Sins of the Father

[Harlequin]

Doubting she could fight the human without raising too much ruckus, Ami was relieved  when Cicero stunned him for her.  She advanced quickly, dropping to her knees once she reached the crumpled figure and pulling him into her lap with more ease than should've been possible given his superior bulk. Need gnawed at her, hard-edged and metallic as her finger curled nto his hair and pulled his head to the side none too gently.

The tugging elicited another groan from her victim, piercing the red haze that clouded her vision, and she froze. This was a human being. A living, breathing thing. Just like she'd been an hour ago. Was she really ready to –

No no no she shut down that train of thought before it could get any closer to the dark precipice it hurtled towards. She wasn't going to kill this motherfucker, but she needed what he had before he could think. The surge of warmth filling her chest helped, and she looked up at her sire, appreciative.

Watching Cicero was enough to shred the last of her inhibitions and she bent her head to her victim's throat.

"Don't let me kill him," she said, then softened it, "Please." Because she didn't think she could stop herself if she tried. Her ironclad self-control was already being pushed to its limit, and she gave in, sinking her sharp new teeth into the artery pulsing just below her lips. The man below her cried out, but the sound was overlaid by her own moan of appreciation as blood spilled into her waiting mouth.

Like most criminals, these men were far from clean-living. There was nothing currently in their systems that would affect the vampires, but they were drinkers. Ami didn't know the difference, and the blood tasted like pure light to her – suffusing her with the heat of the man's life. She was sloppy at first, letting precious liquid leak through the cornes of her mouth before she adjusted to make a good seal. Her fingers curled and kneaded at her victim's shoulders, clutching him closer as he swooned with the ecstasy of the bite.

His breathing slowed as he slipped into unconsciousness, but she took no notice, or was too lost in the hypnotic beat of his heart to care. If Cicero didn't stop her as she'd asked, she would need a miracle to keep her from committing murder.

[Trillian]

Cicero heard her plea but ignored it.  She would learn a hard lesson, and fast.  He wasn't generous or merciful to those who he deemed unworthy of their pathetic little lives.  There were many mortals who wasted what they had that he wouldn't kill, but these particular mortals were scum and all they were contributing to was a failing world.  Their deaths wouldn't worry anyone important.  He could taste the unhealthy quality to his victim's blood but it was good enough to refresh him back to his usual, much more cerebral self.

When Ami's victim slipped into unconsciousness, the only person he took pity on was her.  He'd rethought himself when his own donor slipped lifeless out of his hold.  There was a gun and a blade nearby, and it was the quieter weapon Cicero picked up.

Move aside, he ordered Ami, but of course she didn't, because she was feeding.  He ripped her off the dying man (who would've died even if Cicero had done nothing, he could tell) and plunge the knife into his chest to the hilt, killing him instantly by piercing his heart.  This way Ami wouldn't have to feel guilty.

Take whatever you can't bear to live without.  We won't be returning, he instructed her.  He would be returning, for Tucker, but right now his mortal toy was safe enough where he was, unknowing of the drama that had happened on the floor below.

[Harlequin]

The rumbling purr emanating from her throat turned into a bark and a growl as she was torn from her prey – whom she had no idea was dying. She was sent sprawling by her sire, and could only make a strangled sound as he plunged the knife into her victim's chest. She had never seen someone die before. For a moment, she was stunned by the simple brutality of it. He was there, and then he wasn't and she felt absolutely nothing. People died every goddamn day. Maybe there was just too much to feel, right now, for her to spare anything on this fuck.

"Why–" she asked, then grimaced. No. "God dammit." This was going to make her friends start asking questions they didn't need to be asking yet.

Her friends. Would Fuckmouth Sire come back for them? It wasn't exactly like they were anonymous in this town. The thought made her go cold, despite all the heat spreading comfortably through her.

"Hafta warn my friends," she told him as she rose to her feet. She understood that they couldn't stay here, but she needed him to know that she would be coming back. Probably frequently. They were her family. He couldn't expect her to leave that behind.

[Trillian]

Cicero looked at her blankly for a moment before he understood what she meant.  He even saw who she meant, thanks to her vivid thoughts, with Lazarus superimposed over the top, like some evil caricature in a comic book.  It was alarming and hilarious at the same time.

With a slight lift on one corner of his mouth that was his trying not to smile (becuase there was nothing here that particularly amused him), he answered for her.

I'll handle Lazarus.  We need more for now.

