Backdated to November 4th, 2015:
<Grey> One foot in front of the other. One booted thunk against the couple of inches of rain water rushing through the center of the main sewer line. All of its offshoots were not of interest to Grey that night. Too many times while she would stop and ponder a rest, she’d wake to someone sticking their hands down her pockets. Any pocket, for that matter. From her jeans to that ugly olive green crossbody purse. The fabric had seen better days, now coated in the thin layer of slime and grime smudges along with the rest of her.
She had walked out on Jesse’s confession in October. Somewhere she had overheard it whispered that it was now November. Grey had missed Halloween and all the festivities. Somewhere in her consciousness, the mechanic did not seem to dally too much over that loss. No, that loss of candy and cute costumes was nothing compared to the loss of her Sire and her Fiance and her Lover. Ex… His title was mostly Ex-Everything now, wasn’t it?
In the darkness, Grey’s vision blurred. She had a couple pints of blood in her system yet. The cheekbones upon her face were distinguishable. Her very cheeks were hollow and her eyes were sunken. There was a rhythm in the air, a heavy bass from someone’s iPod that lurked around the corner with a need to hide from the impending sun - again or just finding time to themselves.
Grey thought it was an odd place - the sewer, that is - to come to and relax. It held entrances to so many places and exits to the very same cautious places. From the middle of the streets to the Quarantine Zone, Grey had walked the sewers too many times to count. As her clothes hung on her, stiff in some places from dried blood, Grey’s face held battle wounds. Some of her fingers were still broken. She smelled like gunpowder, Zombie ash, sewer trash, and Fforde blood.
One hand still clutched that ritual knife, dull and seemingly produced by the dozens; it held the
purpose that Grey had needed it to. It had aided her in slitting her wrists and bleeding out that blood. His blood. Jesse’s blood. To feed from him would have been blasphemy for some. But that was an addiction that she would no longer partake in. The thought of blood packs just rolled around in her stomach, the dead organ flip-flopping back and forth as this acidic sensation had her leaning more heavily upon the nearest sewer’s damp wall.
Her long, luxurious hair was now tangled and sticky with matted blood. She had used her fingers to manipulate it a while ago into a messy bun. Her shoulder scrubbed against the abrasive wall, and her lips opened. The pale, dry flesh cracked from misuse. Maybe she had scrubbed her lips raw. Or… Tried to. In that moment, she closed her eyes and had used that left hand to balance her. In the low light, there was enough of a lack of a glint for it to be realized that there was no engagement ring on her finger.
Let alone if she could, at this point, even be recognized as Grey Fforde.
<Micah> Hearing from Jesse had been a surprise. Finding out what he’d done was an even bigger one. Micah hadn’t know what to say to him at first and had spent several long minutes staring at the text before he’d found the words to aptly describe the disgust he felt at his cousin’s actions. He was never one to mince words and this time was no exception. Telling Jesse exactly how what he thought of him in that moment had been slightly therapeutic but he didn’t figure it would do anything to help the situation. It wouldn’t help Grey.
Grey.
While the killer had had his issues with Grey they didn’t matter to him right now. She was hurting, and he didn’t blame her. Finding out that the love of your life, your soulmate, had turned to someone else was a hard pill to swallow. Micah didn’t know all of the details. They weren’t his business but that didn’t force him to hold back his scorn. Jesse had refused to disclose the name of the woman he had turned to but it didn’t matter. She was a slag, a whore - a homewrecker. Jesse hadn’t been on the market. How dare she decide to set her sights on him and destroy his relationship? It was the lowest thing someone could do to another person.
His cousin had had one request. Find Grey. Make sure she’s safe. Take care of her. The last was a given. Grey wasn’t the best at taking care of herself and given the current situation, the killer doubted that she was looking out for herself. So he’d agreed, inquiring on a starting point. Jesse had told him to try the sewers first and Micah figured if she wasn’t there he could ask his wife to locate her for him. Vel might have her issues with Grey but her sympathy for the situation would most likely override any concerns she might have.
