The Answer is Always

[Verne]

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

One month, three days, and sixteen hours after my funeral.

I will break your proud glory, and I will make your sky like iron and your earth like copper.

26:19

Galahad The Bad


A lazy white flame swayed upon a charred wick, the self-consuming thread of braided cotton lay flat, lulled into the flame where it curled under the intense heat, like the giant who bent a knee for his God; worshiping at the steps of the cathedral. “Forgive me my trespasses.”

Pater Noster played over the speakers softly inside the cathedral, the floor a flood of colour where the sun shot beams of blues, greens, yellows, and reds through the stained glass windows. Hushed words were shared between friends and family and God’s Assassin rose to walk down the centre of the cathedral and take the elevator to the second floor. He passed Father Simon on his way, who did his best not to make eye contact with the giant. Galahad emitted an uneasy presence where Father Simon was concerned, there was something about the man that made him suspicious and he watched as the doors of the elevator closed behind the too-tall Paladin.

The doors made a pleasant ‘bing’ sound when they reopened and Galahad stepped out into the conference room where The Order would congregate to discuss the events taking place within the city and give each other counsel concerning all that which was unnatural. The table had been left exactly as it was after the last meeting with books, laptops, ritual papers and puddles of frozen wax that had once resembled candles. He flicked through a few pieces of paper idly reading over some of the old points of interest that had been jotted down by Verne’s hand. “You can’t have him yet my Lord, there is work still to be done.”

There was a filing cabinet set against the far wall and when Galahad moved across the room to investigate he found that it was locked. The tall Paladin scanned the table with his blue gaze before setting his sights on one of the lock-boxes. “There is a faster way,” he told himself as if the words had been lined up on his tongue and spoken by someone else.

With that the giant unsheathed his sword from behind the cloak of black robes and drove it into the top of the cabinet, severing the lock-system so that the drawer slid open. He pulled the files from the drawers and sat down at the table, going through each of them one by one as if he were some kind of detective until he came to the one he had been seeking. “Heathen.”

“Legal Name: Jane Dominique Doe,
Last known address: Vita Bella.”

He switched between the two files, reading out Verne’s as well.

“Legal Name: Yavok Berezin,
Last known address: Vita Bella.”

Galahad’s eyes grew sharper at the edges as he narrowed his sapphire sights ons the match. “Vita Bella.”

The tall Paladin checked out a couple more files before closing them all away in the rightful drawer once more. He picked his sword up off the table and disguised it in his robes once again before making a beeline for the stairs, too excited to take the elevator at the thought of seeing his first Vampire in Harper Rock since he had been here. “Ah dinnae fit you were thinking shacking up with a Vampire, Jimmy. May the Lord forgive you for your sins far ah cannae, ah reduce them to ash.”


Two hours and forty-five minutes later.


Galahad stepped out of the taxi with his shovel and walked past the driver’s door towards Vita Bella after paying the man. He had spent twenty minutes trying to flag down a taxi on the main street in Wickbridge after taking a train from Bullwood near the cathedral. Turns out a man just shy of seven foot wielding anything that even closely resembled a weapon would have trouble stopping a cab in this city, or so the driver had tried to explained, his words partnered with a lot of nervous laughter. Galahad hadn’t said anything in the car during the half hour drive to Vita Bella.

Now he stood outside the gates at the end of the drive, looking up towards the multi-story house you might expect a Hollywood celebrity to visit during the summer season. He scaled the fence and made his way towards the building, struggling through patches of thick undergrowth in an attempt to stay off the driveway and risk being seen. Galahad had already decided that if anyone was home they were no threat to him as the Vampires would be restrained by the sun for some time yet and any humans or Paladins would be no match for his skill with the sword.

There was a secondary wall between the house and the road that cut off the garden from the outside world and the Paladin decided that if he didn’t find Verne out there he would try to find a way into the building. In truth, he was hoping he didn’t have to explore too deeply. Galahad was surprised to find the gate unlocked unlike the one near the road. He pushed it open and walked by the trash cans and torn rubbish bags; it looked as if a couple of the native wildlife had made a feast of the Vampire’s left-overs. It wasn’t long before he found the unmarked grave, the grass no more than a bed of new shoots where the earth had been turned just over a month ago now.

“Well, nothing to do but start,” he gave himself a few words of encouragement before he began the mammoth task of hollowing out Verne’s grave for the second time. Almost six feet of soil lay between him and his goal and he would be damned if the snow or ‘Heathen’ stopped him before he got there. At least the soil didn’t put up much of a fight after the first few loads, but while witnessing some of the dirt tumble back into the grave he started throw his shovel loads further than he had been. This, of course, created a bit more noise than he had intended, but the way he saw it he would hit the mahogany before nightfall.

As Galahad worked into the afternoon without interruption, he sang, not loud enough that his words would disturb the birds in their nests, or awaken the dead from their slumber; a tune that few knew and even less voiced, a healing chant Paladins had sung for thousands of years passed on in Latin from one to the next part way into their training. To listen it might seem the man wasn’t singing any words at all but instead humming the type of hymns you might hear choir singing in the cathedral. He dreaded to think what the man in the casket might resemble after a month in the grave without any water or food, sleeping the days away as his wounds healed slowly.

Dominique: There were days that found Dominique tossing and turning more than truly getting the rest she needed. Her mind was often pulled at with thoughts that otherwise consumed her during the nights she spent in the home that she shared with Verne. She still considered it ‘theirs’ and if she was asked her status had not changed either. So much of her life had been shared with him and with those they considered extended family. It was not going to change in her mind. Dominique often went through the same routine she did when he was gone for extended periods of time in that land she had never set foot on. She never really worried. She had more faith in what was unseen than most. She felt it. It was growing stronger every minute, hour, day, week and even the month that passed by.

It was the dreams and her mind that so willingly entertained them that had Dominique consumed with thoughts of him still within reach, his energy warming her and the gnawing feeling that she should be doing something or at least getting prepared to.Their bed was full even if the tall man was not in it. Vader took to sleeping in the spot he used to and the serval that often found her way in as well. Just as any other day this particular one would find her semi-sedate beneath the cloud of comforter, the dark haired shadow ignored the distant sounds of stray random movements. Kenlie often would have her pets roaming about so it was easy to ignore and pass off as nothing.

However, the sounds that were reaching through the shadow’s less than satisfying sleep and trying to pull her to rise long before she was ready were different than those of tiny pygmy goat hooves or a rabbit hopping by.These sounds were subtle at first. She stirred and shifted her groggy head to smother it beneath two pillows. She held them tight while pulling each end over her face with colorful petite fingers. The sounds were increasingly annoying the more she tried to slip back to sleep. She pulled her bare leg slowly beneath the cotton cloud that was doing an amazing job at covering her. Would this work? Her mind relaxed. Yes...maybe it could this time. Then again...maybe not.

An unexpected quick pounce of sharp claws alarmed the sedate woman. Using her body as a springboard to take off, the spotted serval was airborne. That was all the magic it took to have Dominique bolt upright tossing the pillows to the side in frustration. Hello Kitty was after something and with a loud sharp bark Vader joined her with a chorus of clicks as they took to the stairs. They were really no different than having kids. She was sure of it. Her hands started the work of unwrapping her body from the bedding. There she was being greeted with a simple truth. Despite the fact she could suck the life out of things, supposedly pull spines from warm bodies in a crazed immortal act of power and be more devastating than the night she once succumbed to she was in all her bad glory submitting to the energy of the animals that surrounded her with simple needs.

“Seriously getting tired of this.” She growled as she moved out of the bed and felt the slide of the socks she was wearing glide on the polished wood floor beneath. It sounded harsh but when it came to those that woke her she hardly appeared to be a threat. Her inked hands cupped her face and the palms rubbed gently to revive her. She called out to the two who were on a hunt. “If you find it… kill it.”

Dominique walked past the dresser and went straight to the fridge. Her fingers opened the door while the other hand pushed her hair out of her face so she could find the chocolate milk she couldn’t taste. The top was open. Maybe Kenlie had been home briefly after all. Since no one was currently around she lifted the carton and tilted her head back to drink straight from the container. No one to see and no one to care. After a few long gratifying ice cold swallows she was sending the carton back in the fridge and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The sounds returned and this time the woman was far more alert. She picked up on the fact they were coming from the grounds below. Not just anywhere but oddly where Verne was three stories below outside. Her head cocked quickly as if that would make it easier to hear while her striped wool socks and feet moved in a fast pace to the window that was never the same without him standing in it. Her feet always felt cold since the night she settled him into the earth that would protect him far better than she ever could. His socks clung to her feet much like she did to the idea that he would eventually be given wings and an on a whispered prayer he would fly himself back home.

