ROUTINE [ALEKSA]

[Blaize]

Backdated to November 9th, 2016

B L A I Z E
Steady, the business boomed. The dance studio was always busy, and not just with the dancers, the shrill voice of the hired dance instructor often breaking through Blaize’s weary concentration. Laura Shulz was the best that Blaize could find; a retired prima who’d sunk to her lot in life due to the same thing that had almost taken Blaize out of service. A broken bone. Broken bones, to dancers, meant death. Death of their art. Bad breaks, anyway. But Laura kept at it with a boundless optimism, happy to be passing on her knowledge and her strict classical mannerisms to the younger set.

Blaize would never have been happy as a teacher. And now even old age couldn’t force him to retire.

Sunlight, however, was an issue. Training happened during the day. Rehearsals and interviews, during the day. The Mystic almost wanted to curse his sire for not somehow manipulating the turning so that he could become a Killer. Killers, Blaize was informed, could more easily learn or develop the ability to walk in sunlight. And yet, every time Blaize tried to force himself to stay awake, tried to ease himself into the sunlight, he was burned. And he doubted that any amount of practice would allow him the freedom he desired.

And yet, he had only to look at Laura to realise he would never regret what he had asked for, and he would never blame Lyonel for taking anything away. Blaize now had eternity to figure it out -- he had eternity to learn what he could, to slip into the powers of the Killer. Eventually, all the issues might be smoothed. Like the lack of fangs. Like the illness he felt at even the thought of consuming blood. The guilt was like poison.

It was easiest to focus on other things. To collect money like a hoarder, a nest egg for a future that Blaize could not predict. The thunderous boom of the dancers’ leaps and bounds was a background music to the room in back. There was a back door through which the students came and went -- a back office drug scheme, and the closer it got to finals, the busier it was. And it was going rather well.

It was just Blaize in the back room while the dancers went through their routine; the back door was locked, his burner phone tucked into his pocket in case there were late callers. He was flicking through the brochure for the ballet company. There was Swan Lake, and of course his name had been removed. For all intents and purposes, as far as the company was concerned, he had disappeared. For now. Sighing heavily, he tossed the brochure aside and sauntered toward the door that led to the studio; he leaned his shoulder against the arch, arms crossed over his chest as he observed the lesson in progress, a thoughtful frown curling the lines of his brow. Whether he was contemplating the issues of the universe or merely judging the talent of those in front of him, one might never know.



A L E K S A N D R A
Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Aleksandra worried the skin to the point of pain as her eyes swept the deserted street in front of her. There was something oddly eerie about the atmosphere, and the dread crept along the nape of her neck like the cool fingers of a ghost. Of course, the flickering streetlight didn’t help the situation. Instead, it added a sort of macabre feeling as it illuminated the cracks in the blacktop for a single second before plunging her back into darkness. In the five minutes she had stayed frozen on the curb outside of his studio, she had already run through her death at the hand of every horror film villain she could think of.

You’re already dead. What else could they do to you?
Oh, a thousand awful, horrible things.

She had just started playing the show of Slenderman vs. Chef when the door to the studio swung open, bathing her in the dim light from inside. The sound of music and laughter caused the tension in her muscles to ease, and with a slow shake of her head, she forced herself to step from the curb. The moment she did, the door slammed shut with a finality that left her panicked, and she broke into a run, her long ponytail swaying feverishly behind her as she skidded to a stop at the door and flung it open with enough force, she swore she felt it crack.

Get a grip, Aleksa, before Blaize thinks you’ve gone completely mad!

Having been a vampire for only a short while, she hadn’t quite taught herself her own strength - or that she was all but invincible, had Freddy tried to lure her to Elm Street. None of it mattered to the young girl. She was still human at heart, her own immortality lost on her as it had been the day Blaize saved her. She still struggled to feed herself, she still fought to accept that the warmth of the sun was something she would never feel again. She could never return home, and she most certainly could never allow her father near her. Frowning at the the direction her thoughts had taken, she quickly shook her head to clear them as she calmed her frantic steps.

Of course, it didn’t matter.
They’d already spotted her.

The dancers turned at the sound of her arrival - or, rather, the sound of the door slamming behind her. In her haste, she hadn’t thought about the intrusion, or the fact that she looked like she had been running for her life. To her, she had been, though she doubted they would appreciate the slasher film replay. In retrospect, this impromptu visit probably hadn’t been the best idea. Realizing it was too late to turn back now, she straightened her back and tried for one of those ‘everything is fine, I’m cool, I got this’ smiles that she had learned at her very brief stint as a waitress. For the most part, it seemed to work. Hopefully.

“Uhm, is Blaize available?”



B L A I Z E
The music continued even as the dancers staggered to a stop. It was a like a Mexican wave, each stopping one after the other before turning to the door, which had slammed open before being slammed shut again. Blaize was across the room, hidden behind their leotarded bodies, behind the gentle pace of the teacher as she circled the room.

Just as he might be hidden from view due to the numerous bodies in the room, he too could not see immediately who had come crashing through the door -- though, he could recognise the voice. He straightened, arms dropping from where they had been crossed over his chest. Now he could see through the students, and caught a glimpse of his first and only childe. Aleksandra. Though her entrance had been less than graceful, there was a smile on her face and she spoke with a demeanour like everything was absolutely fine. But maybe it was just a show for the strangers.

“Aleksa,” Blaize called before anyone could answer her question. His voice was sharp but quiet, his tone commanding and his own expression giving nothing away. No one could tell whether he was annoyed or angry, or whether he just had the equivalent of whatever ‘resting ***** face’ was for men. Honestly, though he thought it unprofessional to interrupt the dance in the middle of its course (it would now have to be started all over again, the teacher’s time wasted) it wasn’t an irritation that lingered or flared. It sparked before it was quashed, deemed too small and unnecessary for attention.

