Path of the Vampire forum

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

<Nyla> “Is there another option?” Her voice took on a hopeful tone then, thinking that maybe there was something she didn’t know; a way to wipe the memory clean that she didn’t possess.

<Micah> "You could turn her loose and let her go screaming about how some crazy whack job bit her and kidnapped her. They might paint her as an escaped mental patient if you're lucky."

<Nyla> “I haven’t had much luck so far today… She already tried to escape once. I just wanted her to stop screaming.” The smell of chocolate chip cookies was slowly expanding throughout the trailer. The smell should have calmed her, but she was already feeling guilty for something she hadn’t even done yet.

<Micah> "When do you ever have any luck?" He really wanted to know the answer to that. Nothing ever seemed to go right for Nyla. "What do you think is the right thing to do in this situation?"

<Nyla> “I don’t want to force her… it’s not her fault I screwed up.” She ignored the other question, not wanting to think on it any. “What do I even do? I don’t remember my own.” She wasn’t sure how much of her side of the conversation the pixie was hearing or even paying attention to, but she didn’t dare leave her out of her sight completely. Maybe she’d disappear just like the wire that had tripped her.

<Micah> He didn't say anything for a few minutes instead focused his attention on the humans that walked by him, each one going out of their way to get too close. It made him smirk. How wise they were to be wary of him. "I've told you the only options that I see."

<Nyla> “No, no. How do I do it? I don’t want to mess that up too.” The scent of chocolate chip cookies was even stronger now, but it still held no comfort. It was looking like the pixie girl wasn’t going to be having much more use for them, unless of course she was an allurist like Nyla was. She wouldn’t wish that on the pixie-girl.

<Micah> "How do you what? Turn her?"

<Nyla> She nodded her head, before remembering this was a phone call and he wouldn’t be able to see it. “Yes… that. That’s not something I’ve needed to know yet…”

<Micah> He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "You kinda have to kill her? Like drain her blood and feed her yours. I don't think there is a certain amount she has to drink, just that she does."

<Nyla> “Is that why he stabbed me?” She hadn’t meant for the question to slip out, hadn’t even realized she was thinking about it as it slipped out. “At least she won’t be wandering around confused afterwards… I can give her that much.”

<Micah> "Someone stabbed you?!"

<Nyla> "Your childe did."

<Micah> "He stabbed you....well I guess I can't say anything. I shot one of mine."

<Nyla> "Mmhmm. Stabbed, and then left me alone. It was easy enough to escape when I woke up. I didn't realize what had happened, all I remembered was him grabbing me." She drummed her fingers along the table for a moment. "Should someone else be here? Make sure I don't mess it up?"

<Micah> "You aren't going to mess it up."

<Nyla> That made her smile. It wasn’t big and didn’t last long but it happened. “What should I expect? What should I watch for?”

<Micah> "I can't answer that. Each of mine were different."

<Nyla> “Will you…” She stopped there, watching as Solara took the cookies out of the oven and checked to see if they were done. “Will you come if I need you to? I don’t want you to have to clean up my mess, but I just… I just don’t know.”

<Micah> "If you need me all you have to do is call me. I'll be there in an instant. Ok?"

<Nyla> “Yeah… you’ve already proven that. Thankyoufornotkillingme.” The last sentence came out as if it were all one word. She was worried if saying it too quickly might make him change his mind. He didn’t sound as mad as he had at the beginning at least.

<Micah> He chuckled softly. "Not gonna kill you Nyla. You made a mistake. We all make them. Just gotta take it all in stride and move on. Besides I can hear in your voice that you're punishing yourself enough. I don't need to add to it."

<Nyla> “I should probably… get back to it then. Pixie’s got a choice to make.”

<Micah> "Let me know what's going on alright?"

<Nyla> “I will… Keep your phone on. Though you’ve already said I won’t mess up, so no need to worry.” The words were more to herself than to him. “Whatever she chooses, I’m sure I’ll need help of some sort… G’nite Micah.”

