In Den Sturm [Open]

[Alaric von der Marck]

It wasn’t often that the elder left the Estate.

The modern world had to be conquered in increments, one small step at a time. And, being a telepath in the modern world was harder work than Alaric had anticipated. In ways that none of his human charges could understand, he had to learn to control his abilities. He had to re-learn everything – beyond a new language. He had been reborn, and may as well have been a toddler taking his first steps all over again. Scraped knees were to be had, bumped heads and a few tears.

Whatever negative emotions the elder had, he kept them locked away. There was one voice he remembered above all others, and it was the voice of a man he had never properly met. Gregor. That voice had told him that there was a broken family in need of fixing and if Alaric lost his calm, he would be of no service to them. He had to be strong for them. He had to show them that the sacrifice was not made in vain.

And so, every now and again, Alaric left the Estate.

He had to clear his head and get some air, but he had also to try to surpass the challenges put in his way. The modern world was loud. It was colourful. It was full of static and uncertainty, but in many ways it had progressed. It had grown up and advanced in ways the elder could never have imagined. He stood on the brink of so much possibility and he did not want to live in the past. He had to take a step forward.

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Alaric stepped onto the paved path that would take him into the city. Not only to the outskirts this time, but into the city proper. He would go as far as he could this time. He would see what he could see. And he would see how long he could keep his mind locked up tight and free of the incessant buzz of modern social media, the internet so close, so often breathing down his neck. He’d built walls and doors to keep it out, doors that he now locked three, four times. They weren’t too strong yet, but practice, as they say, makes perfect.

W E A R I N G

[Gretchen (DELETED 9344)]

Dropping into a crouch to better examine the storm drain, Gretchen clicked her tongue in response to the muffled meowing. Whether the sound would reassure or further agitate the creature was beyond her, though she distractedly aimed for the former. As narrow a fit as this would be, she saw no other option than to at least try and rescue the cat. Lady Luck had seldom graced her with favour, but to walk past a distressed animal would elicit a cycle of regret and self-reproach she had no mind for.

Another succession of croaky cries resonated from below as the brunette set her rucksack onto the curb and began to peel away the many layers she sported. Spring was officially in season, but the nights were unforgiving to those who welcomed it too enthusiastically. The hunter hoped her belongings wouldn’t disappear whilst she ventured under the pavement in search of the trapped animal; she was already too many dollars short from a pickpocket at the transit station earlier in the evening.

Sitting on the damp road while facing the sidewalk, Gretchen slipped her legs into the stormwater drain and began to ease her body through the opening. It was no easy feat. The further she descended, the bigger her proportions and harder it got to squeeze between the concrete and wrought metal. Kicking feet sought a hard surface upon which to find purchase, but it was to no avail. Blindly, she lowered herself into the sewer with no idea of what to expect.

The scars across her back made themselves known as she pressed her shoulders into the cement and skated roughly against its grainy surface. If they weren’t bleeding by the time she managed to get underneath, then they sure would once she attempted to crawl back out. Readjusting her grip on the flashlight she always carried, Gretchen wormed her way out of sight. She landed with an echoing splash, ankle-deep in cold (what she hoped was) water. The ground was further down than she’d anticipated it to be, and the space bigger than she’d imagined.

Once more she clicked her tongue, this time calling to it in a high-pitched voice that echoed throughout the humid chamber.

❝ Here, kitty, kitty… ❞

WEARING

[Alaric von der Marck]

The elder always entered the city from the South East. It was quiet in the South East; he had only the buzzing of the electricity as it thrummed through the air, flinging from house to house and reaching skyward for signals and satellites. The walls were up, however, the elder’s eyes sharp as his focus was split – half on the world around him and half on the self-made barriers in his mind.

A car passed and Alaric crossed the road. A white-skinned face peered at him curiously from within the car, its exhaust spewing poison into the air behind it. Alaric flinched. There was so much potential in all this technology, but in progress he saw only decay.

If he was to live in this century, however, he could not remain only at the Estate. There were times he would have to get out, times that he wanted to get out. And thus he would have to learn to get used to the decay. Easing the expression of disgust from his features and resisting the urge to retreat into the wilderness, Alaric rounded the corner. He would head through to the commercial district of Wickbridge; perhaps there would be some shops open. He could try to socialise with civilization.

As he rounded the corner, however, it was to witness a girl squeeze herself into a storm grate, her head eerily disappearing before he'd had a chance to even see her body. Her belongings were left behind. Leather shoes scuffed the pavement as he approached; her voice echoed up from the bowels of the city and Alaric’s tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth, clearly disapproving. In a city of thieves and monsters – many of whom lived down below – this girl was showing very little common sense. Her life at risk for a cat.

Alaric was not dressed for a sewer run -- all storm drains eventually led to sewers, and nor did he think he would fit down that particular drain. He bent down to retrieve the rucksack, holding the thing between his fingers as he peered into the darkness of the drain. This was not his problem. He should put the bag down and walk away. The urge for procrastination was strong, however, and he was curious. It was like watching one of those moving pictures on the electric screen – he wanted to know how it would end.