He gestured to Aleksa before disappearing into the back room -- his office. Clearly, the gesture was intended for her to cross the room and follow him. She’d have to pass all the dancers. And if she didn’t want them to know what she was, she’d have to be quick -- there were mirrors everywhere.



A L E K S A N D R A
Even as she posed the question, she knew the answer. It was there in the thick air that surrounded her, the energy that she couldn’t mistake - or explain. It never failed to alert her to his presence, and even now, as she stood beneath the glares of a handful of irritated dancers, she felt it creep along her skin like electricity. Some would say it was attraction, others would argue that it was just the awareness of their connection. She claimed insanity. Whatever the answer may be, she could feel him, though she couldn’t see him. Her gaze swept across the glistening, frustrated faces of his dancers before lingering on his hired teacher, and yet - he was no where.

Reaching her hand behind her, she pressed it to the door, her fingers seeming to seep the chill from the wood as she splintered it beneath her nails. Her nerves frayed, she watched as Laura’s lips parted to answer her, and she knew that whatever she was about to hear would only send her further into chaos. Forcing herself to remain calm, she sought out the latch to the door, just as the one voice she needed to hear cut through the silence like a knife. At once, everything seemed to come to a stop. The music no longer assaulted her senses, the heat from Laura’s glare faded into nothing, and she finally had the sense of clarity that she craved.

Whatever had frightened her outside became forgotten as his simple command washed through her mind, causing her hand to fall from the door as she straightened. Now the glares turned questioning, the hushed whispers turning into a thunderstorm as she stared at his back across the room as he turned from her. Her throat dry, she kept the office in her sights as she took the first step into the studio, her fingers nervously toying with the end of her ponytail. She was suddenly, painfully aware of the way she must look in that moment. Her hair a mess, her skin flushed, jeans covered in flour and a few icing stains on her form fitting t-shirt.

Even covered in sweat, the dancers in the room had her beat when it came to tidiness.

Dusting her hands over the tight denim, she quickly scanned the room once more, taking note of the mirrors that decorated the walls. It was just another problem added to an already impossible situation, yet she knew there was no turning back now. He had already called for her, had already demanded in that silent way of his that she follow him. He had faith in her to keep her secret, and she knew she could. It would just take stealth. With a quick flick of her wrist, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and headed for the center of the room, her steps hurried as she cut a path through the dancers with ease. The second she reached the threshold to his office, she slowed.

Now that she was here, facing him, her fear from before seemed… petty. Chewing on the inside of her lip, she rushed through the thousand and one things she could say to him, and nothing seemed to do the entire interruption justice. Before she realized what was happening, she was speaking, the words contradicting the glint in her eyes as she rested her hip against the frame, fingers tugging absently at her stained t-shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I can leave if you’re too busy.”



B L A I Z E
Blaize sauntered back to the desk where he leaned, one ankle crossed over the other and his arms casually crossed over his chest. He didn’t watch Aleksa as she made her way across the room. Whether or not the dancers saw her lack of reflection wasn’t a concern for Blaize. Though he’d not had the conversation with Laura, he himself had concluded that he did not care. It was a recent conclusion. He was tired of trying to keep up the charade. Didn’t mean he had to give it away, pull her aside, tell her what was what. Blaize had a way of avoiding things, sometimes. If there was something he was unsure of, he just didn’t talk about it. The problem turned end over end in his brain until he could make sense of it and iron out its kinks until it was no longer a problem, but a solution. There was no point making an issue out of something until he could make a proper argument for it.

Although he had decided that he wouldn’t particularly worry about his own reflection or try to make excuses for why he was never around in the sunlight, and so nor did he shout his species from the rooftops. Maybe the decision had been made all those weeks ago, when Alice had called him on the phone and asked. Just like that. She had asked whether he was a vampire and he had answered in the affirmative. He still couldn’t figure out why he had done that, but he had. Clearly, he wasn’t all that concerned. He was dipping his toes in, testing the waters, trying to see if anything untoward would happen. As yet, nothing had.

Aleksa was her own person, however. She could make her own choices. If she chose not to be seen as the walking undead, then so be it. Once, he had told her to be careful, and he supposed the concern was still laced into his perception of events. There were still hunters. There were still people who would love nothing more than to see all vampire-kind locked away in cages. There were still reasons to be careful. And so he would not take it back.

When she finally entered the room, Blaize smiled. His lips stretched into something resembling a smile, anyway, before they relaxed into their usual set.

“I’m not busy,” he said with a shrug. “You seem particularly flustered. More so than usual. What’s up?”



A L E K S A N D R A
It was his smile that caused her to hesitate, her fingers slowing their nervous caress of her t-shirt. It was rare that he showed any kind of emotion - so when he did, it was surprising. With her breath caught in her throat, she slowly dropped her hands to her sides, her thumbs sliding into the weathered loops of her jeans. She could count on one hand the amount of times he graced her with his smile, and she couldn’t recall a single one of them being so close to the public eye. Did he even realize that he had done it? What in the hell did it even mean? It was the same two questions she asked herself each and everytime, and she had yet to find the answer.

When it came to Blaize, she wondered if she ever would.

Feeling the warmth of the studio against her back, she adjusted her stance so they couldn’t see into the room, a stance that she hadn’t realized she’d taken. It came naturally, this subconscious desire to keep him safe. Blowing out a breath, she crossed her arms over her chest, her movements miming his as she fought to come up with a valid reason for her abrupt appearance. “It’s nothing, really. I decided to come and see you after Matthew tossed a tantrum in class today and tried to hit me with a cake pan.” Allowing the words to sink in - more for her own benefit than his, she shook her head with another shrug.

“I thought someone was following me. It was… I can’t explain it. I was probably just being paranoid. It’s still rather frightening out there, vampire or not.” Lowering her voice on the last part, she tossed a nervous glance over her shoulder. It wasn’t because she thought someone overheard her - it was to ensure herself that she hadn’t been followed inside. She still couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was out there, lurking in the shadows and biding their time until they could get her alone once again. It was unnerving.