It was never a wise thing to play with the sunlight. Just as any other vampire likely had, the small woman had learned painfully as well. It was no longer a luxury she could afford to have bathing across her flesh like she took for granted a year ago. Dominique’s fingers pulled at the heavy curtains and brushed them back likely being more cautious in her steps doing so because she was hardly expecting to greet the fading rays of the merciless sun or an intruder below. Her face peeked around the material curled in her hand and she was prepared at the very most to see the raccoons doing what raccoons do, or perhaps a bear who was scavenging before winter. If she had not set eyes on what she did she would have taken several more seconds to ponder the possible sources for the sounds that now clearly were nothing to do with the great outdoors. Her eyes shot wide open then narrowed.

If Dominique had not been witness to it happening she would have thought she was seeing things in the form of a silver end of a shovel going up in the air with dirt and tossing back with the motion. Someone was going to get their *** kicked. She was about to step away and grab her clothes to cover her otherwise bare body save for the funky socks she put on before falling to sleep. Something had her turn back to the window and look down again. Her hand uncurled with a sudden weakness from the shock at who she recognized disturbing Verne. The robed Paladin from the funeral she had not seen until that evening. She figured someone would try pulling something and was prepared to set them straight but this one she was unsure about.

Dominique sent the curtain back to close. She yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of distressed button up jeans. Each colorful sock kicked into the pant leg. She wiggled and hopped around aimlessly as the jeans slid upward to cling and fix over her curves.

“So help me…” She was growling low as her jaws tightened in irritation. “He is going to be putting every damn clump of dirt right back where it was! What is wrong with people?!”

Dominique kicked the drawer shut and pulled open another and there it was right in her hand as she hip checked the hip level drawer shut. The world’s perfect pink shirt went over her dark head and bare shoulders and hugged her just like he used to. ‘Laters Baby’ was still bold across the front in black print with a shirtless image of Verne on the front. She hopped twice so each foot would sink quickly into the oversized boots that the man of her castle left behind. Her jacket was in her hands and over her shoulders as she stepped in the elevator.

The man with a death wish or balls of steel was about to find out how to cover a casket in double-time. Then he would be permitted could go back to The Order and tell them it would not be tolerated again. She took no weapons. A man of God was hardly going to be hit by her blade. Besides that she vowed to Verne she would never raise a weapon to one of their own or use a power against them. Her word was given. Only the dead man himself could bring her to break it with the sound of his own voice summoning her to act differently. Hands and feet however, were fair game. Step on Vita Bella soil uninvited and it was like showing up uninvited asking to dance.

The elevator doors hissed open and the petite woman in the way too large boots rounded the corner and stepped outside with loud steps. Dominique didn’t care if he could hear her coming. It was their god damned yard. Whoever the man was in a black robe with the gold cross on his back had some fast and serious explaining to do. Her feet dug into the snow dusted ground beneath her steps as she already felt the effects of the last of the sun slipping away. Her hands safely retreated beneath the cuffs of the heavy leather jacket disappearing upward and pulled the hood over her head. It was insane how she felt weak already. Not weak enough to go back inside but it was setting in. No. Not when the man was digging up soil she purposely put where it was. That was something she would step out at high noon to deal with in a bikini if needed. Some things just were not going to be happening as long as she was around.

“Hey!” Her voice lifted loud as she skipped over the customary ‘Welcome to Vita Bella’ greeting and went straight for his attention. “You can just stop right there!”

Dominique was grabbing the shovel she found resting against the apple tree while she spoke. It was exactly where she left it that evening she never thought she would ever see happen. Her hand spun it around in her grip loosely until she felt the right fit and then HOPE and LESS locked tight. Her mind was tweaking between offense and defense scenarios while sizing up the mountain of a man as she approached. Jesus he was huge. What did they feed him? She had seen a few vampires that were as tall as walking trees but this man was paladin. She had not seen any as big as he was. She winced as she rounded the space out of his reach and boldly clomped her feet in Verne’s boots to stand in front of him watching the dirt being tossed. If things didn’t go as she planned she could see it being painful. Likely more so for her. She had made a promise. She reminded herself of that. It was still intact. She really wanted to keep it that way but it was looking less likely with each cloud of dirt that was tossed out of the grave.

Galahad: The flat blade of his shovel was grazing the top of the coffin, drawing thick scratch marks in the expensive wood when Dominique’s voice called from overhead. Galahad didn’t make any attempt to stop what he was doing but continued digging out the corners of the grave instead so that he might be able to pull back the lid of the coffin. He did, however, pause for a moment to consider what he was going to do when he did pull that lid back… Yes he had come all the way out here to uncover the sleeping Paladin, but he hadn’t put too much thought into how he was going to get the man back to the cathedral. The tall Paladin laughed to himself then, perhaps, he thought, he could drag Verne’s body back to the cathedral on the one he was about to cut down, dare she come any closer.

Dominique: Dominique watched in disbelief as the man continued his digging as if she wasn’t there at all. Her eyes set on his hands. They were massive as they moved with repetition sending dirt out of the very place it was supposed to be. Her hands slid down on the shovel she was holding and she was done waiting for him to say something. She was clearly and understandably pissed off. A fast jab into the dirt piled up was loud as the slide of the loose soil went into the shovel and back into the hole where Verne rested and hopefully would continue to. She didn’t pause. She was shoveling just as fast as she did when she buried Verne the first time. There was no way in hell she was going to tolerate this. She worked hard all the while feeling the weakness increase in her arms. The sun needed to call it quits and bring on the night. She would need all the help she could get if this man didn’t stop his antics.

“Keep it up and you will be regretting taking a ride with your shovel over here.” She kicked some dirt his way with an exaggerated sweep of her boot covered foo then went back to shoveling as fast as she could. This would not go on much longer. Her black cold blood in the icy network of her veins was about to boil. At least it sure felt like it could. The more dirt she scooped up the more pissed off she was getting. “Just saying.”

Galahad: Galahad felt the dirt fall around him as the Vampire worked to fill the grave he had all but emptied. It wasn’t until a shovel load of damp soil slapped against his back that he stopped and slowly drew his ******** sword, which was almost as long as Dominique was tall. “Still your tongue for the dead do not speak, lay down to earth what the sun makes weak, abide by the scripture tooled into stone, you’ll walk this hallowed earth alone.”

The giant stabbed his sword into the earth beside him as his only warning. He hunched his shoulders as if the heavens were about to open up and flood the earth with rain. “Jane Dominique Doe,” his voice boomed like thunder. “Put down that shovel before ah cut you in two!”

The only thing standing between him and his carrying out of such actions was the small shred of respect he had for the man at rest in the mahogany box at his feet. He scooped up another shovel load and tossed it back over his shoulder in the Vampire’s direction and hoped she would get a mouthful for her actions. Galahad would only tolerate so much before he would be forced to act.

Dominique: Dominique jumped in reflex when she heard her name called out like it was. The soles of Verne’s boots were now seemingly all the more too large as her toes curled up in an attempt to get a grip on the inside as she stood up straight. It sounded like the sky was exploding into a deep loud rumble. The man was seriously confused. And yes, he was too big for his own good. He had some rhyme to him and that was not lost on her. She listened to the message and wasn’t surprise it was not proclaiming her the saint she never was to begin with. He was a man trying to do God’s will. She got that too. He just needed to do it in someone else’s backyard. Her lips were sprinkled with the dirt that for the most part was avoided in her quick side step. She had no intention of doing this whole bury Verne twice in the same month. It was the hardest thing she ever did the first time around.

“You mean to tell me you are digging up my dirt over a good mans grave that I love and threatening me as you do it?!” Dominique did not take threats well. Usually she also gave them no consideration. Not only that she took to giving a quick reminder to whoever was trying to deal one out as to why they would be wise not to do it again. Then again, those that she had corrected weren’t seven feet tall. Well, one was but she remembered having her *** handed to her that time. Ok, so it was a couple times. Who was keeping a serious count? She was hoping this wouldn’t go down the same way. “Buddy, you don’t even want to try it.”

