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Administration => Infusco Archives => Archives => Old Roleplays => Topic started by: The Cedar Witch on March 31, 2009, 05:01:48 AM
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continued from here (http://www.roleplaycity.com/forums/showthread.php?t=6057)
reserved for SAIKETSU
With exception to the broken passenger side window, Pierre\'s perfect car ran much smoother then the shabby Nova she was used to being carted around in--not that it made much of a difference to the girl. Damien\'s relentless pressure on the accelerator caused her to grip her hands tightly in terror, but there was reason for this speed. If it wasn\'t for his nearly instantaneous reaction time and expert control of the vehicle\'s movement, she might have protested to the excessive speed. Typically he would have slowed in response to her obvious discomfort, even if he had no problem controlling the car going this speed. But this wasn\'t a typical drive.
The girl\'s expression remained completely unreadable, wide eyes focused straight ahead at the windshield. It was the only outward indicator of her fear. The window\'s condition made it impossible for her hair to remain still no matter how she tried to tame it. Eventually she gave up the fight, hugging her arms tightly around her body and focusing on the feeling of her face beginning to numb. Her hair moved like whips, thrashing against the pink skin of her freezing cheeks that were so cold she couldn\'t feel the lashes. Inhale. Exhale.
Everything had happened so quickly; Storm hardly had the proper time to process exactly what had occurred. She didn\'t know where they were going and she didn\'t dare ask; the one thing she knew for sure was that they weren\'t returning to the apartment. Not tonight. Probably not ever again. Guilt began to slowly seep into the corners of her mind; guilt for ruining the peace with issues of her past and ghosts that refused to leave, guilt for being powerless to fend them off on her own, for being weak inconvenient and fragile. These were her demons; she was obligated to deal with them on her own. Storm didn\'t need him stepping in all of the time, going out of his way to make sure she was not harmed. She could fight, she had done it before; she didn\'t need him worrying about her.
Only once did the girl glance at the vampire\'s face while on the way to wherever he had decided to take her. Neither of them spoke and he did not look at her. Damien\'s eyes remained focused ahead, flickering over the landscape before him with an expression enrapt in something she had grown to recognize as quieted anger and deep, calculative planning. Storm knew better then to ask what he was thinking of if he was angry with her, no matter how the questions plagued her. Besides, the rushing wind around her would have made it impossible for her to hear him and for them to carry on a casual conversation. Especially since there was nothing care-free about the situation at all.
In an extremely short amount of time, they entered the city; the only indication of this that Storm actually noticed was the slightest reduction of speed and it was barely noticeable. The chill from the furious wind was a welcome distraction: it forced all other thoughts from her mind and an almost peaceful silence overcame her. For a blissful few moments, her mind was quiet. And miraculously, by the time Damien eased the car into the parking lot of Detour Hotel, Storm had settled into a state of numbness. Slowly she processed her surroundings without actually thinking about them. It was all unnecessary information and an unnecessary headache. If the vampire said anything at all to her as they walked into the lobby together, it was scarcely heard. All that she caught—the only thing that she understood—was that they were staying here for the night and Pierre would being her clothing at some undisclosed time. Other then that, Storm had no idea what was going on.
The girl didn’t move after walking up to the front desk. She stared placidly at the air above her shoes as if there was something peculiar about it. If it wasn’t for Damien’s gentle pressure on her shoulder guiding her ahead of him, she probably wouldn’t have moved at all. The trance-like stupor her brain had forced itself into out of pure emotional strain prevented her from willing her legs to walk in any particular direction unguided. Numb. It was almost as if she had already given in and accepted the fact that she had been caught. That he had already won. And it wasn’t until the hotel room door had clicked shut, followed by the sound of the deadbolt locking into place, that the numbness had begun to slowly disintegrate. Eyes that did not see remained fixed straight ahead, face unmoving yet threatening to break at any moment. She had come so close to being reclaimed. So close. The thought exhausted her.
“Don’t let me sleep,” Storm sounded weak. She felt weak, voice wavering and breaking at the last syllable. She wanted the wind again, that comforting invisible pressure on every inch of her face, whipping her hair against her cheeks that had flushed deeply to combat the chill of the night, pushing out all thoughts. After all, she knew deep down that running from the Captain was useless. Sure, he would have followed Pierre in the Nova across town, but that would throw him off for what, a few hours? The damage was already done. He had two scents to track now instead of one. The thought was nauseating.
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It was queer, really. It was common for his children to tell him that he thought too much. Yet until he slide the deadbolt into the lock and backed away from the door, he hadn\'t ever thought less. Logic had been thrown to the wind and Damien Evans was running on pure, nine-hundred-and-twenty-something-year-old instinct. He needed to get her away from Laurent, out of his grasp. Now, locked in the Detour Hotel, he couldn\'t help the thoughts when they came flooding back.
He was infuriated -- that much had been obvious since Laurent had first invaded his mind -- but the rumbling sensation that jarred his calm nature to the bone seemed to hit him in waves now that the ability to feel returned. Gut-wrenching anger. His senses were heightened, naturally, and he realized that he was boring into the door with his gaze as if he were trying to tell a prey to come closer. Her words hadn\'t registered to him yet, his feral expression locked on the door; he half-expected the Zalmric tyrant to come strolling in as if invited.
He was sick of this, this constant running and hiding, searching for a way out. Damien felt as though it were the only thing he could do now and he hated it deeply. He had been driven out of his own god-damn house by some brat he would have typically never taken on. Nikolai had been a nuisance and of little help in anyway. Now his legacy had blown the seams of Damien’s plans wide open to the only true enemy that Damien had. The Oligarchy was too small of a threat to cross Damien’s mind anymore – the regime was on the back burner until Laurent was exterminated.
Frustration. Anger. Hatred. It all flowed from his chest in waves surging through his arteries and reawakening the beast within him. His jaw ached in the most primal of ways with an accompanying tremble deep in the bones. His ears strained to hear outside the door and into the hallway for any footsteps. If Laurent had ever managed to figure out that it was Pierre with Damien’s car and vise versa and somehow ended up finding them, they’d be trapped. He had no idea what he would do. Whatever it was, Laurent had to be eliminated now.
After several long moments of staring at the door, Damien checked the window with caution. He knew he should have left the city, gone all the way up north to the borders of the country. Storm shouldn’t have been in the city. It wasn’t safe. But here there was no present danger. The thought gave Damien no comfort whatsoever.
Before he knew it, he was pacing the floor of the living space, deep in thought. Pierre was out there with his car. Laurent would follow him. His apartment was unattended with money inside. Pierre’s car was too noticeable. Dawn was a long way off. He hadn’t fed in a while. He needed to stay awake through the next day. Where were they going to live.