“I probably just over-indulged myself on slasher films Halloween night.”



B L A I Z E
First, she told Blaize that someone had tried to hit her with a cake pan. Second, she informed him that she thought someone was following her. The first had Blaize stiffening, wondering if he knew this Matthew. The second had him standing and moving to one of the windows, flicking one of the blinds aside so that he could look out at the campus square. Snow had not yet started to fall, but one could see the cold. A few students were still lingering, late classes coming and going, some rushing to and fro from study sessions. Most of them were walking rather fast given the chill, with their scarves and their beanies, their glove-clad hands shoved into deep pockets.

“Someone’s following you?” he asked. He didn’t dismiss it as mere paranoia. One never knew in this day and age. There were still hunters, regardless of the relationship between vampires and humans. Again that argument swung back and forth inside of his skull like a bell with a broken clanger. Now that humans knew, was there more or less danger? If Aleksandra had someone following her, it would have to be dealt with. What were their intentions?

“Could it be Matthew, deadset on revenge and bringing the cake pan with him?” he asked, turning from the window. “Why, exactly, was he trying to hit you with a cake pan? Is he five?” Blaize asked. He should know these things. Was Matthew five? Was it wrong of Blaize to feel like finding a cake pan of his own to go clock Matthew over the head with? Who acted like that?

“In all seriousness, though, slasher films or not -- is there someone following you? How paranoid are you on a scale of one to ten?” he asked. This sire thing was still new to Blaize, just like the vampire thing was still somewhat new. But it came naturally, the worry. The concern. These were the questions he needed to ask.


A L E K S A N D R A
Had she been anyone else, she would have missed the subtle way his body tightened. It was so miniscule, that for a moment, she wondered if she had imagined it. His shirt had only moved an inch as his biceps tensed, and she found herself focusing on the thin cotton as he headed for the window. His movements were predatory, a grace to them that no man - no person should possess, and yet, he did. Had it been his vampirism that made him seem so lithe, or had he always been a master at his craft? She couldn’t imagine a moment when he didn’t remind of her a jungle cat ready to pounce at any given moment, his body - even tensed and agitated - primed for the second he would have to react, be it to a melody, or on the darkened streets. Even now, she could remember the way he moved the night they had met, though the memory, admittedly, was a bit skewed. After all, she couldn’t be held accountable for the way she viewed him as she lay dying in a damp, dank sewage corridor.

Unaware that in the few short moments since she had spoken that her thoughts had drifted, the small brunette nearly leapt out of her skin when his quiet voice cut through the office. Feeling suddenly cramped despite the space, she shifted her stance, her shoulder lifting from the jam as she hooked her fingers together and brought her arms over her head, body stretching in a way that eased the tension from her spine. In a matter of seconds, she had torpedoed through an array of emotions, and still, the paranoia clung to her like a spiderweb. “I don’t think so. Like I said, I just let Freddy and Jason get to me,” she replied, her voice slightly unsteady. As much as she wanted to write it off as pure paranoia, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

Even now, standing as close to him as she could without invading his space, it felt as if she was being weighed down by a force that she couldn’t see. Lifting her hand, she curled it beneath her chocolate curls, fingers digging into the small crescent moon inked into the back of her neck. She was being foolish, and in doing so, she was riling up the only person outside of her father that seemed to give a damn about her wellbeing. “Matthew is a lot of things, but a stalker isn’t one of them. Abrasive, manipulating, and immature, yeah. Vengeful? Not quite.” Forcing herself to answer his questions was the one thing that kept her panic at bay, the sound of his voice soothing enough to almost make her forget why she was standing here in the first place.

“He’s my boyfriend. Well, was my boyfriend. He decided to react like a child when I broke up with him. Of course, besting him in our bakery exam today didn’t help his tantrum. I’m not worried about him. The worse he can do is leave a bruise or two that heal within seconds.” It was truth enough. In the few weeks that she had been with the man, he hadn’t given her any reason to consider him a threat. At least, until he tossed a cake pan like a woman scorned. She still couldn’t shake the image of him, red faced and eyes bulging, out of her mind. It was something she hadn’t expected to see - and something she was glad that she had. Dating wasn’t her strong point - and Matthew had only managed to prove that fact.

“I really didn’t mean to upset you, Blaize. I’m sure it’s nothing. If someone was coming after me, I’m sure they would have done something by now. After all, no one knows what I am, and I’ve been careful. Besides, I still feel as if I’m being watched, and there is absolutely no threat in here, is there? I’m probably just tired.”



B L A I Z E
The blonde continued to peer out of the window, now searching not just those passing by, but the shadows beneath the trees, beneath the overhang of awnings. He was looking for a thickness of shadows, something out of place, someone lingering where they shouldn’t. But he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t see any Matthews. He was listening. First, he heard all the bad things Aleksandra had to say about the guy, agreeing wholeheartedly even though he’d never met him. And then he heard Aleksandra say that Matthew was her boyfriend, which had Blaize swinging around on the spot, narrowing sharp eyes at the woman as if she were some vague fool. Who would call someone abrasive, manipulating, and immature their boyfriend?!

Aleksa’s justifications weren’t entirely lost on Blaize, but he did noticeably relax. He sauntered back to the desk where he perched against the edge of it; outside, in the hall, the dancers were winding up. The music had stopped and Laura was giving instructions for the next lesson, shouting different instructions to different girls, pointing out who needed to work on what most. The studio could be closed, soon, the lights turned off, the building put to sleep. Blaize could go home -- or to do whatever it was that he had planned to do next. Which was nothing at all, though perhaps he wouldn’t leave. The studio would be empty, the lights would remain off, but he would dance in the dark. At least, then, he was less likely to see the lack of a reflection in the mirror. It was easier, now, to focus only on the movement, on the dance itself. It was only after he’d been turned that he realised how often he’d focused on himself, on how he looked. And that wasn’t the point, was it?

