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Elliot had been so distracted by recent events with Pi and Tytonidae, with Madison, that he’d completely forgotten about the obstruction set up around the entrance to the mausoleum. In purposefully trying to avoid the Den, Elliot didn’t have such easy access to the mausoleum, or the catacombs, for that matter. Without the fade portals, he had to get to and fro the usual ways. The slow ways. It should have been an inconvenience. He fully expected himself to think it an inconvenience. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to find a certain languid relaxation in taking the slow way around. He could have driven, but instead he chose to walk. He would walk from Lancaster, to the mall. From the mall he’d walk to Wickbridge station, would get off at Honeymead, would visit his third and last business at the Market there.

He could go to his boat, the home that no one but him knew about. Not even Pi. It was thoroughly tempting, too, to slink away from the world, all his problems and all his woes. They tangled around his heart like chains, turning it to stone, into an anchor that would sink him deep into a whirlpool of despair from which he would not be able to pull himself. The last time he sunk deep into a such a mire, it had been Pi who had pulled him free. Lacking the optimism that she would be able to do so again, Elliot made a vow not to recede into himself. He had to remain in the open, had to stay social. Besides which, he had promised the others in d’Artois that he would be around, and that they would know where to find him should they feel the need to visit, or talk.

There were his three businesses; Asteria, Aidan, Madison, and Reilly were employed by those businesses. Thus, he quite easily became a workaholic, flitting between the three businesses and doing not much else with his spare time. He’d spend the day upstairs, on the third floor of Lancaster’s to sleep. There was hardly any furniture there, however, and he was running out of clean clothes. He would have to visit his chamber in the Mausoleum.

Except that the Mausoleum was no longer accessible. The abandoned church, normally home only to darkness and creeping shadows, was now all lit up—home to the Canadian army. The entrance was guarded. Elliot swore under his breath, shoving his hands into the pockets of his heavy black coat, forcing his expression out of concern and into curiosity as he sauntered past, perking a brow at the stern warnings given to him silently by the men on duty. His feet crunched on the gravel as he headed back into the quietude of Cherrydale; there were a few places open to the public, but there generally weren’t many people around.

Elliot remembered, from what seemed like years ago, the alternate entrance—the one through the sewers. He hated the sewers. They stank, and they were infested with people who wanted to kill him, who he was reluctant to kill in return (as much as he did enjoy it). As he peeled away the manhole and swiftly dropped down into the dank, semi-warm darkness, he began to wonder: why the security around the mausoleum? It was disconcerting, to say the very least. Regardless of all Elliot’s vain desires to share the knowledge of their kind with humanity, the presence of the army confirmed to him that such a revelation would not be wise. It struck a dagger of fear into that heavy heart of his; a fear that he tried to swallow, to bury as he made his striding way through the sewers, long fingers trailing over the cold stone of the wet walls, toward the underground entrance to his back yard.

For that’s what the catacombs were. If that chamber was the home that he kept most often, then the catacombs were his back yard. There weren’t kangaroos in his backyard anymore—only monsters.

One of which he encountered as soon as he climbed into the catacombs; rattling bones and gnashing teeth, a vicious ancient lurched toward him. With a growl and sidestep, Elliot avoided the creature’s first attempted blow. He reached behind him, unsheathing the thin blade almost always snug between his shoulder blades. In just a few violent moves, the ancient creature was dismantled and dead at his feet.

”MaybeonedayIcangethomewithoutincident,” he mumbled, each word rumbling into the next, as he tightened his grip on his sword, took an unneeded breath, and prepared himself for what would probably be a bumpy path back to his chamber.

She’d taken to kneeling in the open ribcage of a recently slain ancient. Her weapons were accessible, but the blonde was on a mission with a surgical blade and a pair of pliers. The girl had always been a collector of more sinister things, but in Harper Rock, it was common and almost expected. Her favorite things were fangs and keys, so when she had a few spare moments between attacks, she took advantage of it. Just as she yanked the last remaining tooth, the sound of a brawl… no, not a brawl, an execution, made its way to hear keen ears.

