Among the Dead <Othella>

[Indiana]

It was dark. The smell of damp rot permeated every breath of air, and the sounds of metal clanging against bone rang out all through the narrow labyrinth of catacombs that honeycombed the earth beneath the city with a system of corridors and tombs that rivalled the modern sewer system that had, coincidentally, been what had actually breached the entrance to the burial place. That was probably a moment of panic, after seeing what lurked in the stale darkness that had met those poor engineers that had accidentally broken through the wall of the north end of the catacomb.

The world beneath the world, as he thought of it, was a battleground, undead killing undead, vampires clashing with such gruesome and nightmarish ghouls that it felt like he was living in some kind of modern fantasy novel, watching some kind of cheesy B budget horror film. Only catch was, it was all real; every bit of it. He’d always believed in the occult, in the things of magic and terror that lurked in the shadows of history, myth and legend that had more fact at its core than modern man dared to admit to himself. Now, he saw irrefutable proof that his entire life’s work hadn’t been a complete waste.

The fact that his time was spent in a system of crypts and tombs was a sort of sadistic irony, after he had spent so many years digging through the earth, uncovering remains all across the globe that had turned out to be dead end after dead end, only to finally uncover the truth he had been after when he had finally met his own end.

He sighed, rough hand rubbing at the back of his grimy, dusty neck as a glare of candle light flickered to life, a small, slender figure dangling a single wax candle from a chain about her fingers stepping closer, only to park herself against the cold stone wall across from him, wordlessly taking a spot for herself to rest.

They sat in silence a moment, the only exchange between them the flicker of her candle as he looked her over, her eyes lost to him in the dark shadows of her deep brow. There was a striking sort of beauty to her that startled him. Each of her features, on their own, were quite unremarkable and almost plain, but when placed together upon her face, made up a grand work that, in its totality, was… inspiring. He offered the woman… the girl?... a smile, and lifted the hand at his neck to tip his hat to her. “Suppose this place is as safe as any for a rest, right?” He grinned, and offered her the hand that remained empty, his pistol holstered at his hip and beneath the light leather of his jacket. “I’m Indiana. New in town.” He managed an attempt at striking up conversation, though, even without seeing her eyes through the dark, wavering shadows cast by her single candle, he could almost feel her disinterest.

At least, that’s what he thought he was feeling, anyway.

[Othella Jones]

The single flame illuminated the perpetual darkness as she silently tread her way across dust and bone. The Catacombs had become her home from the moment she stumbled into the hidden door made of heavy stone and had scented the stench of death and decay from a small opening. She found that she thrived deep within the underground, where the undead waged a war that never ended. The perpetual darkness embraced her in a way that no lover could, offering her a comfort that she had gone without for far too long. Beneath the city, she didn’t fear the light. No, as they slept above her heads, unaware of the nightmare that roamed the corridors at her side, she came alive.

This was her haven, her battleground.

Lifting a bandaged hand, she wiped the dirty cloth across her brow as the toe of her combat boot connected with the skull of an ancient, the impact sending it spiraling across the damp floor. She followed the path with a morbid satisfaction, the amber of her eyes glinting with a dark humor as shards of bone dusted the ground when the skull smacked into the wall and shattered. With a dark chuckle, she bent at the waist, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders when she scooped up a handful of rotting flesh and peeled it apart until she found the relic that was hidden within.

Once she had the metal secured, she slid her fingers along the rusted edges before dropping it into her pack. The decaying flesh that stuck to her hand was wiped against the cool stone, and then finally, she scrubbed it against the tanned pants that wrapped tightly around her slender legs. The rotting flesh didn’t bother her as much as it should have, and at one point, it might have bothered her. Now, however, it was just another body, alone and left forgotten as she stepped over it and continued on her way.

Sliding through the small opening that leads her from the mausoleum, she slowed her pace as the candle lit across the hall and bathed the lone man with its amber glow. Hesitation had her standing for too long in one spot, and just as he begun to turn, she forced herself forward, knees threatening to give out. It wasn’t until she neared him that she realized how tired she truly had become, the pack heavy against her shoulder. Sliding it from her arm, she let it fall until her fingers curled around the strap, her wary gaze locked on the strong, scruffy lines of his face. He was too close – and he was in her usual spot.