It had been months since he had ventured underground into the dank, twisting maze that ran underneath the city. Finding her was going to be near impossible especially with his lack of ability to track so he utilized both Bunny and Savannah to aid him. The three of them would be able to cover more ground. He chose Honeymead as his starting point and sent Bunny to Newborough. Savannah was dispatched to River Rock but it turned out that he hadn’t needed to enlist them. As soon as he turned a corner, there she was. At least he thought it was her.
Grey was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was piled on top of her head, the long strands were so matted and caked with blood that Micah didn’t know if she would ever be able to get the tangles out. Her lips were chafed and dry, she was pale and he could smell the blood on her, and he wondered how much of it was her own. Anger licked at his insides. Anger at Jesse, at his poor choices, and most of all anger at the whore that had dared to come between Jesse and Grey. If Micah ever discovered her name she was going to regret turning her eye on Jesse. Micah would make damn sure of that. Sighing softly he cautiously approached the female. “Grey?”
<Grey> The mechanic was numb to pain. She was numb to most everything her body and her mind were feeling in this moment. In these past days. Had it been a week? She wasn’t really sure. She was no longer fast enough to catch the rats and she didn’t know if it was day or night time any longer, so why bother going above ground? Her vision had dimmed so much that she had long ago scrubbed at her eyes to try to assess the film that seemed to have covered over them, making her world hazy and vague.
Grey had come to the conclusion that it was from the loss of blood that made her vision no where near as potent as she could decipher in the dark. And, in truth, that was okay with her. There was nothing to see. There was nothing to hear down here. There were no shuffle of zombies and warning groans she needed to worry about. And at this time, she might welcome the sweetness of a Paladin’s bullet wounds.
It would give her something more than to focus upon the misery of her current situation. She just wanted to forget. She just wanted to leave. He had slept with her.
Slept with her.
So lost in her own forsaken thoughts… Because how do you sleep with someone else that isn’t your other half? How can you just bear all to someone else? How did they drift apart? When did it happen? Was it after she was turned… When everything seemed to just turn in on itself and explode when Grey was trying to figure out how to live with these new attributes and Jesse had opened the door to his family.
Something echoed in the sewers.
The slosh of footprints around the corner in front of her had Grey stopping short. She had lost so much weight by now that she should have heeded the lady in white’s concern. Grey eased herself closer to the wall on her left. She let some of her weight shoulder against the damp stone as she let her view adjust to Micah’s towering presence. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want anger.
She should have left the city… But she couldn’t. It wasn’t in her. She had a job here. She knew… some people here. She flinched when he said her name. Flinched like she was harboring Jesse’s distaste at who she was. Like she was now just another poor, sad Childe of his that he had fucked over.
Literally.
Grey never held anything against Jesse. He had given her everything and in the end with his confession, he had taken it all away.
The mechanic shook, still holding onto the ritual knife in that right hand more to fend away anyone who felt that they could attempt to pick her pockets as they walked by. But the wounds that weren’t barely healing there would be testament to the self-inflicted pain. She turned her face towards the wall as if she half hoped Micah would look right on past her if she didn’t answer.
She couldn’t answer.
…. Was she even Grey anymore? The crisis was real.
<Micah> You ******* ********.
He wished he could reach across the city and wrap his hands around Jesse’s throat. It wouldn’t do much more than leave a ring of spectacular purple bruises but it might make the killer feel better. He was cursing his cousin in his head. How selfish could one man be? Micah had been expecting something but the reality of what he found in the sewers far exceeded any of his expectations.
At first glance a few things had been noticeable but as he moved closer to her he saw the dark purple smudges under her eyes, and the eyes that were sunken into her head, the gauntness of her cheeks - Jesus Christ. He had to close his eyes and draw a few calming breaths in. Grey didn’t need to see his anger, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her see his pity. He’d reserve the rage for when he beat the **** out of his cousin.
Her flinch was noticeable. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should have told Jesse no and left him to clean up his own mess. It would have served him right and for several long minutes Micah actually considered turning on his heel to walk away. But he couldn’t. Jesse seemed to think that he was the one that would be able to get through to her. Looking at Grey now and recalling the way that she flinched when he said her name the killer had his doubts. He sucked at dealing with emotions that didn’t belong to him, or to Vel. He didn’t know how to handle a distraught woman that wasn’t Vel. But he couldn’t walk away from her now. She had no one. Her family wouldn’t be looking for her and Jesse obviously wasn’t.
