Invoking [Jesse]

[Axel Rosen]

The concrete and asphalt of the ruined system are cracked and crumbling away in some places. Potholes line the area from disrepair and lack of interest in making them any better. Walking along side of his sire sort of makes the whole thing just a bit better though, as if the whole thing wasn’t that bad. His feet seem to walk in step with Jesse, each foot moving at the same time as Jesse’s. The male beside of him speaks, after a short pause, as if he’s thinking. Back when his sire used to be unable to speak, this was almost the way he knew to wait for the other side of the conversation, that there were context clues to actions that had not yet happened. They were little micro expressions that would lead to something bigger and more meaningful in words. Axel still has some of the first notes that Jesse had given to him in a folder, organized almost like a bible. The words are that if he’s in danger to summon him, if it’s dire though. Axel is smart enough to know what is and what isn’t dire. This evening; however, wasn’t tire. He hopes that it won’t be held against him that it’s not. He prays that there will be mercy and that this night will be grandfathered in.

Axel doe not come to the QZ often either. He has long since passed the days of crumbling zombie skulls and hunting ferals. Hell, he’s even passed the days of mooncalves and ancients. At this point he really only hunts in the sewers, or in one of the raids. He’s not a ritualist either so there’s really no need for him to come here hunting for ears either. He doesn’t have an apartment here so there is no need to come for some residence either. If the inked vampire is able to remember correctly he’s sure that his sire has a place here. The thought makes him look at him, having long forgot what Jesse said about summoning him if it’s a dire situation. It’s not that he ignored it but that his internal thoughts have washed away any answer he would have given as he thinks about the area they’re in. Finally, Axel answers his sire with a single sentence, almost an aside to the thought process but a center stage to the original conversation that the two of them were having - “You got it, Jesse.”

The younger vampire wants to add something about appreciating his sire, in that his willingness to be summoned if he’s in dire need of help. But something about the several ways that he wants to word the message always seems a bit off. The tone and phrases always seems to be a sort of masked with a layer of prayer like worship of the man. Jesse takes the lead, and for the moment Axel’s grateful for that because if he’s ahead of him he won’t feel inclined to spill out a confession of his feelings for his sire; not romantic but surely something more than just a life debt for turning him instead of killing him. They’re headed toward Corvidae, so Axel is right that his sire has a place in the apartment building. It’s a nice one, if he remembers correctly. The flooring is well done. Then again, he hasn’t seen it in a long time. They usually hang out as a family in Larch Court now rather than the zombie-infested apartment building.

[Jesse Fforde]

If I didn’t know better, I’d think Axel was the mute one, rather than myself. As we walk, he falls into silence. And when he finally does speak I have to struggle to figure out what I had said last; what it is that he is responding to. I chuckle, low and under my breath. I suppose I need to get him onto a topic of interest to get him to really open up. As we drift through the empty, broken, forgotten place that is the Quarantine Zone I summon all the memories that I have of Axel, from even before I turned him. I recall that he always has been a man of few words. One of the few who respected the silence that I kept, and didn’t try to fill it with meaningless garble. It’s an easy and amiable silence that we keep between each other, and I suppose it might take time for him to warm up to the fact that I can, in fact, speak. That I can, even as I am now with nothing on me but a pair of jeans, hold a solid and easy conversation. That he won’t have to try to decipher charades, or find me some writing implement so that I can communicate that way.
”You have a place here, don’t you?” I ask as we step into the lobby of the flats. I don’t look at Axel as I ask the question; instead, I’m assessing the large room. It’s far busier in here than it was outside. As if this is party central. It’s where everyone chooses to gather. No one’s interested in who’s coming and going; they’re all caught up in their own social activities, or in their battles with the animated dead. No one pays any attention to the half-dressed man and his progeny, who have just walked through the front door.

I’ve always been curious about who keeps this place clean. I mean, sure – there’s zombie gore all over the place, but it all looks relatively fresh. There’s no build-up of carcasses. The bar is always clean; the bartender, and the shopkeeper must be ninjas, of a sort, to hold off the zombies as well as keep a steady business. It’s an odd set-up, that’s for sure. Like the world has off-kilter.

I arch a brow up at Axel. We can go up to his apartment, if he has one. Why am I so sure that he does? I am sure that he does, but where have I got that information from? If he doesn’t, I suppose we can find a nook here in the lobby somewhere. Or, if we want some peace and some freedom from lurching zombies, we could go up a floor and settle in one of the circular booths in the middle of one of the floors.