up. So he scrubbed at his mouth with a violently shaking hand, a vain attempt to compose himself, before pushing away from the ceramic. He was dizzy, and the sharp movement didn’t help his muscle cramps, but he did what he could to endure it, resting heavily against Metzli’s legs. He gripped at them as though they were a liferaft, and he figured he may as well be drowning. Overwhelmed, entirely unprepared for what was trying to pull him under. If he couldn’t keep himself afloat, then they would. He knew they would because they had done so before. Don’t pretend with me. He swallowed, his throat raw. He appreciated the sentiment, but being honest went against every instinct he had. Every desire to convince himself he had even a shred of dignity left. 

“I… I did something stupid.” He breathed, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so helpless. Despite knowing the withdrawal would be temporary, he had reached a point where he couldn’t remember what being okay felt like. This was his normal now, his body and mind convinced this was a permanent state of being. A sob escaping him, he shifted as they stood to fetch a towel, exhaling in relief as it was held against the back of his neck. He hadn’t realised just how hot he was, but his skin burned with the contact. Another sob, and he reclaimed his position, reaching out to hold his roommate, too afraid to let them go for a second time. Maybe it didn’t matter if he was embarrassed, or ashamed. They had seen him in far more questionable states. Maybe all that mattered was accepting their support, because if their roles were reversed, and they had been not too long ago, he would be there for them in the very same way; unwavering, and full of love. “I just want it to stop- I just want it to stop…” 

Fists curled tightly, and Metzli sucked in a breath at the raw desperation Milo was displaying. They knew more than anyone that Milo could be explosive, especially when he thought he was being judged, and looked at like he was a child. One wrong look, one wrong word, and he was like a viper. Ready to attack. He didn’t take down his walls lightly, knowing being vulnerable left so much in front of not only himself, but everyone around him. It was an open invitation to peer deeply inside and take a look at all the demons that haunted him within. Metzli knew all of his methods because they used to be the same way, and if they were being honest with themselves, they were still inclined to be. Terrifying as it was, they knew better now than to bite the hand trying to feed. Inject the venom one battles with into someone else, in hopes of quashing every possibility of pain or judgment that fear fabricated. Milo, for the first time ever, didn’t hiss a warning or sink his venomous fangs into someone offering their support, as terrified as he was. That alone spoke volumes of the acceptance he finally let wash over him. It made Metzli’s breath hitch and shake their head at his words.

“Something stupid? You kidding? I don’t think you did.” Milo held tightly onto their legs, doing his best to keep from giving up immediately. The fact that he hadn’t was absolutely impressive. Metzli didn’t expect him to put in so much effort, or to allow himself to be in the level of pain he was experiencing. Milo wasn’t one to take the difficult road, and Metzli found a sense of pride and relief at the fact that he had developed such endurance under their wing. The evidence was definitive proof that they were on the right track to being not only good, but being everything they should’ve had when they were young. With a smile, they huffed a soft breath through their nose and rubbed the back of Milo’s neck. “I know you want to feel better, and you will. It’ll get easier, I promise. You’re doing great.” They paused, picking out their next words carefully. What they settled on was something they’d never heard themselves, but they knew how important they were and why it was crucial to verbalize them when you felt them. “I’m proud of you, mijo.”

“No, I did…” Milo argued, though he was lacking any conviction. He didn’t have the energy to fight, and for the first time he didn’t even want to. “I should have asked for- for Lofexidine, or Tapered or something- not this- this was so fucking stupid-” He failed to repress a shudder, screwing his eyes shut against a fresh wave of pain. If he had only been willing to talk to his parents, they would have prescribed him any number of drugs to ease the symptoms of withdrawal. Especially if they knew he was serious about getting clean. Or failing that he could have limited his dosage, taken less and less of the drugs his body had become so dependant on. Only he wasn’t strong enough, if he tried it would become a never ending cycle. Just one more pill. Just one more high. Jeez, what was wrong with him? Why did he find it so impossible to function? He swallowed the taste of blood in his mouth, trying to believe what Metzli was telling him. The logical part of his brain understood they were right. But the logical part of his brain was also tired, entirely burned out by the choice he had made. 

“... ‘m not.” Metzli would probably try to convince him otherwise but how could he be doing well? Doing well meant being organised, meant fighting this battle in a sensible, calculated way. A way that ensured him the greatest chance of success. And what had he done instead? Thrown himself into sobriety with no plan, no genuine consideration of the process. Taking a few shallow breaths, he felt a warmth wash over him, but it was comfortable this time. A metaphorical warmth that could only come with friendship, with feeling cared for, and appreciated. He wasn’t used to making people proud, it hurt sometimes to acknowledge that. But he was making Metzli proud. His parents would be proud. Eilidh would be proud. Silas was definitely proud. All because he was finally doing something right. That was why he needed to push through. Because he had never done something right before, not like this. “You shouldn’t be…” He felt fresh tears roll down his cheeks, mingling with his sweat. “I don’t think I can do this… it hurts, Metzli. It really hurts.” 

Milo was sacrificing every ounce of his pride, finally realizing he won’t always be right, but he wouldn’t always be wrong either. Not as long as he was willing to learn. He had finally attained his map to atonement, and with some help, he’d be able to follow the directions while only getting lost a few times. Even then, there was no shame in that, and he wouldn’t get lost for long. Metzli would take great care in ensuring to be his compass and light, not willing to lose their family. It was with this selfishness, the need to keep what they had, that Milo would have a reserve of strength. Always. “There doesn’t have to be all these ‘should have’s’, idiot. There’s no single way to do anything. Would it have been easier?” They shrugged, “Maybe. But we’ve already started. We’re gonna get through this.” Without using the exact words, Metzli made a promise to Milo, told him that he wasn’t alone. And he never would be as long as they were around. They proved that more often than sometimes, and they’d do so without being asked because they wanted to emulate what a person did for their loved ones. Everyone they claimed to love and care deserved at least that.

“Shh…ya no. Don’t talk to my chiquito like that.” Metzli did their best to quell as they listened to the pained constriction in Milo’s voice, taking in every word and every meaning behind them. They felt nothing. Gripping the edge of the tub with one hand and simultaneously raking through Milo’s hair with the other, they did their best to force something, anything to come through. Nothing. That was fine, they supposed. They were used to it. They just didn’t want to be. Not at a time like that. But as always, their head had to be enough. “It’s supposed to hurt.” Metzli wiped a few beads of sweat from Milo’s forehead and leaned into their understanding that sweat held more value than tears, and family must weather the worst together. Family needed to step into chaos willingly and with no hesitation. And if Metzli could do that in the face of death, doing so for Milo was like taking a breath on a beautiful day. “It hurting means you’re trying and I’m proud of you. We’re going to get through this. One step at a time. Okay, Milo?”

Milo nodded in response to Metzli’s question, despite knowing it was rhetorical. He was determined to feel sorry for himself, determined to prove he was right. Yes, it would have been easier. Undeniably so. Then again, Metzli was also right in their steadfast, and irritating way. He had already chosen his path, to backtrack and choose another would only mean suffering twice. Clenching his fists against his discomfort, he focused on the feeling of Metzli’s hands in his hair, flattered by the fact that they were willing to be so close to him. He was in desperate need of a shower. He figured it was a testament to the strength of their friendship, proof that they were going to be by his side no matter how difficult things became. It wasn’t lost on him that he had gotten himself into this mess, but that detail seemed entirely irrelevant to his roommate. The only thing they cared about was his well being. Part of him wished he could say the same for his parents, part of him longed to receive that level of unconditional love. But he had caused them far too much pain over the years. They might care for him, and comfort him, and help him through his withdrawal. But they would never let him forget the pain was a product of his selfish behaviour, his ‘choice’ to value drugs, and alcohol over his family. “But I don’t want it to…” He murmured, feeling ridiculous for being so honest. Of course he didn’t want it to hurt. Nobody ever actually wanted to go through what he was going through, but he knew the science. Without applying vampiric variables, he had an understanding of what was happening to his body. In theory that should make it easier to accept. But it didn’t. Taking a deep, uneven breath, he leaned into Metzli’s touch, water from the damp cloth on his neck, trickling down the length of his spine. “Can’t I just… skip the first few steps?” It was a weak attempt at a joke, but it felt important to try. Important to cling to who he was in the face of this. “Please?” 