He loosely crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes, but it’s the intention, isn’t it? HE doesn’t know that the bruises will heal. He still intends to hurt you, regardless whether or not you can rip his head off,” he said. Aleksa may not be worried about the asshole, but Blaize would worry for her. If he showed his face anywhere near her, Blaize would… what would he do? Even he didn’t know until faced the situation. Another glance was spared for the window and he shook his head.

“I’m not upset. There is no threat right now,” he said, levelling a pointed gaze at Aleksa. Right now, there was no threat. But there could be one. This world was not bereft of threats. He then nodded toward the door, out to the hall beyond. One of the girls was watching. Why? Blaize didn’t know. But it was amusing -- if not a little concerning that Aleksa was so damned paranoid.



A L E K S A N D R A
His distraction made it easier for her to study his profile, from the slope of his nose to the downward curve of his tense lips. The more she spoke, the more upset he seemed to become. His bright eyes scouted the shadows with the same intensity that she felt when she ran from them, and for a second, the guilt threatened to swallow her. She had been foolish in her fear. Instead of facing whatever lurked in the dark, she had ran like a coward. Lowering her gaze, she released a quiet breath as her eyes found a miniscule flaw in the flooring. This isn’t me, she wanted to scream, but the words remained choked in her throat. I’m not afraid. I’m not weak.

Dropping her hand from her neck, she began the task of straightening out her curls as he spun on her, his actions far too quick for even her eyes to register. One moment, he had been silhouetted by the moon, his eyes narrowed in concentration - and then he was staring at her as if she needed special guidance. The hurt flashed across her face for a solid second before she managed to control it, fingertips pressing to the ache beneath her breastbone as her jaw tightened, teeth grinding together. The accusation burned her tongue, but before the words could form, the shrill, almost earsplitting voice of the instructor cut through the silence with the finesse of a gunshot. In a second, her expression shifted, a panicked glint sparking in the blue of her eyes before she rolled her neck, fingers digging into the soft, exposed skin of her stomach.

“How can you stand that?”

The question was whispered through gritted teeth, the molars grinding down to dust the longer the woman spoke. What in the hell is happening to me? Bringing her hand to her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose as the music faded, only to replaced with the shuffle of feet and rustle of clothing. Every movement hit her like a wrecking ball, from the simple sound of a zipper coming undone to the breathless sigh of one of the dancers. Things she shouldn’t notice, noises that shouldn’t bother her, and yet, she was nearly forced to her knees. Digging her teeth into her lower lip, she was scarcely away of the blood that trickled from the wound as he spoke, the words making sense - except, she seemed to lose them beneath the dull roar of laughter and hushed voices.

“What?”

The word tore from her in a near growl as his gaze snapped over her shoulder, and slowly, she found herself turning. It was if she had left her body and was watching herself from above. Even as her sharp gaze landed on the slender dancer openly watching them, she knew she was teetering on the edge of a meltdown. She hadn’t a reason for why, she had no way to control it, but it seemed that she was to be the catalyst. Gripping the door jam, she raised a brow and met the woman’s jealous and curious filled eyes with a narrowed gaze, before she chanced a glance over her shoulder at her sire. “Friend of yours?” The question seemed crazy, even to her own ears, and before she knew what she was doing, the door was slammed in his face and she was running.



B L A I Z E
At first, Blaize laughed; that rare smile graced his lips until he realised that something was seriously wrong. It wasn’t just a snarky remark in regards to Laura’s shrill tone, and he didn’t have the opportunity to respond, either. Nor did he want to, especially when given the impression that his answer would not amuse Aleksa. In fact, she might not even hear it.

How could he stand it? He’d been a student for years and years. Not under Laura, of course, but under other teachers with similarly shrill voices, with the same commands and demands. Dance, monkey, dance! Directors with success on their radar, wanting rave reviews and and sold out theatres. They didn’t care that their dancers were starving, or that their toe nails were constantly ripping from their nail beds. They drummed and drilled until their students collapsed. Only the best survived. Only the best remained unbroken. Blaize had been conditioned -- his past not as pristine as he would have liked, but everyone suffered, didn’t they? They suffered for their art.

He might have made some quip about how Aleksa would not have lasted two seconds as a ballerina, if she could not handle Laura’s tone for more than two minutes. Blaize stood when he witnessed the stark red of Aleksa’s blood dribbling down her chin, her own teeth tearing and marring at her own skin. Uselessly, he held out his hands as if to calm his child, but she did not see. She’d already turned away, her eyes sharp as flint when she turned back at him. As if the staring dancer were all his fault; as if she and he were scheming something behind Aleksa’s back. The slammed door had Blaize dropping his hands, absolutely baffled.

And yet, he did not follow Aleksa. Not yet. He was a precise individual and he did not cater to drama or hysterics. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he turned from the inner door and meandered toward the back door, which he locked and deadbolted. He made sure his laptop was shut down before he slipped it into his tartan messenger bag, an old hat pulled over his platinum blonde hair. After dropping his keys into his pocket, he took his phone in hand and re-entered the studio. The dancers all glanced his way, those that were left.

“Close up for me, Laura,” he said breezily, ignoring the curious stares as he made for the exit. His pace wasn’t slow, but nor did he run. Out on the footpath, he swiped the screen of his phone and brought up Aleksa’s number. Hitting dial, he lifted the phone to his ear, his cool gaze sweeping across the campus quad. She couldn’t have got too far…



A L E K S A N D R A
Where she had once been terrified of what lurked in the shadows, she now embraced them, hand pressed to the grit of the nearest building. Bowing her head, she gasped in lungfuls of icy air, her eyes closed to block out the flickering light overhead. She could hear the faint buzz from the electricity as it hummed steadily through the wires, and for a second, the only thought she had was to rip it from the ground. Uncertain if her own strength could handle it, however, she remained against the wall, her forehead digging into the brick. What’s happening to me? The thought was on repeat, a mantra she couldn’t escape. There was no one to answer her.