She thought she had made it clear that that particular place was taken, for directly beneath his boot, was a worn brown blanket tucked between two decaying stones. Irritation replaced her wary curiosity as she stepped around him, only to turn and place her back against the wall. She remained silent, even as she felt the weight of his stare. She said nothing, even as he began to speak, his deep voice ruining the solitude of the silence as it bounced off the walls and echoed in her mind. It wasn’t until she dropped her bag to the ground at her feet that she finally lifted the candle, allowing her face to come into view as she took her own time studying him as he had so unabashedly done to her.

It was rare that she found someone that she found attractive, but if she had been able to piece together the perfect specimen – well, it wouldn’t have been him, but it would have been somewhat close. “If you want to rest, you can,” she responded, her words eerily quiet. Her expression never shifted, even as her eyes cataloged every inch of his muscular form to memory. She didn’t offer her name, nor did she say anything more as she lifted the hem of her shirt to raise it up her toned, dirt covered stomach until she could wipe it across her face.

[Indiana]

When she lifted the flickering candle, its gentle, warm glow lit her features with a soft luminescence that lent a natural bronze cast to her pale flesh. He could see, with the dark flesh that ringed her large, brown eyes that, like him, she was one of the dead that, for one reason or another, didn’t stay quite dead. He hadn’t expected the sudden blow of crippling sadness to his heart, looking into those soft doe-eyes, the lifeless stare that they cast was an aching juxtaposition to her innocent, angelic face. He didn’t know this woman from Eve, and he felt a deep regret at her life being cut short, as it had been. She looked plenty young, and, provided that she hadn’t been among the dead for too long, she probably was quite young. At the most, she was his age. He sighed, and swallowed down the bitter taste of sorrow of a young life lost, a life he hadn’t known. She could be better off this way, afterall, he thought to himself, his eyes taking in the flicker of candlelight that reflected in her gaze.

She didn’t appear, for all the dirt and dust that managed to cling to most of the tunnels around them, any worse for wear. If anything, she was alluringly impressive, like a lost relic of immeasurable value hidden in a dark corner of the underground warzone. She was, in a way, exactly what he would have been seeking in the darkness beneath the city. The treasure in the tragedy, the diamond amid the destruction, the... reason in the rubble. He would laugh at himself, if it wouldn’t have made him look, frankly, absolutely insane.

He let his eyes move over her, up and down, before he lifted a dark brow. “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem pretty exhausted yourself. And for the time being, anyway, this little spot is pretty quiet.” He lifted a shoulder and gave her a wry smile. He watched her as she lifted her shirt, cleaning her face with the dusty hem of the fabric, a flash of her soft middle offering just a small, unassuming sample of what remained the mysterious truth of this treasure. He cleared his throat, and let his hand pat at his side, feeling his phone in his pocket as it vibrated against his ribs, until he managed to give it a firm pat, silencing the alarm. “So, then, would it be invasive of me to ask your name?” Frankly, the way her haunting beauty all but completely consumed him, he all but completely overlooked her lack of interest in conversation or in common pleasantries. That, in itself, was absolute affirmation that she wasn’t Canadian, at least. That much was a nice change of pace.

When he shifted his weight, he felt the blanket beneath his boot, and glanced down into the floor. Brow arched, he leaned down, plucking the fabric from the floor and pulling it out of the dust. “Well... that’s strange,” he murmured to himself, turning it over in his hands. “Sort of out of place, don’t you think?”

[Othella Jones]

Her shirt was the only barrier she had between her and the male, the thin tanned fabric acting as a shield to block her features from his ever impressive stare. The intelligence and piercing g interest of his gaze made her squirm, and for a moment, she began to understand what an insect must feel like with its wings pierced beneath the bright light of a scientist’s microscope. It wasn’t often that she was made to feel uncomfortable, but there was something about the haunted emotions that danced within his eyes that made her want to gather her bag and disappear further into the comforting darkness.