Galahad: The woman was throwing around words like ‘love’ and ‘threats’ and to hear them partnered in the same sentence saw Galahad, God’s Assassin, smile slowly. He clawed his way out of the grave like a zombie from the rift torn between this world and the next and closed his large left hand around the hilt of his sword. It wasn’t until he came to stand between the woman and the hole she wanted to shovel the dirt back into that one might recognise the extreme difference in his height compared to hers; making himself a living wall that Dominique might struggle to get the soil around.

Galahad brought his left hand up to his collar and unfastened a button at the top of his robes. As the black robes and golden cross at his back fell away from his shoulders there stood a knight in chainmail and a white tunic that went down just past his knees; the fabric cut straight up the middle to the hip at front and back to free up his movement. The red Saint James cross lay across his broad chest, vibrant against the stark white of his long-sleeved garb. A black leather belt wrapped in smaller strips of leather pulled the material in at the middle against his smaller hips and his black chainmail peeked out of his sleeves and collar. ‘The Hand of God’ held on to a string of wooden beads and cross, while ‘The Lord has Spoken clutched the hilt of the ******** sword. He didn’t say anything, for his look said it all; ‘try and stop me.’

His black leather boots pressed into the turned earth at his feet and the edge of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile that reached all the way up to his eyes. Finally, he could test his strength against a real Vampire, it had been so long since the man had been able to stretch his legs and stand against the true undead, not just the slobbering seconds, the filthy decaying bags of rot to be found in the Quarantine Zone.

Dominique: The massive hands were in view as she watched what appeared to be a ritual or perhaps routine in how this paladin went about standing his ground. She was impressed until she remembered it wasn’t his ground he was standing on. It was hers and itt was Verne’s. He was digging in the wrong sandbox. He needed to take his shovel and dig for gold elsewhere. For a brief moment she was glad that Verne was not awake for this. She would otherwise be profusely apologizing for her next move. A man of god he was and she could respect that. A woman ready to stand her ground she was and she knew there was little to no mercy or saving grace for her up against him. The shovel in her hand dropped. She would not use a weapon against him. At a time like this a shovel could be just as effective. However, she would bust every skilled move she had and use all her speed and dexterity to give him at the very least a hell of a fight.

“I don’t think you want to do this.” Her eyes were up at his and therefore her head was craned up as well. She stepped back. Now she knew how Bruce Lee must have first felt going up against Kareem Abduhl Jabar. Was that it? Better yet Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. That made sense. Who was she kidding? A guy this big. She was at best Yoda with a hangover and no light saber. She had no certain way of knowing what he was capable of. However, she was about to find out. “You have one chance to take your stuff and head on back home. You don’t and I will have to introduce you to the water beyond the dock.I hope you know how to swim.”

Dominique would usually be fair and give the man a few moments to gather his belongings he brought and take his leave. It wasn’t in her this time. He had dug up Verne’s cold heavy earth blanket and tossed it aside with no respect. That was not acceptable even if he thought he was doing the right thing. Telling her to shut her mouth was hardly an insult. She heard that more often than she could count. Hearing her full name from his lips with such disdain was effective and unsettling. Now she was ready to roll.

Dominique did the subtle roll of her shoulders. She felt the fatigue that the faded sunlight had left behind in the layers of her flesh and muscles. This was not good for her. Without warning she went with her first instinct and took the advantage of striking his weakest point and using the height difference to her advantage. She took two steps and summoned all the strength she had and dived at his legs wrapping her arms around hoping to sack him backward. She was strong. Likely more than even he counted on but she knew her limits and went for the attempt to knock him off his feet. The bigger they are the harder they fall. Right? If this didn’t prove to be true then she was about to be in pain.

Galahad: The giant went down like an old oak, back into the hole he had been standing in only moments before with death herself as his blanket. “Cosy,” he smiled at the woman while he assessed the damages, nothing hurt, but he had met the casket with a loud thud that had rocked the hinges. His sword was trapped against his front with Dominique’s arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Galahad drew the sword out from between them, his right hand clasped over the left which held fast to the hilt; the only way he would be letting go was if his hands were severed from his wrists. He held the sword above his head and brought it down fast against the woman as if to test just how quick the Vampire was.

Dominique: Her reflexes were what saved her so many times before. More than she was keeping track of. As soon as she went down into the grave with the man’s trunk sized legs in her hold she was quick to unlock her grip and rolled off and sandwiched her petite body to the cold dirt wall like chewing gum pressed flat and clinging solid. She knew better than to hold on to the legs of an armed man when she was left working with some shoelaces and over sized boots at the very most. The sword raised up and came crashing down and a loud echo from the impact rumbled in the space they were in. She was all for fighting in closed quarters but Verne’s grave was not going to be where it happened. Her dark eyes shot upward and pinned on the edge of the wall where she needed to get.

“Put that away before someone gets hurt.” She growled and jumped to catch her fingers on the edge of the ground she was standing on only seconds before.

Galahad: His sword came down against the mahogany, splitting the lid at the end where Verne’s feet rested. The tall Paladin felt the wood crack beneath him and got to his feet quickly, springing out of the grave effortlessly, the sword raised once again above his head as he brought it down in another quick strike that would see the earth bleed if Dominique did not. He was happy, gleeful even; wore a sick little smirk as he watched for the Vampire, trying to anticipate her next move before she was able to make it.

Dominique: Turning as she hopped to her feet, Dominique found the Paladin towering over her. She felt the air rush beneath her as she flipped backwards and narrowly missed the full impact of the blade. She felt the tear of the blade cutting her jacket as it made its way through the tough black layer that protected her from gaining a wound. He was actually going to try killing her! Paladin or not she always took a bit of insult to such a thing.

“Watch it!” She was quick to kick Verne’s boot right at the man’s face with a snap of her foot. Distracting him hopefully with that she spun like a top sending her foot at his hip hoping to get lucky yet again and cut him down to manageable size. Even on his knees this guy would be taller than she was.

Galahad: The giant raised his sword in a swift parrying technique he had picked up in his many years of training, severing the boot under the force in which it had been flung at him. He felt the old leather graze his cheeks and knock his shoulders which sent the two halves spinning to the ground behind him. However, it had worked as an adequate distraction which had served Dominique well, allowing her foot to collide with his hip in an impact that rattled the man’s teeth. Galahad was forced into a roll which he maneuvered in an attempt to escape the Vampire’s range and was left with his right foot planted firmly on the ground while his left knee felt the thin layer of snow that had dusted the earth, seep through his tunic and chainmail to touch his knee. “Well done, Lass… That was a high kick for you.”

Galahad pressed his weight into his left hip and felt a small shooting pain race up his spine. He didn’t think it was broken but knew he would be black and blue all over if he saw tomorrow; this being the first time a thought like this had crossed his mind. Would he see tomorrow? The Vampire was bringing it for sure, but he had a few more tricks up his sleeve. “Ah um trained in the art of Kensai and Blessed by God. Ah um nay going to fall to the dead.”

He rose like a gladiator from the earth ready to reclaim old glory, sword in hand, teeth clasped tightly together, eyes set on the prize. A look like his said ‘I’ll end you, if you don’t manage to cut me down first’. He held his sword in a low parry position deemed to protect his left side, turned the blade slightly to catch the light as he stared across at the Vampire and used the glare to send a bright white glint at her eyes. There was not a moments hesitation, not even a split second to ask himself if such a move had worked before he charged the woman with his blade, drawing it skyward in a move he had managed to cut down hundreds of Zombies with.

Dominique: If she had not been in a battle with the paladin for her own safety as well as the sanctity of anothers grave she would have taken the second that passed in his movements to admire his obvious skill. Instead she found Verne’s boot cut in half like a piping hot fresh loaf of bread. This instantly irritated her more. She loved those boots. He now would owe her one possibly two if the other met the same fate. She didn’t let that go unnoticed but she did error in taking heed to the shine of that blade that came at her with enough force that it would surely have taken off more than the first two layers of flesh across her cheek as she barely spun out of the way. Her small body dropped and rolled then flipped backwards. She bounced up and instinctively wiped her hand across the wound on her cheek.