“Not how that works, chamaquito.” Metzli smiled weakly, giving their best effort to be everything Milo needed, even chuckling at the halfhearted joke. It was going to be a long road, but they didn’t mind and they never wanted to mind. They could only imagine how much more it would mean and how much easier it would be once they had a soul. Baffling as it was, they had still managed to make it far without one, and Milo felt loved. They could tell. And before they could grow too selfish and get lost in the daydream of loving him when they were complete, Metzli lifted him from the ground, grabbing a trashcan with them. There was no way they’d take any chances and find themselves cleaning up things they didn’t want to. “Let’s get you into bed. You need to lay down.” 

“It should be…” Milo muttered, satisfied to hear a smile in Metzli’s voice. At the mention of moving, a groan escaped him, but he had to admit his bed sounded far more comfortable than the unforgiving floor of the bathroom. Walking anywhere felt like far too much effort, but as Metzli stood, he allowed them to pull him to his feet, wrapping an arm around their waist so that he wouldn’t lose his balance. It was a simple gesture, one born more of necessity than intimacy, but he knew Metzli would be against most people touching them in such a familiar, and casual way. How many could say they had the privilege of being this close to them? How many were embraced, rather than actively rejected? Shuffling awkwardly, fighting against the lethargy making his head, and limbs feel heavier than they were, he rested against his roommate, a gentle sigh escaping him as he was struck by a realisation. “I used t’ think I needed so many things…” His voice was barely louder than a whisper, slurred as he focused on staying upright, neglecting his enunciation. “But it’s you, Metzli… I think I only ever needed you.”  

#c:metzli #metzli and milo #addiction tw #drug tw #alcohol tw #vomit tw

[kayipavci]

Just Our (Kuz)Luc || Ceyda & Emilio

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @monstersfear & @kayipavci SUMMARY: Emilio joins Ceyda to check out what is likely an undead monster causing some injuries on UMWC campus.  CONTENT: Alcoholism & Self Harm

While they were able to remain relatively under the radar in White Crest, Ceyda always worried about the other dangers the town posed. It wasn’t something she was entirely used to. She may have always had fight in her to stay alive, but she’d never been particularly worried about her own death. An early death was inevitable, it was a reality she came to terms with at a very young age. She’d die fighting a beast before she ever made it to old age and she had opted to not continue her family’s line. Plenty of her cousins were already doing as much and Ceyda had never been particularly great at relating with kids… or people in general if she was being especially honest with herself. 

 Now, her life was no longer just her own. The night Ceyda had taken Aylin under her wing, the hunt and the fight were no longer her only priority. It was why she found herself scanning the news in more detail than she ever had before. White Crest was dangerous, especially seeing as Aylin hadn’t taken much to fighting after such a disastrous first hunt. So when a string of similar deaths and injuries were happening on her campus, the ranger took it upon herself to look into it. Given the nature of the injuries and the blood loss, she had to assume it was some sort of undead being so she had reached out to Emilio for a hand. 

 It was getting reasonably late on a Friday night so there would likely be plenty of parties going on in the fraternity houses from what little she understood about college culture. Ceyda met Emilio a little further from that part of campus so she could park without her crappy old Honda getting towed. In the distance, she could hear the different music from the different parties blending together. The clouds in the sky gave the night a sort of ominous feeling which had her bones aching to jump into a fight. When she heard footsteps approaching, she turned to face the approaching slayer with a slight smile and awkward wave. “Hey,” she greeted, “Thanks for coming.” Not that she doubted he would. The articles all pointed to some kind of undead species being the one behind the attacks. She pulled a flask filled with shitty vodka out of her jacket pocket. “Figured the smell of this wouldn’t hurt, since it seems to have a pattern. Any ideas in that big ‘ol Slayer brain of yours?” 

 Grief, Emilio had learned, was easier to cope with when distracted. After Etla, he’d refused to sit still long enough for it to hit him, spent years moving from one fight to the next so he’d never have time to reflect on what he’d lost. White Crest had changed that, a little, had brought him to a point where he slept in the same place every night and didn’t spend every waking moment moving, but it made up for it by bringing him people who’d let him lean on them, too. And that had seemed like a good thing until it hadn’t. That had seemed like a good thing until there was a warehouse burning with someone he loved inside of it, until he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom unable to fucking breathe because there was a guitar in the corner of the living room that he didn’t know how to play and a dead man’s clothes mixed in with his laundry. Having people only helped until those people became another thing to grieve.

 So distraction became an easy coping mechanism to fall back on.

 Luckily, there was no shortage of distractions to find in White Crest. He’d been out every goddamn night doing one thing or another — chasing an elder with Metzli and their partner, saving Teddy from a group of rowdy vampires, dusting a serial killer in front of some terrified kid — and he pretended it was enough. He pretended there was any shot he’d actually sleep when he got home, pretended he wasn’t still seeing bodies stacked in the corner of his vision or Silas’s terrified expression reflected in strangers’ eyes. He pretended any of it helped, because what was the alternative? What else could he fucking do? 

 There was no hesitation when Ceyda asked him to join her at the university, no moment of thought. Maybe there should have been, given how ragged Emilio was running himself these days, but there wasn’t. He met Ceyda with a nod, shrugging off her gratitude. “Part of the job, isn’t it?” She’d have come with just as little question if he’d needed a ranger’s opinion. Nodding at the flask, he pulled a half-empty bottle of whiskey from his own pocket, pretended he wouldn’t have brought it if they weren’t dealing with this specific kind of thing. “Won’t hurt,” he agreed. “I think we’re dealing with a kuzlac here. Typically more annoying than anything else. Don’t usually kill their victims, but sometimes you get one without much control. Easy enough to kill, though.” It was a run-of-the-mill thing, for a slayer. There was some comfort in that. “They target drunks. Makes a college campus a smart hunting ground.”

 “Indeed it is,” Ceyda agreed, knowing full well neither of them could turn their backs on a monster that was putting kids in danger. Or most monsters, truly, but there was always something gutting when they got to young people, the kind who were supposed to have better and considerably longer lives than either of them would. They were weapons, born and raised, but they wouldn’t be needed if kids and communities weren’t at risk. They would be the blade so that maybe those young lives can go by unaffected by the creatures that lurked in the shadows, waiting to devour. It was so simple a choice it could hardly even be considered as such. With a curt nod, she added, “And I hope you know if you run into any beast troubles, I’m only a call away.” 

 As Emilio described his suspicion about what they would be facing, Ceyda listened intently, take note of every part of what he said to prepare herself. She knew to be prepared for anything, but as they walked through the empty campus, where she could envision Aylin sitting at any of the benches or with a book under one of the trees, it felt especially important that they got rid of whatever was hurting these innocent kids. “A kuzlac,” she repeated, for her own sake, “What do they look like?” 