As she stood and stepped out of convenient collection space, whomever it was grumbled and she couldn’t help the smirk that crossed her features. It seemed in this city that being a vampire required repeated frustration and fighting your way home… especially if you chose to dwell in the catacombs. The man was close and as evidenced by the quick and efficient kill, talented… so for the sake of her own survival, she crunched a few decaying bones under the heel of her boot and awkwardly cleared her throat before responding to his mumbled comment.

“You know… for as long as you live down here, I don’t know if that’s a reasonable expectation… but hey, at least these ones are dead already?”

She knew it was a risk to speak loud enough for him to hear, as other things might hear as well, but she’d rather chop down a few more of the beasts than have to regrow limbs. It wasn’t much work for her, honestly, but it took longer than a moment, and she was a little too vain to be without an arm for an extended period of time. The girl stepped cautiously toward the corner he’d have to come around to get out of the passage he was in, making sure to kick stones and other rubble that she would usually avoid.

Temper was a thing that Elliot didn’t have complete control of lately. Although he wasn’t quite sure he was so on edge that he would have attacked another vampire without provocation, it was still a relief that the girl moved and spoke with obvious intent. There was nothing threatening in her demeanour, so although Elliot still gripped his weapon, he did not move or twitch in any way as to threaten attack himself.

In the end, it didn’t matter how disenchanted he was with everyone and everything. Maybe there was something in his personality that would never change, just like his appearance would always bounce back to what it was the night he was turned. Deep down, regardless of how the world might batter at his defences, he would remain the same old Elliot Lancaster; never judge a person upon a first meeting, always give second (or even third) chances, never hold a grudge. First and foremost, trust everyone, until they give him a reason not to.

Because she posed no threat, and because she spoke with optimism, Elliot chose instantly to consider the stranger a friend, rather than a foe. Of course he always had his reservations. But he couldn’t assume. He narrowed his eyes so as to see past the shadows, to see who it was who spoke to him; a girl, blonde, young-looking. An air of innocence. He took a breath that he did not need, and rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

”Oh I get that. Used to have a portal that went straight into the place, y’know? Was ******* grand. Used to be able to just go through the Mausoleum. Less chance of monsters, less space to cover to get from upstairs to front door. This is ********, though,” Elliot said, ranting, because why the hell not? His own voice was a low rumble, but still loud enough to draw attention, should there be any uglies nearby. He wasn’t bothered though. They rarely, if ever, caused him any kind of trouble. They were flees to be crushed beneath his heel—he wouldn’t admit to anyone that he did thoroughly enjoy the degree of power he felt down in the catacombs.

”What’s with the goddamned army, huh? Got any ideas?” he asked the stranger, as if they had been friends for years, and this conversation was absolutely normal.

He breathes… She thought to herself, but she could tell that it was out of habit and not necessity. It bought time and might have been a tool for him… the look of relief that was almost always present on the face of a human was absent on his, so instead of mimicking to aid in some false sense of security, as she did around humans, Sol leaned against the wall and smirked at his rant. The girl wasn’t quite sure what to do with a social vampire. The ones she had met were mostly quiet or of the mind to give lessons… but he was ranting. Talking. As if he knew her.

If it hadn’t been her words waking the other beasts, the presence in his voice might have done the trick. His voice seemed to fill up the space instead of just occupy a section of it, which made her smile, even if a sense of caution did creep up her back. He reminded her of a dig partner she had. The man never did know how to be quiet in the more temperamental dig sites, but he did manage to laugh like a giant while avoiding the walls crashing in on them. Whether out of stupidity or learned circumstantial priviledge, Solene granted this man’s voice the same powers of persuasion. The walls would not crumble, nor would too many of the uglies come calling… if they were lucky.