The darkness that now surrounded them was no match for the truth that seeped quickly to the surface of her face. It was cold as it pooled then leapt from her flesh in submission to the slight breeze of evening air that moved around them. The obsidian beads rolled into perfect shape and hovered to a movement that would seem to have an agenda all it’s own. Dominique swore beneath her closed lips. The proof she was the sinner, the heathen he claimed rose to a life all it’s own as the beads danced then disappeared. It continued on and she swallowed back the pain of what she was rolling about her head. He got in a slice to her. She would not make that mistake twice. The surface of her flesh tingled as the healing already started. Her ability to do this was hardly as impressive as those she had battled with before. Some could be cut and instantly healed. Dominique always took twice as long to recover. She had no time to waste with something so simple as a flesh wound. Worse could yet happen and she now had to do what she could to prevent that. The impact of the truth rising between she and the paladin was what concerned her more.

“I said knock it off!” Her body raced forward and she sent her foot towards his midsection. If she missed she was going to be flying into the darkness behind him. She was okay with that. That shovel she let go of just might be have to be picked back up as a defensive option. He wanted to get serious then she was more than ready to use what was there.

Galahad: If he thought Vampires had stunk before he was almost gagging now, the small traces of her blood that lingered on the breeze like a thick heat-wave made the giants throat close up as his features twisted in disgust. Galahad didn’t have long to react, for his attack had not managed to disable the woman like he might had preferred. It didn’t occur to him how completely unbalanced this fight seemed, him with his ******** sword and her without any weapon at all, not until she flew at him with another one of her kicks.

He stabbed his sword into the earth, put a sure foot forward and threw his large form into a butterfly kick that saw all two hundred and eighty-six pounds airborne. The stark white of his tunic sliced the air as it moved to keep up with his body, though it would be the chainmail that stung upon landing as it slapped against his form beneath the fabric of his clothes. His right leg would make contact first, throwing the woman’s kick out of alignment while the second did all the damage, or might at least throw her aside, giving him the short dash of time he needed to take hold of the sword again.

If Galahad were set in front of a table of gun parts and was told to assemble the weapon, one might expect to find the man a week later still struggling to make sense of such a puzzle, but when it came to martial arts, Galahad was in his true element.

Dominique: Her body was free. It sailed forward with intent to land another blow at the mass that was quickly becoming equal to fighting a steel wall. Her eyes were on the shift of his massive body as he used his weapon to rise feet upward. Just when she was prepared to knock him down she felt the bone racking pain ricochet through every joint as she was sent spiraling like a bullet back in the direction she came from.

The force he used had her feeling her teeth shaking in her gums. She watched the moon glowing above, the countless stars she longed to rest beneath then the chilling shock of the light blanket of snow spin with her as she finally landed with a brain jarring thud. Her lungs emptied with the sound of an unattractive and painful grunt. That hurt. A following gasp of shock hissed loudly as she pushed her body up from the ground and came back to her feet. It was time to get that damned weapon away from him. If she didn’t she was looking at losing her teeth. She was feeling about the same if a train slammed into her.

“Someone fed you well and taught you a few things.” She was glad she couldn’t taste her own blood oozing in her mouth. She could smell it and likely from the look on the man’s face it was hardly pleasant. For once instead of being reminded of what she was and feeling that ache or embarrassment, like she did when Verne was caught off guard by her cool fingers across his warm unsuspecting skin, she nearly smirked. She hoped she made the barbarian sick. A wave of paladin nausea would be worth using to her favor.

“You will learn one thing coming here tonight.” Dominique was almost inclined to spit out what was in her mouth but she wiped it across the torn leather sleeve of her jacket instead. “No one will take him from where he rests. I failed to keep him safe before but now I won’t. You were no where to be of help when he needed it and maybe I wasn’t either but this is wrong. What you are doing is and I will not allow it to happen.”

Dominique ran and jumped forward to grab the man's shoulders in hopes of hanging on. She couldn’t match his size but she was willing to put her head into the fight and sent her forehead crashing towards his. Hopefully it rattled some sense into him and would sway him towards some sense of reason.

Galahad: Galahad had managed to send Dominique flying, but his reaction had been so swift, that as he grab for his sword and brought it over his head in a tight arc to drive it into the ground where he thought she would be, he was surprised to see just how far his kick had tossed the woman. She spoke but the words were just noise, his senses overwhelmed by that smell; it was suffocating.

When Dominqiue charged him to plant a hand on his shoulder and drive her forehead into a crash-course collision with his own, Galahad cursed himself, having left his position wide open to attack by the much shorter woman. His left knee had been firmly planted against the ground when she had moved to attack and his dexterity didn’t quite stretch to that of the Vampires. Their heads met like two mountain goats, the impact, blinding, left Galahad in a stupor, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, head spinning, or was he standing still? The man couldn’t tell. He was sure of one thing, there had been a crunch and by the feel of it, he had come out of that one worse off.

The left side of his head throbbed, then the right, and finally both until he was forced to close his eyes in an attempt to shut out the pain. No time to lose, he couldn’t give her the upper hand now. Hand. He took the woman’s wrist and turned his form, throwing her over his shoulder and into the dirt before he rose, her wrist still clutched in his fist, the point of his sword against her throat, his right feet planted against her hip.

Dominique: The women's dark eyes widened at the sensation of his bone crushing grip finding a hold on her tiny wrist. She went like a rag doll over the man’s shoulder and slammed with a ground shivering blow. Her spine burned as the tip of his blade went to her throat pressing surely at the center of that permanent red honeycomb heart that was imprinted deep in her skin. She was pinned and shaken up but she was not going to stop fighting. Not on her own ground. She never knew how to stop. Jane Dominique Doe had that flaw and perhaps it would be a constant curse that plagued her.

“You won’t win.” She meant it. Her leg lifted but went back down. She moved right now then it was over save for her losing her throat. “You go ahead and try and take him.” She smirked as the black beads did their annoying dance. She waited. She wanted to see if he would make the steps at going back to what he was doing before she came along. She could use powers but in front of him it added to her sins and would break her vow. It was not just him. It was her as well. She was fighting the Paladin with the heart of one that she still felt beat within her even if it had stopped. She didn’t back down. She would wait, be disciplined until he took his next move. Then she would make her own. “I promise you that.”

Galahad: He was dizzy but sure in his mission, take the body, cut down anything that got in his way. He was so close to achieving this that he refused to let this little tattooed freak-show mess it up. “A month,” he said, that’s how long it had taken him to track her to this little oasis in the forest, a whole month. “Ah won’t let you stand in my way twice.”

Galahad closed both hands over the hilt of the ******** sword and dove it down into the woman’s throat. Down and down until the rain guard and cross at the top kissed the woman’s flesh. The blade was embedded deep within the soil of Vita Bella, but just as Galahad had promised himself at the start, he had managed to still the Vampire without sending her to the realm; for Verne’s sake, not hers. He took a moment to watch the woman he had pinned to the ground of her home turf like a worm cut down the middle and opened up for some lab student to examine more closely. Galahad then stepped away from his sword and the body to make for the grave and finish his work.

Dominique: Dominique felt the chilling burn of the blade sink without mercy through each layer of her neck and into the ground beneath it. The cool liquid seeped again through the space between the man's weapon and her flesh that fit snug around it. The space above her body was again filling slowly with with black drops that spun on their own whim before fading, exiting the air and allowing room for more to surface. Her mind tried to guide her into performing the unthinkable. The attempt to swallow failed but her lips leaving her mouth open added to the rise of the black beads dancing above her.

A shaking moved through her body taking claim of her muscles and to her desperate hands. HOPE and LESS fixed tighter in their grasp of the sharp heavy blade that was deep beneath her pointing to the hell that wouldn’t accept her. She tugged hard and the small amount of length she had to work with. He sent it so deep into the cold ground beneath her. More blood was coming to the air from her hands as they tightened and tugged again near her throat. She summoned the energy to bring her feet forward and braced each to meet holding the blade between them. Each time was nearly a futile effort when the weapon didn’t move. A final time she tried and with a loud cry that only could seem to be miraculous considering where she was virtually skewered to the earth below her loudly erupted from her weakening body. Dominique couldn’t let this happen. She would not allow him to get back to doing what was wrong. Deep in her heart Verne belonged here. No one was taking him without his saying so.

Dominique’s feet pushed for a final attempt along with her compromised fingers and the sword burned its way back out of her neck and dropped heavy to the side of her. She rolled face down in the ground she fought to keep free of the Paladin’s disturbance. Dirt found its way to stick to her lips and face. Her knee slid up to give her leverage to rise but buckled beneath her. She was hurting and it was growing worse as she could hear the mountain of defiance and judgement move back to what he was doing. Her blood filled her face as she went back down.