 There were few people who could understand the plight of a hunter. Only other hunters really got it. It was why Emilio once felt safe in the Silver Bullet, before Levi took even that away from him just by sullying it with its presence. But this was a harder thing to steal. People like Ceyda understood Emilio in a way he knew no one else really could, because people like Ceyda grew up the same way he’d grown up. Wielding weapons the moment they were old enough to grasp them in their tiny fists, understanding that they were meant to die for their cause long before anything else could take them out. People who grew up outside of that world often misunderstood it. He’d had arguments about it in the past, bickered with Silas, with Milo, even with Metzli. It was nice to have people he didn’t have to walk on eggshells with this particular topic around. “No one else I’d call first.” It was nice to have a ranger whose apartment he hadn’t broken into on his contacts list, he figured.

 “Size of a human,” he replied with a short nod, “but look more like a fucking demon. Sharp teeth, pointed ears. Smart enough to pick and choose victims instead of acting on instinct, but I’m not sure I’d call them entirely sentient.” It was certainly easier not to think of them as sentient beings, not that Emilio tended to trouble himself with the moral ramifications of killing things that were. He killed dangerous things and dangerous people. It didn’t matter much to him if they acted on impulse or planned strikes. “They’re not usually hard to take down. Should be simple enough. You got a stake? I can give you one if not.”

 Given the lack of true hunting she’d been doing the last two years, Ceyda hadn’t felt entirely comfortable going to the local hunter bar. Even if Aylin was finally starting to seem happy, she couldn’t feel confident in her choices. She’d never had to make choices before, not really. Her fate had been decided before she’d even been born and there was comfort in that. All her choices boiled down to were her movements in a fight and even those became more instinct than much else. So finding another hunter, who seemingly accepted her putting Aylin above all else, had been a relief. She could have some of that sense of community back without broadcasting her failures for the whole of their community to see. “Good,” she responded, “Would hate to miss a good fight. Or find out you got your ass kicked by a gwyllgi or something.” 

 There was an easy smirk at the end of that sentiment and Ceyda found herself easing into the company. It was always easier with other hunters. Sure, she had interests outside of hunting, but she’d never really shared them with others, never really knew how. The hunt would take her young anyway and her last name had too much notoriety for her to consider making friends that weren’t like them. At least before she considered that to be the case. In the absence of regular hunts, those empty spaces in her life felt all the more daunting. As Emilio explained, she envisioned the monster in her mind. A picture was painting itself of an ugly human sized creature and she prepared her eyes to search for a variation of that. “Sounds like an ugly orospu çocuğu,” she noted with a scrunched up nose, “I do have a couple of stakes handy and plenty of knives. And a handgun for good measure.” 

 Ceyda led them in the direction of Fraternity Row and splashed some of the plastic bottle vodka that was in her flask onto herself in hopes to attract the vampiric monster Emilio spoke of.  She gave herself a sniff, “Well, I at least smell like a drunk college kid. Don’t think I can pull off the demeanor.” As she said that, there was a loud cheer up the block they were walking up. “That was well timed to make my point.” 

 Emilio rolled his eyes good naturedly at the comment, shaking his head. “I could take a gwyllgi,” he insisted, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t true. There was a reason most hunters stuck to their specialty, and a reason they called on one another when they ran into something outside of it. Ceyda was smart to call him in for help here. In a similar position, Emilio liked to think he’d make the wise choice, too, and call on her if he needed to, but… He didn’t have the best track record when it came to making wise decisions rather than partaking in rampant self destruction. If he did, he would have tracked Rhett down ages before the warden found his way to White Crest by mere coincidence to help with his fae situation. 

 With Rhett in town and his newfound kinship with Ceyda, he was remembering what it was like to hang out with other hunters. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it, forgotten what it felt like to have someone who understood him like this. With Ceyda, he had the added bonus of someone from a well-known hunter family similar to what his had been before the massacre. It was the kind of weight that few people could really relate to. “That probably sums it up,” he nodded, because while he didn’t understand her language, he knew an insult when he heard one. And few things earned insults like kuzlacs did. “Stake through the heart will kill them. So will cutting off their head. They don’t like holy objects, and I’ve got plenty of those on hand. What you’ve got should serve you just fine, though.”

 He followed behind Ceyda, watching as she used her flask like a bottle of perfume. Emilio, for his part, made no attempt to even pretend to be using his bottle of whiskey as anything more than what it was. A kuzlac wasn’t something he found a big enough threat to force sobriety to fight. If his state attracted it towards him, it would be all the better. “They choose their victims,” he said, “and they like easy targets. If they see a drunk off on their own, they’re more likely to go for them. Don’t tend to risk crowds much.” He snorted at the sound of the nearby college kids cheering. “We should patrol the paths they might take home. Those kids are in the most trouble.”

 “Oh, I’m sure,” Ceyda scoffed jokingly, “Wouldn’t recommend it. You’re not immune to their whole paralysis trick. And they’re a bitch to fight at anything but long range.” The one time she’d run into one without a firearm or crossbow on her had been a pain in the ass. Tooth and claw were much easier for her skin to handle than flames. They all had their specialties for a reason. It’d be far too easy to accidentally catch the gaze of gwyllgi and be stuck in place, unable to fight against imminent death. There were plenty of fae, demons, and undead monsters she wouldn’t dare go up against on her own. Even if she wasn’t determined to make sure Aylin wasn’t left on her own, she knew there’d be a better chance of the monster ending up dead if she was with someone who knew what they were up against. It was probably why she’d survived as long as she had. 

 Again, she was all ears as Emilio explained how to kill it. Seemed pretty run of the mill for something undead and Ceyda could handle that. The stakes were ready in her jacket pocket though it’d been a while since she held one. Wood always felt grainy in her hands and she never really liked the sensation of it all that much. Nothing really compared to a well-balanced knife and grasping cold metal. At least not for her. She was sure stakes were an extension of Emilio as much as her knives were an extension of her. Something natural that just fit in their respective hands. “Understood,” she responded dutifully, “I can do a stake to the heart.” The hardest part was actually getting the right angle into the heart, not the force that needed to go into it. If it was her who ended up staking it, she hoped she didn’t embarrass herself by missing its heart. 

 Everything he said was making sense, if they were to make themselves appear in a crowd, they were less likely to survive through their next meal. Ceyda nodded along and took a moment to remember the layout of the campus. “We’ll want to go this way then,” she pointed, “The path that leads from the fraternity houses back to the dorms. So does that one. Think we’re good to split up? I’m sure we’ll hear if the other gets into a scuffle.” Given their eyesight, she wasn’t sure if the dark truly hid her frown. It had been much easier when she couldn’t see Aylin in the place of every kid in trouble and have that pull at her heartstrings. She pushed that thought away, hunts had to be objective if one wanted to survive. “I’ll take this path,” she gestured toward the darker one.

 “I’m sure I’d figure something out.” As if hunting was a matter of will instead of nature, as if anyone could do it. There was a reason hunters were genetically predisposed towards certain monsters; Emilio’s mother used to say it was to instill a sense of balance, to ensure that no monster was undefeatable. If the world was going to put dangerous things in it, she’d told him once, it was going to put people capable of fighting that danger right next to it. No battle was unwinnable by design. She truly believed that. 

 Not that it had done her much good, in the end.

 Emilio shook the thought from his head, hating the way his chest ached, hating the way he hadn’t been able to think of his mother without seeing her final moments since the day those final moments played out. It left him in a state of perpetual grief — never existing outside of that massacre even when years and miles should have separated him from it. He forced himself to focus on the present now, forced himself to think about the college kids and the kuzlac and the ranger who’d asked for his help. “That’s usually the easiest method.” Decapitation was one he used when particularly angry, but he didn’t think it would happen today. On a college campus, where a civilian could walk up at any moment and stumble into the middle of the fight, the fastest solution was always the best one. The last thing Emilio wanted was to see any of these stupid college students get hurt. 