She had ran from the only one who could. [cont]

[Aleksandra (DELETED 8627)]

A L E K S A N D R A
Curling her fingers into her hair, she pressed her nails into the nape of her neck once more, the pain something that once soothed her. Now, however, she barely felt it. Her entire form was turning numb, as if she had been submerged into a vat of ice. With each sound, each glare of a headlight, and each blast of wind, she was slowly shutting down, her mind unable to process it all. Things that she should have never been able to notice, things that shouldn’t bother her were suddenly consuming her. Where she had once been calm and collected, she was throwing tantrums as if she were a five year old in the middle of a candy store. It wasn’t her, and yet, the second she thought she might have a grip on herself, someone would cough, or sigh, and she was lost again.

She couldn’t even allow herself to think of what Blaize was doing in that instant. She had run from him - something she had never done - and she hadn’t looked back. He’s probably with her, she thought bitterly, even though, somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew it was foolish. She wasn’t typically the jealous sort, and yet, the moment her eyes had met the unfaltering gaze of the dancer, she had snapped. Slamming her open palm against the building, she watched as a faint crack appeared in the brick and shook her head. Forcing a breath out between her clenched teeth, she nearly screamed in frustration when she heard the hum of her phone, fingers quickly prying it from the pocket of her jeans. She knew who it was without looking at the blaring screen, the personalized ringtone designated for one person only.

Blaize.

She hadn’t gone far. The music alone was enough to bring him to her, but she found herself pulling the phone to her ear, thumb pressed to the ‘answer’ key on the screen. “Alley around the corner.” Ending the call, she loosened her hold on the device, the phone clattering to the ground as she bit into her lip once again.



B L A I Z E
Indeed, the music was enough to alert Blaize as to the location of his erstwhile childe. His head turned sharply to the right, footsteps already following the sound of the ringtone before Aleksandra answered. When she did, her voice echoed -- he could hear it both through the phone’s speaker, and down the small alley between buildings up ahead.

At least the University was clean, and mostly quiet. The only cars were the cabs and buses down the slope at the bus stop; the foot traffic had trickled to near non-existent. There was a bar on campus, and a couple of cheap food places open after classes had ended. It was from these that most of the students came, now headed home to get warm.

The first thing Blaize did when he reached his childe was duck down and sweep her phone up off the pavement. Although the dancer was no expert, it looked like Aleksa was having some kind of panic or anxiety attack. A mental breakdown, whether emotional or otherwise, was never fun. Blaize had had one only once in his life, and it was not something he ever wanted to experience again. It was, perhaps, the reason why he was so dedicated -- so narrow minded, so focused on a singular goal. It was why he was so cold.

And yet, despite how cold he could be, he did the only thing he knew he was capable of. He asked no questions and voiced no reassurances. Instead, his hand gently grasped Aleksa’s shoulder, turning her around until she was facing him. Only then did he wrap his arms around her, one around her waist and the other up around her shoulders to cradle her head against his chest.

“Maybe we can go somewhere quiet. You can tell me what’s going on,” he said. He assumed it was the change; he assumed that Aleksa was struggling with how much her life had changed. Or maybe there were things she hadn’t told him, issues she was having that she hadn’t felt it was pertinent to share. But now, Blaize would demand to know. It was questionable whether he’d be able to help or not, but one would never know unless they tried.



A L E K S A N D R A
From the moment her mother had passed, Aleksandra had prided herself on her ability to keep steady. However, in the span of one night, the stitches that kept her together at the seams were stretched thin, and she felt as if every single little emotion she had ever denied was threatening to spill free. Gritting her teeth, she clawed at the wall until she felt the brick gave way, the pieces of mortar crashing at her feet with each yank and twist. This isn’t me. What in the hell is happening? Why won’t it just shut up?! The questions raged a war inside of her head, and she found herself starting to sink to her knees - until she heard him. At first, it was just another noise to assault her senses like a maddening storm, but then she caught his frame from the corner of her gaze.

There was no mistaking the man that sauntered towards her, his body too familiar to confuse with another. Forcing her hands to the wall, she kept herself straightened, despite the quivering of her knees as the weight of the world fought to keep her down. The steady buzz of the electricity continued to echo in her skull, her once bright blue eyes darkening with each flicker of the light. Would he see that she was close to shutting down?

“Blaize.”

His name tore from her in a hoarse, broken whisper as she turned into his embrace, her fingers twisting effortlessly into his jacket. As he pulled her in, she seemed to curl into his hold, her small form disappearing in the strength of his arms. His voice, quiet as it was, was like a balm she never knew she needed. The hum of the light faded beneath his whisper, and the scent of his cologne washed away the horrors of the alley. Digging her nails into his back, she held onto him in a way that she never had another - even her own father. In a single moment, he had become the one thing - the only thing - she needed to quiet the demons in her mind.

“I’ll go anywhere, just… just make it stop, please. I can’t…”

Her words, whispered and tortured, seemed to spill from her trembling lips without a filter. She gave no thought to them as she clung to his muscled figure, her face buried against his chest. She paid no mind to the fact that she had just ran from him, from the woman with her intense, jealous stare. She didn’t dwell on the fact he was more than likely angered at her dramatic show, or that he had chosen to follow her, instead of staying with the dancer. She didn’t even seem to notice or care that she smeared blood on his shirt as she held onto him.

In that moment in time, that second that he had turned the corner, the past twenty minutes seemed to fade.



B L A I Z E
Blaize nodded, feigning a confidence that would soon swell into existence. Weakness was not permissible, not in himself. So as per usual he acted like he knew exactly what he was doing until he knew exactly what he was doing. It had worked for him thus far. Where could they go that was quiet that didn’t require a trek across the city?