Verne: Darkness, like a dreamless sleep had taken over his mind, a hum of words and prayer, the sweet melody of music, and softly spoken truths followed by nothing but tranquil rest that had seemed endless; until that scream.

His cobalt eyes snapped open and as his vision came into focus he saw the soft silky cushioning of the inside of his coffin. There was a hint of light, just a tease, enough to say the way was clear and then an almighty crashing as the lid of the casket was blown sky-high as if it had exploded from within. Dust and earth rose from the scar in the earth of Vita Bella and from it stumbled the weary warrior, limbs long and lean, thick golden hair pushed back out of his face, lips dry, eyes set, and teeth closed tightly together. If Galahad was a gladiator, Verne was the lion and this was his den.

He dug his fingers into the earth and picked himself up, standing just under half a foot shorter than the man he stared at now, too close to the the form he recognised, crawling on hand and knee to continue the fight it seemed had ended. Verne looked like a pitbull that had just been let off the chain to chase down an intruder, sizing up his target, the sword, the mess the giant had made of his lover. “I’ll rip your throat out,” hissed the man with the golden mane, or at least tried, for he had lost his voice due to the slow healing wound that stretched from his throat, though his head and out the back of his skull.

Burly fingers tangled up in the green rosary that had belonged to Dominique, and a gold ring he had never seen before traced the scar and his dry tongue moved behind his teeth, trying to fight back the frustration of being unable to speak. So he had been right… and coming back from the dead only proved it; he was a Vampire now? The man eyed his hands, turning them this way and that, the flesh was pale but when he balled his fists the pads of his fingers grew warm against his own skin. In fact he was hot all over, so much so that he was forced to remove the suit jacket that felt heavy on his shoulders. Verne cast the jacket aside after slipping the green rosary beads into the left pocket of his slacks and noticed as he looked down that he was wearing his leather dress shoes without any socks…

The tall male stepped out of his shoes and pressed his bare feet into the softly tilled earth before once again looking to the face of Dominique’s attacker, a face that was familiar to him, one he had always found smug, almost unkind. His bare feet met the snow covered earth in quick succession, his hands went around Galahad’s throat and his knee was driven into the giant’s gut, taking him down with a second headbutt that seemed to finish the job Dominique had started. The pair landed with a thud and Verne, straddling the beast, hammered his fists into the other Paladin as if he were kneading dough.

OOC Note: Galahads parts are quoted as Verna may not earn RPP from another character's RP, permission to post is not necessary in this case as Verne and Galahad are played by the same player.

[Dominique]

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

Dominique:The scent of what had been left to ferment for a month beneath the soil was easy to write off as the Paladin digging into what was sealed weeks ago. He was progressing as she was flat on her face and pathetic when her knee failed the simple and expecting task of supporting back to her feet. Her heart felt a tearing all over again at the idea the one thing she intended to be given the respect it deserved was violated by hands proclaiming to do God’s work. She knew there was a peace and a mercy that should be present but in this case seemed null and completely void. Tears formed in her eyes and she cursed the weakness in her that allowed them to surface. She was going to rise. With all that was left in her she would rise.

Inked fingers dug into the dirt and the snow beneath them like lethal paws ready to take back the claim to the ground beneath them. Dominique was nearly drained but her flaw didn’t register that. She could be and had been on her last moments and she didn’t give in. Ever. It got her eternal damnation. She went to the shadow realm spitting at what sent her there. Her eyes skimmed the ground at the side of her as she pressed down and lifted up slowly. That was when she could taste the air filling with what sent every part of her insides on fire with energy that should not be there. Him. She pinned her focus on what was moving across the ground. She was looking at ankles. Bare ankles that she knew better than the backs of her own hands. Was she that bad off? Wishful thinking or that grief stricken perhaps at the possible failure at the hands of the sword wielding giant? Her upper body paused in the rise to her knees. A familiar jacket landed to the ground and her chest filled with air it didn't need in the shock. She bought that jacket for a dead man a month ago.

Dominique didn’t dare stand. In an odd move she crawled first to create distance on hands and knees. She was afraid to look. None of it made sense. The scent, the warmth that now was radiating through every fiber of her being calling to the awareness that had been imprinted on her eternally. Her face lifted and it was as if the reality she had fought against accepting had just splintered open and revealed the one truth she would bet all her endless nights and existence on. Him.

The blonde hair shimmered beneath the moonlight as the body that went with it took hold of the wall of Paladin that was sorely unprepared for what was coming at him. What in the hell was going on? Her mind was loud as the sounds of Verne shattered through the air. She stumbled and then got her footing back with one boot still remaining on. Her strength was slow at returning but that did not stop her from reaching the spot the paladin’s sword rested on the ground. Her hand took hold and she spun around. Was it wise to to do? Her hand tossed the weapon to what she could not explain and called out with the raspy sound of the voice she had left.

“Catch!”

Dominique was about to double over. Her body was weakening as she stood. Her eyes went back to the grave and her feet followed slowly. She had to check and she had to see if there was any proof to what she wanted so much to believe. Did she really just hand off a paladins weapon to a dead one? If so then Verne was not where her eyes looked down. They discovered the beautiful lining in that casket that she had slipped into and curled up in when the person that was selling it to her left the showroom to write up the sale. She ordered two but chose the one closest to her to crawl into. She wanted to feel what would be about his body when her arms were now denied to hold him any longer. Her chest hurt. Her eyes started burning with hope she thought had been drained. Her face turned back and she looked over her shoulder.

“Please…” The single word was whispered. Soft but powerful in a call for mercy to be what she wanted more than anything else to be true. Only God would grant that and she knew as she stood there with nothing left to give that she was the last one that deserved an answered prayer. “Let it be…”

Verne: “Stop! S'a braw bricht moonlicht nicht this nicht, no reason to continue this,” Galahad choked on his own blood as he raised his hands defensively to shield his face from anymore of Verne’s powerful blows or the sword, his sword, which now rested in the other man’s hands. It wasn’t the giant’s beseeching but the familiar voice than called from behind the pair the saw Verne lower the ******** sword to rest upon the white ground. He looked down at the mess he had made of his comrades face and the cuts Galahad’s teeth had stamped across Verne’s knuckles; enough was enough, Verne told himself. At this rate they were all lucky to still be standing, especially him.

The man with the lion’s mane stood and looked down at Galahad before offering a bloody hand to him. Galahad took the offered hand and was helped to his feet before Verne stepped close so that his nose was an inch from the man’s chin. “If you come here again I will not hesitate to kill you… If you touch her again I will cut you into so many pieces that not even your God will recognise what remains.” He spat in the man’s face and shoved him backwards in order to assist Dominique.

Galahad:“Our God, Jimmy,” Galahad reminded the Paladin before putting the back of his right hand across his face. Galahad nodded, he got the point loud and clear and what he had come to achieve seemed to have found a way of bringing itself back.

Verne: “You have thirty seconds to get off my property,” Verne rasped but the little whisper of his old voice cracked and fell away with the undelivered words. He clasped his throat again and the scar against his palm burned. Galahad, though, knew when he had over stepped and in this country Verne was his superior.

Galahad:“I’ll give you your time to rest up, Jim, but I expect to see you at that table after Christmas.” With that Galahad bent to collect his sword and walked past Dominique who looked as if she could barely stand. He left the property via the long winding drive and made his way down the road and out onto the highway where he would hope to find a lift; perhaps finding more luck without the shovel, though the blood on his face wouldn’t make hitch-hiking any easier.

Verne: Verne’s hands hung at his sides, his own red blood dripping from the flesh wounds, the white of his knuckles visible through one of the cuts. He turned where he stood and moved towards Dom, sweeping her up in his arms to hold her cooler frame against the warm body she had been without for too long. He couldn’t speak, but then, he didn’t need to. The tall male carried Dominique inside and set her down on their bed. He kneeled at her side and stroked her hair gently back from her face, eyed the cut at her throat that had pierced the heart-shaped tattoo and leaned in to kiss her lips. “Rest…” He whispered there, he would clean himself up later; for now, all he wanted to do was stay at her side.