 While the kuzlac was his territory, the layout of the campus was Ceyda’s. Emilio had never been here before, didn’t know which paths led where, and he watched as the ranger pointed out the two most likely hunting grounds for the kuzlac to patrol. He nodded at her question, stuffing a hand into his pocket to fiddle with one of the stakes there. “I think we can handle that.” They both had hearing good enough to catch on quick if the other needed a hand, and they were both fairly capable fighters. It should be pretty open and shut, all things considered. “All right. I’ll take the other. Just, uh… Yell if you run into trouble.”

 Instead of responding again, Ceyda just shook her head with a quiet laugh. They were both apt enough fighters that they could take on most things, but many of these monsters had tricks up their sleeves. If you weren’t prepared, it could go very poorly. She was certain there were plenty of fae and undead monsters that could pull out a surprise that left her unable to adequately defend herself. There were far too many monsters for one person to remember each and every single one. Her father always told her that’s why there were different kinds of hunters. It’s why they’d worked with slayers, wardens, and exorcists alike when the situation called for it. No man was an island so to speak. 

 The confirmation had her hands in her pockets wrapped tightly around the stake Ceyda planned to use. “Easy way it is then,” she said with a nod, “Not always the most fun way, but with the risk of one of the kids walking by, probably our safest bet.” The faint sound of music coming from the different parties all blended together, surely a great sign for the kuzlac on the hunt for its next meal. “You do the same, yell, that is,” she agreed before heading down the dark pathway that led back to some of the nicer dorms, at least based on what Aylin had told her. 

 In case the monster was already feeding, Ceyda kept her footfalls light to prevent herself from being heard. The path was mostly dark without any shadows due to the lack of lighting. It dawned on her they really should have the way more well-lit, but she knew better than most that wouldn’t stop the biggest of dangers. It may give some kid a shot at seeing something before it attacks, but she doubted most kids were even prepared for that sort of situation. Hell, Aylin in theory was, but she wasn’t sure if the young hunter would be able to get out of her head long enough to fight. The thought made her chew on her lip nervously. Kids being able to just be kids wasn’t something that ever occurred to her, at least not before Aylin was in her care. A college campus should feel safe, but nothing was ever really safe. Monsters aside, life was a delicate thing and the people could be just as cruel as the monsters. 

 The deeper she got down the path, the duller the sound of the music got. Ceyda could see the outlines of brick buildings ahead that were still a long walk away. Her eyes scanned around the trees when a startled gasp caught her attention. Her eyes immediately gained focus on a young woman with an ugly orospu çocuğu leeched onto her neck. “Emilio,” she called out relatively quietly, knowing he’d still be able to hear without her calling the monster's attention to her before she could attack. She took off at an easy run toward the scene and quickly kicked the monster away from the drunken college student. “Put some space between us. I’ll find you and make sure to get you patched up and home safe,” she instructed the girl. 

 “We’ll have to save the fun for another day.” Emilio got the feeling neither of them was interested in a ‘fun’ hunt when kids were involved. He and Ceyda had a few things in common as a baseline just being hunters, but it seemed they also shared a fondness for kids. A side effect, he figured, of Ceyda’s guardianship over Aylin and Emilio’s experience as an uncle. It was nice to know that they had the same priority here, nice to know that they were both more interested in keeping these kids safe than they were in killing anything even if killing was an undeniable part of that plan. 

 Giving Ceyda one last nod, Emilio wandered off on his chosen path. The music got fainter and, with it, so did the dull buzz under his skin that told him there was something undead nearby. He wasn’t surprised when he heard Ceyda call out his name; he’d figured out pretty quickly that her path was the correct one. 

 He made his way back towards her at a relatively quick pace, slowing when she came into view. She’d already kicked the kuzlac away by the time he arrived on the scene and the college kid, for her part, was stumbling away quickly. Emilio gave the kid a quick once-over, but she seemed all right. “All right, cabrón,” he called out, drawing the kuzlac’s attention to him. With its original meal plan out of reach, it turned to Emilio with some interest — to stupid to know his blood was no good to it, too hungry to pay attention to anything other than the alcohol thrumming in the slayer’s veins.

 The kuzlac lunged, doing its best to get around Ceyda, and Emilio jumped backwards to avoid it. The stake in his hand stayed at his side, and he made no move to kill the thing just yet. He ought to, he knew. He ought to make quick work of it and go home. But with the kid safe and the beast’s attention on him… Emilio would be lying if he said he didn’t want a fight. 

 The fact Emilio was quick to make his way over to the scene of the fight came as no surprise to Ceyda. The fight was practically ingrained in them in a way where it was essentially muscle memory. Whether it was a born instinct or something that had been trained into them for years and years, she couldn’t be certain, but it sure as hell came in handy. Her primary focus had been keeping the kuzlac’s attention on her long enough for the girl to be a good distance away, so that when it lunged, it would be for her or Emilio who had stakes at the ready. 

 Footsteps and Emilio’s voice registered behind her and she kept her arms at the ready, eager for one of them to stake the pislik. Ceyda only barely missed grabbing the thing when it lunged around her toward Emilio. At least it was now in the slayer’s range. Based on what Emilio told her, he should have an easy enough time taking it down, so her eyes scanned the pathway in search of the girl. The kuzlac was in front of Emilio, looking ready to make a meal out of him, but it would be sorely disappointed she was sure. And dead. She locked eyes with Emilio for a moment, confirming he had it handled from here so she could go make sure the injured student was okay. Two hunters fighting it at once seemed to be overkill, not that she didn’t want it especially dead, but she couldn’t be sure how much blood that girl had lost. 

 With what appeared to be approval, Ceyda found herself jogging after the girl. It didn’t take long for her to catch up and she announced when she figured her footsteps would be in the girl’s range of hearing. “It’s just me,” she called out, “I wanted to make sure you got back to your dorm safely.”

 The girl nodded, fright still etched in her features. Ceyda gestured toward a bench and calmly instructed, “Sit. We don’t want that bite getting infected.”

 “T-thank you,” the girl stammered.

 “Of course.” Ceyda pulled out one of the small packs of alcohol pads and a bandage from the inner pocket of her jacket. As she unwrapped the disinfectant wipe, she warned, “This might sting a little.” 

 The girl winced a bit at the touch, but her shoulders soon slumped when she realized she was in fact safe. Ceyda believed it was probably more the alcohol than it was her presence. At least she hoped as much as she noticed the blood that had the girl’s dark curls clumping together.  “See, that wasn’t too bad,” she assured, “Now I’m just going to put this bandage on, you’ll want to change it within an hour or two. When we’re walking back, you’ll want to apply pressure, too.” 

 “O-okay,” she agreed, but confusion was still written all over her face, “W-who are you? What was that thing?” 

 “I’m Ceyda, and my friend back there was Emilio. That thing was… a wild animal,” she answered, hoping it sounded believable, “What’s your name?” 

 “An animal,” she repeated, accepting the answer for what it was, “I’m Mel.” 

 “Mel, my friend Emilio should be back our way in a few minutes, then we can walk you back to your dorm, just to be safe. Does that sound okay, Mel?” 

 Ceyda received a nod as an answer before she returned her own attention to listening out for the fight. 