Something was in his hands and it felt wonderful. Glass and wood. Suddenly, it was out of his hands and his anger had found a new outlet. The sound of shattering glass made him snowball into a rage. The television was left for dead by the time he realized that he had torn it from its stand. The coffee table, the towel rack, and whatever else he could tear at was thrown into disheveled chaos.
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Up until this point, the girl had made a significant effort to lower walls that had been making their time together uncomfortable. It was a reflex for the defence to come back so quickly, as if she anticipated attack at any time, though she knew that he would not harm her. Never before had she wittnessed anything close to his true anger, nothing close to this. Storm wasn\'t afraid. More caught off guard and shocked then afraid of him. One of the first conscious thoughts was the noise he was making, but she wasn\'t about to suggest he settle down lest neighbors complain.
The girl\'s eyes flickered anxiously around as she backed against the wall, subconsciously trying to move out of the way. She watched him pace with mild detatchment, trying to process everything while silmuntaneously trying to forget that anything had ever happened. For the sake of her emotional stability.
It wasn\'t until a steady stream of French reached her ears that she realized he was on the phone. Although clearly tense and angry, the sound of it was oddly comforting. And no matter how curious she was about the conversation, she wasn\'t about to ask him what was going on. Silence gripped her throat, influencing her breathing along with her ability to speak; and so she waited.
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The phone snapped shut. He wasn\'t followed into the city. One thing off his mind. Now he had to ditch Damien\'s car somewhere that Laurent would follow in vain and then see that he had wasted his time. Somewhere close enough to keep him interested, but far enough to keep away from Storm for as long as possible. He wanted to get out of the city altogether, but he couldn\'t leave Pierre to do this all alone.
He had told him to get help; Elliot, Jack, Jason, Denise, anyone that could help. Vehicles needed to be gathered and traded or disposed of altogether. Pierre was going to purchase that house he had been looking at, that house that Damien had never gotten around to visiting. Damien accepted the idea reluctantly. He and Storm could move in within a few days. The things at the appartment would be moved as soon as things fell into place. He was the commander again and Pierre, the obedient soldier.
His movement stopped and Damien settled on one of the twin beds with the woolen blankets, his head in his hands, arms on his knees. The vampire sighed with frustration. If it had ever helped him, Damien would have itched for a smoke. The crushed packet in his pants meant close to nothing at the current moment. He could hear Storm\'s erratic breathing, felt her presence for the first time, pressed against some far wall.
The moments passed awkwardly and utterly silent. His mind reeled but he became increasing aware of Storm\'s movements, however small she thought they were. His ears could hear her heart hammering in her chest and the minutely movements she made in her labors to breathe or stay as still and as unnoticeable. His skin could feel the warmth of her own vaguely, his throat suddenly dry at the thought.
He hadn\'t fed in how long? Everything just seemed like so long. It had been Storm\'s birthday. Another arguement. A trip into the woods. Laurent\'s chase. And now here. He needed blood, but he couldn\'t leave Storm. Worst yet, her clothes still reeked of her own blood which didn\'t help Damien\'s throat in the least.
Without trying to think too much, Damien lifted his head and addressed her in a weary voice, his age showing in everything he did. An ancient trapped in a twenty-year-old\'s body. "Are you hungry? Do you need anything? I\'m having one of Pierre\'s fledglings come with some things."
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Storm did not look at Damien as he spoke. He sounded exhausted, felt angry and she knew he hadn\'t fed recently. So if there was anything she could think of doing that would not cause him strain, she would do it. After all, this whole mess had been her fault to begin with. She would hate to make anything worse, anything more difficult. No, she was not hungry. The fact that her clothing still carried the stench of her blood while she remained in the presence of a vampire wasn\'t the brightest idea she ever had.
"A change of clothing," the girl managed to mutter after a long pause, with her back still against the wall. She would shower quickly and change, to rid herself of the scent however much she could. As for afterward, well, she would not sleep. For all she knew, that would be the time he had been waiting for in order to strike. Storm was not about to give him that kind of an opening.
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Had he been any less weary of trouble finding them time and again, he would have laughed his sarcastic, douchey laugh. He had already thought of that one; she would have a pair of his own clothes. But it would be at least another ten minutes before anyone got here with what he needed. Damien simply nodded, hanging his head in weariness again.
Her scent was getting stronger minutely. Her heart hammered. Her shirt reeked. Her hot skin was too welcoming. His throat burned with Thirst. His senses stretched. Anger raged again. He would not touch her. Not again. But his thoughts were triggered to replay that night where she had given him her blood. Her blood that tasted so well of his Lucretia. It had been hard to pull out of her wrist. What he wouldn\'t do to be back there, pulling that hammering heart to its inevitable end...
Damien had squint his eyes against his own thoughts, something faster than she could have ever seen. What the fuck is wrong with me? He was getting desperate. How long had it been since he had last fed? His mind was fuzzy, thick with too many thoughts. The vampire looked down at himself for the signs of malnourishment. His flesh was as pale as ever, nothing extreme. It did fall differently around his bones than it had in a while -- his jeans felt slightly big tonight too...
But he couldn\'t leave Storm to go out. He couldn\'t simply walk the streets of the city and kill or even feed with Storm by his side. Yet he couldn\'t conceive staying up for yet another night and day without any kind of blood help.
There was a sharp rapping at the door and the vampire was on his feet in between Storm and the door before he knew it. "Go stand by the window in the corner." It was a direct order and expected her to obey without question. His eyes never left that door. Damien looked through the peep-hole, sighed and unlatched the door to stick his head out.
There was a young vampire at the door with striking brown eyes, and messy blonde hair. He wore a plaid shirt and loose jeans. He was no older than thirty-five, but he appeared half that. Without a word he handed Damien three shopping bags that were packed to the max. The elder took it silently and gave the boy a nod, then proceeded back inside.
After the door was latched and deadbolted, Damien through the bags on one of the beds. Searching through them, he told her to come closer. When she was at his side, he grabbed a pair of his sweatpants and a tee shirt out of the bag. "Go shower and change."
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Had it been under any other circumstances, she would have been reluctant to wear anything of his and probably would have complained about it. After all, she had her own clothing now, didn\'t she? It wasn\'t like they were kept at a different location then where his were. And even if it would keep her scent masked from him, it wasn\'t as though he hadn\'t already become familiar with Damien\'s. While Nikolai was in the apartment, he most definitely became familiar with everything including familiar scents. But the girl spoke nothing of this, jaw stiff and locked shut for fear of breaking the silence. Wordlessly Storm took the clothing, setting aside her particular disdain for sweatpants and over-sized shirts.
Nearly in a daze the Akari walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. There were no windows, thankfully, the only entrance into the place through the same door that she came in--and that she made sure was locked securely. For now, nothing invaded her mind but the steady sound of the shower. Damien\'s clothing she placed on the sink, her own fell onto the floor in the order they were removed and she was in no state of mind to be neat even in private. Steam had already filled the room, enveloping her skin in a shroud of moist heat that was more relaxing then anything had been that night.