Damn you Jesse Fforde, I hope that slag was worth it.
Right. Standing around having a mental debate with himself wasn’t going to accomplish anything. He doubted the Grey would accept his help willingly. That was just too bad. he was older, stronger and he didn’t take no for an answer. If he had to drag her kicking and screaming out of the sewers to get her somewhere safe then he would do that. She’d get a chance to come with him willingly but if she said no well, it wasn’t going to bode well for her.
“Grey.” He spoke her name again careful to keep his tone neutral. “You can’t stay down here.” His eyes were drawn to the knife in her hands and the marks on her arms. Anger burned brighter with each second that passed but he pushed it down refusing to let her see it. “You’re injured, and you need to clean yourself up. You’re never going to heal if you stay here.” His head tilted to the side and he gave her a silent appraisal. She hadn’t been feeding. His lips pressed together in a thin line and he shook his head. “I’m going to give you a choice. You either come with me willingly, or I will forcibly remove you from this place. Don’t bother arguing, I won’t listen to you.” He had a feeling it wouldn’t be willingly. Micah was prepared for that.
<Grey> He stayed in front of her. He spoke to her. Grey’s form seemed to try to melt into the wall on her left for support of her own body. When she stopped walking, she got more tired. When she didn’t constantly move, then her mind got the better of her. But now, she wasn’t filling her own silence. Micah was filling it for her. His appearance was certainly a surprise, and she had not figured that she would see him in all places of the sewers.
Grey wanted to open her mouth and tell him that this was her home now. She wanted to open her mouth and tell the man that she had a shower at Auto Doc, just that she hadn’t been above ground in a while to use it. The mechanic didn’t want to fight with him, even if she knew that he was right. There was nothing to argue in this situation - other than the fact that this was her home now.
She refused to accept shelter from a man who had cheated on her.
She refused to be underneath his roof or in any of his proverbial holds when he had taken something that he so willingly gave and then destroyed it by his actions. She would be damned if she accepted an ounce more help from Jesse Fforde for not being able to keep his hands to himself and off someone that wasn’t … her.
That hurt.
Her chest clenched, but there wasn’t much there to clench. Dead, dehydrated muscles seemingly hugged ribs that were protruding underneath the layers of dirty, blood soaked clothes. She finally lifted her chin enough to view his face. To let those dead eyes of hers settle upon his form. Those eyes of hers were in truth vacant, the once vibrant blue now so pale that it seemed to be windows to whatever piece of soul she had left inside herself.
How do to heal a broken heart?
Grey thought. She looked as if she were truly contemplating the issues at hand. She looked as if she were trying to digest Micah’s words. And for a moment, she attempted to look down on herself to the blood that had soaked into the clothes she hastily threw on the night Jesse had told her he slept with someone else.
She looked at the scabs that were wet, never really healing and barely dry in the dank atmosphere of the sewers. Like an insolent child, Grey wanted to shrug. But all she could manage was clenching her jaw and momentarily squeezing the ritual knife harder upon the handle. She had used it to cut herself and to threaten other people’s sticky fingers.
What could she say? What did he want to hear? She wanted to ask him why he even was here. Did Jesse send him? She had cut off all contact. Denied her ex-fiance every ability to find her. She knew he himself would not come. No, not to a blood infested sewer. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to see his face. And through all of this, Grey hadn’t even cried. She hadn’t even shed a tear, and in that moment she felt the overwhelming concern nearly blow her over.
So she eventually loosened her grip on the knife. As if she realized that Micah wasn’t down there to take her back to the cold arms of her Sire. She lifted her hand to give him the knife. That only defense she had left there in the sewers. Gnarled fingers, frequently broken and not seemingly set and soaked in blood and grime barely held onto that blade that seemed almost too heavy.
