Night 58: Chapel

[sainted]

[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]

Comments

[damned-soldiers.livejournal.com]

"There ain't no flint and lighter fluid, if that's what yer wonderin'," Claude stated without glancing at the boy. The flicker of flame dispersed, and he pressed that hand against his chin. "It's 100% me." And evolution, but he wasn't about to explain that process.

But he would play the other guy's game. Claude had nothing to lose for the time being. "Distinguish, hm?" He tapped a finger. "They're 'pparently high ranked. Likely part of this project. That's about all we got in terms of distinguishin' facts. Tho'." The man chuckled. "Ya could request an appointment with the General if ya wanted."

That would be fun.

[ofthemotions]

The flame went out like a light, and Mikado found himself blinking. No, if it was a simple trick, how could it simply go out like that? Wouldn't he need to wave it, or put something over it? And the hand which was now resting on the man's chin held no scorch marks or anything like fluid to explain it away. Mikado blinked rapidly. The possibility of it being a trick was dwindling... But the man seemed more interested in what Izaya was saying than entertaining Mikado, and the boy turned his attention to the conversation.

...Which had went in an interesting direction while he wasn't paying attention. His eyebrows raised. They could meet with the man that was in charge? That seemed like a possibility in itself. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke up. "How would we request it?"

[propheteer]

Mikado had taken the words right out of Izaya's mouth. Harrington had said a few interesting things in the course of the conversation (not least of which was the claim that his magic show might not have been just clever sleight of hand), but of them all: the suggestion that they could 'book an appointment' topped the list.

He nodded in agreement with Mikado, and added, "Perhaps they just don't like me, but I've found that most of the soldiers here--aside from yourself--will barely give the time of day, let alone arrange a meeting with the man in charge."

Then again, he'd hadn't asked for a meeting before. Going straight to the general with nothing to trade would have been foolish, but now... maybe there was something he could offer. Now there was something the general wanted.