After a moment of standing with her shirt pressed to her face and her head in the palms of her hands, she realized that she hadn’t heard the sound of his boots echoing off the stone as he retreated. Waiting another five seconds – which she counted quietly to herself – she finally sighed. It appeared, despite her obvious disinterest in having any sort of conversation with him, that he wasn’t going to disappear. Releasing her hold on the tattered cloth, she allowed it to fall from her grasp, the old material covering her stomach from the chill of the stagnant tunnel air – and the heat of his penetrating stare.

“I can assess my own physical state.” The words came out harsher than she intended, and she winced as her hand lifted to run through her messy hair. Her appearance meant little to her – she had come to accept long ago that she was as far from beauty queen status as she could possibly get. Her legs were too short, her hair too unkempt, her eyes too large and her build too thin. If she were to put on parade in the middle of a crowd of women, she would never be chosen, and it didn’t bother her. She had spent her entire life being overlooked, and because of this, her social skills were a little on the inadequate side. Blowing out a warm breath, she watched a few particles of dust dance through the air above the flame of her candle, before finally forcing herself to look in his direction.

Once again, she was struck by his appearance, and she hated it. It made her curl her fingers against the thin metal that supported her light, and she itched to reach for the garrote hidden in her bag. There was no reason for him to kill him – he hadn’t, as far as she could tell, committed an act of sin. His only fault was the way he watched her, as if he didn’t care that he made her skin crawl. Was he the type of man that took what he wanted? That would give her—No, Othella. You don’t know this. Gritting her teeth, she tipped her head back until her skull rested against the decaying stone, and closed her eyes.

“It is out of place, which is exactly why I put it there,” she whispered once she heard the sound of the blanket brushing against the floor. It was only when she collected herself that she stood upright again and took a few uncertain steps in his direction. Reaching for the lanyard around her neck, she removed her badge and keys, the sound of metal against plastic echoing through the small space. Dropping down at his side, she brushed his foot out of the way and reached between the rocks, small hand finding the locked box she kept hidden inside. Tugging it free, she quickly inserted the key and turned, the lid popping open to reveal the blood bags within. While she could sustain herself with magic, she wasn’t sure what kind of power the stranger above her possessed. Without looking up, she handed him a warm, plastic bag before snatching the blanket from his grasp and straightening it out.

“Othella.”

[Indiana]

Arching a brow, he took the blood that she offered him without a word of complaint, and even managing to suppress the shudder of dismay at the way that the drink had been stored. Instead, he offered a smile and tore the bag open, placing it to his lips as he ventured a sip. He only just managed to keep the grimace from his face as he drank, and moved to press his back against the rough-cut stone of the mausoleum halls, his eyes adjusted to the weak light of the candle well by that point, seeing easily as she moved to sift through the things at his feet. He let her snap at him roll off his shoulder with ease; he didn’t get to where he was at in life with thin skin and tiptoeing on eggshells with peoples’ feelings. It was hardly productive for anyone, and even less for someone in the path he had once decided on taking with his life.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to get back to that, after all.

He gave a small grin at that thought, and brushed it aside, his mind onto more important matters, now. Othella. He let the name roll over him, let his brain turn it over, testing the way that it made him feel. The thoughts that it evoked, the feel of it at the back of his mind, or the way it rested on the tip of his tongue. He liked it, he decided rather quickly. Looking down at the woman at his feet, her dark eyes shifting quickly through the things around her, as well as flicking off into the darkness at any small sound that came out at them through the eternal night beneath the ground, he decided that something about it fit her, even if she resembled the name’s origins very little, at first glance.

He chuckled, the sound warm with amusement as he shifted to lower himself next to her. He knew he was invading her space, and hoped that, with a moment of respite, and a little bit of time with a few words to pass the time passed between them, that maybe he had found something in this exquisite creature. He gave the bag a gentle squeeze and fought the urge to grimace again, offering another smile instead. “Othella, you say? That name has some fairly famous origins. Though I’m sure you know all about that. Probably heard it all.”

[Othella Jones]

She hadn’t meant to offer him her name. There was truly no reason that he needed it – nor did she need his. After this brief respite from her training, she doubted she would ever cross his path again. Yet, her tongue had betrayed her by allowing her to voice it, despite her reluctance to know him. Smoothing her hands along the tattered wool, she carefully crafted a comfortable spot for her to sit, her legs stretching out across the ground before she crossed them at the ankles. For a long moment, her attention was caught by a piece of decayed flesh attached to the soul of her boot, and she watched as it bounced back and forth with each nervous twitch of her ankle. “I wonder who they used to be.”