It was a gesture of agreeing with him as her voice remained trapped so uncomfortably in her throat. A soft exhale of her breath and she bit her lower lip, fangs not even protruding despite the lack of blood in her system.
<Micah> She had managed to surprise him.
The killer had been prepared for a fight, prepared for the resistance that was sure to come from her but instead he got surrender. His fingers curled around the handle of the dull knife, pulling it from her fingers before she could change her mind. Again he felt the anger licking at his insides. Jesse couldn’t even provide the girl with a proper weapon to defend herself with? Again he pushed the anger down. Now wasn't the time to focus on all of the mistakes that had been made. The blade was tossed to the side to be forgotten. It wouldn’t do much anyways and when she was ready Micah would make sure to provide her with something much better than a dull, rusty knife.
She was using the wall to keep herself standing. He was faced with a dilemma. How was he supposed to get her out of the sewers with her being as weak as what she was? If she couldn’t hardly stand on her own two feet then she sure as hell couldn't walk out on her own.he considered his options. There was summoning her to a safe place but she probably didn’t trust him enough to do that. He could make her walk but in her weakened state it would take them hours. The last option was to just carry her out. She might protest that but she wouldn’t be able to fight him either. He took the last option and picked her up, sliding one arm under her knees and the other around her back. She could certainly ***** at him for it later.
They were out of the sewers moments later. Micah hesitated as he considered his options. Between he and his wife there were several places that he could take her but he wanted to take her somewhere that was as far from Jesse as possible. Somewhere close to the Eyrie so the killer could get to her in case something happened to her.
The farm. It was out of the way, only Micah and Vel had access to the house and it was quiet. And Jesse would never be able to find her there. Mind made up the killer turned and headed in that direction.
<Grey> Grey’s body slumped against the wall. When Micah had reached forward and taken that ritual knife from her hand, Grey wanted the killer before her to know that she wouldn’t strike out against him. Perhaps, a part of her, was surrendering to the man that she knew could break her into a million pieces and crush her bones into dust.
Grey knew better, even if she was in a raging fit, to go up against this man in the state that she was in. Horribly contorted fingers that were raw and caked in blood and dirt easily let go of the hilt. She had better weapons. Hell, one of them was above ground and tucked underneath her backpack in Auto Doc. She refused to bring it into the sewers, out of ammo and not feeling friendly enough to visit any local seedy shops and their bug-eyed cashiers, Grey gave a bit of a visible shudder and let her eyes fall closed just for a moment. The clank of the ritual knife falling into the sewer echoed in her ears.
What could she say to Micah? Those dead eyes barely opened, her chest falling as if Grey had kept up the pretenses of being a whole woman before the man. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t shout. She couldn’t rant because what was there to rant about? Jesse had been unhappy. She was not the woman that he thought she was. There were no more smiles on her face and she had lost that happiness months ago.
Her raw lips opened, as if she were trying to force out an explanation that just wasn’t tumbling from her tongue for the cousin of the man that had no doubt begged him to come to the sewers in search of her. As much as she she wished that Micah wouldn’t go back to Jesse and announce the state he found her in; she didn’t care either.
He doesn’t deserve to know.
That voice inside her head was adamant. As if she were telling herself that as much as she were silently pleading with Micah as his hands slipped against her skin and bone body underneath - Jesse didn’t deserved to know. The grimace against his big, powerful grip certainly couldn’t be helped. In Micah’s hold, Grey was a lot lighter than she ever should have been. She might have joked at one time that she was done with the Oreos for good, but there was nothing left inside of her.
Humor gone and that light extinguished inside of her, that woman let her head roll against Micah’s arm. She closed her eyes and tried not to shudder against the coolness of the air that surrounded them above ground. In that moment that he carried her, she finally let her defenses sag just enough that sleep swooped in and stole her consciousness in the rhythmic pace of the killer’s footsteps. Micah could no doubt feel the very individual discs of her spine protruding from the thin flesh of her back. Encased in darkness, Grey just clutched those broken fingers to her chest while her heavy boots clopped against each other. The steel toe boots barely hung on her limp feet, thankful that the laces had been tied as tightly as they could be.
