Not that Zar would be permitted to call it right there. Jesse took to pushing him to continue moving like they were on an active battlefield and danger was imminent. How the **** did he ever get this far deep in the mess Christopher Fforde created?
How much worse could it really get? Reborn? Was he dying or wasn’t he?
Balthazar shook his head as if that would have the younger Fforde pick one or the other. The catch of the toe of his boot on the lip of the elevator floor must have caught more than the worn leather covering his foot. It jostled the unspoken option, the eternal loop hole, beneath the prophecy his brother was delivering. He wanted to tell the one Christopher left bitter and behind that he had a seriously fucked up sales pitch if that was all he was offering up. There was a reverse for narcotics, for snake venom and even the creepy crawlies that would infest your meat if you stuck it where the wild things were. Balthazar had a hard time believing done and dusted mortal death or an hellacious overbite are his only two options.
“I am on my feet.” Balthazar groaned as the fire spread and made the contact of Jesse’s physical lead all the more obvious. His prognosis was grave and getting worse with every step. “But probably not going to make it to work.” He hissed out when the elevator doors closed them inside the snug four walls. “So if you are looking for a few rounds you just may have picked the right asshole to bite. Just going to have to wait a bit.”
He gripped the only thing that seemed promising inside the elevator besides the one responsible for why he was in a metal cage moving to begin with. He eyed the confessing killer and searched for all the signs he missed the first time around. What, if anything at all, stood out that could have had him seeing what was coming before it actually hit or bit him. Nothing really except for the early case of the creeps.
Paranormal **** never got Balthazar to buy tickets to the show. Hugh Jass was into that ****. In fact his buddy liked it a lot. Darker the better. It just never really appealed to Zar. It was like being sold on the idea that anyone including the bookish Clark Kent could save the world. All they had to do was tear open their business shirt and race into the eye of danger and all would be good. The world wasn’t really operating under those gears as far as Balthazar Fforde knew. Not in Seattle anyways. The news of vampiric existence only came fairly recent with the shitstorm of everyone suddenly either being one, knew someone or lost someone to the cause. It shaped out to be a kind of a mess he didn’t know enough about to stumble into or look to be apart of...until now.
Now it would seem he was being drafted and given the choice to suit up and march to an entirely different beat or start digging his own early grave. General Jesse had done this before, by his own admission. He flipped his **** and lost it. Because of that it was up to Zar what happened next. Did he have it in him to step up or was this where he was supposed to lay down and die? His shoulders stretched a little wider and he felt the ache in the joints supporting them.
The blur of color bleeding into distorted lines and ever changing shapes left him missing out on the inviting selling points of the decor around him while they stayed in motion. If it was to be disturbing that would be lost on him as well. Maybe it was for the best. Zar was left with most of his chips on the table and his cards face up to read. Jesse was collecting and Balthazar was about to pay up in blood.
“You better fix this…” A sudden sharp pain in his chest and his head had him freeze. The coppery scent filled his nose and mouth followed by the taste of blood. His own. “****.” Warm and fresh the flow of what his body was releasing appeared over the bristle ledge of his mustache and down to the floor beneath him. "Now."