‡ flat-liner ‡

[Clarke]

“Ease you into it,” she repeated, a brow raising, “and yet, you go straight for the kill. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you knew my old man. He was always like that, always actin’ as if something wasn’t nearly as bad as it really was.” It was the mention of her father that had her turning her head away, her sharp eyes closing as she swallowed the sudden bed of nails that had appeared in her throat. She should have known better than to think of him, but the memory was there. It was etched in the lines of Harrison’s face, in the words he spoke, in the way he moved.

He was a lot like him – if her father was forty years younger and… well, immortal. Biting into the corner of her lip, she shook herself from her reverie as she shifted her attention back to him and chuckled.

“You saved my life, sugar, I ain’t about to take money from you, too. It can’t be that bad, can it?” Even as she spoke, she was already wiggling her fingers into the back pocket of her faded and ruined denim until she could wiggle her wallet free. It was a frayed thing – leather, with her initials carved into the face. Her brothers had the same thing, a gift from the great-grandfather before he passed on. Flipping it open, she thumbed through the bit of cash she had – though, it wasn’t much. Instead, she shook her debit card free and palmed it.

“Hopefully daddy doesn’t decide to take a look at my bank records. I’m not sure I’m goin’ to be able to explain this one easily. I guess I’ll have to start lookin’ into movin’ some funds around.”

[Harrison]

”Nothing is ever as bad as it could be,” Harrison mused, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. Though he didn’t understand what she meant by going straight for the kill. Harrison didn’t kill and though he did sometimes take blood from living, walking humans, he never left them for dead. He made sure they woke up somewhere safe and comfortable, and were none the wiser. Most of the time, however, he was well able to heal himself, and didn’t have to touch packs or veins. A boon, he guessed. A blessing from the God he chose to continue to believe in, his faith steadfast.

”The packs, at the moment, cost five hundred each,” he said with an arched brow, glancing at the wallet with its frayed edges and the money she fingered inside of it. He didn’t look close enough to count how much she had.

If she didn’t want help, however, Harrison wouldn’t force it on her. It was part and parcel of being a preacher. He had to figure out ways to help people so that they’d accept it; only the truly desperate accepted charity. Most in this world were far too stubborn, even when they’d hit rock bottom. If charity was disguised as something else, however, then they were more likely to accept, to take without feeling like they owed something in return.

Harrison didn’t know Clarke well enough, yet, to know how he could help her without it seeming like charity.

”As for the bank account… it won’t show up as having bought ten packs of blood. It’ll be disguised. If he looks, you’ll just have to … tell him it’s make-up…?” he asked, flinching a little. Was it sexist of him to assume that Clarke spent a lot on make-up? He then shook his head, still wrapping his mind around what she had told him.

”Why would your father look at your bank accounts, anyway? You’re uhm… I mean you’re not a very mature-looking sixteen year old, are you?” he asked. Had he put his foot in his mouth twice in the last two minutes? Probably. But, curiosity was rampant.

[Clarke]

“I suppose you’re right, considerin’ I always thought dyin’ was the worst thing that could happen. It’s supposed to be pretty final, after all,” she mused, though while his lips hinted at a smile, her own remained straight – flat. Whatever light she had started to gain had faded as something darker – primal – emerged. The burn in her throat had shifted gears, and now she felt as if she was on fire. Turning her head to the side, she tried to find control – which was something she never truly possessed. With a sharp clearing of her throat, she focused on the sound of his voice and allowed it to direct her back to the conversation at hand.

Of course, they were speaking of money. Money for packs – packs that contained blood.

Tightening her jaw until her teeth ground together, she sharply nodded her head as her fingers curled into her palms at her sides. “So, it’s either shell out a pretty penny, or rip out someone’s throat? Where in the hell is the logic in that?” It didn’t make sense. If there were vampires, they should lower the cost of the blood to save the community, not make it half a grand. Maybe it was the way she had been brought up, learning to value every dollar ever made. Not that any of it mattered. She didn’t have the luxury of holding tight to her morals. It was either find someone and feed, or manage to work it out with her account.

Humanity won out.

“Daddy is controllin’. He means well, he just doesn’t trust me to be out in the world on my own, I suppose,” she answered, her voice softening as she spoke. “He always worried about drugs and alcohol. I guess it never crossed his mind that his little girl would grow up to be a bloodsucking vampire.” Pressing her fingers through her hair, she barked out a short laugh at his question. “I’m legal, darlin’. Don’t you worry, you didn’t rob any cradles or whatever the sayin’ is.”

[Harrison]

Death was supposed to be something natural. It happened to everybody, sooner or later. It wasn’t the most easily accepted fate for those who had not yet lived out the full span of their life, but Harrison had always thought that he would be fine with it; he was so confident in his faith and his belief in an omniscient being who was looking out for him, that he didn’t think that he was afraid of death. That was until death came knocking on his door. Only when it was upon him did he realise he wanted nothing to do with it; he was too young, and it was never supposed to happen so soon.

Since then, he’d reasoned with himself; despite his beliefs and what he held in his heart, his body was not always in his control. Under pressure, it was hardwired to fight for survival. He shook his head; he didn’t particularly want to remember the way that he had died.

”This, too, is final,” he said. As far as he was aware, anyway. ”It’s a kind of death wherein our bodies don’t age, we don’t get sick. We’re a photograph, stuck in time,” he said with a smile. It wasn’t all bad, the notion of eternity. So long as they took care of themselves and didn’t get on the wrong side of the human race. Which was why Harrison was glad that they were heading for one of the blackmarket stalls rather than trying to find a live person to feed from. There was too much room for error when feeding; the chance of witnesses, of losing control.

”If your father is controlling… does that mean you see him often?” Harrison asked. He wasn’t going to tell Clarke that she would have to fake her own death or that she should avoid spending time with her friends or family. What she did was up to her – and whether they would accept her or not. ”What do you think he would do if he found out?” Harrison asked, though he immediately regretted it.

”No, don’t answer… you don’t have to think about these things just yet. We can figure all that out later,” he said, offering a reassuring smile.