 Ceyda needed to check on the kid, and Emilio was all too happy to let her go. He gave her a quick nod, keeping the kuzlac’s attention on him as she slipped away to find the student and tend to her wounds. If she’d interrupted the feeding, the wounds probably weren’t life-threatening ones. If Emilio had to wager to guess, he’d say the kid would be more frightened than anything. Maybe a little confused, depending how much she knew about White Crest. Ceyda was certainly a better choice to explain the situation to her. Emilio wasn’t particularly good at talking to people, even if he did have a soft spot for kids. 

 The kuzlac barely seemed to register that Ceyda left, its eyes focused on Emilio. More specifically, on Emilio’s throat where his pulse beat against his skin. He gripped his stake, grin wild as he and the beast circled one another. 

 “Come on, you ugly bastard,” he taunted, “you want a piece? Come on.” 

 As if genuinely drawn in by the words, the kuzlac chose that moment to pounce. And Emilio — Emilio could have taken it out, right then and there. Position his stake just right, let it land on it. But his blood was pumping and his heart was pounding and something made him throw his arm up instead, made him let the creature dig its claws deep into his skin, made him grin viciously at the pain it brought with it. 

 The kuzlac screeched as his blood touched its skin, realizing it had been tricked, understanding that there was no meal to be had here. It released his arm and made to stumble back, but Emilio grabbed it before it could retreat, gripping the back of its head with one hand and driving his stake in with the other. He held it in place, nostrils flaring with rage he didn’t entirely understand as it let out another inhuman sound before dissolving into dust around his hand. 

 For a moment, he held his position. Blood dripped onto the dirt path, mixing together with ash. His hand trembled, his chest felt tight. Finally, he dropped his arms, slipping the stake back into his pocket. He felt empty, even still. 

 Giving himself a few beats to slow his breathing into something less desperate, he turned on the path and followed the sound of quiet voices until he spotted Ceyda and the kid just ahead. He walked up to join the pair, offering a nod in greeting. “It’s gone,” he said gruffly. “Won’t be bothering anybody else.” Looking to the kid, his expression softened a little. “You okay?”

 Still on high alert, Ceyda heard Emilio approaching before he ever spoke. They hadn’t spent much time together, but she was quick to remember patterns and the fall of Emilio’s steps were one she was able to etch into her memory with ease. The easy smile she gave him as a greeting faltered just slightly when she noticed blood on him. It wasn’t something he wouldn’t recover from within a day or two, but the slayer had seemingly had the kuzlac in a position where it should have been an easy kill. She hadn’t been there to see the fight, but she figured she shouldn’t feel bad for leaving him behind to check on the kid. At the end of the day, they both knew making sure any kid was okay was far more important than their own well-being. 

 Mel still seemed a bit shaken, but she gave yet another nod, “Yeah, just must have had more to drink than I thought I did. Never seen an animal like that.” 

 Ceyda offered a reassuring pat on Mel’s shoulder, “It was dark back there, too, either way, it won’t hurt anyone else.” 

 “Yeah,” her mind still sounded like her thoughts were taking her far away, “Uh, thanks though, both of you. My dorm’s just up here.”

 The building she pointed to was only a couple of buildings ahead. For all intents and purposes, the girl was home safely. Still, Ceyda and Emilio would see to it that she made it all the way home. They both knew far too well that anything could pop out within a few yards. “Good, be sure to change that bandage out a little later. You should eat something, too, high in sugar if you can. Drink a lot of water, too, save yourself a hangover.” 

 Emilio didn’t miss the way Ceyda’s gaze lingered on the blood on his arm, and he offered her a brief shrug as if to say what can you do? She’d known he was in a good position to take the kuzlac out when she left, but she couldn’t know what happened after. Emilio wasn’t sure himself if he’d intentionally let the beast get a hit in or if it had been an unexpected accident. He liked to think the latter, but… the former wasn’t as unrealistic as he might have wished for it to be. 

 Glancing to the kid, he nodded. “You’ll be all right in the morning,” he assured her quietly. There wouldn’t be any adverse effects from the kuzlac’s bite; the most she’d have to worry about would be wooziness from the blood loss, though he was fairly certain Ceyda had intervened before she lost too much blood. “Juice is good,” he told her, all too familiar with treating blood loss. 

 He was on high alert as they made it the rest of the way to the girl’s building, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. The fight and the laceration on his arm had sobered him up a little more than he’d like, and he tried to refrain from pulling the whiskey from his jacket and taking a swig. He’d wait until the kid was safe. Stopping in front of the building she’d indicated, he leaned back and watched until she closed the door behind her, then turned to Ceyda with a curt nod. “Looks like a case closed, huh?” The implication was clear; he didn’t want her to ask about the claw marks in his arm.

 There was a small smile on her face as she watched Mel let herself into the building. They’d gotten there before anyone could get too hurt and the campus would be safer, at least for a while. Ceyda didn’t have any illusions about what lingered around White Crest. Her senses and training alike didn’t allow for it. There was an edge to Emilio’s voice she didn’t recognize when he spoke. While she could pick up subtle changes in tone happening, she was clueless as to what they actually meant. She wished people would speak plainly. Either way, she opted to agree with him. “A case closed indeed,” she noted, “Successfully at that. Glad we got here when we did.” 

 She placed her hands firmly back in her pocket and led the way back toward her car. Ceyda was still concerned about the claw marks, but it happened to the best of them. No use in pointing out a potential misstep. Instead, she piped up and said, “How do drinks at Dell’s sound? We already smell like alcohol, might as well drink some.” 

 When it seemed as though Ceyda accepted his silent request to not mention the bloody arm, Emilio relaxed ever so slightly, nodding his head in agreement with her statement. They got the kid home safe, albeit with a little less blood in her than she’d had that morning. She’d wake up tomorrow, she’d go to her classes on Monday. She’d be okay. And, in spite of everything, that felt good. It felt like a success, even if the feeling was still a dull one. Even if it still didn’t feel quite like it should. 

 Trailing behind Ceyda, Emilio glanced up at the sky in an attempt to gauge the time. It was getting late, that much was certain. He knew he ought to go home, ought to stitch up his arm or let Ari do it for him, but… “A drink sounds good. First round’s on me, hm? As a token of my appreciation for letting me kill something.”

 “I like the sound of that,” Ceyda responded with a laugh, “Think we just found ourselves a new tradition. Whoever gets the fun of killing the monster gets the first round.” It was a good feeling, saving the kid and walking away with a friend. She could only hope they’d have more nights just like this one. 

#wickedswriting #self harm tw #alcoholism tw #emilio #p; emilio #p; just our kuzluc

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Town Hall | Group Thread

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Like half the town!  SUMMARY: The town hall meeting goes about as well as you’d expect—everyone is upset and talking over one another until Leah drops the bomb that some people are going to have to stay behind to stop the damage before it spreads outside of White Crest. A few ideas on how to figure out how to stop the destruction of the town are thrown around, and Lil volunteers to make contact with some old, dead townies and see if they have any ideas.

—

Rarely was the town hall filled with such life, despite the thick atmosphere of dread from those within. Even those in White Crest who chronically looked the other way knew something was seriously wrong. They didn’t know what or how, but when all the town’s leadership had to say about things was “ayuh, this is real bad,” it seemed appropriate to panic. As the gathering crowd reached critical mass, a collection of friendly faces and those who rarely tread from their homes, many called out. “Who called this thing?” “Are these The Horrors? Are they back?” “A 20 foot lion ate my son and then flew into the sky”. Maybe there was no one who could truly appease such a fearful crowd, but for now, everyone only needed to listen.