<Micah> "You'll be fine Nyla. G'night." He ended the call and used his tome to return home.

<Nyla> She set the phone down on the table just as Solara placed a small plate with four hot chocolate chip cookies on it down in front of her. She smiled up at the girl before grabbing the plate and making her way back over to the gate. It was slightly awkward to do the combination with one hand, but she managed. She set the plate down on the surprisingly clean ritual altar and then stepped back to lean against the gate again, not ready to speak yet.

That single glance over her shoulder is a mistake, only because it creates more confusion. Confusion leads to hesitation; and Zelda knows she’ll always wonder if she’d have gotten away without that single moment’s hesitation. Confusion came from the fact that the blonde should have been just there; Zelda expects a surprised expression, maybe outstretched fingers reaching for the would-be escapee. But there’s no such thing. In fact, the trailer is empty, aside from the other woman. Zelda’s heart lurches in her chest, fear a palpable thing as she wonders, in that split second, where the hell the blonde had got to. The rational half of her brain told her to forget it, to get the hell out of there. And so she turns back toward the door that she had wrenched open. She goes to throw herself forward; she notices a step, and knows that she’ll have to bend her knees and jump, prepare for impact, and hope that whatever she lands on is a smooth, hard surface.

She doesn’t get that far, however. The blonde isn’t in the caravan (because that’s where she is, she now realises – inside a caravan) because she’s outside. She manhandles Zelda back into the confined space, corralling her like a sheep dog corrals sheep. She’s not forced back into the same chair, however. Instead, she’d pushed further back into the depths of the caravan; the shadowed area that Zelda hadn’t noticed before, because she’d had her back to it. Her eyes and mouth widen in protest as she realises she’s shoved bodily into a cage. A ******* cage.

Zelda blinks and gapes, mouth opening and closing like a desperate fish gasping for air. Her head has started to pound, a pressure headache building up behind her eyes. She stares, absolutely dumbfounded, at the girl who continues to do the blonde’s bidding—her name is Solara. Zelda tries to catch her eye, tries to desperately ask in that quiet fashion what the hell is going on.

The blonde is nice as peaches, telling Zelda to make herself at home. Zelda’s features harden; sure, sure. Make oneself at home in a cage. As if!

The blonde is handed a phone, and Zelda is still scheming some kind of escape. Maybe there’s a window somewhere she can throw herself through, though she doubts there’d be any big enough. All hope of escape is dashed, however, as the blonde locks the cage and wanders away. Zelda strains to hear the conversation, but only catches snippets of it. She stalks the edge of the cage—as much as a girl in skates can ‘stalk’—her wide eyes taking in every single detail.

There are symbols all over the place, and bits and pieces of things she doesn’t really recognise. Plants, broken mirrors, what looks like charms, and the like. Her heart does another flip in her chest. What the hell is this place?

The blonde returns with cookies, and Zelda can’t help but think of Hansel and Gretal. This blonde is actually, underneath it all, and old crone casting a spell. This is some kind of glamour. She’s trying to fatten Zelda up so that she can… can what? Zelda doesn’t touch the cookies, only eyes them warily. She tries to stay as far away from the blonde as she can get.

”What is this? Are you going to kill me?” she asks. And then the questions start tumbling from her lips—the first is only one small pebble which starts the avalanche.

”What are you going to force me to do?”

“Are you going to sacrifice me or something?”

“Are you some kind of witch?”

“I don’t taste very good. I mean, you know that, right? Right? You bit me but you didn’t… I don’t taste very good, right?”

“Please let me go?”

She takes a deep, rasping breath and holds it, her hands behind her, fingers curling into the bars that she’s backed herself into.

The pixie didn’t eat a cookie, but Nyla didn’t expect any different. If their situations were reversed she wouldn’t have eaten them either. She wouldn’t have given in. While she didn’t remember much about the night she was turned, she remembered at least meaning to fight back against the Psycho. The pixie might not know this now, but Nyla understood how she was feeling. The only difference was she doubted the Psycho felt any remorse at all for stealing her life away.