Unaware that she had voiced her thought aloud, she bent at the waist and carefully peeled the rotting flesh from the leather and balanced it precariously on her index finger. There was a moment – though fleeting – that she wondered if this small piece of skin could have belonged to someone she had killed. Is this what they all became, after she curled the sharp metal around their throat and silenced them? Shaking her head, she dared not look in the direction of the man as she carefully placed the skin inside of her container. Pulling her key free, she secured the lock before easing the metal back into its place. Once she was certain it was secured, she turned and settled back against the stone, her gaze upward for a moment as she worked her jaw.

“It’s impossible to hear it all. Tales are constantly being woven, aren’t they?” Unsure of what else to say about her name, she lifted her hand to cup the back of her neck, fingers digging into the skin there as she worked her lip between her teeth. A conversation had never been an attribute for her, and she found herself struggling to string together the easiest of sentences. It was difficult for her to believe that this man had just happened upon her space, and as she shifted against the chilled stone, she finally allowed herself a moment to look at him. That same twist in her chest she felt every time she took in the scruff that decorated his jaw and the glint in his eye made itself known, and she drummed her nails unsteadily against her bandaged thigh.

“Are you looking for companionship?” The question slipped as unbidden from her tongue as her name had, though she didn't bother to take retrieve them. Instead, she kept her gaze steady as her hand stopped its incessant beat and rested it on her thigh. The scent of death hung heavy in the air, and though this wasn't quite the place one would usually pick for such actions, she found it... right. As the flame of her candle threatened to suffocate beneath the lack of oxygen from their enclosed space, she tilted her head. It was the only reason she could fathom as to why he had remained at her side - and why he had choked down the foul blood that most turned away from in disgust.

Her grandmother had always sworn that men would do anything for a quick moment of sin.

[Indiana]

Lifting a brow at her question, he laughed, and lifted his hand to brush idly at the shoulder of his jacket, swiping away the dust that had collected there in the time he’d spent underground. He smiled, and offered her a gentle shake of his head. “Well, truly, all the best tales have an end, you know. Nothing good lasts forever after all.” He chuckled, then, and turned his hand idly through the air. “Current company notwithstanding.” He grinned, and tapped the back of his head against the cool stone of the tunnel wall. At her question, he let his eyes move to where she sat next to him and he ran a thumb along the forearm of his jacket, then.

“That actually depends on what you mean by that.” Well, that was certainly forward. Jumping straight to the point. At least she didn’t play around. That, too, was rather refreshing of the strange woman next to him. It was plainly obvious that there was something abnormal about her perception of social grace, sliding from surly and unfriendly and landing square into a proposition for sexual favor, but that made for a rather unique interaction that he could say with a certain candor that he’d never experienced before with any other woman. It was invigorating to see some real change, some real difference that really set someone apart from the rest of the faceless crowd that everyone around him had slowly become to blur into.

The locale was less than ideal, he would admit that, and they were relative strangers, but something about her he found absolutely bewitching. She was like a primal force that had wrapped herself about him, and had clutched him within her will, and would only release him when she had taken what she wanted. Frankly, whatever she wished was up for her to take as she pleased, so appeased he was to simply lay his eyes on her.

Such a notion was strange to him, all things considered. To look upon, she wasn’t the most conventionally beautiful woman in the world. Many of those had swarmed his office at the University, buzzing about his door like bees about a particularly select spot, each vying for the ideal position to gather that which they were after, and typically failing. She was aloof, and with her own unique way, a striking beauty that was completely separate from al of those others that had been so attendant and insistent. She was a breath of fresh air in a stagnant tomb, the metaphor fitting, he noticed, as he watched the flame of her candle flicker as it fought for life in the stale air around them, adding an altogether haunting, ethereal element to her already astounding beauty.