Dominique:Dominique stared at Verne as she came to rest on the bed. The scent of him once again was wrapped around her neck where her body rested against his as he carried her in. The warmth of his skin pressing gently to hers in a kiss soothed her fears and doubts. The man was alive. She was scared more that it was not true than what nearly broke her no less than an hour ago on their grounds. Verne was cool to the touch but far more alive than she would ever be again. She inhaled the breath that moved past his lips. She was already a thief drawing him back in, any part of him she could take. She held it in deep and danced her focus between his eyes.

Her hands reached for his that was closest to her and brought the bloody surface to her cheek and brushed it across the cold surface of her skin. His sweetness painted her and she hungered for the unexpected despite being what she was. His presence to be real. Nothing more. Just to hear the sound of his next breath drawn in, the beautiful thumping of that pulse in his veins that once lulled her into the most serene rest the dead would never know. The blood that she wore was nothing except a testament that he was there right before her and her eyes filled with the tears that should finally surface. Her gaze lifted as her lids closed down briefly. Her heart ached and with the courage she had left she thanked God for the mercy she knew she didn’t deserve. He was back and it was no act of man that could make it be so. God may have forsaken her but not Verne.

“Stay…” Her voice was fading. Her fingers brushed the side of his face and a smile that barely existed since that night she woke to the sound of the gun going off found its place back on her dirt covered lips. He was like an angel that had found his way back home. “Please, don’t go.”

Dominique moved over rolling the cloud of cotton comfort to the side. Everything could be washed, mended and cleansed later. There was no need for answers to questions that had no reason to ever be asked. No walls to wait on the other side of or door knobs that needed to be turned or barriers to be knocked on. Time meant nothing anymore; a month of grieving and pain had taught her that. The only increment of time that registered was that moment as she looked to him and he didn’t fade from view like a dream. She moved slowly and took the risk to increase the distance only briefly between them with the hope that he would do just as she had asked. Stay. For that moment she was asking. She knew better than to dare ask for more than that. He had been gone from home for far too long. How long he would stay had always been and forever would be up to him. Her soiled hand reached out so that the letters permanently inked at the surface spelled out what filled her. HOPE wiggled slowly and waited for his answer in the space between them.

Verne: His once immaculate nails were now filled with dirt again, the stark white of the shirt he had been buried in was splashed with blood, and his waxy mane looked matted and knotted. A weary smile found the man’s bloodless lips and eyes welled with what must have been that last of the water in his system; he was the Firebird in need of a tune-up, a drink at the trough and a good feed to fill his belly, but for now, all he wanted was more rest; to lay beside the one person he truly loved in this world with his arms wrapped around her where they belonged.

The chill of her form tucked against his as he moved onto the bed was welcoming, his body growing hot now that he was awake, still working to fight the internal infection the wound had left, the one that had seen him remain unconscious for so long, almost dead. His heart though sounded healthy, he could feel it thudding in his ears and was reassured that perhaps the worst hadn’t taken place during that night of torture… maybe he was still human after all. Verne, however, was almost scared to close his eyes, what if he slipped away again into the coma like state that had kept him quiet for the last month?

Verne’s arms tightened around Dom as if to say ‘I’m not going anywhere’ and he nuzzled his nose into her black hair to breathe in the scent he had been without and would never be without again. It wasn’t long before sleep found him and the pain in his throat and knuckles ebbed just as his consciousness did, His head grew heavy against the pillow and his muscles relaxed, leaving the limb that lay across Dominique side heavy and limp. Verne was back home, not that he had ever really left.

[Verne]

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

If dreams really came true then Dominique was caught in one unlike any other she had ever had before. It had a hold on her. It was so vivid that she could taste, feel and literally breathe in the presence of the one who consumed her rest and the adventures she took when she finally surrendered to sleep. This one took her farther than she had ever gone before. Her body was sore from the battle fought and though she was deep in the peaceful slumber at his side there was the aches and pains surfaces as her leg stretched and the opposite arm lifted to move with her body as it stiffly turned. The lids of her warm dark eyes tightened then loosened up as she successfully completed the process. She smiled lightly like a woman who felt secure that the king of her heart and captor of her generous soul would be there just as he always had been and always would be.

Sounds of the fading darkness in the distance should be warnings that rest should continue. Dominique was always one to defy those if she felt pressed to go beyond the limits she had. It was those moments she was clinging to that had her feeling so inclined to open her eyes as her body stirred like it should when the night was all but gone. This was the time that used to have her growing colder and the rays of the sun stretched across the exterior walls, waving their goodbyes to where she stayed sheltered. Verne would leave and go about his evening and she would give in to the cruel sense of physical loss while he was gone.

Dominique danced between two worlds it seemed and once again it was difficult and perhaps nearly defeating in her efforts to stay connected with the routine she maintained for twenty-two years. Now she pushed herself, fought anything that tried to deter her to be present in any moment that would keep her there just in case the world she was a part of called for her. Their world. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to be there.

Inked fingers curled slowly bunching up the high count cotton bedding up closer to her face as her cheek brushed the pillow beneath it. She inched slowly, wiggling in a slow travel expecting to find the heat of the man that would be there just where he was when her eyes closed. Dark lashes that naturally curled began their miniature fan dance over her sleepy eyes. He would need a bath. She was prepared to meet him on his time for this and sacrifice her own that she was sentenced to.

Even in the dark room Dominique felt the warmth that signaled she was up too soon. The room and much of Vita Bella was adapted for her to have the freedom to do this. Her leg dragged upward and her left hand drifted down. She would feel him now. Her fingers splayed and found the edge of the bed. Her brows furrowed and her eyes were wide open. She lifted to rest on her elbows and looked to the other side of the bed which was also empty. Now the woman went up and crawled to the end of the bed in her search for the one who should be there… somewhere.

No sounds echoed of Verne in the kitchen digging in the fridge. The pets were no where to be seen either. It was just her at the edge of their bed and her fingers shaking as they went to her throat. It was wrong to wish that her tips would sink into a gaping wound and feel her own flesh wrap around them. They moved slowly and as they graduated up to her jaw her eyes burned with awareness. Just like every other time she woke for the last month she was alone. What she had left was the painful and heart breaking truth of silence greeting her. She had fought with all she had like every dream but in the end she lost. She couldn’t bring him back.

Dominique slid out of the bed that was created for two. Her fingers tossed the last of the comforter still trying to stay with her in disgust. It hurt her no less each time this happened. Both of her petite hands weaved slowly and pulled back the silken black strands of her hair that would not behave with her desire to wake with its length where it belonged. She felt defeated and had barely stepped out of bed. Was this how it was always going to be?

Fifteen minutes passed that saw the small shadow going through the routine she always did. Feeding the animals, sliding into another pair socks she somehow felt comforted in, followed by the clothes that would be expected to be on a woman that lived in the Canadian wilderness during the winter season. She stopped at the kitchen island and ran the water from the faucet in her hands and rubbed her face. The dirt that she would have been so excited to see from the dirty battle with Galahad the Bad, pool and taint the water in her hands was not there. She had never been outside at all. She shut off the water roughly and shook her hands as if signing someone to go the hell away. Droplets shot through the air and the animals present ditched the room. They, too, knew this routine. They would return in an hour. By then they would expect music playing and finding her at work in the room Verne built for her to craft while he designed new pieces to apply to beautiful blank skin in his in-house tattoo studio nearby.

Dominique pulled open the drawer beneath the counter and heard that crinkle of cellophane wrapper snug around a pack of Russian cigarettes and her fingertips meeting up. The pack appeared to be losing more and more of its full content. The drawer closed with the bump of her wrist and another drawer popped open. For some reason the man who brought them back from his motherland had kept the smokes and the lighters apart in the house. She shook her dark head and despite the ache that was consuming her inside and out she smiled like she always did. When it came to him she always would. A gold shimmer of her right ring finger had her eyes drift to the mizpah band placed there a month ago. A sigh interrupted the lighting of the cigarette that found its place perched loose between her lips. That was when she gave in to the last step of this routine of hers upon waking. Holding the lighter in her hand and leaving the cigarette without the first flame to consume its tip, she made her way to his window. The spot he was known to stand and look out over his kingdom below like the golden maned king he was of their Vita Bella.

Dominique pulled back the heavy curtains with less care than she had in her apparent dream. Her eyes gazed down below with the expectation of finding nothing while her heart crumbled with the reality there would not be a huge hole and a small mountain of fresh earth piled up next to it. Her tired eyes looked to the spot and she was right. Her fingers lifted to adjust the cigarette between her lips and she glanced at the spot one last time. Her head cocked to the side as she stared. Her brows slowly bunched together to meet in the middle of her forehead. As soon as her bottom lip dropped her fingers pulled out the cigarette and while she moved to grab the protection of leather and the usual barriers to keep her from turning into a crisp blistered layer of overdone flesh.