Thousands of searing droplets hammering into her skin was almost a shocking feeling after the chill of the outdoors. But the unpleasantly hot feeling soon evolved into something more calming then the wind had ever been. The smell of different soap, shampoo, and conditioner was a comforting stranger and already the girl had stayed longer then she had intended. The heat and the floral scent reminded her of summer, lying in the grass completely alone with the rays of a slowly sinking sun her only company. It took her away from the hotel, the current dilemma, her past and everything that she had become so acutely familiar with. She could almost feel the grass beneath her, see the sunset through her closed eyes, and hear the sound of the wind rushing through the trees.
But there was the echo of laughter, the sudden approach of a face she had no desire to see invade her secret field. Intrusion and fear. It wasn\'t until her drooping head suddenly jolted upward that she realized she had dozed off. Heart hammering, she abruptly ended her shower by turning the nozzle clockwise with more force then was really necessary. Storm moved almost as though she expected him to be somewhere in the bathroom, as if it was even possible for that to be true. But the fear moved her still to grasp tightly at a plush white towel, only half-drying her dripping ivory skin, moving her again to quickly cover herself with the vampire\'s garb while checking every so often in the mirror and behind the curtain. Expecting to see an unfriendly face standing beside her or hiding in the shower.
Normally Storm would have spent a little more time in the quiet bathroom, allowing the steam to be sucked up by the fan before opening the door. But there was no such dawdling. Not when she could still feel some sort of presence lurking behind the curtain. She did, however, make a significant effort to calm herself before exiting the bathroom, opening and closing the door as quickly as possible. She crossed over to the opposite side of the room, holding her clothing in one hand and waiting for further instruction.
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In the time it had taken her to turn the shower on, Damien, who was lost within his own mind and thoughts of what he could possibly do in the current situation while aching for blood, went through the bags that were brought to him. Three outfits of clothing besides the ones he had given Storm. His gun. A credit card and a wad of money in a rubber band. A bag of apples that Damien had had stored in the refridgerator for Storm.
But There was something extra thrown in that he had not asked for. Perplexed, Damien reached in to the bag and pulled out a packet of red liquid. His throat scratched when his eyes fell on it, but Damien held his tongue and read the simple note attached. In Pierre\'s handwriting, the note said in old French,
I thought you might need this. You\'re looking a little pale, kid.
Damien couldn\'t help but give a small smile. Pierre had been thinking where he had not been. The thought made Damien proud, but instead of wasting his time on thank you\'s and blessings, the elder opened his mouth and shoved the chilled packet of blood into his fangs and drank deeply.
It was no virgin, but it did its job. Damien gulped it down as quickly as he could, the warmth of the sensation combining with the chilled temperature of the fluid gave the blood a worse taste, but he wasn\'t complaining. And for a few short moments, he actually enjoyed it, letting go of the need to protect Storm so passionately. He floated, revived of un-life for another night. Suddenly things seemed possible, Laurent distant and his goals obtainable.
But it was draining quickly and he had to stop before he lost control of his mind. Anger flared breifly as he took the last gulp of tangy fluid, but was squashed faster than it had come from years of self-control. Slowly he opened his eyes again -- though he hadn\'t realized that they had been closed -- and vision settled into sharp focus. He took the bag, no crumpled and worthless, away from his mouth and tossed it calmly away in the trashcan that he had knocked over in his fury. A droplet of blood rolled down his chin and his lips were tainted red as Storm reappeared in his field of vision. He quickly righted himself, wiping the blood away with his thumb and then placing it in his mouth as if it were the most casual of things that could be done
She seemed to be looking at him with intimidation. His new senses widened and took her in. His eyes captured the beautiful frame that he always secretly admired (even as it was hidden under his bagggy clothes). His ears could still hear that heart beating unevenly, but his mouth found it much less tempting now that his Thrst was sedated. But that smell. He had forgotten what it was like to smell Storm in his clothing and, in this new state of mind it wasn\'t exactly unpleasant -- to Damien\'s dismay. He looked away quickly and tried not to inhale the mixture of their scents or like the combination.
"Feel better?" It was rhetorical, just something to break the mood. His anger had smoldered over, his weariness faded for the most part. Now, he just felt refreshed and energized. Suddenly Laurent wasn\'t anything he couldn\'t handle anymore.
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Too lost in forcing her heartbeat to recover from the bout of fear, Storm completely missed the blood and whatever look the vampire gave her. At his words she looked up at him, recognizing that he had significantly calmed and had miraculously sedated his Thirst. Had she really taken that long to shower, that he would step out for a moment to feed? Would Damien had left her alone, even for that short amount of time? By the time the girl realized that she was staring, she averted her curious gaze to the floor.
Was she feeling better? The Akari shook her head, crossing over to a cushioned chair and settling deeply in an effort to relax her tense shoulders. She wasn\'t about to tell him what she saw in the shower: it would cause unnecessary fretting, besides, it was embarrassing. Falling asleep in the shower was a first, even for her. Dreams Storm would deal with on her own, as she always had, in secret.
The pile of her clothing had made its way to the floor in front of her without her knowledge. If sleep brought her any sort of relief, she would have slept right in the chair. Instead, with her elbows propped up on her knees, Storm rubbed her face slowly as if trying to wipe clean her stress and fear. If only something like that were so easy. She was back to where she started: running from something that she had foolishly believed that she escaped for the past four months. This would be the last time she lowered her guard; she would not go down without a fight.
But wasn\'t that what he wanted most? A fight? Wasn\'t that why she was chosen, out of all the others that had been herded like sheep for the slaughter, to be his play-thing? Always fighting. And not when fighting, running. When was there rest, when even from dreams she was forced to run because the Captain still lurked even inside her mind? She sighed deeply, hugging herself tightly and finding her unfolded clothing to be more interesting to stare at then anything else in the room.
"What are we doing now?" she asked softly, not moving from her position to even glance at the vampire.
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"We\'re going to be staying here for now, for tonight. We leave as soon as the sun sets tomorrow for a place outside the city." His voice was calm and controlled now, his eyes averted from her frame. He was trying to distract himself by finding something else to concentrate on -- and having little luck. Pierre would be coming over in time and he needed to keep her awake somehow. Luckily for him she had been out in the forest and she had done what she needed to do, or so he assumed. Pierre would have the answers to some of the problems he was having, hopefully, and needed to stay within the city for these answers.
Damien sat down on the bed, pushing aside the items from the bags. Plans were forming rapidly in his mind. Hopefully Pierre would be able to buy that house. Hopefully he could get everything moving while he kept Storm. Hopefully Pierre could get one of his children to follow him around. Hopefully Pierre\'s children realized how much trouble Pierre could be in. He\'d be lost without Pierre.