 Now was a bad time for Rio to remember how much he hated crowds. But he kept reminding himself that despite that, he had been one of the first people to ask for a town hall in the first place. It only made sense that he toughened up and threw himself to the wolves. Metaphorically, hopefully. As the group became more restless, Rio figured he needed to say something. He stood up, ignoring his shaking limbs and scratchy throat. He cleared it quickly, unintentionally doing the track of grabbing everybody’s attention. No going back now. “Uh hey everyone. I was one of the people that asked to gather everyone for a town hall. If uh- well anyone that knows me knows that I really don’t like public speaking, but this felt important.” He paused, scratching at his neck as he tried to figure out exactly how to describe the trip to the future he had gone to. “I think something really bad is going to happen to this town in the next two months. I don’t really know what. But I do know there’s been weird stuff going on for a while now. And me and a few other people ended up seeing this town in the future. Or what was left of it. Which wasn’t much.”

 “Is this a Y2K thing? ‘Cause we all know how that ended up.” It was a bunch of mierda that Metzli had experienced. Everyone caused chaos from their paranoia and they were watching White Crest do the same. If people weren’t careful, the mass hysteria could prove to be dangerous, especially in a town filled with supernatural beings. “I’m not trying to be an ass, but we gotta be logical here. Stuff happens all the time here and it always settles.” Their eyes softened at Aylin, and they hoped they didn’t raise her anxiety further. “We just don’t wanna jump the gun.” 

 Aylin made her way over to where Rio was standing, tapping her fingers against her thighs. “Thanks - I - I appreciate you doing this. Apparently not supposed to say thanks but still, thanks.” She handed him a small piece of candy - one of the many sour ones she had on her person. “I also asked about a way to let people know about some stuff that I’ve found out. I - well, myself and some other individuals got a quite literal ‘blast to the past’ - as in, we’ve seen the past of this town and history is - uh, well, repeating.” Her gaze found Metzli and she offered them a small smile.

 This whole town hall thing felt stupid and like a waste of time to Kaden. What the hell could most of the people in this town really do anyway? And would they even believe what was happening? He was pretty sure he should be shutting this down if he were adhering to his hunter duties. Not that he was great about adhering to any of those as it were. But if flannel kid was running it, he’d show up. He believed it had to be extremely fucked if Rio was running this shit. His brows furrowed at his words. “Future? And how bad is bad, kid?”

“I was born after Y2K” Rio replied shortly, but turned back to the person once he realized that his anxiety of the whole situation was going to hold him back here, “I mean I know what Y2K was though. And trust me, I hope I’m wrong. But I don’t think I am” Some dude no older than him called him kid like Kaden did, grabbing his attention immediately. “Really bad. Like a desert where the Common was supposed to be.”

 Emilio was restless. He sat in one of the chairs that had been spread across the room, his foot tapping against the floor as he listened to Rio’s opening speech, grimacing with each new piece of information that was added. The future. It was a hard thing to argue with, wasn’t it? Especially when Aylin added in her experience in the past. It was undeniable that something was happening; the town had been ‘unsettled’ for months now, in a way that was far more intense than usual. What was happening still seemed up in the air. “If what you’re saw is real,” he said, “what are we going to do about it? Can’t fight something this vague.” 

 “So what, we’re fightin’ climate change then, izzat it?” Rhett complained from the back of the room, arms folded across his chest. 

 Metzli smiled back and gave a small wave, eyebrow raising at the bearded man bringing up climate change. They relented, raising their arm and pocketing their hand to stand back as they scanned the room. Some faces were familiar, some not. All in all though, it looked like everyone was ready to listen. 

 Lil wasn’t one for crowds of people, well at least living people. Still, as it seemed like the town was going up into flames, she figured she should at least come in and see what was happening, arms folded in front of her as she tried to blend into the back of the room. Her normal smile and easy glint in her eyes had become more solemn as of late as she listened to the kid in front of them trying to call the town hall together. She thought of a million things to say, but for a moment she couldn’t seem to get any of it out instead just sighing slightly. “ Don’t think we’d all be here if things were going well now would we?” Her voice more quiet, concerned than she normally lets on. 

 Rio’s nerves were almost palpable.  Leah put a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly with reassurance.  She knew what he was feeling, and she hated public speaking just as much.  But White Crest and its residents were some of the most important things to Leah, so she sheepishly looked to those around her as she addressed them as well.  “I don’t think panicking is going to do us any good.  We’ve all seen White Crest through some of its worst times, right? It’s quite possible that this will work itself out in the end, like the town always does.  But it's important for everyone to know exactly what we saw, and it seems like there’s a cycle of things just… ending in White Crest.  And the things that have been happening around town lately usually precede it.”

 This whole thing was… weird. Cass shifted where she stood, glancing around the room. There were people here she recognized, and people here she didn’t. They all looked a little scared, which made her feel a little better about feeling a little scared. There was some comfort, at least, in the people she did know being here. She offered Aylin a reassuring smile in hopes of easing some of her anxiety, flashing Rio a quick thumbs up to do the same. “Has anyone ever stopped it before? Do we know that?”

 “We don’t know if anyone’s ever stopped it before.” Aylin paused, “but I don’t think so. I mean, maybe, but we didn’t find anything that said this.” She bit her lip, offering a smile to Cass. “But that’s why we wanted to get all of you here, because maybe someone here can help! Doğru? Belki?” Right? Maybe? 

 Aavyan didn’t want to be here. In fact, a town hall meeting about the damned apocalypse didn’t even rank among the top 100 places he’d like to be. He slunk in, and stood against the back wall, eyes darting nervously among the crowd. There were some faces he recognized (some he wished he didn’t), but their presences did nothing to ease the anxiety that kept the hair at the back of his neck standing on end. “If no one’s ever stopped it before, what makes anyone here think we can do anything?” he asked, voice strained. “Shit–er, stuff, has gotten out of hand. I’m not feeling very confident in our chances with what I’m hearing thus far.”

 Leah piping up was a cause for concern, causing Metzli’s eyes to widen and their anxiety to raise. The situation was definitely serious and they immediately started packing in their mind. When Cass spoke, they perked up minutely and quietly shuffled their way through the mass of people. Placing a careful hand on her shoulder, they smiled and looked back up to listen intently. 

 It was almost like no one in the room recognized him. Not even Rio. Was there something on his fa– Oh. Right. He was still a damn teenager. “Putain de merde,” Kaden grumbled to himself. “Ending? As in…” His brow knit together as he concentrated on the thought. “But the town’s still here. What happened before anyway?”

 The optimism in Aylin’s voice was somehow both laughable and admirable. Emilio doubted anyone in this room would have any answers; most people old enough to remember the previous occurrences of things like this probably got the hell out of dodge the moment history started repeating itself. “And if no one can? We should plan for the worst case scenario here.” That was probably going to be the most likely end result.

 “Ain’t the thing about all them time travel movies is that, like… y’can’t change the future?” Rhett seemed incredulous at best regarding the conversation at hand, throwing an unimpressed glance at the few faces he knew. “Sounds like might be best to just rattle our dags n’ get the hell on outta here.”

 Crow stood behind Rio keeping an eye on the crowd and taking in the words. He was a little inclined to agree with Rhett that leaving would be easier than staying and fighting an unknown factor but he wasn’t about to abandon the town if others were staying. “Running is smart.” 

 Metzli’s hand on her shoulder was a welcome comfort, and Cass offered her sibling a quick smile to show her gratitude. “I don’t think time travel movies are, like, based on facts or whatever,” she replied, glancing to the man who’d made the statement. “And I don’t know if we should just give up. There’s a lot of smart people in here, right?”