Instead of closing the gate back up, she pushed it open as wide as it would go so it was touching the other bars. She still stood in between the pixie and escape, but at least the girl wasn’t completely closed in. She let the pixie get all of her questions out before taking a seat cross legged on the floor and reaching out for one of the cookies, taking the time to eat the whole thing before speaking herself.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything… though you will need to make a choice.” Out of habit, her top teeth moved to worry over her bottom lip, something she did habitually when she was nervous. This caused the fangs she was beginning to think were never going away to come back into focus, the sharp points scraping against her lip and making her wince.

“I’m not a witch… not really, anyway. And I’m not going to eat you. I’m not a cannibal.” She had no idea how to do this. She’d never really told someone else what she was. Solara had just figured it out from following her around so much. She opened her mouth in a way to emphasize her fangs, the canines way too sharp and long to belong to a normal human. “I’m a vampire…” Her nose wrinkled. God that sounded lame. The pixie had seen her move incredibly fast and had witnessed her strength, so maybe it wouldn’t be so hard for her to believe this.

“I’m not going to force this life on you… but you’ve already seen too much for me to let you go.” She did her best to keep the remorse from her face, but wasn’t all that positive she’d been able to do so. “I can offer you this life if you want it, then the secret will be yours to keep as well. If you decide it’s not for you…” The blonde winced then, unable to even try to keep it off of her face. “We’ll talk about that part when we get there, I guess. You don’t have to choose right this minute. I’ll answer anything you want to know.”

This was already more than she’d gotten, but it still wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. She’d stopped paying attention to the noises Solara was making, so nearly jumped when the girl came up behind her and made her way into the area as well. She set a bigger plate down on the floor with the rest of the cookies. The thrall’s arms still held three big purple pillows from the bedroom. She proceeded to hand one to Nyla, drop one next to the pixie and then one where she was standing which she then plopped herself down on. Nyla was grateful for the moral support, though it didn’t help the guilt. She’d already stolen Solara’s free will from her.

Zelda stays right where she is, stuck up against the bars. There’s a desperate wideness to her eyes; they’re a honey colour but sometimes they border on hazel, depending on the light. Some might say it depends on her mood, but that’s all bunk. It probably just has something to do with health, and the levels of the vitamins—or lack thereof—in her blood stream. A that moment, her blood stream isn’t doing so well. It’s straining, like a wild wolf leashed against a fence post. There’s this human instinct to survive, and it’s struggling against the chains it now finds itself in.

The blonde settles cross-legged on the floor, and Zelda can only watch, her eyes growing impossibly wider. Even after the blonde had stopped talking, Zelda could only stare; for a minute or so she was uncomprehending. The information settles, mote by dust mote, inside Zelda’s frazzled brain. And when the dust had finally settled, she laughs. The laughter is hysterical and unbidden; she can’t help herself, and she can’t stop. It gets so bad that her stomach begins to ache; she can’t breathe, and she has to pull in each breath with a wheeze. She has to slide down the bars so that her bottom is resting on the ground. She’s not even going to try to escape, not again.

There’s disbelief, for sure. But that disbelief wars with the evidence she’s been given; the blonde did bite her, quite fiercely, on the neck. She can remember the pain; she lifts her hand to her neck again, just to be sure—there’s no wound. Then there’s the way the blonde carried her here, without effort. And with speed, speed like Zelda’s never seen before. And then there’s the way that human just does everything as she’s told, like she’s some kind of puppy with devotion beyond measure. Like some kind of Dracula bride, under some kind of trance.

Yeah, so all the evidence is there, though Zelda doesn’t half wonder whether someone’s drugged her. In which case, she’ll wake up soon, in some seedy place, and she’ll never try that drug ever, ever again. It’s that singular thought that allows her to clear her head; like a ray of sunshine through storm clouds. She finally catches her breath, and fights to keep it steady. There’s a wry smirk on her soft lips.