Staring out at the quad, Blaize remembered one of his first nights at the studio. He’d stood staring out the window, wondering what his life had become; unable to continue taking charity from his new ‘family’ but unable to support himself with dance alone, he’d started a new scheme. An illegal scheme. And what happened if he got caught and arrested and locked up…? His meandering thoughts had been interrupted by a crew of students hiking across the grassy quad, all of them carrying what Blaize soon recognised as telescopes. Curious, had followed them. They’d been welcoming, accepting of this curious non-student, and they led him through to one of the University’s old towers. Up and up they went, hiking their heavy scoped up to the roof; a broad, square slab of cement. They’d spread out around the edges, their scoped directed at different sections of the sky.

Why? Because there was less light pollution up there; the tower was at the southern edge of the university where the buildings met the wilderness. It was far away from traffic and the noise of the city. It may as well have been part of the wild. The party met every Thursday to go look at the sky. It was not Thursday now.

“I know where to go,” he said, slipping his arm around Aleksa’s waist, urging her to start walking, out of the darkness and away from the now-crumbling wall. There was barely anyone around but they would have to cross the quad; they’d have to risk passing students on their way home. And yet there was nothing that would stop them directly.

The modern glass doors of the university wing hummed open as the two approached, though it wasn’t through these that Blaize went. He assumed they’d all lock down at some point, closed when the security were sure that every student had gone home, only staff able to get in and out. There was a side door through which the observatory crew had gone -- one that remained unlocked. The passage to the top had, that night, been lit by their many phones or torches. Now it was pitch black. But he and Aleksa were vampires -- they could see perfectly fine with the flimsy light that filtered through the small windows.

“Nearly there,” he said, gaze lifting upward, up toward the sanctuary he had imagined for them.



A L E K S A N D R A
There was a feeling of hopelessness within her that she couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard she tried. Even with his arms around her, his voice a soft, commanding whisper - she was still sinking further into the madness. It wasn’t a feeling she was accustomed to. She was someone raised with confidence and grace. If her father could see her now, fingers clawing into the shirt of a man she barely knew, he wouldn’t know who she was anymore. With that thought in her mind, the look of pure disappointment on her father’s weathered features, she willed her feet to move. At first, it was if she was trudging through quicksand. Her steps were slow and uncertain, and she only seemed to cling tighter to him as he began to lead them from the alleyway and into the night.

Entrusting her care and safety into Blaize, she closed her eyes as she allowed him to weave her lithe form through the streets. Her fingers never relinquished their hold on his shirt, nor did she seem to notice that her hand was aching from the death grip she had on the flimsy material. It only seemed to tighten when they passed the hum, the sound vibrating through her skull and once again causing her to bite her tongue to stop from screaming out. This was utter madness. Completely and wholly insane. There shouldn’t be a reason that she was affected so purely by the everyday sounds of the world. How was it that Blaize was so calm and collected? Was she defective somehow? Was she failing at this new life? Could these all be signs that her body was rejecting the change? It was a ridiculous notion, one that was she in her right mind, she would laugh off.

However….

It could be possible, couldn’t it?

“Blaize,” she began, the question begging to be voiced, to be heard - only to be interrupted by his own voice. Almost there. Almost where? Was he leading her to safety - or was he going to put her down like a dog? Where in the hell are these thoughts coming from? Gritting her teeth, she began to pull from him, her attempt to stand on her own two feet failing before it ever really took form. Instead of straightening, she stumbled, her hand curling around his arm for the support she clearly needed. He was there to help her. He wouldn’t execute her simply because she was proving to be defective. There had been nothing to tell her otherwise in the short time that she had known him, so why would her mind concoct such a ridiculous notion?

“What’s happening to me?”



B L A I Z E
Blaize shook his head. Where there had been a rare smile ensconced in a rarely shown good mood when Aleksandra had first walked into the studio, there now stood a frown. It creased the skin between his eyes, the blue of his eyes darkening. He was supposed to have the answers, wasn’t he? And yet, she had asked him what was wrong and he didn’t have the faintest idea.

Rather than tell Aleksa as much, however, he instead mulled on the question while they climbed the last few steps to the top of the tower. The door creaked open and remained open, standing still while the two vampires walked through it. The roof was bare and the breeze was gentle and, as expected, the night was quiet.

The night was as quiet as Blaize’s soul, undisturbed and unharried. It was the complete opposite to Aleksandra’s, and Blaize knew it only because it was written all over her features. It was right there, in the way her fingers clutched so tightly at the flimsy cloth of his shirt. More obviously, it carried in her voice -- a broken revenant of former strength and clarity. There were a couple of camping chairs erect near the edge of the roof; one was broken and laying on its side. They didn’t need three. They only needed two. Overhead, the sky was broken apart by clouds, but in between the blur there was clear, bright sky. The stars were dazzling from here, unbothered by the corruption of light.

Although he did not need it, Blaize took a deep breath. Even the taste of the air was different this high. It was untainted by the pollution of the city. Less so than down below, anyway. He lifted his face skyward and, for three seconds closed his eyes. No, he couldn’t tell Aleksandra what was wrong but he could at least offer his support regardless. This, he concluded -- he did not need to have all of the answers to be a good sire.

“I don’t know. I know dishonesty won’t help you. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” he said, gaze dropping back to his childe. She was in distress and in comparison he was a cool, calm stone. He was an anchor in whatever ocean storm that Aleksandra was fighting against.

“It didn’t start in the studio. It started before that. You said you felt like someone was following you. What were you doing before that? Was there something that triggered it?” he asked. They would figure it out.



A L E K S A N D R A
With the wild beat of her heart echoing in her ears, she barely took note of the change in his smile. To witness her usual observant, self assured and controlled sire lose his confidence for even a second would have sent her tail spinning further into the madness that gripped her. Instead, she kept her eyes closed as her fingers gripped his bicep in a hold so tight, her nails ripped through the fabric of his shirt.

Finding her voice proved difficult, but after a few moments of appearing like a fish fighting for breath, she managed to make a single word form. “Please.” The word seemed pulled from her chest, the plea vibrating from her very soul. She couldn't understand the chaos that seeped into her mind, or the horrors that threatened to become reality with each step she took. Instead, she clung to the one man that had come for her, the one that had pulled her out of the darkness once before.