Pierre was the only first generation fledgling in the city that had known Lucretia. Few had ever seen here personally like Pierre\'s children had. Only Pierre had witnessed the closeness between the king and queen. Only Pierre had an inkling of what Damien went through when the queen was sacrificed. And it was only Pierre that he could trust his life, and the life of Storm, to. But if he ever lost him... No. The thought was too unimaginable. The empire would crumble.
The vampire sighed, returning back to the hotel room. He had broken the TV, so there was nothing to do, really, save talk. And he needed to keep her awake. "It must be terrible, not being able to sleep. How long has it been that way? If you don\'t mind me asking."
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"Always," Storm still did not look up, "There were always nightmares. They were different in my childhood. Less personal, more confusing. More blood. You saw it in my mind that first night. That was the place I would dream of. Except, when I was younger, the corpses were animated..." she stopped suddenly, feeling as though she had said too much. Normally, perhaps a few months before she wouldn\'t have been so specific. But it didn\'t matter. She knew he was trying to keep her awake.
The battlefield was a rare dream nowadays. Lately, all dreams that filled her mind were of him or those she was forced to slaughter. Storm almost wished she could dream exclusively of that other place, then perhaps she would be tempted to sleep more then every three or four days. Any longer and she would be even more clumsy then she was already.
The longest the girl had ever gone without sleep had been seven days and it was after the first night she had spent alone with the Captain. It wasn\'t out of fear of the dreams, but out of the horror of what had come to pass. After the sixth day, her dreams found her despite her waking condition. Anything that happened during that period of time, she could not recall, and on the eighth day she passed out from exhaustion.
"I slept more then. But the dreams are worse now and I try not to sleep as long as I can because of them. Not that I could get much rest from sleeping, I always wake up after a few short hours..." she smiled bitterly, looking up at Damien simply to see where his attention lay.
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It was all on her, watching with a type of ferociousness that Damien was famous for. It was astonishing how she worked and in the back of his mind, he had foolishly believed somewhat that it was just how her species worked. A human would have gone crazy after three days of wakefulness. Even he grew irratable after three nights of remaining completely awake. But to have that be the norm for her... It was almost inconceiveable to Damien.
"Do you think that you\'ll ever be able to sleep normally? Like when he\'s dead and this whole running business was just a memory?" It was a personal question for him; typically he let her be in her ways that he didn\'t comprehend. But she needed to remain awake. And he was genuinely interested. There was still so much he couldn\'t possibly know about her. He knew somewhat about Laurent, about how he had used her in every way a person could possibly be used. But there was little else he knew. And, unless he were mistaken, this was one of the first times she had ever willingly offered up any more new information about the years before Laurent. So his eyes didn\'t leave her. He watched her with aged eyes, making connections of understandings in the depths of his mind, connecting himself and his own past to her examples of her personal history.
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The girl was silent for a moment, meeting his eyes with more ease then she had before. "Do memories leave when the present has died?" She did not need an answer, and moved her gaze back to the floor and her mess of clothing that littered the spot at her feet. It wasn\'t as if he caused the dreams to occur, even when he walked within her conscience mind. He merely amplified them, caused them to become more real then she would have preferred, making it impossible for her to sleep safely.
As for killing the beast, even she had tried that. Unfortunately, a hole in his abdomen merely infuriated him instead of causing the usual disgusting arousal he swelled with for her typical violent outbursts. It was during his most vulnerable period of time, during one of their nights at the peak of the end. Perfect timing. Any other time and he could have vanished into smoke or something else. That was the closest she had come to killing him, and she had been deprived of food and water in addition to any source of energy in which she could take from, for a dangerously long period of time. It was nearly a basement, and since then she had learned what lines could be crossed and which could not.
"I doubt you could even kill him anyway," she said offhandedly, recalling herself the frustration at her failed trial. After all, he had shadows and could heal as well as she could. But even shadows had their weakness, their limit. And one day, they would take him. But one day was nowhere near soon enough.
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If it weren\'t for the thoughtful look on her face, Damien would have laughed. Laurent? Stand up to him? A vampire that was older than most of his ancestors? It was comical. He was a mortal. Damien wasn\'t. Damien couldn\'t die like Laurent could. The Zalmric had a heart beating blood to his body, a brain that controlled his thinking or his desire. Damien did not have this fragile limits. And even if the prick could use fire, Damien was faster than his wildest dreams. There was no possible way that Laurent could win in a one-on-one.
But that was the entire problem. Both of them knew that, so access to the prick was limited. So they had to keep running like they did now. Storm ran because Laurent couldn\'t be found. He was beginning to understand.
Leaving the question alone, Damien raked his brain to try to figure out what else he could say to her. "What if you had the option to take medication for it? Would you sleep then?"
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She laughed, "And take something that will knock me out longer so I can\'t wake up no matter how badly I wanted to? I don\'t think so." Storm feel silent.
Their conversations always ended so awkwardly, leaving empty spaces and nothing left to say. Sometimes she hated it, but other times it was relieving to have silence replace arguments and bruised feelings. As far as presently was concerned, she found herself wishing that she had asked Damien for her sketchbook along with the change of clothing. At least then she would have had something to occupy her hands with.
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"So tell me," he said breaking up the emty silence aftera few minutes, "how can we stop this bastard? Any ideas?" He smirked and lifted the gun, cocking it towards the ceiling. It had confused his children why he had ever carrieed a gun. A vampire was invincible and the idea that an average human weapon could stop an immortal (for vampires never needed weapons aganst mortals) was simply preposterous. A bullet, plain and simple and without spells or added metals, could harm no immortal terribly. So why would Damien have one?
He had it for this very reason. In all his long years he had come across tens of different human-esque creatures. Never had he crossed paths with either an Akari or a Zalmric, who had the ability to manipulate air and turn it ablaze. With a weapon purposely designed to strike quickly from farther away, Damien felt better about this entire situation. He could stand a bullet. Even three he could stand, but not fire. That was like trying to stand up to the sun.
"Even if it just slows him down, I need to know. I need to know what he\'d do ifwe have to retaliate against him."
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She looked at him skeptically. "Guns won\'t work. He can take a few--" her voice caught abruptly in her throat. The girl\'s eyes widened suddenly, as if in pain, flooding a sickly yellow. She didn\'t breathe for a period of time that could have made her dizzy if it were under normal circumstances. But her gaze remained fixed ahead toward Damien, yet not seeing him at all. She could feel anger, hatred, and rage all at once, burning a hole in her chest and threatening to eat away at everything that was keeping her together before.
And as quickly as the spell began, it faded, leaving her with a pained and fearful look on her face, as if something was about to go terribly wrong. The last thing she wanted to do now, after working so hard to calm down, was unravel. The Akari thought she was safe, assumed that she was safe. Granted, she was fooling herself to believe that such a simple thing as switching cars would deter an expert, practiced tracker for more then a few hours. But she was so willing to believe that she was safe for the moment. If only for the moment.