”So like… you say I have to either say yes...you know, be like you. Or what? What, you’re gonna kill me? How is that not forcing me?! You really think a sane person will choose death over life? What the **** kind of idiotic choice is that?” She doesn’t touch the pillow that had been dropped beside her by the other woman. She still doesn’t touch the cookies. She’s still incredulous; the dust may have settled in her head, but it’s about to be stirred into a dust storm. The blonde says that the decision doesn’t need to be made right that minute. But what the hell is the alternative?

”Who the **** are you and why are you just doing everything for her?!” she asks the other woman, voice raised and taking on that hint of a banshee-like quality again.

”And what if I don’t want to make a choice? You just gonna keep me here? People will be looking for me, you know,” she says, voice quavering, buying herself some time.

“No… It’s not much of a choice.” The guilt had settled into Nyla’s mind full force by now. She could have not told Micah and just let the girl go, except that she couldn’t. Secrets like this were hard to keep and even if the girl tried she’d eventually slip. There’d be no guarantee that the vampire who found her then would be gentle about it.

She said nothing more; unable to stop the reflexive comforting squeeze of the pillow she’d just been handed. Nyla had always hated the fact that she’d had no choice; that vampirism had been another thing forced on her, but maybe having the choice wasn’t much better. How did one choose between becoming a monster and dying?

Solara, noticing that She didn’t seem to be readying to say anything else turned her attention to the girl. Solara had mixed feelings about what had gone on so far tonight and had been reacting purely on instinct. Having to kill the human would surely destroy Her even more, though turning her might not be much better. Or maybe, it would help bring her some peace. It was one of those things that only time would tell.

“I do things for Her because I want to.” The answer was simple, though the emphasis she put on the word Her would be obvious to anyone paying enough attention. “People follow those they believe deserve following all of the time. She may think that I follow her only because She stole my free will, but She’s wrong. Maybe if it hadn’t have been unintentional She wouldn’t still blame herself, even after She’s given me a roof and made sure I always have everything I need.” It was more than she should have said, of that she was sure, but the stranger couldn’t go on thinking She was someone terrible.

Nyla just stared at her little stalker for a moment. The girl was strong, she’d always known this. She wasn’t oblivious to the way she’d been living before she’d accidentally enthralled the girl, but that didn’t make her feel any better about what had happened. “I’ll give you as long as I can to make the choice.” There was no emotion in her voice with the guilt sitting low and heavy in her gut, a constant reminder of how she’d failed them both.

With her left hand Nyla slid the tank top up enough to expose her side, her right hand trailing over the spot where she’d been stabbed nearly a year earlier. She blinked, her eyes detecting the barest hints of a scar where the wound had been, though no scar had been there before. Her skin had been flawless, the wound healing so quickly and perfectly. She dropped the shirt back down, dark eyes going back to the pixie. “My car blew a flat tire just outside of Harper Rock. It was dark and I’d let the battery in my phone die, but I didn’t want to wait out there all night. I didn’t think it was safe. So, I followed the road into the city hoping to find a gas station or something. Instead I found a man. A little thing like me didn’t have much of a chance against him. I woke up sometime after with my side sliced open and a metallic taste in my mouth. I thought he’d drugged me. I spent weeks thinking I was going insane before someone found me and explained what had happened…”

The vampire’s head shook, the events of that day playing through her head. Knowing what she knew now she was surprised Micah had been so calm and collected after she’d thrown a rock at his head. “I’m giving you a choice that most don’t get. It’s not much, but it’s all I have to give. I will answer your questions. I will honor your choice. You may decide death is preferable…Not everyone would want this life.”

A shaky hand reached out to grab another cookie that was quickly moved to her mouth. The way her fangs sunk into the cookie was odd and only served to keep her aware of yet another screw up she’d managed. She was feeling raw on so many levels from everything and was doing everything in her power to keep herself from changing. Her mind wanted to be free of it, to be walking on four legs and uncaring of everything. She needed to remain as she was for a little while longer, at least.