He was the only thing that mattered in that moment, the only one that could give her any answer she sought. Couldn't he? He had yet to offer her any real answer, and instead had chosen to lead her to some unknown section of the city. As the doubt encased her, she slowly began to release the death grip she had, her fingers prying from his muscle one digit at a time. This wasn't right. He had all the answers. At least, that was what she had allowed herself to believe when he thrust her into this new, dark and dangerous world. He had opened her eyes to the truth, to the knowledge that what she witnessed in the horror films were true.

Now, though, when she needed him to save her once more… he had nothing.

Slowly opening her eyes, she turned towards him just as he began to speak. Was he going to lie to her? Was he going to tell her he couldn't handle her level of insanity? Bracing herself for the dismissal she was certain she deserved, she curled one arm around her middle and lifted the other in order to tangle her fingers into her hair, as if blocking herself from the verbal blow. In her mind - or, rather, what was currently in control of her mind - she had to stand there and take whatever he was about to deliver.

She had no other option.

As his voice washed over her, calm and assured, she frowned. He admitted to his lack of knowledge, yet he wasn't about to toss her to the wolves. Instead, he was still there, still attempting to reach out to her. Finding herself at a loss of what to do, she stepped away from him and moved towards one of the chairs, her fingertips brushing along the ridge as she gazed out the window. Here, she felt… peaceful. The raging inside of her mind had quieted to a controllable degree, leaving her able to process the answers he sought. There was no hum of electricity, no glare from the street lights. It was just the moon and Blaize.

Taking a breath, she held it in her lungs for a second before blowing it out on a sigh. Even that no longer bothered her. The sound was loud - louder than she was used to - but it wasn’t unbearable. Instead of a hurricane, it was more of a rush of wind in her ears. Shaking her head as she mulled over her response, she finally turned to look at him, head tilted and brutalized lip tugged once more between the violent gnawing of her teeth.

“I'm not sure. It started in class. It was loud today, more so than usual. Everyone trying to pass the final. The alarms from the ovens, steam from the pots. Then his nagging and yelling, I just started to panic, so when I left I thought I'd walk. I felt like I was being followed then. A creep along the back of my neck. It only became worse when I found you. The feet on the floor, the beat of the music… her voice. It was just all too much...”


B L A I Z E
Blaize allowed his childe to pull away, the space empty now where she had stood, the feeling of her fingers still tight in his flesh long after they’d been removed. The dancer was not prone to coddling, and it was a good sign that Aleksa was able to stand on her own two feet, to move away from him. The tower was a good place to bring her, his assumptions about her state of mind correct. He watched her every movement, the way her fingers brushed the back of that chair -- pristine against old and cracked. It was amazing, how sharp the senses now were, that if he looked close enough he might have seen the food still lodged beneath Aleksa’s fingernails, could count every line of her fingerprint, were she to turn her hand over for his inspection.

“It isn’t really surprising,” he said, stepping forward to claim the other chair and fold himself down into it. Flicking the peroxide blonde hair from his eyes as he looked up at Aleksa, he patted the twin chair that sat beside him, inviting her to sit, and to relax.

“I mean, everyone’s different. Everyone reacts to things differently. If you were there to witness what I was like the night I was sired, you wouldn’t recognise me,” he said. It wasn’t often that Blaize was self-deprecating, but in this instance he thought it might help. His siring, though requested, had been rushed. If one asked Lyonel, he might even say that Blaize hadn’t requested, and that it was all Lyonel’s idea. Whatever the case, there’d been plenty of pain and plenty of confusion, and a lot to get used to. He had to look away, briefly, when he recalled the incident in the park -- Alice, whom he had not heard from in months, who had not replied to any messages he’d sent. He’d killed someone because he’d not known the extent of his strength. But he was a vampire, now. Death should not bother him so much. Should it? He shrugged it off.

“But, I knew about vampires before I was turned. It was something I was willing to do. Maybe that meant that my transition was a little easier. I kind of knew what to expect, and it was something I accepted, something that I even enjoy,” he said, thoughtfully. He then shook his head.

“The senses are heightened. And your reaction is… this. You’re overwhelmed,” he said. “Next time you start to feel anxious, just take some time out. Find a quiet place, a place you’re comfortable in,” he suggested. He could be completely wrong, but they never knew unless they tried. “And I can ask Lyonel, of course. I’ll see if he’s heard of anything like this before…”


A L E K S A N D R A
Drawn to the window, the small brunette turned her back to him as her fingers brushed along the faded wood beneath the glass. His words seemed to hit an invisible wall around her, as if her mind wasn’t ready to accept such an easy solution. “Just take a timeout,” she chuckled, the sound strained, uncertain. “How can it be so simple? I can’t put into words how… wild… I felt. I thought of death, just to end the mania inside of my head.” How dramatic she sounded, she thought, as her fingers lifted to touch the cool glass. The sensation was magical, the chill seeping into her skin and moving up her arm like an electric current.

“What if I’m not meant to be here?”

The question was quiet, as if just speaking the words was forbidden. Turning slowly, she dropped her hand to her side and brought him into focus. His face, the shine of his hair - and then finally, when she felt herself strong enough to handle it - his eyes. Was there judgment there? Disdain? Even as she searched the depths of his gaze, her questions remained unanswered, and she found herself walking towards him, despite her uncertainties. After all, he had offered her that seat. Folding herself into it, she drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on her arms, her eyes never wavering from his own. “I’m not saying I’m going to toss myself out the window or find a way to never return, I’m just… what if I’m defective?”

Even as she voiced the question, she realized how wrong it sounded. She wasn’t an item, a toy to be returned. She was a human - living, breathing - okay, not breathing, but she was alive, in a sense. She felt, she smiled, she laughed. She dreamed, she hoped, she loved. Yet, there was a hollow pit in the center of her chest, a feeling of - wrongness - that she couldn’t shake. Did he judge her for it? Was he thinking she same that she was? Shaking her head, she turned her cheek to rest it on her arm as her eyes sought the window once more, gaze focused on the white glow of the moon. “Please. I don’t want to disappoint you or myself anymore. I don’t want to feel like that again.”