She was fledgling, and he still remembered those baby bird days, of drinking and hunting and drinking and hunting.  They'd been too traumatic for him to forget, especially under Lazarus' instruction.  He'd learned to detach himself very quickly from humankind.  Still, it was only the most intellectual memory, because the emotions that had gone with it were long gone.  Now that he had blood in him, he felt like he could control himself and his powers.

You're not human anymore, remember that.

[Harlequin]

Yeah, and whose fault was that? Her lips pressed into a line. Her hands balled into fists. Fuck that. "Doesn't mean I can't have a life," she shot back automatically, tone heated. Not the life she'd had, but some semblance of it.

But the name he'd said gave her pause when it caught up her. "Lazarus," she repeated. Of course. Chance had told her they could make it hurt. She almost laughed. But if she laughed, she would end up crying in a heap on the floor and she just couldn't deal with that. She believed Cicero when he said he'd take care of it, though, and that would have to be enough for now.

She stared at him for a long moment – his face and hands all covered in blood (her blood). She couldn't imagine she looked any different. It was true, what he'd said. The hunger still gnawed at her.

"I'm gonna go pack." Her tone – as well as the irritation humming along their now-shared bloodline and the intentions foremost in her mind – told him that this conversation was not over. She would be back here.

Unless he stopped her, she moved past him out the door and back into her own apartment.

[Trillian]

Cicero let her move past him and return to her own apartment.  He looked at the bodies and didn't worry about arranging them differently, though he did pilfer through the room and picked up a backpack full of money.  He didn't need such things, and Ami wouldn't either - not if she was with him - but it didn't hurt to grab such things, or else the deaths in this room would be a great deal more suspicious.  Plus, there were uses for it.  Money wasn't exactly inconvenient.

He joined Ami when she'd only started packing, and watched what she was taking.  Whenever she grabbed something he thought was unnecessary, he challenged its inclusion.

[Harlequin]

She packed a duffel bag full of clothes, and fished a wad of cash in a plastic baggie out of the toilet tank. Ditching the baggie, the cash went into her back pocket – though her pants were now stiff with dried blood. Her phone and wallet and keys were already in other pockets, but her phone charger got unplugged from the wall and stuffed into the duffel.

It wasn't until she got to her instruments that she hesitated. She could only carry one with her without difficulty. Pushing down the emotions that surfaced as she passed over the others, she slung the banjo across her back. Her beaten copper stag mask was  tied to her belt loops with its ribbons.

The last piece was the machete, shoved unceremoniously into the duffel bag – or it would've been, had Cicero not challenged it. She hesitated, looking at it. Yeah, that whole '+3 against undead' thing seemed a whole lot less funny, now. Ironic, maybe, but not worth it. She dropped it back on the bed; she could pick up another one later.

She hadn't looked at him when he walked in the door, but she turned to him now. The backpack was new. What could those assholes possibly have that he would want? Her eyes went from the backpack to him face, questioning.

[Trillian]

He watched her pack everything else without question, though they couldn't walk around with a machete and not attract some attention.  He didn't want attention right now.  He'd been curious watching her put the money in her pants without first changing those pants.

Get rid of the blood, he instructed, and thought he'd best do so too.  Are there clothes here I can wear?

If not, he would be returning to the locked room next door (and a bit of mental ability could unlatch it easily) and getting some clothes.  If so, he would drop the backpack to his feet (which he didn't explain even though he could feel she wanted to know) and start undressing out of his shirt and jeans.

[Harlequin]

Get rid of what blood? Ami blinked at him.

Oh right. The blood they were covered in. She shook her head hard, as if to clear it of cobwebs.  Yeah, getting rid of that would probably help. She was getting stupid; not thinking right. In answer to his question, she shook her head. She had a couple of Chance's shirts here, but nothing else.

Once he'd left, she went about following his advice – stripping out of her sticky clothes and replacing them with fresh ones – a black concert T-shirt with the collar ripped out and cut into a V neck, and a yet another pair of black jeans. As an afterthought, she grabbed her bullet-casing belt and slung that one too. With hands that were still covered in blood.

God, there had been so much of it.

She shook her head again, and headed into the bathroom to scrub her hands, and up her arms. As she was washing, she glanced up into the mirror, and paused. The face staring back was hers, but not. The skin was porcelain-smooth under the red splashed over the cheek, disappearing under the ripped shirtcollar – and the eyes were the same blue, but now as hard-edged and luminous as crystal.