If Zelda had been eating, or drinking, she may have choked. As it is, she’s got nothing in her mouth but air, and she still manages a scoff. So this blonde—whose name Zelda doesn’t even know—stole Solara’s free will? Well, that’s surprising, isn’t it? This little blonde seems to be quite the little dictator. At least, Zelda thinks so, regardless of Solara’s vehemence that it wasn’t so. Zelda’s shaking her head, ready to fire a dozen other knife-like questions. They’re stuck in her throat, though, and when finally the blockage breaks up and the words are free, any speech is impeded by the blonde’s story.

Literally, it’s like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. The incredulity can only rise slowly like a tidal wave, soon to crash down upon all Zelda’s beliefs. There’s that idea that one’s life flashes before one’s eyes before they die. Zelda starts to think about hers; everything that’s happened to lead up to that moment; was there anything she could have done to have prevented it? Maybe she should have listened to her mother. Maybe she should have become a recluse. Maybe she should have hired a permanent chaperone. Her resolve hardens. She shakes her head.

”Death? **** that. You’re the one who put me in this position to begin with,” still, she’s shaking her head. She wants to rant and rave. But she won’t beg. And this blonde seems to have made up her mind, anyway. Zelda doubts that any kind of rolling torrent of words, in any kind of combination, will change her mind. The fear is palpable in the red-head. She doesn’t like being helpless. She doesn’t like not having her free will. And in this particular instance, she doesn’t feel like she’s got any free will whatsoever. It’s been taken from her, just like Solara’s has been. The only difference being that Zelda hasn’t given it over willingly.

”You know what? Whatever. Do what you gotta do. Do what you want to do, right? ‘Cause it’s really not up to me, is it? I just don’t want to end up like her,” Zelda says, jabbing a finger in Solara’s direction. ”If you expect me to follow you around and do your bidding like some kind of… slave then you can forget it. I’d prefer to die,” she says, even though her voice cracks. Her chin juts forward, her head held high. Her palms are flat on the ground—if her hands were held high, they’d be shaking. Her heart pounds inconsistently in her chest, her cheeks flushed as that fight or flight instinct continues to urge her to try to make a run for it.

The guilt was clawing away at her insides. Nyla could feel the sharp slimy claws tearing through her with each moment that passed by. The pain was so real she thought that if she were to look down she’d surely see gaping holes in her skin from the damage, but she didn’t dare look. She didn’t dare move.

In an attempt to ease the pain, she hugged the pillow tighter to her stomach using similar logic as children holding blankets over their heads to keep them safe from the boogie-men. If she could only hold the soft fluffiness of the pillow tight enough to her, surely she could make the guilt-monster leave her before there was nothing left? Or, at the very least, she could deal with the pain long enough to make it through this conversation. Unlike the children lying scared in their beds, Nyla knew that there was no hiding from your demons.

Solara didn’t have the same reservations that Nyla did. Without missing a beat she grabbed the pillow that the stranger had still not touched and proceeded to smack her with it before dropping it right back down to the floor. The girl was pissed. She knew all it would take was one call to the grumpy one. All she’d have to say was that the stranger She’d brought up was hurting Her and he’d be here. All it had taken Solara was one look at Her and she’d seen the pain that She tried to keep hidden. She still might do that, but for now smacking the girl with a pillow had been mildly satisfying.

The thrall didn’t say anything to accompany the sudden attack. Instead, she reached over and picked up a cookie now that they’d cooled off some and began to eat it as if nothing at all had happened. Nyla was speechless and simply gawked at the girl for a moment, not quite sure how to react to that. She wanted to apologize to the pixie for it, but felt that Solara deserved the outlet for being called a slave.