"He knows we tricked him," she choked, unable to unfreeze her body to move. "Pierre\'s..." Storm trailed off, as if searching for exactly what was about to transpire between the two. Really she didn\'t know, and she wouldn\'t know what his condition was. The only \'message\' that she received was through any damage he took. Not Pierre.
For now it was a waiting game.
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OOC: IN TIME WITH FASTING BLACK LUNGS (http://www.roleplaycity.com/forums/showthread.php?t=6135)
Before she murmured that name, before the panic for his first son\'s life established itself in his torso, before he froze himself over with fright, his irration and aggravation at being discovered by the Zalmric was the worst thing that Damien could have hoped for.
But once she said that name.
"What. What\'s going on? What do you see?" Every millisecond that passed was maddening to the vampire. Time was being wasted and his forst born could be bleeding as he waited for Storm\'s lips to move.
It was an uncomfortable feeling for the vampire, being mildly frightened at the situational confrontation. Pierre was nowhere near as fast as a vampire his age should have been. He had no ability to theive into another person\'s mind like most of his children did. He had no way of knowing exactly what he would be up against, exactly what he\'d be dealing with. Laurent could turn himself into fire and Pierre could have been incinerated even during the night. And what if Pierre was stupid for only a split second, overestimating his immortality or the other\'s mortality, getting cocky like he could every now and then... what if Laurent did somehow manage to injure him to the point of exhuastion? What if the sun found a wounded Pierre, alone...
No. It couldn\'t happen. Pierre wasn\'t stupid, wasn\'t as slow as any mortal could ever have possibly been. Damien refused to accept it, and for a moment or so, the blood thawed the chunks of ice and he could almost return back to normal, back to being irratated at being found. Laurent couldn\'t kill a vampire. Not one as old as Pierre. No. Pierre would step on Laurent\'s head and crush it under his perfectly clean shoes long before he would be severely injured by a mortal. Jean-Luc was almost as strong as Damien was with more power than anyone had ever witnessed.
Still the blood remained colder than usual as he sat on the edge of his seat. Damien was finding it extremely difficult to sit where he was and not pick up his phone and call Pierre himself and ask just what the fuck was going on.
-
Storm could not see anything, had she the voice to express that she would have. But before she had even the opportunity to do such a thing, there was a sudden snap of blinding pain behind her eyes and the world became white for a fraction of a second. The girl blinked once, twice, and the hotel room slowly faded into focus leaving her with a nasty headache. Her right hand flew to her forehead and she wasn\'t aware of the bruise blossoming beneath the trembling fingers. All that passed from her lips was a groan, she could offer no immediate explanation.
For a few, painfully silent moments, Storm\'s frightened eyes flickered around the room, as though searching inside of her own mind for the details of the fight. And even if it appeared as though she were watching something, she wasn\'t really. Her eyes remained in the hotel room, waiting for another spark of rage or echo of pain that was alien from her own.
It frustrated her that she could not really \'see\' what was going on. That this was another waiting game and she could do nothing. Absolutely nothing. She couldn\'t tell who was winning or if the fight had already ended. All that she knew was that he wasn\'t dead. Not yet at least.
-
He watched the bruise bud and stain her forehead. The vampire hissed her name sternly, rising quickly from his seat in concern. With no possible way of knowing that Storm\'s vision was limited to simple flashes, Damien had no other way to react to the entranced girl than to demand to know what was happening. As much as he tried not to let the cold bath of worry consume him, the nagging anxiety for his first born, his blood and kin, overrode his collected composure. Even with the fresh blood mixed in his veins, Damien\'s countence was turning more demonic than he had ever hoped.
"What can you see, damn it!" His voice seethed out as a command rather than a question. He had had enough patience for the time being. He took a step closer to her, towering over her as she sat small, on the bed, in his shadow.
-
Damien\'s voice was barely an echo in the back of her mind, the edges of his figure before her were blurred and faded. Storm could feel the worry pulsing from him clear enough, the anger and frustration with the situation. But she could do nothing and say nothing to explain much of anything. The girl opened her mouth mutely, as though making an honest effort to try to speak, but no words came.
There was a sharp, sudden blinding pain in her back causing her to gasp aloud in agony. The room went white again and for another sacred moment, the Akari could not breathe. All she could feel was pain, and that enough was reassurance that Pierre was still alive for the time being. If Damien even tried to touch her mind, he would experience the same pain as she from this fight and see nothing that would provide an answer for him.
It actually took her a moment to realize that she had the wind knocked out of her. The familiar form of panic that she had felt that night where she almost drown set in. And after a few frenzied gasps for breath, she inhaled short and raspy, gripping the arms of the chair.
-
He was trying his best not to lose patience, not to lose control. He knew that he wasn\'t seeing the entire situation, knew enough to know that she wasn\'t giving him the entire story for a reason. He just needed to know what that reason was.
Sickness battled with the welling anger in the pit of his stomach as he tried to keep his temper. Her expression had changed, but not into an expression of recoginization; she was feeling or seeing something right now, something that he wasn\'t. Her name came from between grit teeth, a hiss.
Damien never liked feeling left out of things. Never. His mind was racing with possibilities and his feet began to move, carrying him in a pattern across the hotel floor. But after the third lap he had made up his mind, letting everything else fly free. He was going to see what she saw.
With measured care -- for he had learned from the last experience with her mind that it was not something to be rushed into -- he calmed himself, forcing a blank slate up to cover the anxiety rumbling low in his abdomen. His invisible fingers, like webs, reached over the distance, brushing against her mind.
Instantly he saw the flash of white. Fire lit his cheekbone, catching him by surprise as his son (as Damien assumed) was struck. The force, so unexpected, threw Damien\'s head off to a severe angle and made him drop the connection to Storm\'s mind. With the connection severed, Damien wobbled on his feet. His son, his best friend had nearly had his head kicked off in one strike. The claws were sticking into his throat as well, his flesh set afire. It wasn\'t death, but it was a hindering pain that he feared Pierre wouldn\'t be able to keep up with. Pierre didn\'t have an extreme tolerance to pain.
Worst yet, there was nothing Damien could do for him. There were guards at his door, nowhere to stash Storm for a while now that Pierre was occupied. He was stuck there to wait, to watch his son struggle with Damien\'s enemy, the one man that Damien wanted to personally see the end to. And the fact that Pierre didn\'t have the upper hand made Damien extremely anxious as he sat staring at the girl.
-
Words were caught in her throat, words that could explain to him that she could only feel whatever blows were dished out to the Captain who was connected to her mind by sticky, invasive shadows, words that could offer some sort of hope because she knew that he was suffering damage as well as Pierre. But they remained stuck along with whatever air she was struggling so desperately to take into her lungs, and never reached the anxious vampire\'s ears. Storm was too distracted by pain to hear anything that Damien was saying to her.
