Author Topic: The End Of Archer Sinclair  (Read 1197 times)

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Offline Satyr

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The End Of Archer Sinclair
« on: November 10, 2011, 06:28:17 PM »
THE NIGHT AIR CARRIED A biting chill with every gust of wind that raced up and down the streets, blowing leaves, scarves and discarded rubbish alike.  Plastic bags performed their whirlwind ballets for those that cared to stop and watch, bottles rolled with clinking ardour along the pavements or gutters, pedestrians pulled their jackets, coats and cardigans tighter around themselves, hunkering down into their clothing in finest imitation of retreating turtles.

One couple didn\'t mind the cold, but were hurrying regardless.  The male of the pair was dressed much like the rest of the citizens, in a tan woollen knee length overcoat over a three piece business suit.  It was fairly early in the evening, and the woman he was pulling along behind him had dressed to his specifications, looking much like a paralegal in order to blend in with the rest of the city\'s business people.  They were heading towards the park, the man leading while the woman followed with very little choice, thanks to his iron grip upon her hand.

There was nothing rigid, formal or unwilling in their partnership, however.  The astute observer would regard them as lovers, though would likely make the mistake of considering them co-workers or even boss and underling, stealing away for a steamy escape.  The latter presumption would be closer to the truth, for he was the sire and she the fledgling, as well as lovers.  He would turn to her and grin encouragingly, knowing that she would soon be testing out her burgeoning mental powers on the unknowing public.  She was flourishing under his tutelage, once he\'d finally let go of his regret at potentially siring the wrong woman and come to appreciate the woman he had.  Now that they\'d spent a little over two years together living in each other\'s pockets, he could easily declare his love for her.  And he did, often.

His ferocity at protecting her had come at a cost, however, mostly hers, for she\'d found herself unable to escape his sphere of influence.  Ever watchful, always nearby, he kept up a constant vigil over her that was both tiring and frustrating.  He\'d accused her of being fragile, vulnerable, and had even gone so far as to call her naive.  His justification for using these words always returned to the fact that she was a fledgling, easy prey to vampire slayers, other vampires older and more powerful than her, and of course, her own worst enemy due to her ever present thirst.  Such logical reasoning was difficult to deny, and he was very good at countering arguments.

They ducked into an alleyway with little thought or effort, Archer leading the way but not racing ahead so much that she couldn\'t keep up or would trip attempting to do so.  His pace was quick but not so much that he missed the vampire standing in a doorway set in from the brick wall on his left.  He almost missed him though, it was only because his supernatural senses jangled a warning that there was something very, very old nearby.  He\'d not even realised the shadowy figure was a vampire until he stopped quite suddenly and got a whiff of the other\'s smell; like freshly turned earth, cinnamon and stone.  There was a gentle covering of cologne above it, but not enough to hide his species to one who was of the same kind.

Instinctively he bared his fangs, not liking the fact he\'d moved so closely to the other, or that he was standing so still, watching them.  Archer still couldn\'t see him properly, which put him on edge, and he suspected this was some kind of power emanating from the old one, much like Archer shadowed himself from humans.  There was everything suspicious about the ancient one\'s behaviour.

"Declare yourself!" he announced grandly, for it was his nature to confront dangers and to shield his fledge.  He\'d stopped so suddenly that Rebecca had almost run into him, but she\'d pulled alongside him instead, causing him to turn in order to move her away from the direct stare of the ancient in the doorway.  What was the other vampire playing at?

He didn\'t receive an answer so much as a wash of emotions; dislike and disgust chief among them.  There was something primal and predatory to the communication which caused a shiver of fear to run down Archer\'s spine.

"You will let us pass," he ordered, pleased that there was no tremor in his voice though he was truly scared for Rebecca\'s sake.  He\'d mistakenly believed that the emotions had to do with her fledgling state.  It was a known fact that many ancient vampires held an intense dislike for other\'s fledges, and would even go out of their way to destroy them.  Archer assumed that this shadowy vampire, aged as he was, communicating as he did, was one of them.