The randomness of the attack was at least enough to give her a moment’s relief from the pain in her gut. “It will be your choice. You will think it through. I have the time to sit here with you and let you rant and rave and question until you really think it through.” Her head shook as she leaned back slightly letting her back rest against the bars. “People may look for you, but there’s nothing to make them think to come here.”

Upon being slammed with a pillow, Zelda is quite ready to launch herself at Solara to pummel her with hard fists—fists that are nothing like the soft feathers of a pillow. What kind of ******* wimp attacks someone with a pillow, anyway? The most that Zelda does, however, is push her tongue up against the roof of her mouth so that she can actually, literally hiss at Solara. There may as well be fire in her eyes; her spit may as well be magma. She doesn’t take kindly to any kind of attack, regardless of how soft the instrument. Oh sure, there’s still a healthy amount of fear settled in Zelda’s chest like phlegm that won’t shift. But that’s just another reason why she’s so angry; angry because she knows she can’t attack Solara without retribution from the blonde. And angry because she doesn’t like being afraid, or out of her depth. She likes, above all, to be queen bee.

The blonde speaks, and again Zelda is thrown into a state of incredulity. She can only stare, shake her head, ponder whether the blonde actually really knows what she’s doing. Whether she’s ever kidnapped someone before. Any bet that she hasn’t, and that’s why this is such a goddamned debacle. And maybe she doesn’t get the ******* hint because she’s hesitant. Maybe regardless of what she wants, she’ll end up killing Zelda anyway. The thought makes Zelda want to hurl again; she swallows once, and then twice. She works to keep the lump from rising in her throat, an expression of disgust and distaste upon her normally happy features indicating that whatever’s left in her mouth doesn’t particularly taste very nice.

It takes her a while to respond, only because she’s afraid that acrid bile will accompany her words if she were to speak any sooner.

”I think maybe you have something wrong with your hearing? Or maybe your comprehension skills,” she says, slowly, voice low. ”To begin with, you need to stop using that word. ‘Choice’. Choice! What a ******* rort. Two—pretty sure I made it perfectly clear that the last thing I want to do is die—“ she says, and then forces her lips shut again. Another swallow. And then another. It’s almost tempting to scarf down a cookie or two, so that the next time the vomit projectiles from her mouth she can aim it at Solara. She resists that particular nasty urge.

”So. There’s no such thing as a choice. I won’t die. Given, then, that’s there’s only the one option—what’s the point in asking questions beforehand, eh?” she asks. She’s all about ripping the band-aid off rather than peeling slowly at each corner. And there’s that thought in the back of her brain, still, that this is all a hallucination, or that these two women are nuts—feeding each other’s insanity. Either way, it seems Zelda’s being led to the chopping block. All this sitting around and waiting and posturing and small talk is downright torturous. Like making a person watch the prisoner before them hang, twitching and jerking, before being led toward the noose themselves. It’s only strengthening the fear, and Zelda would far prefer to have it all over and done with—whatever it is.

”Quit torturing me and just do it already,” she says with wavering resolve. Because, in the end, she sees no other option.

“Just do it already? See. This is what I mean.” Her head shakes as she gestures to the plate that was still mostly full of cookies. “Maybe you should have one of those, as chances are you won’t be able to eat once this is done. You won’t be able to eat or drink anything.” She leans forward once again, her gaze intense as it’s leveled directly at the little pixie. “You won’t be able to go outside during the day. You may not even be able to be awake. The sun will literally burn you which, trust me, hurts like a *****.”

Without any notice Nyla jumped up to her feet and began pacing the small area in front of the gate. She was frustrated and pissed off, both at the pixie and herself. “You say you don’t want to die?” At this she turns to look at the pixie, halting her pacing however briefly. “In order for me to do this I will need to bleed you out completely. How do you want it? Shall I stab you a few times? Just nick a few choice arteries? Bite you again and bleed you that way?” Her voice, which had mostly stayed calm through the entire spectacle, now began to rise with every word she spoke. She didn’t relish the thought of having to kill the pixie, but knew there wasn’t another way.