She was unaware of the bruises forming at her throat and across her abdomen. The girl could heal them, if she had the energy, but it wasn\'t exactly the first thing on her mind at the moment. The searing pain in her throat was the worst, and her right hand crept slowly toward the blackening flesh while her expression remained far-away. If it wasn\'t for the fact that the Captain would sense her watching, she would have reached through the shadows to look through his eyes, at least to see how things had progressed. The anxiety that she felt leaking from Damien was enough to increase her own, tenfold.
There was a shocking pain in her head, as though it were a second after she had either fallen on her face or had it kicked in. The only noise the Akari made was a muted, surprised cry. A bruise had begun to form under her eye, but did not swell. Later, looking back on the situation, the girl would have been silently thankful that she had attempted to remove the number of shadows that she had prior to this fight. If she kept them all, more then bruises would have been appearing on her skin.
For a few, haunting moments, she was granted peace, as though the two had stopped for a moment to catch their breath. It caused Storm to gasp, eyes wide in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, and nearly forced the words that had been caught out into the air, but found that she could not. The fact that she could still feel his will to fight meant that Pierre had not gone down yet, and she ached to tell Damien this if anything at all.
It wasn\'t even a few seconds after the period of silence before a sudden shockwave of pain ripped through her left forearm as though the bone inside had been shattered. Even though nothing was broken, the flesh swelled hotly and her skin blackened with a new bruise to mark a fight she had never participated in. She cried out again, in surprised pain, her right hand flying to the tender, damaged flesh and touching it gingerly. Still, her eyes remained straight ahead as though she were stuck watching something she had no desire to watch--though in reality she could see nothing.
Almost instantly after the crippling pain in her arm, the muscled of her throat tightened and closed off her access to oxygen. The fingerprint-like bruises dotting her reddening throat deepened, as though invisible fingers were pressing against her. Liquid panic rushed through her as she fought for every breath, sickly-yellowed eyes wide and afraid. It wasn\'t until her legs felt as though they had gone alight in flames that the pressure on her windpipe had vanished. Underneath her pants, her skin had been scorched red hot as though she had gotten terrible sunburn after a day of lying out under its heat.
Sputtering for every breath, Storm looked directly at Damien for the first time that entire night, eyes flashing and consumed in pain. With dread, she knew that he had become fire, even if it was for a short period of time. And while the girl knew that the fight had ended, she had no way of knowing if Pierre had been incinerated or not.
"D--," she swallowed, stuttering through a frantic sentence, "Damien, Pierre\'s--" Storm was still trying to catch her breath, nearly hyperventilating because of the pain racing through nearly every inch of her body. It took her a moment to recover to the point where she could speak clearly, and she spoke as quickly as her tongue allowed.
"The fight\'s over. I don\'t know what\'s happened to Pierre."
-
He had never expected Laurent to find out about what had happened so quickly. He had never expected Pierre to be discovered so early in the night, and never alone. Damien anger had flared back to its former glory, but no longer directed at the young woman close by. A nasty, nagging pain lingered on in his face where he had assumbly been struck in Storm\'s mind. Panic was beginning to overwhelm him, an organized, fluttering panic that made him look around the room and formulate a plan of action. If Laurent were riding their asses that closely, there was no way they could stay in the city tonight.
Honestly, Damien had no clue as to what was happening with his son, his closest friend for hundreds of years. Storm was offering no answers and a headache would undoubvtedly form if he continued his invaision of her mind. Tonight was not the night to let that happen, no matter how Pierre was doing.
Half of him was absolutely positive that Pierre would survive. What mortal had ever killed a vampire in the dead of night? Pierre was the strongest and oldest vampire he had fledged and to think that he could be taken down by a mortal like Laurent, regardless of the mind powers he may have possessed was rediculous. Pierre had killed many a mortal with his bare hands alone, nevermind the fangs and immortality Damien had given.
And yet half of Damien still worried like the anxious parent he was. Pierre was the one of the last ones he had who had survived the great Purge. He had carried Pierre underground to safety the day that they burned Damien\'s bride. It was Pierre that had kept Damien sane throughout the years of searching and tormenting. So the thought of losing Pierre, his favorite and his first-born, was too great.
Damien\'s blue eyes landed on the girl again and his anxiety rose. Her magical tell-tale eyes had run a dissgusting yellow and her pain was flooding the room. She was gasping for air and Damien naturally shifted his focus to her. Panic again flooded him as the idea of losing Storm to an invisible assault tore at everything that he had set up. "Storm!" He instinctually got down onto his knees and grasped her face to make her look at him. But her eyes were blank and yellow, mouth gasping for air. What the fuck is happening?
But his focus lasted on her for only moments before another feeling overwhelmed every cranny of his mind. Death by fire. It was a feeling he could never forget -- like having one\'s own arm or leg incinerated and the inability to stop it. Pierre was burning somewhere, he was sure of it.
A crippling feeling flashed over his abdomen, and Damien could almost feel the flesh there burn. It was Pierre\'s pain. The feeling was sickening and instinctual fear welled and burst inside of Damien. He was on the floor before he knew what was happening, thoughts of Pierre following Lucretia to the grave filling his mind. Panic. Agony. Like having a limb sawed off. It was a feeling he knew he would never forget. And if Storm had said anything at all, he never heard it.
Ignoring the girl for a few moments, Damien found his way to his feet again, his cell phone in his hand and against his ear. When a hurried, desperate voice of Pierre\'s fledgling answered Jean-Luc\'s phone it was to inform him of the happenings of the night with hurried, accented words.
-
Storm, meanwhile, was still struggling to catch her breath. While the vampire was on the floor, she was assaulted anew. A sharp force embedded itself into her shoulder, and she could only assume that he had been shot at, and taken a bullet from behind. The girl could only groan mutely, as if extremely low on the precious energy that she still needed to recover, naturally or otherwise. The pain wasn\'t as great as it would have been if she had physically experienced it, but it made her hunch over and grip at her limb tenderly. The Akari waited a few seconds before looking up to the vampire, meeting the back of his head instead of his eyes, pacing the floor in a way that she had become used to by now.
No, she wasn\'t looking for sympathy or attention, and she fully expected Damien to easily be a thousand times more worried about Pierre then her. She knew that they were old friends, nearly brothers, and had gone through a great deal in their centuries together. It most certainly wasn\'t as though she wasn\'t concerned with Pierre\'s well being; that couldn\'t be farther from the truth. But something inside of her stung a little, and was ignored in favor of trying to asses the situation as well as she could on her end.