She only paused for a moment, but it was thus that Cicero would find her upon his return.

[Trillian]

You'll have time to admire yourself later, he pressed into her mind with some amusement.  He wondered if she would be irked that he could see the funny at a time like this.  He was still reeling from what they'd done as well.  After almost two milennia, he'd finally made his own baby vamp, and an unlikely choice at that.  He thought it was Lazarus' doing - though he couldn't blame his sire for Cicero's choice, he sure as hell could blame him for trying to kill Ami and forcing the decision on Cicero in the first place.  Under Lazarus' influence, he'd been more impulsive anyway.  The blonde Ancient brought out a different side to Cicero - one that he'd thought couldn't be so easily accessed.

Lazarus always managed to surprise him, even though he didn't.  His sire was an enigma.

Cicero was wearing a black polo that was stretched too tight against his shoulders, and not tightly enough at his waist.  The ill-fitting clothing didn't do him any favours, but even less desirable was the knitted navy cap atop his head - making him look like a fisherman from up north about to go out to sea and catch a trawler full of cray.  Dark blue heavily stonewashed jeans clad his legs - a little big for him around the waist and hips, but held up by his own belt - which had a few splashes of blood on it which had been absently wiped off.  Ami would be able to see the red among the cracks in the leather strap.  The shoes were his as well, also wiped clean but not perfectly so.  Obviously enough to pass a mortal inspection.

He was carrying a plastic bag now, filled with his own clothes, and as she watched, he shoved it into the backpack he'd picked up again from beside the door, on top of the money.

Give me something else to carry, he asked of her, and instinctively looked at her instruments, remembering how she'd loitered there while deciding.

[Harlequin]

Her eyes slide sideways, seeing her sire in her peripheral vision, and she snorted. Amusement sparked. He was right; they needed to keep taking steps forward. She could do a lot of things later.

Hastily, she finished scrubbing the blood off her face and chest (her hair was hopeless; she could see the blood matting it, but hopefully to Human eyes it just looked dirty) and turned to face Cicero. She wasn't much of a fashion plate, herself – and this was probably the absolute last thing she should be worried about – but damn was that a bad outfit. She caught a glimpse of the stacked cash in the backpack as he opened it to stuff the extra clothes in. At least they wouldn't have to worry about money for awhile. Still, she took her own wad out of her discarded pants pocket (as well as wallet, phone and keys). Unaware as she was of Cicero's usual means of acquiring things, she figured they couldn't have too much.

"Electric bass." she spoke without hesitation, upon seeing where his eyes went, "Far left.".

Then, after a pause: "Thank you." She wasn't just talking about the guitar – that much was obvious from her tone, and from the gratitude painting her thoughts. If she'd known how to use the connection of their bloodline, she would have. But words for now would have to be enough.

She grabbed her leather jacket from a chair and shrugged it on. After slinging the banjo once again across her back (the bass she'd indicated had a strap for Cicero to do the same – or he could use the case propped up against the wall beside it) and picking up her duffel bag, she was ready to leave.

[Trillian]

Cicero took the instrument she named and used the strap in the same fashion as she had.  The case, though just as practical, would've just been more to carry and he intended to make their search for a new home a little less painless.  He would be supplying her with drinks throughout the rest of the night as well, to try and fill her up as much as possible before the next night, because she would wake up hungry.  He had a little bit of experience rearing fledges, though not his own.  Two of Lazarus' fledges had begged his help and he'd provided it for them, because he'd been obliged due to his relationship with them on a secondary level.  As far as he knew, one of those two was still carving out an existence somewhere in the world.  He hadn't felt any of his blood bond die for a while.

He knew what her thanks meant.  There would be no secrets she would be able to keep from him, whether she wanted to or not.  Everything came thrumming up their very close bloodline - emotions, thoughts, impressions, visions, ideas.  He was aware of the separation of their thought patterns, but it was a very unusual experience for him also - seeing her vividness in his mind without even trying.  Usually he'd have to reach out to her - now he was simply receiving as she transmitted it all.  He doubted any other vampire would be able to tap into her thoughts so easily - she was no longer human, after all, and of his blood.

He felt that same strum of affection vibrate down his bond to her.  Baby vamp.  He'd made his own baby vamp.  He'd vowed not to, but he hadn't known how much he would like it.

Let's fly, he invited, then grinned at her.