The doors of Vita Bella closed with a loud slam as Dominique walked out into the snow layered grounds of the most beautiful place known to man or immortal. The sight of pristine white snow did little to distract her from the fact she was all but walking into an inferno with the afternoon sun basking on the material that would only protect her for so long. One wrong move that exposed her and she was going to hurt worse than the dream that pulled her out this far. The closer she came to the grave that was unmarked to avoid anyone messing with it the more confused she became. Verne’s boot was on top of it. She reached down and a leather glove curled to pick up the very same boot she had worn… or thought she had while she obviously slept.

Dominique’s chest filled with warm air she found soothing as it moved through the inside of her throat and down into her expired lungs. The boot shined at the toe so bright she was nearly blinded as she turned it over. Her lips curled up beneath the deep leather hood of the jacket. An unexpected loud bark grabbed her attention and now it was clear what she had discovered.

“Stop chewing up the last of what we have left of him!” She admonished Vader bouncing around her legs. “Get!” A petite gloved hand pointed towards the enclosure that served as a meeting point for Vita Bella garbage and the extended family of raccoons that waited for new left overs to arrive to dine on. “Go chase something.”

Once the Bull Terrier darted off Dominique tucked the boot under her arm. She felt so peaceful right there. She shouldn’t. But she did. The sensation of an energy filling her, pulling at her as if fingertips were about her arms gently guiding her down to the ground and the shovel next to the tree. She looked around as if she should while her petite body settled down to her knees.

It was one of those moments. Everyone has them. If they say they don’t… they lie. Dominique took in a breath she didn’t need and held it tight while her right hand went forward and the leather tips of the gloves began a deep drag at the surface of the snow and the dirt beneath. She felt the conflict at doing what she had dreamed fighting another to prevent from accomplishing. Her hand didn’t stop. It moved again. Soon the other joined. Each movement was more taxing on her energy than it should be but whatever she was feeling was unavoidable and compelling her to work faster. That meant taking the shovel in her hands. She stood up and with a soft grunt as she applied force with both hands the shovel sank easier than she expected into the dirt beneath. A repetitive process began and now was clipping along so quickly that she heard the sound of dirt and metal and air moving. Nothing else registered.

An hour or so later and Dominique found herself standing on the top of the wooden casket nearly drained of the energy she had because she spent it on using her strength that was really far more than a woman her size should ever have. She did it. The god she was raised to obey would have seen her burn in hell for it if she had not already been forsaken a year ago. Her shoe tapped on the surface and then she wasted no time and curled her fingers yet again on the side where she would be able to pull the lid open. Using a few moves she saw in Mission Impossible she positioned her body to suspend over the casket by placing her feet flat against the interior dirt wall and used one of her hands to brace her weight across the other side. Her free hand reached down and with a rough tug the lid opened and she lost her footing and landed right on top of Verne.

“****!” A growl came out from the woman and released the last word anyone should really use when opening their soul mates casket. “Sorry…” She rolled around and knelt over his sharply suited body. “So sorry, Baby.”

Dominique’s hands shook. She had watched movies in the last month. Read books on reincarnation, the ancient rituals she couldn’t perform if her own *** depended on them to save her sinful soul. She rarely slept and while most thought she was dealing with the loss as most would expect by being reclusive she was doing everything but that. She was consumed with that one thing that could bring him back… change all that was wrong and have that one chance she didn’t deserve to make things right. Now her arms wrapped down deep and her leather gloves slid easily against the satin lining beneath Verne. Her lips brushed his cool ear and pulled him forward towards her. It was an embrace long over due. This alone made no sense to anything but her heart. “Forgive me.” Her whisper faded as the corner of her eye had her face suddenly pull back in shock at what she saw. Her gloves hand pulled his head to rest on her shoulder as she looked closer.

Dominique stood up as her hand curled a tight grip on the collar of his crisp shirt beneath the suit jacket. Verne’s body lifted up with the force used and she took hold of the waist of his pants. With two slow attempts she finally lifted him over her head and set his body at the edge of the grave above her. Gripping the side of the dirt frame around the grave she swung her legs up and was next to him. It was bizarre. No other way to describe it as she looked down at verne’s body face down on the dirt. The wound that was stitched and caked with makeup at the back of his head was all but gone. Her glove stroked the back of his head. The hair that had been shaved off in the emergency room when they worked on him was sprouting back out. The loud barking of an excited terrier in the distance startled her into leaning down and tossing the man’s body over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes before she took to running towards the house.

Once inside the house Dominique stumbled over the boot that had its match abandoned out by the grave. She shifted verne to her other shoulder and moved into the elevator. Riding up she mumbled over what she just had done. Most of it was asking for forgiveness and the rest was about how she had lost her mind. The elevator doors opened and she burst out into the living room of the fourth floor and struggled to make it to the one place she could get a good look at him. His smoking chair. Yes, Verne had such a chair, where he would light up and waste a whole morning watching cartoons or playing one of his video games.

Dominique pulled off the layers that saved her from skin loss and tossed them in all different directions. She needed a cigarette now. Her hands were trembling as she retrieved what she had left behind and plopped down on the edge of the white leather sofa next to where Verne was sitting motionless. A sound of a soft hiss had her tip back and scoop up the turtle that was oddly in the right place at the right time for once. Dom dropped Rufus in Verne’s lap and lit up a smoke. She drew in air deep and hoped it would do it’s magic. She needed all the help she could get now. How the **** was she supposed to explain this? Her fingers twitched and flicked at the lighter in her hand while she looked at the man. It was as if anytime she would find him holding his hand out for the smoke that she had in her fingers as if she lit it for him like she always had before.

“Fine.” Her fingers pulled out another smoke from the nearly flat package and brought it to couple the first one set snug between her lips. The pad of her inked thumb swept downward and the flame burst to life and danced over the top of the lighter. She leaned her face closer and lit up while inhaling more of what she didn’t need. A toss of the lighter to the coffee table gave her the freedom to pull the freshly lit Russian cancer stick from her lips and with a stretch she wiggled the filter gently between those pale, dry cool lips. “Enjoy, Baby.”

Verne: The velvet smoke revolved comfortably down his throat; he let it sit in his lungs which caused him to cough having drawn a lack of fresh air in with the poison. His second puff, more controlled, breasted the air valiantly like a silver ghost before swirling away as it rose skyward; lulled into some invisible vacuum. His lashes, like crossed swords, combed each other as his eyes were peeled open; a shock of blue, stained quartz graced the world as if for the first time on this cold December evening to gaze at her. “I’m sorry, did I fall asleep? I think I was watching Gotham, did Jim Gordon kill Penguin?” Words delivered with a lazy smile, lids heavy, shoulders relaxed.

He sat there in his leather armchair like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, fingers frozen over the arms of the chair, joints stiff, body slouched. The cigarette helped, his can of oil, with Dorothy, his Dom, staring back into the pools of glassy blue, looking as if she had caught a fright, guilt settling in the red blush across her cheeks; perhaps for waking him he thought. The Paladin tipped his head slowly to the left as if some natural imbalance in his body would see it fall that way. He examined the tired depressions under the woman’s eyes, the plains of her skin absent of the healthy glow he was accustomed to. Within the span of a few short hours it seemed his lover and best friend had come down with something. Verne plucked the cigarette from between his lips to speak, “Dom, are you all right?”

Dominique: Dominique was in the middle of a long deep drag. The smoke filled her that she had bitched about possibly killing the man she loved and who in turned loved the closet smoking he did all the more. The scent was filling her nostrils and she was about to savor that when the dead man next to her, perched and positioned in the chair as if he just returned from a long day at the office, took an equally appreciated inhale of his cigarette then exhaled. She could not move. She stared. Her mind was snapping and Rufus,their pet turtle, was going to be the only witness.

Beautiful blue orbs she had drowned in a million times appeared as their protective lids flipped upward. Her bottom lip dropped along with her jaw. The cigarette she had been working on was stuck safely to the surface of the plump flesh beneath it. That is when the unthinkable happened. As if what had already taken place was not way out of the expected already. Verne spoke. Not just spoke. He was apologizing for falling asleep. Was she okay?

