damned_institute | Night 58: Chapel

[from here]

The room he walked into was larger than he'd expected, but it wasn't hard to guess its purpose, not with the very deliberate arrangement of long red pews. A chapel. Stefan's grip on his knife still didn't relax as he wandered further inside. He'd been in a few churches in his time — what faith in God he'd possessed as a child had waned with too many decades of undead existence, but... call him cliché, he liked Gothic architecture. In his worst moments, he'd enjoyed hunting for victims in church, for the spice of ironic pleasure in knowing they believed themselves to be in a safe house, protected by all those popular fiction vampire deterrents. Save for wooden stakes, fire and the sun, they were all myths. Not that there were any crosses he could see from his cursory glance from the door, or even...

Holy water.

In the dark, the liquid burble of the fountain could've been confused for normal water — or, to the least, one of the less threatening noises in the hospital. You could even convince yourself that the sinister shape rising out of the water was something else from this distance, but Stefan, being able to see in the dark, had no such luxury. Still, the demonic face of the statue barely registered to his mind as he came closer to the fountain. He walked slowly, circling around it, unaware of what he was doing. All of his attention was fixed on the liquid churning in the fountain. Black, blacker than water should've been in the darkness. A deep red flooded the whites of Stefan's eyes. His gums itched. The scent of blood — human blood — hung so heavily in the air around him, he could hardly breathe.

Of course he could tell. Damon might joke that his taste buds had shriveled up after so many years of his diet, but it might as well have been the difference between white wine and vinegar. Human blood and animal blood. And it hadn't been so long either since the last time he'd had a taste of the former, fresh from the vein...

...but he couldn't do it again. Never, no matter how desperate he was. He was starving, yes, four nights and counting, but if he started it up now, under these conditions... There was no guarantee he could reclaim himself again. And he thought of his brother, trying to scheme his way out for all of them, and of Elena, putting on a brave face for their sakes, and of adding another burden on their shoulders. Stefan slapped a hand over his nose and mouth, which helped just enough to let him turn his face away.

Keep fighting.

Stefan spun around, almost faster than humanly possible, and ran.

[to here]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah, another young one. He appeared rather out of sorts (General's revenge must have started, then), but at least he had enough of a mind to call out. Otherwise, the soldier might have attempted to scare the kid out of his wits. All friendly-like, of course.

Instead, Claude raised his hand, waving it with enthusiasm in the dark. "Little late ta be wanderin' around, dun cha think?"

While he should have known better, the last thing Claude expected was to hear a voice call out from the dark. He visibly jumped, his stomach springing a back-flip. Whirling around, Claude turned to face the source of the voice.

The stranger hadn't sounded particularly menacing. In fact, his accent was almost familiar somehow. Still, Claude didn't lower his guard, although he didn't raise his trusty sword just yet, either.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

What was it with these kids and being scared? This one looked like he was about to fall over from pure fright. More importantly, why hadn't anyone bothered to pay attention to the damn announcement? No wonder Landel got to be so desperate for attention.

But who was he to judge? Perhaps the kid woke up late tonight. He looked disheveled enough for that to be the case. With a wide grin, Claude dropped his hand. "Major Claude Harrington," he gave, "and who might ya be?"

A soldier -- and not just any soldier, either. Now that Claude took a moment to think on that name and the voice that went along with it, he realized that this was the man who recently started doing the intercom announcements.

Still, he never would have guessed he had the same first name as Harrington. Claude straightened his shoulders, mild surprise showing on his face, but he figured he didn't need to make a huge deal out of it when he didn't even know much about this potential enemy. Instead, he returned the favor.

"Ensign Claude C. Kenni," he simply replied. While he typically didn't give his rank during introductions, he felt the need to assert to this major that he'd had military training as well.

Then, after looking at that wide grin for a moment, he added in spite of himself: "I've...never met anyone else with that name before."

Edited 2011-10-01 01:58 (UTC)

His name must have sank in. There was surprise written across the kid's face, at least. Furthermore, he offered his own name and rank as well, which pleased Claude for two very specific reasons. The kid was a military officer, for one, the first to visit him this night. For another, he held the name of Claude. Only the finest things in the world came from men given that name--in his opinion, anyway.

For once, the elder Claude offered a sincere smile to the younger Claude (whom he had already dubbed "Ensign Claude" in the back of his mind), one lacking the harshness of the others. "Never have either," he said. "I know of another Claude, but never got the chance ta know him." A sad fact, really, but one that couldn't be helped. "Nice ta meet ya, Claude, even if the circumstances aren't that great."

He dropped his expression for a moment, before shifting to a friendlier countenance. "Well, let's get a'moseying, shall we? What kin I do ya fer, Ensign Claude?"

Claude hadn't expected to share anything in common with someone on the opposite side. True, it was just a name, but in Landel's people generally valued their own more with each passing day, because one never knew when they'd lose it to the fake lives tucked within their "files".

The change in expression didn't entirely go unnoticed, either, and it surprised him. For a moment, Claude couldn't help but wonder whether this Major Claude had his own reasons for joining the military, or if he'd been brainwashed into doing so. How could anyone live with themselves knowing what happened here? "If we were anywhere but here, I'd probably say the same thing," Claude admitted, but he couldn't quite bring himself to actually return the man's sentiment. Not after what his colleagues and superiors had put everyone through.

But the major was right. Standing around like this was wasting time. Claude straightened up, glancing around the area. "I um...I was looking for someone, actually," he answered. "A man with dark hair and blue eyes. I saw him go through the wall."

That probably made him sound crazy, but it was the truth.

Harrington, of course, was nothing but understanding, and the man acknowledged the younger's astute observation with a nod. The circumstances were unfortunate, but what more could they do? They were set in their roles.

All that was left, then, was the rather revealing question. The elder Claude canted his head, curious and concerned all at once. "Went through the wall, ya say?" Yes, the General's revenge was already in effect. "Can't say I saw someone matchin' the description," he continued, "but I gotta be a little unfair here, Claude. The man ya saw wasn't real." The man was doing him a favor; hopefully, the kid would recognize the attempt.

"Wasn't real?" Claude echoed with a frown. The way the major could say that with such certainty bothered him. Just how the hell did he know? But if it was true, then it needed to be said. Still, how could his imagination play that kind of trick on him? Unless it hadn't been the result of an overactive mind, but rather something more sinister. Knowing the institute, Claude had a hunch which was more likely.

"What do you mean?" he pressed, wanting more details. "Was it because of that injection your people forced on me during dinner? Or was that just not enough for some reason?"

The extra powers and knowledge about the device seemed more directly related to the drugs, but he was starting to wonder if there hadn't been some kind of catch after all.

...He felt bad. Claude Harrington sincerely felt bad for another individual as opposed to finding amusement in their unfortunate misfortune. Such was the effect of another Claude. "'Bout as real as my accent," he commented, expression sober, "and as much as I'd like ta blame the drugs, 'fraid that ain't it."

It was a bit more than that, and as much as he couldn't blame the kid for being angry about the drug incident, there existed a benefit Ensign Claude could take advantage of. That, however, was not to be mentioned.

Instead, Claude moved on. "The General's pissed, ya could say. He likes certain things to be run a certain way, but if they ain't done the way he wants 'em, he won't hold back on punishments," the man explained. "Punishments like seeing ghosts."

Night 58: Chapel

this is going to be confusing once the names are out. LOL

I know right HAHAH

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