The pixie was obviously annoyed with this whole thing and probably just as frustrated and pissed off as Nyla was, but she couldn’t even fault the pixie for that. Of course she was feeling those things. The pacing began again, her hands clenching and releasing to try and ease some of the tension. “Maybe choice is a sucky word for it, but I need to know you can live with it.”

She stopped her pacing again so she could bend, pick the plate of cookies up and place it on the altar beside the other plate. She sat back down, right in the spot where the plate had been and much closer than she’d been to the pixie before. “Do you know what it’s like to hate yourself and what you’ve become so much, but there be nothing you can do about it? We aren’t as easy to kill and even when killed, we don’t exactly die. It would be more merciful to just kill you now if that were the case. That is the choice I’m giving you.”

The sucked in breath to her left caught her attention first, but she didn’t even glance at the thrall. As always, she said way more than she meant to. Her emotions always opened the floodgate between them and her mouth, keeping her brain from being able to stop her before it was too late. She took in a deep breath and just kind of held it for a moment before letting it back out. “It has nothing to do with my lack of hearing or comprehension and everything with me not wanting to witness someone in my care going through that. I would fight the world for someone, but there are some things I can’t fight against.”

****. Clarity hit her like a pile of bricks forcing her to scoot herself back until she reached the bars again. She wasn’t ready to make room in her life for someone just to have them leave again. Giving her the choice wasn’t for the pixie’s benefit at all. It was, to an extent, but deep down it was the fear of having her world crumble again.

Zelda glances at the cookies, but still doesn’t take one. She stares at them, still able to see the steam rising from them. Any other day she might have taken one with relish—there’s nothing better than a cookie just out of the oven. It’s yet another reason why she’s dubious. Everything she’s ever read, or seen, vampires don’t eat. And yet here’s this blonde woman, proclaiming to be a vampire. And she’s eating. Maybe the literature is wrong. And Zelda doesn’t know what to hope—she could hope that the literature is right and that this woman is not a vampire, and that is all some nightmare. She’s just been kidnapped by an ordinary woman. Who’s actually anything but ordinary…

She shakes her head, her full lips pressed tight together. Her lashes flutter as her gaze returns to the blonde, who’s now pacing the small space like a caged lion. She’s going on about how Zelda might not be able to eat or drink anything, once this is done. Might, she says, which does produce in Zelda a couple of questions. But she doesn’t utter them. She remains confused, but continues to listen. Her brows furrow as the blonde seemingly spits venom, taking out some kind of rage on Zelda, as if this is all Zelda’s fault. As if she’d want to be cut and stabbed to be bled dry. She makes it sound as if, regardless of any ‘choice’, Zelda has to die either way. No choice at all, then. Zelda’s brows remain furrowed.

And when the blonde gets to the end of her tirade, Zelda can only continue to stare, somewhat flummoxed. By the end, it starts to sound as if the blonde might actually have grown to care for Zelda, and she’s only hesitating because she doesn’t want to hurt her. Well, too bloody late for that, right? Zelda sucks in a breath, and her eyes don’t move from those of the blonde. They’re so dark. Unnaturally so. It makes her harder to level with. Zelda shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders.

”Sounds to me as if you’re the one who’s got the problem. If I’ve got this right, you’re offering me death—true, complete death that I could never come back from. You know, gone, vamoosh, out like a light. Or you’re offering me a death where I… well, I could come back. Over and over again. Yeah? Is that the only positive you can give me? Or is it all just downhill from here?” she asks, utterly serious, desperate eyes searching the visage of the other woman as if she could pick the answers right out of her brain. Because, of course she’s see it as a positive. To be able to come back from death? Who wouldn’t want that? Like, really? But then Zelda’s heart sinks and she slumps back against the bars.

”Of course I think you’re just insane though. You gave me some kind of drug and there’s no such thing as coming from back from death,” she says. It’s a question, parading as a statement. Or, maybe, it’s intended to be a challenge. Prove it to me.