[Othella Jones]

Slipping the chain from her wrist, she danced her fingers along the rusted silver as the dull brown of her eyes reflected the dying flame. With each second that passed, the stale air of their underground tomb pushed the fire closer to its demise, until finally, it gave in with a soft hiss. When the last ember finally dimmed, shrouding them in darkness, she peeled the holder from her wrist and fought to balance it at her side. When it refused to remain upright, she tapped it once and allowed it to fall, the metal scratching against the deteriorating rock as it rolled, before finally coming to a rest at her feet.

“I hope you do not fear the dark, Indiana,” she whispered, her voice an eerie chime that bounced off the damp stone that encased them. Here, in the dark, they were alone. It was rare that someone managed to stumble their way into her haven, as tucked away in the furthest corner of the Mausoleum as she was. It was why she had chosen this particular spot. It wasn’t just because she had no-where else to go. It reminded her of her earlier years, when she was tossed down the withering staircase by a gnarled hand a second before her grandmother closed the door and left her to the whims of the cellar.

The tomb didn’t hold the same stench as the cellar had. There was a touch of mold, but the cellar had a hint of sweetness to it, one that reminded her of ripe fruit on a hot day. The tomb only held the scent rotting flesh as the decomposing corpses ambled about. It was because of this, that she was surprised he didn’t stand and hurry down the corridor at her question. It was unlikely that a sane person would consider tearing their clothes off on a ground covered in maggots and rancid flesh, but then again, she had offered a blanket. It wasn’t exactly the strongest of material, and already, she could see pieces of wool peel from the edges.

Yet, he remained.

After a moment, she forced her gaze from her hands and peered at him from behind a curtain of chocolate, lips parted as she tried to piece together a sentence that would send him away. Instead, she found herself leaning across the distance between them, her hand reaching for his. There was another hunger inside of her, one that she hadn’t fed in quite some time. She had never thought to feel it again, and then she had found him. It would be simple enough – and it wasn’t as though she would ever see him again. This city was large, and there were many places in which she could tuck herself away so she was never found. It was, after all, a specialty.

“You look intelligent enough to figure out what I meant. Why else would you be sitting here with me?” The entire time she spoke, her voice never rose above that whisper, and it was easy to tell that it never would. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t confident. She lacked the beauty she was certain he was accustomed to, and yet here he sat, even as her blatant disregard for any sense of boundaries.

[Indiana]

It was when her hand had touched his, that he could really believe that he felt a sort of emptiness inside of her that the rest of it only played party to. The gentle, hollow voice, the vacant look in her soft doe-eyes, and even the unkempt and negligent way she attempted to make her humble lifestyle appear were pale in comparison to the way her hand touched him, the ache he felt in that subtle brush of her palm against the back of his hand, the way her fingers closed around him and grasped onto him in a way that he doubted she even understood. This was a broken woman on the mend, a woman looking to make herself whole, and looking for what it was that would take her to that place.

He doubted she even realized that she was even looking for anything at all.

He shook his head, his hand resting across her knuckles as she squeezed his other hand, and he grinned in the darkness, the faint shape of her all that he could see as his eyes adjusted to the new level of black that they had been plunged into. He shifted his weight, and leaned closer to her. “I can figure it out, sure enough. One can never be too certain, however, when the pitfall of that question comes into play.” He ran his thumb across her knuckles and, there in the darkness, pieced together her face from the bits of her that he had committed to memory already. It was surprisingly easy, almost like the light had never gone out. He smiled where he knew her eyes would be; those beautiful, big brown eyes.

He was indeed insane, even considering hooking up in a place like this, but at the same time the entire exchange was almost mystical. He felt like he had stumbled into another world here, that the roughspun blanket that she had spread across the stone floor was another place altogether; a place in which they had found each other. He smirked at the idea, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze again. “I would say that I have many other reasons for staying here, actually. I find your company rather refreshing, your entire personality is a pleasant change of pace and, even though the lights appear to have gone out on us, you’re quite the beauty. I wouldn’t be much of a man if I were to turn my back on attempting to spend a few quiet moments getting to know a woman as beautiful as you just a little better.”

He grinned, and moved so that they were directly across from one another, the closest together that they had come as he moved to take both of her hands in hers. He hadn’t been expecting to run into anyone down here in the dark. This he had expected least of all, he mused, as his hand lifted to find her face, his palm resting gently against the silky soft skin of her cheek. “I think it would be a shame to walk away from this too soon.”