B L A I Z E
What Aleksa would see was confusion. As soon as she uttered those words, as soon as she revealed that she’d considered death -- as soon as she asked whether she was actually meant to be there, Blaize frowned. He’d never taken philosophy, nor was he philosophically inclined. The man believed in practice makes perfect, and all that practice had engendered within him a practical nature. There was no fate, there was no meant-to-be. Things happened, and they were not pre ordained. They were not mistakes, or miracles. They happened, and they could either be accepted or rejected. Acceptance was by far the easiest route.

To think that he was someone who should be disappointed by someone else’s actions had him dumbfounded, too. To be disappointed would mean that he had a responsibility, that he somehow had control of a creation that didn’t work like he’d planned. No, **** that. He shook his head.

“I’m not exactly sure where all this is coming from but disappointment never even entered into the equation,” he said. How could he explain what he felt when even he didn’t know? He didn’t feel like it was his fault that Aleksandra was this way, but he would admit to some responsibility in helping her through it. Not because he was her sire, nor because she was somehow his, but because she was a friend. Yes, she was a progeny of his but, being so young himself in the life of a vampire he wasn’t really sure what that meant. The responsibility he felt was the kind that all friends should feel toward those they care about. And even that was a foreign concept to Blaize. He was on foreign soil.

“I really wouldn’t like it if you tossed yourself out of a window and I’m not sure it would kill you anyway,” he said. It was blunt, but it was to the point.

“You’re not meant to be here, or anywhere. You’re not not meant to be here. This is a thing that happened and it’s not an easy thing to grasp. Stress does strange things to a body, to a mind. You might not even recognise it as stress. Remember what it does to a human body? Now imagine that tenfold,” he said. He’d had his moments of stress. His history was not without its twists, its dark corners. There were moments he could have lost everything but he found one thing to focus on, and it pulled him through.

“You need an anchor. You need something to think about when you feel the mania coming on. Some place to go. Shut everything else down and focus on that one thing. Try it, see if it works. What’s important to you? Have an end goal,” he said, starting to sound a little too much like an overenthusiastic life coach.


A L E K S A N D R A
She had been with him long enough to realize the subtle changes in his features. The way his lips would twitch when he was uncomfortable, or the pinch around his eyes when he became lost in thought - they were small things, but they were important. Now, when she needed to be focused on herself, to be lost within the chaos of her own mind, she found herself watching him for those little shifts. Not one to disappoint, she caught the frown within the first handful of seconds, and she knew that he was lost in his own inner battle. Of course, battle was probably too strong of a word. It was rare - if ever - that the man before her doubted himself for even a second. No, this was more of an inconvenience for him, and so she waited.

“Of course you’re not certain where this has come from,” she sighed, her fingers working through her tangled hair as she curled her nails into her palms. How could he be? Hell, she barely knew what she was saying - and here she was expecting him to be able to decipher every little simpering word she uttered. It hit her like a flash of lightning, then, the anger at herself. Ten seconds before, she had been wallowing in self pity, searching for the answers - or the way out - and now she just wanted to tear her hair from her skull. Instead of breathing this words into the universe, however, she simply shook her head and turned her gaze back to him.

“I wasn’t really considering tossing myself out the window, Blaize. I’m not a total glutton for punishment,” she said with a soft twitch of her lips before she buried her face back into her arms to listen to him. His words, in theory, made sense. Find something to focus on, find a way to pull yourself back from the abyss - but in her mind, they refused to connect. The only thing she had found to control the madness had been him. The moment he had appeared in the alley, she had felt the insanity ebb, and now, just sitting with him - she had clarity. Unable to believe that he was the sole link to her sanity, however, she figured it was just a coincidence.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she secured her arms around them and bit into her lower lip, her mind racing with every word that he had said in hopes to find the solution - but in the end, it only lead to a ache behind her eyes. “An anchor,” she repeated quietly, the word feeling foreign on her tongue. What if it was him? Finding herself having more questions than answers, she pinched the bridge of her nose and released a slow, calming breath. There was no sense in rushing to find a solution to this problem. For the moment, the storm had calmed. Perhaps it had just been a fluke, a flaw in her system that needed to work itself out. Time would tell - but for now, she wanted to enjoy the serenity.

“Can we just... sit for a while? Please? It’s quiet here.” [/b]


B L A I Z E
Where Aleksa’s eyes roamed, Blaize’s remained steadfast upon her features. If his stare was heavy or invasive he was completely unaware of it. It was as if she presented a problem -- she herself was not the problem, but there was a puzzle there nonetheless. Blaize was not the kind of individual who let things sit. If there was a problem, he wanted it solved. They only got worse if they were not solved; they were just extra weight upon one’s shoulders.

He would not say that he was proud that she would not throw herself out of a window. If she had, this would be an entirely different conversation. There’d be anger rather than attempted understanding. If there was one thing that Blaize could not condone, it was the cowardice of suicide. If there was a problem, a person should work through it. Nothing could ever be achieved without hard work.

It sounded like some kind of anxiety issue, a panic attack, something that might have been medicated were she human, but she was not and Blaize did not think the pills would work. And if she wasn’t this way as a human, why now? He would stop asking the questions, however. He did not have the answers. He’d ask the questions again when he had someone who might be able to help him. For now, he just nodded.

“We can stay here,” he said, lifting a hand to rub idly at Aleksa’s shoulders. It was a spontaneous act of affection and reassurance; something that he could not hold for long. He meant it, the affection and the reassurance. It wasn’t just an act. But he was not accustomed to it, the doing of it, so eventually his arm dropped to rest on the rickety edge of the chair he sat in, his gaze finally shifting out to the horizon. It was, despite all else, a nice enough night -- even with the weather.