The blonde smiled and shrugged easily, floating her gaze up in the general direction of the Mausoleum entrance. “None, but I’d be much more entertained by them if they were dressed like the Queen’s Guard and could keep a straight face when distracted. It would at least make them a funny nuisance. Getting in through the sewers isn’t the most pleasant experience though… I have to admit.”

Thoughts of the men standing guard being dressed in a variety of different costumes flooded her mind and tickled her urge to giggle, so she bit her lower lip to silence herself and held her hand out to her new stranger friend. “Name’s Solene, by the way… and in all seriousness, maybe we should find out in case they have intentions of setting up camp and ruining our fun?”

When the girl responded it was with a calmness of tone that did not matches Elliot’s frustration. It helped to calm him a little, not to have his frustration fuelled. Although she agreed with him that the sewers were a nuisance, she only admitted it after making a joke. Elliot liked this girl. He took another deep breath—a habit, yes. It helped to calm him. Helped to remind him where he came from. He was once human, and he never wanted to forget that.

Elliot took her small hand within his long fingers, curling them around her palm as he shook, nodded his head in acceptance of the introduction. ”Elliot,” he said, more accustomed now to giving his first name. Once upon a time, he’d only ever give his last name by way of introduction. Many people in this city knew him as Lancaster. With a new life came the need for a change in name, however. He’d finally stuck the habit of giving ‘Elliot’ as his name rather than ‘Lancaster’.

”And I agree. Especially if you actually want to go somewhere and not smell like raw offage,” he said. ”Not to mention those fuckers who want to kill you every time you come around the corner,” he said. ”How do you propose we find out what they’re doin’?” he asked, releasing the girl’s hand to reclaim his full height. He’d bowed down just a little as the introductions were being made. He used his now-free hand to push the hair out of his eyes—wanted to cross his arms over his chest, but refrained from doing so due to the weapon still held languidly in his opposite hand. He wouldn’t sheath it. He knew how loudly he was talking. More than likely, they would be interrupted, and he’d like to be prepared.

Ew… Poo. The sewers smelled more of death and rats than they did of defecation, but when she had encountered individuals fresh out of an entrance to the deep stinky underground, there was a very concrete smell of poo about them and it never failed to make her gag. “I’m willing to bet they’re so pissy because everything they own smells like ***. No excuses. If they keep shooting me and ruining my clothes, I’m going to bill them. Just because I’m fanged, doesn’t mean I like spending all of my money frivolously.”
She flashed a grin, then her gaze flicked to her hand in his and she suddenly felt very small. His hands were easily double her size, and she was certain that they’d had more blood on them than soap in his lifetime, but something about them made her trust him.
It’s like reliving the moment that Echo told me, after profusely apologizing, that we were going to Canada. Canada, of all places... At least it wasn't Jersey. I think I would have eaten her, or at least tried. No, she probably would have just killed me again. Still, Jersey... Ew. She has small hands, albeit, but they were trustworthy and careful. Same good… just bigger. Solene could feel her eyes glaze over as she analyzed how hands fit into the grand scheme of how much she’d decide to talk with people, so she blinked a little and focused back in on the conversation at hand.
“How? I’d say we should go all stealth and batman our way up there… but it might be fun to just ask them.”

Of course, her first thought was what might come of them asking the army why they were guarding a mausoleum. She didn’t fancy the options much, plus she’d have to go admit to being a violent childe and doing more than grave robbing and eating bears… but it was still tempting. The girl heard, in the distance, the sound of shuffling, quiet scratching, breathless predatory intent, and the promise of more teeth, so she checked her weapons before glancing around the corner. “Either way, I think we’re about to have company. Retreat, or see if they have anything nifty on them?”

Elliot stared down at the Solene’s face, as she stared at their clasped hands, which they held just a second longer than usual as to make it obvious. Elliot was curious, obviously; he really did enjoy meeting new people. It was one of his favourite things, meeting new people. It just so happened that most new people he met in this city either wanted him dead because of what he was, or were so into violence and slaughter that he couldn’t possibly take them seriously. There were a select few who he got along with; mostly his childer, really, but he didn’t see much of them. Ever.