The enflamed arm and swelling shoulder were top priority, she could deal with ugly bruises and searing, burned skin. She had no way of knowing what shape she was in until she stripped down and looked thoroughly in a mirror. To anyone outside of the situation, it would have appeared that she was beaten by some angry lover, father, or otherwise. And due to the bags constantly under her eyes from lack of sleep, it could have looked like a common occurrence. But appearance wasn\'t the top priority, she could go on looking ugly and was used to such a term when it came to the way she looked. Besides, her arm and shoulder were a hell of a lot more painful then bruises.
The girl watched the vampire for a moment, feeling his frantic aura pulsing outward full force as he dialed into the cell phone. It wasn\'t French this time, which meant that he wasn\'t talking with Pierre. A surge of empathy flooded her to a nearly panicking level, and she could do nothing but helplessly watch with weary eyes as Damien spoke. By the way he was acting, Storm was positive that Pierre was still alive--or whatever it is that vampires are--and not a pile of ashes on the side of the street. But that did not eliminate the worry that was beginning to exhaust her, along with Damien\'s anxiety, anger, and whatever else he was feeling.
And so she remained silent, slowly filling with guilt over how things had played out. If she hadn\'t had him on her tail, Pierre wouldn\'t have ever gotten hurt. If she hadn\'t panicked when he had found her initially and tried to keep it to herself because she knew how much he liked to play games, maybe she could have prevented this from happening so soon. They wouldn\'t have ever switched cars, making him follow someone who shouldn\'t have been caught up in her personal situation in the first place. If anything, it should be her fighting him, getting hurt. Not Pierre.
The girl was growing more exhausted, debating weather or not it would be worth it to even try to heal herself while she was in such a condition. Would they be staying in the hotel? Still inside of the city? It didn\'t seem very likely, not with how quickly the Captain had caught on to the switching of cars. But Storm knew that he wouldn\'t be in any condition to hunt her down. Not for at least a week. And as much as she wanted to communicate this to Damien, she was too intimidated to even attempt addressing him while he was in such a state of mind. Intimidated, but not afraid.
-
A nearly crippling pain flared continuously in his stomach as Jenella spoke. There were shrieks and groans in the background that Damien could easily recognize after some six-hundred odd years, even over the rumble ofan engine and the words of a quick-tongued fledgling. Words spewed forth in modern English slang that the elder had no patience to sort through.
But Pierre was with them. His condition was unknown, but not likely fatal. He had been burned badly, but how and by what was unknown to Jenella. Laurent had been shot at and wounded by Finny, but never captured. He was unsure whether he knew where Storm was or in wat condition Laurent was.
"Can he speak? Let me speak to him."
"Sir, he\'s in too much pain --"
"I said let me speak to him!"
But the earpiece of the cell phone Damien held to his ear was already filling with Pierre\'s cursing and snarls of pain much closer than before. In a way, it was a sort of relief to hear him still alive, cursing up a storm too violent for most humans to understand. He had not lost Pierre after all, though with every wheezing snarl the pain in Damien\'s abdomen surged more vehemently. It brought brotherly concern to his expression as he gazed out the window and paced the floor.
They spoke rapidly in their natural language, forgetting the others around them. What happened? He came from out of nowhere. He must have followed me. How badly are you injured? It fucking kills, Damien! My entire stomach! How badly was Laurent injured? He\'s gotta be near death. No one can survive that long. I had him, Damien. I fucking had him by the throat and he fucking turned into fire! How much blood have you consumed? Not enough. Is there anything that would have led him here? I\'m not sure. He\'s a slippery fuck. Are you going to be alright, Pierre? I\'m not going to go down that easily. Just get the fuck out of there now! We\'ll talk later. Get yourself somewhere safe to recover.
And he flipped the phone shut, turning back to Storm. Her expression was far away as if she were lost in her own thoughts. He hadn\'t noticed it before, but she looked a mess. Bruises everywhere he looked on her flesh, a limp-looking hand, and that purple mist that still gave him chills to see that tole him she was damaged inside as well as out. He nearly flew over to the bed and knelt next to her again, putting his hands sternly on her shoulders. When she groaned at his touch, Damien pulled it away but didn\'t move otherwise. He sat starng up into her eyes as if they had some secret behind them.
"How are you doing? Are you alright?" Damien was glancing her over for damages from the fight. He never asked how they got there -- that would be for later. All that mattered now is that everyone who had been involved in this foolish situation -- save Laurent -- was alright. Including Storm. "What happened?"
-
The French spoken quickly into the phone failed to bring the usual flush to her face, as though her blood were running more sluggishly then usual. And instead of glancing shyly up at Damien\'s face to watch his mouth move as he spoke, her eyes were glued to the floor in front of her. Those words meant that Pierre was well enough to talk, and that filled her with some small sense of relief and nothing more. As long as none were killed for her sake, she didn\'t care what happened to her.
It wasn\'t their war, Damien had his own demons to battle, an entire kingdom to organize. This entire situation was putting everything on hold for him. The inconvenience of her past shouldn\'t have ever risen above anything but minor, and because of all of the trouble that he was causing, Storm was left to deal with a sickeningly guilty feeling. She fought him before, didn\'t she? And it wasn\'t like he had an army to back him this time. What was she so afraid of? She knew how to kill him, or at least she knew how to make him bleed. If anyone should be fighting her past it should be her.
It was evident, especially in her face, that the girl was exhausted. She didn\'t meet the vampire\'s eyes, even after the conversation ended abruptly, and she didn\'t even notice that he was looking at her until he was standing before her. When he placed his hands on her shoulders, a wave of fiery pain shot through her entire left arm and up through her neck and she flinched sharply away from him. The Akari still did not look directly at him when he addressed her directly, and allowed a length of silence to pass before she spoke quietly.
"I\'m...alive," a small smile made its way across her features, as though she were trying to administer some small amount of humor to the grim situation to lighten the mood. "Nothing is broken, just bruised and swollen. I\'ll be fine." Storm lifted her eyes slowly to his, as though testing him for turbulence that she would have to shield herself from.
"He is probably hurt really bad. But he\'s going to survive. It might take him a week or so to recover at least. He won\'t show his face until he\'s healed--for the most part anyway." her voice was strained and expression equally as drained, but she was breathing at a regular pace and trying her best to put on a brave expression. Besides, it wasn\'t like all of that had killed her, right? Even if she did look a mess.
-
"You\'re still connected to him." It was a statement of mild confusion that had only just dawned on him. "But I thought you took those... things... out of your skin? Were you just receiving every single hit taken by him?" Anxious blue eyes looked her over and he had to control himself from touching her skin in his examination. "God, your entire body looks injured. Are you going to be alright?"
By this time he had hooked a finger under Storm\'s chin and lifted her chin slowly to allow her eyes to gaze at the ceiling while he surveyed the damage to her neck and face. Compassion overwhelmed him. Pierre would survive, even if the pain in his abdomen would persist for some years. But now he needed to worry about Storm, the one most vulnerable to any kind of attack Laurent could come out with. He suddenly began wishing that he could help her, to at least give her an ice pack or something.