 “Old dude is right. Can’t fuck with the time shit.” Mateo crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He wasn’t one for gatherings with random people, but with the safety of his loved ones being a concern, he figured it was best to attend.

 Lil saw some of the faces of the faces that she knew and she tried her hardest not to look at them, knowing that her face looked grim. Normally she’d be the first to jump in with Cass, trying to find a solution, but she wasn’t so hopeful about all of this. Not since Jonas didn’t come back. Lil’s eyes focused on Emilio after he spoke and then Rhett echoing what she was feeling. Clearing her voice slightly Lil said, “ I agree with them, but I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. The - fabric is all wonky now.  We need to get people out of here if we can.” 

 “We got anything in place for that? ¿Plan de evacuación? Probably a good time to break it out, even as a last resort.” Though Emilio doubted they’d come up with anything better. Truth be told, he had little attachment to this town; so long as he could take the people he loved with him, he was willing to set up just about anywhere.

 “Have you seen the news? Weird shit is happening in other places too. Not just here. Evacuating may not be a total solution.” Metzli raked their hand through their hair, talking toward Emilio. “There’s something bigger happening and it looks like we’re at the core. We can’t just run.”

 Metzli had a point, and Emilio grunted in brief acknowledgement. “That happen in the past, too? This shit happening outside of town?” He glanced at Aylin, unsure if she’d know the answer.

 Leah looked to the townspeople, the ones she recognized and the ones she didn’t (who was that teenaged boy? He didn’t look familiar at all).  She looked to Nicole, and then down at her hands, and then back at the people again.  “It seems that in past situations, whatever was happening in White Crest was stopped before it was spread outside of the town.  I want to make that clear- the strange things that are happening in the outside world, they’re likely leaking out of White Crest.  Stopping what’s happening here will stop it out there, too.”

 Aylin glanced over to Emilio. “Not entirely sure - but I don’t think so? But also they didn’t have televisions back then, so they probably couldn’t find out stuff as easily as we can now, with like, Instagram and the news and whatever.”

 A year ago, Aavyan would’ve laughed his way out of this town hall. Time travel and monsters eating people was the kind of thing in movies. Maybe the others had a point with that. If no one had been able to stop this thing before, maybe the movies held a grain of truth to them. “Well, we sure can’t stay either. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like our chances if it’s 1912 and we got big lobsters.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glancing between Emilio and Metzli. “Y’all cannot be serious about thinking of staying, right?”

 Something stirred in Kaden. He wasn’t sure what he’d call it. Definitely not fear or concern. “We can’t just all die, either.” There were people in town he cared about and the thought of them all dying as the town caved in on itself – he couldn’t let his thoughts drift there. Not to mention the innocent people who just picked the wrong fucking place to live. “Whatever the solution, it can’t need the whole town. We should start getting people out.”

 “Finally, someone is making some sense,” Aavyan said, gesturing at the French kid

 Crow rubbed the back of his head but nodded at Kaden’s words, “Can help get people out. No matter what we do.” He knew how to get in and out quickly so leading groups outside of town and helping people collect their essentials would be easy for him. 

 “It’s not about staying, tonto,” Metzli rolled their eyes at Aavyan, “If it’s spreading, it doesn’t matter if we stay or not.” Looking to the teen boy, they nodded. Getting people out would be smart, but they’d need to keep capable ones in town to stop whatever it was that was causing the chaos. 

 “There are people who won’t leave,” Cass pointed out. “There always are. In every natural disaster, there are people who refuse to leave their homes. We can’t leave them to die if this thing really is, like, a ‘wipe out the whole town’ kind of deal. We need to find a way to minimize the damage at least.”

 “If people won’t leave, then evacuate them,” Kaden said. “I’m not going to sit around and let innocent people die just because they’re too stubborn and stupid to leave town.” He didn’t know how but he’d throw people into buses heading out of town if he had to. “Whatever’s going to stop this thing clearly is taking the town with it. We shouldn’t sacrifice people just because they won’t leave.”

 With so many people around to comfort him, Rio was starting to feel a bit more comfortable, though the situation didn’t exactly have much comfort to spare. “I’m not sure everyone could leave even if they wanted to.” Rio began. Leah and Rio had gone through hundreds of books probably, looking through all of the Scribe texts they had in an attempt to find records of this happening. They hadn’t been thrilled with what they found. “We couldn’t find much about the weird things happening outside of the borders before, but it’s spreading. We think that’s new.”

 “D’you know how it was stopped?” Rhett asked Leah. “If you somehow know it all happened before… sure someone had to scribble down the damn cheat code, eh?”

 “This ain’t a video game, abuelito.” Mateo chuckled, despite the man having a good point. If it’s happened before, there had to be written history about it. “He is kinda making sense, though.” He muttered with a shrug.

 “You got anything about it in the library?” Emilio inclined his head towards Leah, shifting a little. He probably wasn’t her favorite person, given the whole ‘drunken bone theft’ ordeal, but they had much bigger problems than that now, anyway. “Rhett’s right. Somebody had to have written something down.”

 “Oh!” Aylin chirped nervously, “there’s lots written down, but it does just all come to a halt. Which… is the issue, but also how we sort of figured out that stuff just all,” she gestured away with her hands, “goes poof.”

 Lil sighed slightly, thinking that the entire meeting was going sideways but liking that it was going towards a clearer picture . “ Then we have to stop it, but we don’t all have to stop it.” She couldn’t help but snort at the idea of a cheat code but shook her head. “Do - you guys have any people that could be contacted that might help. Anyone - written down in that book?” She wasn’t quite sure how many cards she could flip, but being an exorcist did give her something to go on. “With all of it being wobbly, I might be able to - talk to them.” 

 Poof was bad. Poof was very, very bad. Cass felt some of her hope slipping, and she leaned into Metzli a little for reassurance. But Lil made a good point; time was so fickle right now. If they could find some way to harness that… Maybe they could get more details? “Is there any kind of, like… pattern to the time travel stuff? Maybe we can figure out a way to work with it instead of against it?”

 Aylin turned to the woman who’d asked about names in the book, “I remember one - Patricia Williams. I think. There might’ve also been someone called Alexander Parrish, too.”

 Lil nodded at the younger as she explained some of the names, her arms stretching in front of her for a moment before nodding, realizing there were plenty people in this room that would be confused on why she asked - although she did find it somewhat charming Cass thought she was going to go through time to talk to them. With the veil breaking - and all the ghosts that loved to scream at her - Lil thought it would at least be a change of pace for them to be helpful for once. “Thanks. That’s something I could work with at least. Although if you guys got something from either of them, it might be easier. ” 

 Nicole stood in the back of the room, leaning against the wall just near the exit. Ready to bounce when things got too heated. It was her first town hall. And by the looks of it, her last one. It was hard to figure out what the real problem was. Something about time travel bullshit and— People kept talking over each other, and she wasn't sure if they were even listening. Was there even a moderator for this event? Just a bunch of kids it seemed. Not that she'd ever want to be in their shoes or to tell them how to conduct the meeting. So she kept her mouth shut, allowing the chaos and the discussions about…whatever the issue was to continue. She was sure Leah would bring her up to speed on the ride home.

 Metzli’s arm draped around Cass protectively, sensing her fear rising as the conversation transpired. None of it was sounding good, and it didn’t seem like a sensible plan could be put together. At least, not with so many people around. Most of them were useless humans who had no idea what to make of everything. “The clock,” They spat out suddenly with a bap to their head, remembering Eilidh’s kid sputtering about her little time warp. “Maybe something is up there? At the tower? Heard lots of stories about all kinds of shifts, and it is at the Common.”