Do not order me

The thought was loud and intense in his head.  It was so clear, in fact, that Archer flinched and looked at Rebecca, to make sure she wasn\'t distressed by the mental volume of the thought, but by the expression on her face he realised that she hadn\'t heard it.  Of course it had been sent to him alone, for he was the only one that spoke an order, but the volume had been so bizarre it was like a shout even though it had sounded like a spoken command.

Figuring it would be safer just to leave, Archer tugged on Rebecca\'s hand in order to pull her away from the place.  They\'d gone two steps (still with Archer looking over his shoulder at where the ancient couldn\'t properly be seen) before he thought \'freak\' to himself, which was the last thought he ever had.

Cicero caught the insult and didn\'t like the insinuations of it.  He\'d been passing time in the doorway, shutting down most of his physical awareness in order to listen and reach out with his supernatural senses, dimming himself in the process.  Not many could see him when he did this, and was surprised that the vampire as young as he was -  not even half a millennium - had spotted him.  Hackles had raised and territorial growling begun, Cicero had sent a warning not to mess with him but only received an order for his trouble.  He gave a verbal stab at the other and was about to return to his pondering when the insult was thought about him.

He\'d been insulted not once but three times by the idiot vampire.  As far as Cicero was concerned, this \'Archer\' didn\'t deserve to continue his existence.  He moved away from the door liquidly, returning to his proper physical state just so he could grab the insolent creature around by the hair and smash his head upon the pavement twice, hard.  The second time did the trick as blood and brains splattered upon him and the female fledgling that Archer had not even had time to let go of.  She\'d been spilled by his hold onto the dirty alley floor and as Cicero dismissed his handiwork and turned his attention to her, he wondered idly if she\'d learned anything from this display and show him the reverence his sire had forsaken.

Offline Sergeant

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Re: The End Of Archer Sinclair
« Reply #1 on: December 10, 2011, 07:42:59 PM »
She remained where she landed, her legs sprawled and a stunned expression on her delicately pretty face. The scent of blood was thick in the air, sharp and metallic. But it wasn\'t hers. Archer. He\'d fallen too. No, he\'d been slammed into the ground, repeatedly.

Her palms were raw and imbedded with pieces of gravel, but she felt none of the pain she should\'ve when she pushed herself to her knees and crawled to her sire. She shook his shoulder, gently at first, but with more force when he didn\'t respond. A cold lump formed in her gut. She tried to reach out to him mentally, but there was a void where she would\'ve otherwise encountered him. The lump crawled its way up her throat and she made a strangled noise when instead she meant to say his name.

He wasn\'t going to wake up. He was gone. She knew it, but still she tried to bring him back. Rebecca took him into her arms, readjusting her hold when her hand encountered something spongy and wet at the back of his head. Only partially aware of the figure watching them impassively, she leaned down and pressed her lips against his still ones.

And she cried, but it was someone else crying. Someone else was trembling, and someone else kept reaching out into the nothingness and encountering no one.

"Why?" she heard a voice ask, made unfamiliar by the grief that twisted it. "He didn\'t do anything."
Infusco:  Anna :: Finn :: Halwyn :: Ian :: Vomas

Offline Satyr

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Re: The End Of Archer Sinclair
« Reply #2 on: December 20, 2011, 10:45:52 AM »
Cicero watched as the fledge mewled for her sire after checking that his soul had been extinguished.  He felt it a reasonable reaction, for fledges should always mourn their sire regardless of how deserving of loyalty their sires were.

He allowed her the chance to mourn, but before she\'d even truly begun she was  demanding an explanation from him, to know his motivation.  Coupled with that was the protest Cicero\'s judgement had been unwarranted.  In the depths of his mind, he knew she was speaking from grief, and because she was so young, her actions were more forgivable than that of her sire.  With one like him to teach her, how could she know any better?

He failed to observe the hierachy of age, he told her mind, his voice soft in his attempt to be kind.  He understood that her sire\'s failures were not her fault.  He assumed I was to be mistrusted.  He made himself my King. He thought little of me. These three things made his fate.

He watched her impassively, to see if she would look at him, to meet his eyes, to ask more questions or to plead for her life.  Her reaction interested him, but he would not remain in this alley only to watch her wail.  When she gave very little reaction other than to mourn the loss of her sire some more, he left her there.