-
The girl nodded slowly when he asked whether she had received every hit he had taken. She flushed, quite obviously, with guilt for her lack of explanation and the fact that she wasn\'t as thorough as she would have liked in removing the tendrils that were still connecting her to him, and partially because she was so susceptible to injury in the first place. The girl scolded herself internally for being so fragile, for allowing herself to get so beaten up even if she probably couldn\'t have done anything about it. But she didn\'t want to slow him down. After all, he had entire army to organize still and her situation couldn\'t have been helping. Especially not while she was getting injured without even fighting.
"I was trying to get rid of them, but I couldn\'t get all of them I guess..." she didn\'t want to explain that they most likely had burrowed deeper into the most vital parts of her body, far from the reach of her prodding fangs and unnatural fire. And she had said earlier that night that she wasn\'t even sure if it would be a permanent fix, right?
"I\'ll be fine," she added quickly. Storm winced in pain with the slight movement of her neck, but she refused to make a sound--groan or otherwise--to indicate that she was uncomfortable. She should be able to tough it out, she had much worse than this before and didn\'t complain at all. Instead of a groan of pain, she held her breath and waited for him to finish examining the bruises that dotted her neck.
"They\'ll heal. It isn\'t a big deal. I can still move my arm and shoulder, but it kinda hurts a little sometimes." It wasn\'t completely a lie, and as much as she knew that she should have iced her shoulder and her arm, she didn\'t want to appear so weak. She should have been used to shrugging off injuries this minor, it happened so often during battle.
-
"I\'ll assume you can still walk." It came out a little more stern than he would have liked, and for that he felt a slight wave of guilt pass over him. But there was no time to waste with polite manners and etiquette here. They had to leave now. "Get ready, because we\'re leaving here."
In a flurry, faster than any mortal could have possibly seen, Damien had gathered the few belongings they had, replacing them in a bag -- including the empty packet of blood so as not to frighten the maids and attract anymore attention. His thoughts were on auto-pilot, nothing disrupting him but his own motions through the hotel room. He had picked things up, fixed as many things as he could from his fits of anger, tried to return the room back to the state that they had arrived in. After about thirty seconds or so, He looked back to her with the same anxious eyes, concerned about how they were going to make it out of the city tonight, where they would go, how far away would be safest and whatever else made him so on-edge involving their master get-away scheme. "You ready?"
-
Her expression fell when he spoke again in that stern voice she had associated with him taking command of a situation, and she could only nod weakly in response. It was silly of her to want something like compassion in this situation, a gentle reassuring smile, something that could have made her feel as if she were more important then another piece of the grand plan. There wasn\'t any time for that, and the girl recognized this. But it didn\'t keep a small pang of hurt from touching her.
Storm\'s eyes flickered up to attempt to watch him move, though she hadn\'t the ability to keep up with his speed to even figure out what he was doing. Where before it would have taken her aback, she was used to the speeds he was capable of attaining, and no longer made any comment about it. The girl\'s eyes fell to her lap, fingers picking idly at a loose thread on the sweatpants while she waited for another command. When he was finished trying to put the room together again--as she now realized when he stopped moving--she met his eyes slowly as he spoke.
"Yeah," she stood shakily, trying to make it appear that she had more energy then she was letting on. But to tell the truth, between burning shadows and dealing with injuries, she was a hell of a lot more drained then she would have liked. It had been a long night.
-
It wasn\'t as though he was purposely trying to be insensitive to her injuries and her needs -- there was simply no time to waste sitting down and licking wounds while Laurent was still free in the city. Licking wounds and examining herself was something that Storm could do in the car on their way out of this tainted city.
Like any soldier had to do from time to time, Damien grit his teeth in frustration at losing the battle. Now it was time for all of his forces to retreat. Laurent, no matter how damaged he might have been after the fight with Pierre, still had the upper hand in the situation, an advantage that Damien never wanted him to have. Not only could, assumably by the way Storm had described it to him, the Zalmric heal nearly as quickly as any immortal, he could walk (or stumble even) through the daylight hours, searching for them both. Now, with his strongest soldier out of commission for the time being (the burning in his abdomen was fading with haste, though a sore region made its way to the surface on the flesh) and with their hiding place at high risk of being discovered by the tendrils of needling blackness Laurent still possessed, Damien was stuck with a shitty hand. The only thing left for he and Storm was to leave quickly without a word to anyone.
With the apples, the change of clothes, and the pistol in the shopping bag in his hand, Damien looked at her. The brave face that he saw was paling but calloused. For a brief, impulsive moment it made him want to smirk. And if it were any other situation he may have. She was battered and bruised, as if she had just been beaten. Yet the look in her eyes and on her face was that of a soldier heading into an unwinnable battle. It was only then that it dawned on Damien how young and extremely mortal she was.
She was only twenty-one, a babe in comparison to his age. And yet he always had the feeling that she was either far younger or far older than her years made her look. At any given moment, he reflected, she could appear seventeen or almost thirty. She was just a child thrown about in a bitter tumult of life, but she took it all and swallowed it as if it were her duty in life. He had glimpsed the things she dreamt about, grasped the points that neither one of them could bring themselves to talk about but more often eluded to. Storm, he had determined long ago though never actually realized until this painful moment, was as much a soldier as he was, only some-odd nine hundred years younger. As much as he had ignored it heretofore, he and Storm were far more similar than either one of them were willing to admit just yet.
When he had first met Storm and decided her fate for her that night on the cliffs, Damien had refused to accept her as anything other than a copy of an idea, a key to a door he knew little to nothing about. Yet as he continued to look at her, he couldn\'t stop a natural twinge of guilt from lingering in his breast. He had ignored her, belittled her mortality and skill in his mind, even looked at her as if she were a sort of nuisance. But as she looked at him now with the face of a calloused soldier, that unmistakeble weakness of defeat filtering into her features, he began to feel inescapably and genuinely cold. The brave front that was failing her was tugging at him.
"Wait a second," he said slowly, taking the time to drop the bag on the bed. He constantly forgot that mortals never worked at his pace, could deal with less than he had been forced to put up with for all of his years. He forgot that sometimes he needed to slow down and move at a mortal\'s pace to keep things in order. Damien removed his sweatshirt, emptied the pockets into the shopping bag -- his crushed pack of cigarettes that he hadn\'t touched in a while, notes of different messages, keys to Pierre\'s car -- and handed it over to Storm with a more human expression sunk into his face. "Put this on. It\'s cold outside and you can\'t get very far looking like that, with all those bruises." He watched her give him a funny look and put it on gingerly, though he hardly recognized her flushing cheeks. To his enjoyment he noted how it covered her body not only from the bite of winter but also from any wandering eyes that may have been curious about the colors of her face and neck.
"Good. Let\'s get moving. We have a four-and-a-half hour drive ahead of us."