 “We do know how it was stopped”, Leah answered Rhett, looking toward Rio and then Aylin. “And the library is partly how we know”, she said toward Emilio, holding his eye contact momentarily before she looked back in the group. “The problem is, in order to save the rest of the world from destruction, 12 people sort of need to… stay here. While it crumbles.”

 Emilio snapped his fingers, pointing to Metzli in agreement. “Worth looking into,” he nodded. “Weird shit’s been happening when that thing strikes the hour, too.” Then Leah spoke, and he went quiet. Twelve people, volunteering to die. That was what she was saying. He glanced around the room uncertainly. A year ago — hell, a few months ago, he would have thrown his name in the hat without hesitation. But his eyes landed on Rhett, and he thought of Teddy at home. Probably wasn’t fair now, was it?

 Oh. Well that was… less than ideal. Rhett’s gaze quickly found Emilio’s as well, and his brows furrowed. He knew what the idiot was thinking, and just shook his head slowly. “Stay here n’ do what, exactly?”

 Now that was something. Metzli’s heart felt like it dropped, realizing what Leah was saying. “Twelve people have to sacrifice themselves.” They stated blandly, answering for Leah. 

 Aylin pressed her hands against her ears. The idea of people having to sacrifice themselves made her feel sick to her stomach. “But why can’t we save everyone?”

 Twelve people had to die. No matter what. Kaden’s heart sank. Some stupid part of him figured he should volunteer and get it over with. It was his duty to protect people, right? Only no part of him wanted to die in this town. Not now. “Who… I mean how do we decide… who?” 

 People had to sacrifice themselves? Cass’s heart skipped a beat at the notion, and she swallowed as she glanced to her friends in the room. She knew the people she loved were selfless people. She knew some of them would jump at that chance. “Is there any other way?”

 Levi, who had been standing creepily at a window this whole time listening in, turned tail and booked it the fuck out of there the moment it heard the word ‘sacrifice’. No way was it getting itself wrapped up in any of that bullshit.

 The pain from Aylin and Cass was palpable, and Metzli couldn’t help but feel guilty at the thought of already willing to volunteer. Their embrace tightened around Cass, and their brows creased together as they stayed quiet and offered Aylin a worried glance. If they had to pick between themself and the ones they loved, it was always going to be the latter. With or without a soul.

 “Any volunteers?” Aavyan deadpanned. “It’s just human sacrifice or nothing, right? I mean, come on.” Why were they trusting the word of some long dead prophets or whatever? Surely there must be any other option than just letting twelve of their fellow townspeople die. Everyone in this room was someone’s friend, brother, grandmother, cousin–something. He shouldn’t have come to this meeting. Better yet, Aavyan should have never come back to White Crest in the first place. 

 “Volunteers? We can’t seriously be considering this.” Cass glanced around again, hoping to find anyone as horrified as she was.

 “Why do we have to have volunteers?” Aylin spoke up at nearly the same time as Cass. “That seems - cruel, or like - why do people have to choose to die? I really really don’t like that at all.” She took in a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself.

 “We aren’t going to stop looking,” Rio promised. “If there’s any way to avoid this we are going to figure it out. We don’t want anyone to die. Or have to choose to stay behind. But…” Rio paused before letting out a big sigh, “From what we’ve found in old journals it’s never been stopped before.”

 “We’ll figure it out,” Metzli stated with conviction, “We always do.” They swallowed and began to back away, a tumultuous parade of thoughts marching through their mind. There had to be another way, but panic was beginning to creep into the room—or maybe it was just their mind. With all the information they were presented with, there was a lot to think about. Too much, even. 

 “And what happens if we don’t find another way? If not enough people volunteer?” Rhett didn’t exactly make a habit of being a ray of sunshine, but these were the sort of things they had to consider. 

 Mateo had had enough of the conversation. Whatever the town decided to do, he decided that it was their problem, and left. Plenty of selfless people out there would volunteer, and in the meantime, he’d get Vida and Luz out. 

 Lil was already formulating how to get the ghosts to her with relative ease, when she heard Leah’s words and her brain settled for a second. Of course. She’d had a gut feeling about all of this and she settled for a moment.  Everything always had a dam cost, and she figured that the piper usually got paid in the end.  She should have felt some sort of anger or remorse, but instead her jaw settled, not wanting it to start drawing straws or some sort of nonsense. She knew when she entered White Crest she’d die here, and it didn’t seem as horrifying as the other’s expressions seemed to think.

Lil sighed and said, “ Then I guess I’ll be the dumbass to start it, so we don’t end up in fucking lots.” Lil said to Rhett knowing that it would start another argument.  Waiting for the shock to settle down a bit, Lil tried to be gentle and said, “ It’s morbid, but I think we should at least consider having people that are willing to stay behind, if just if it comes to that, or many more people than twelve are going to die. For what it’s worth we still need to know what they did if we’re going to have any chance at all. They must have done some ritual that we’re going to need to do and since we don’t have a book on it we're going to have to ask them. So - at the very least I’m staying here. Whatever happens happens. ” Lil said the last part with a confidence that was mostly stolen from her father as she didn’t look at her friends with a shrug in her shoulder. She wasn’t frightened - death had never scared her - and she was fairly resolute on it.  “So I guess I'm volunteer one. Hopefully it turns out they just fucked up the ritual huh.” She put on an easy expression, not one of fear in hopes that the rest of them would see that she wasn’t doing it out of morbidity. 

 “I’m not concerned about the possibility of there not being enough volunteers, not when White Crest attracts the very people who feel pulled in by this sort of thing”, Leah started.  She looked toward Lil, trying her best to convey all the gratefulness she was feeling with just a look.  “And again, there’s always the possibility that we’re wrong, that it’ll be nothing…  Just a harmless ritual, and White Crest could be back to harmless fish rain as soon as the New Year.”  It wasn’t an irrational thought.  Despite the piles of research she and Rio had pulled up about what was happening, Leah couldn’t help but have a glimpse of optimism about the town that she loved so much.  She had only ever seen it work out, somehow some way, at least in this lifetime.  And how could she distrust what her eyes have proven to her so many times?

 Leah was right — there would be no shortage of volunteers. That was the problem. Cass ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head quickly. “We’re going to find another way.” She said it with conviction, with a certainty she didn’t feel. They had to find another way. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing the family she’d built for herself here.

 Emilio looked to Rhett again, heaving a heavy sigh as he forced himself to his feet. He inclined his head towards Rhett, then towards the door in a silent question. You wanna get the hell out of here? If he stayed any longer, he had a feeling he was going to do something stupid, like offer himself up for this batshit plan.

 Taking the slayer’s point, Rhett frowned and nodded, pushing himself off the wall. “Great. Best put out a notice in the dailies, then.” Making sure Emilio was ahead of him, the warden followed him out the door. 

 “We’ll do everything we can to find another way.” Aylin’s voice shook, but she turned to Rio and whispered to him, “what about pancakes? I think I need sugar to get my mind off of this, and maybe it’ll help us figure out something to do so that people don’t have to sacrifice themselves.” She offered him her hand. “I’m ready when you are.”

 Rio couldn’t ask people to volunteer to sacrifice themselves, he didn’t want to give up on searching for an answer. “We can set up research times. In the library or at the park. We have plenty of books to go through. Anyone who wants to volunteer can show up and help try to find something.” Somewhere, somehow, maybe they’d find some sort of hail mary. After that, he focused on Aylin’s question, grabbing onto her hand and wrapping his fingers in hers, “Flipped has the best pancakes. And they never held it against me that time I got thrown through their window.”

#wickedswriting #season 4 #chatzy