“OH MY ******* GOD!” Her voice roared as she bounced backward like a cat that landed on a hot tin roof. Her body went *** over head over the top of the coffee table and landed in a scurrying move of hands and feet to stand back up. Her hands went to fanning out flames that were not there, her eyes all at once were frozen wide open as tears filled them. “JESUS!”

Verne: His lips were dry and cracked and after speaking he was forced to roll his tongue over them where he tasted a hint of blood, squeezed from one of the indented lines on his lower lip; how long had he drifted off for? Had he been snoring with his mouth wide open this whole time? No, that didn’t explain how he had managed to hold onto the still burning cigarette… Again he looked at Dominique, this time to find her with her mouth open and one of his Russian cigarette hanging preciously from her plump lower lip. Just as he made a move to reach for the rolled sleeve of tobacco she spoke, and not only that but screamed her words, stating the lords name in a fashion he had never heard her thread together in all the many months he had known her.

That was when Dominique started breaking out the circus tricks, falling over the back of the table set in the middle of the lounge as if she had no idea that it had been in that exact spot ever since they had moved into Vita Bella. Verne sat up suddenly in an attempt to help her and found that he had made the move too fast, a dizzy spell cast on him, forcing him to remain exactly where Dominique had placed him. Rufus had almost performed a rendition of Dom’s Houdini as he leaned dangerously close to falling out of Verne’s lap, balanced between the man’s knees, arms and legs spinning madly, as if he were underwater chasing snails. Burly fingers closed over the pet turtle’s shell as he was once again secured on Verne’s lap. “Jesus Christ, you scared the **** out of me, Woman!”

Dominique: Dominique was losing it. She took to hopping up and down, back and forth on her feet shifting. Her weight bounced between the two like those idiots on game shows who are called to come on down because their guessing price on the showcase showdown package that included two country destinations and a sports car was right. The cigarette stayed put and that was likely because it had tipped back and now was glued to her dry tongue. It was hard at work with her lips making sounds she never had before, all of which were highly unattractive.

“Holy…” She nearly swallowed the smoke and at the last moment possible plucked it out of her mouth. “Oh my god…” she stopped bouncing then came at him in two quick steps and tapped at him with her shaking hand. Then without any warning she pulled back then swatted his cheek. “Baby!” She stepped back waiting to see what would happen next as if she touched a big beautiful bubble and it would pop from view because she couldn’t resist touching it. “God Baby!”

Verne: A suit, what in the good Lord’s name was he doing in a suit? Verne never wore a suit, not even for important interviews; in fact, he was almost more startled at seeing himself in a suit than Dominique seemed to be at this very moment in time. She looked like she was about to try and tie a knot in the cigarette with her tongue before out of nowhere she moved in and slapped him across the face, causing him to look down the length of the sofa to the corner of the lounge where one would find the door to the bathroom; well, he had basically admitted to shitting himself but surely she didn’t think he meant it?

The tall male lifted the turtle out of his lap and set him down on the ground over the right side of the armchair, and, still high on adrenaline, the little reptile made a dash for his salad bowl (a dash that would take him a good thirty minutes to maneuver), or perhaps, Rufus just really needed the bathroom too. Verne’s hand went to the cheek Dominique had put her hand to in a ferocious little
slap and he gently massaged the flesh there as he gazed at her again. “You know I like it rough too, but I just woke up, Baby; give me a chance.”

Dominique: Then and there Dominique had every moment they ever shared fly through her thoughts. Everything was like a reflective cartwheel. The first time she saw him. The first time he touched her with the pull of his hand around her arm marching her down the street to the gas station. The first time he laughed and she felt that flutter within tickle her from head to toe that even at this very moment never faded. The first time he said he loved her and the first press of his lips to her own. It went on and on as she set her eyes on his and stepped forward and closed the space between them. Her hands gripped the lapels of his suit jacket rough and tugged him against her.

“No more chances. No more. I love you and I am taking it.” She kissed him so hard that her poor lips ached until they tasted him. The sweetness of him and the bitterness of the cigarette covering her mouth. If she never got this moment back, if she was just dreaming all over again she wanted to take what she had in her hands and savor it like she would never have him that close ever again.

Verne: All the moving about hadn’t done the man any favours and he put his hand to his stomach which felt painfully empty, yet the sensation to throw-up was very real. It was then Dominique grabbed his collar and tugged him forward into an unbreakable kiss which he did his best to return and enjoy, though it did little to quench the uncomfortable feeling in his gut. His hands went to the woman’s cheeks and his thumbs brushes gently there as he pulled back and turned away from her embrace to make for the bathroom, the complete lack of strength in his body seeing that he crawled the two steps he imagined himself making before he started throwing up whatever it was that was making him feel so ill.

He looked at the wooden floor a few inches in front of his face, thankful that he was nowhere near the rug they had picked out together. Nothing… There was nothing to throw up, but the attempt had left a less than desirable taste in his mouth. The man slumped down onto his elbows, stichting his fingers together before finally gluing his form to the cold floor which offered some relief. “What the **** did I eat for lunch?” He groaned, just like he had every time he snuck home late from a bar during the middle of the day. “Why am I wearing a suit?” Verne wriggled his toes in the shells of his leather dress shoes and attempted to laugh, but felt far too sick to actually perform it. “And where the hell are my socks?”

Dominique: So good. It was all so good. She tasted it unlike any in her dreams. His hands to her face, the movement of his fingers. It was real. Verne had her or she would drop to her knees thanking whatever was responsible for making this happen. The warmth left her lips and her eyes popped wide open to find him turning away from her. No. Her mind protested. No, no, no. He let go. This couldn’t be happening. An instant panic exploded through her. He was alive and… he was turning away. She moved behind him as he literally appeared to drop and melt into the floor beneath him like Vader did when she stepped in cold round spots on the floor by the bed when he puked up the trash that didn’t agree with him. She tried to lean down and still follow him as he crawled. What did he eat for lunch? How the hell was she supposed to know? It was four weeks ago?

“Bugs?” She said it out loud then slapped her hand over her mouth as he started hacking up who knows what since she was still behind him. What else was he able to chew on six feet below? “I can explain the suit.”

Dominique tried to reach a hand to his shoulder but he tightened up and gagged more. Great. He noticed the lack of socks on his feet. Only Verne Krouse could beat death, camp under six feet of dirt for a month, and return to life as he knew it thanks to a drag of those damned Russian cigarettes before asking where his socks were?

“In the dresser hanging out with the rest of the collection?” She was not sure what to think now. How do you tell the man he tried to blow his brains out a month ago pretty close to the very spot he was doubled over on? She heard that awful sound in her head of the gunshot and quickly reached for him. “You need rest. Let me help.” That was rich coming from her mouth. The man just slept off four weeks. Her attempt to bring him up hopefully would work.

Verne: The man groaned as he was pulled to his feet, his tender muscles giving him a right telling off as Dominique helped him back to their bedroom. When his back met the bed he was in heaven for a few fleeting moments before the reality of waking up after sleeping so long hit him again. He felt like that seven year old boy complaining to his mother about a stomach ache knowing very well that there was nothing she could do about it. The belt around his waist was too tight all of the sudden, his button up shirt was choking him and his shoes were making his feet sweat. “Just get it off!” He demanded, his tone laced with a frustration that seemed to come out of nowhere.

He started moving around trying to wriggle out of the suit jacket and pull the tie away from his throat, only to have it tighten under the pressure of his hand tugging the end. Verne seemed utterly pathetic, too weak to hold his own hands up, the hindrance of his own strength causing him to anger, as if he had stepped out of his body and into that of an eighty year old man. His brow was wet with sweat and he could feel himself burning up and freeze all at once. “Do you think someone drugged me?” He asked Dom, staring up at her with a sad little frown she was probably not accustomed to seeing on his face. “I seriously think I might need a doctor…” Something Verne had never admitted to in his life, too strong and too proud to let anything get the better of him, including death.

Dominique: Her hands went quickly to removing the material he struggled with. Each layer came off and was dropped on the chaise next to their bed. Her lips parted and her jaws moved as he began asking questions. Had he been drugged? She didn’t really know. The last time she truly spoke to him when he was alive was just before he headed out the door and said he had some important things to take care of and would be back later. The next time she saw him was after the gunshot and the pool of warm blood she stepped into and slid in to his side.