He wondered, curiously, what could be so interesting about his hand. He, too, found himself looking down, examining, trying to find something out of place. Something that made it stare-worthy. But before he could come to any conclusions, the handshake was over. Dropped.

Of course, it made sense just to ask the army why they were hanging around the catacombs. He opened his mouth to explain that it was doubtful they would give anything up; but he had to close his mouth in lieu of shrugged shoulders. Over the past two years he’d figured out he did have a way with words, especially with humans. Depending on their willpower, he could persuade almost anyone into anything. Luckily for them, he found his own power to be a bit disturbing and rarely used it—thus why it took him a while to realise that asking might actually work wonders.

Solene then mentioned company, and Elliot became aware of the sounds that indicated they had been heard; he tried to imagine the beasts in these catacombs as misunderstood. Maybe they do just want the company of the living! But soon discarded that thought. He didn’t think he’d be able to survive if he couldn’t vent on something, and he’d prefer that something did not incite some kind of guilt. He always felt guilty. It was a ******* curse. He nodded toward the sound of the approaching monster.

”Let’s go for something nifty. I don’t need anything – you go right ahead,” he said, beginning to inch around the corner, ready to be Solene’s backup, should she require it.

Solene gave the man an impish little grin, both at his unspoken curiosity and the fact that he opened his mouth as if to speak… but promptly shut it again as if to catch butterflies before they flew away. Sure, it could have been him, but the girl knew that her rapid fire subject changing was probably the cause. In time, and she was certain of this, if probability won out and they bumped into each other more than just this once, both his hands and the maddening plans to poke at armed humans would resurface. In that moment, however, she turned her jumpy focus to the potential lurking beast.

“You know, I bet it’s just a bug. A bug fit for Harper Rock, so it probably has fangs, but I bet it is only a bug… or,” she paused with a shudder, “A rat. I think I’d take a mooncalf any day… even if they can kick my ***.”

Much to the girl’s surprise, while she rambled about rodents and odd insects, a half hacked once-upon-a-time-ancient-zombie shuffled around the corner. A full arm and a half was missing, along with his teeth and most of the head. Part of the spinal column poked through the dusty cloth that was providing most of the stench, and what was left of his pockets had been turned out and emptied.

She’d been ready to strike, despite the surprise, but by the time her eyes fell on the creature’s pockets, she’d already shoved her weapons back into place and scoffed, giving the dead nuisance a jab in the ribs. “Come on, dirt and decay. You don’t even have your face left… or teeth. Or hands.” There was a distinct sound of utter disappointment in her tone, but when she looked back to her company, she grinned. “We should have gone with trying to get our heads chopped off. This guy is a mess.”

Elliot arched a brow at the girl’s vivacity. She maintained a marked enthusiasm that the rest of this city’s vampiric population seemed to lack. The kind of vivacity that he did not envy, because he knew that it was attainable, but which he was in awe of simply because of its rarity. A girl who would prefer the monstrosity of a Mooncalf to a rat – it had Elliot laughing, the sound boisterous and yet baritone, a bass note in the gloom of the catacombs.

More than that, the way that Solene dealt with the foe that soon delivered itself was unlike any reaction that Elliot had ever seen. There was no fear or awe. Like she’d seen ten million of these things in the past and they were just a gnat to be played with a little bit before finally dismembered and buried. The creature didn’t take kindly to being prodded at, and while Elliot watched he was victim to the same old fear that always washed over him when face to face with an Ancient. Is this what he would become, one day? If left to the world, now timeless, would he lose all his humanity and become just a shell like this? A decaying, rotting corpse?

Or was this what death looked like, for vampires? Was this just a body animated by magical blood, the soul long gone? Elliot hoped so. He really did hope there wasn’t some lucid being inside that skull. He really hoped that those grunts were just grunts, and not pleas for help. Elliot took a step back, his arms crossed over his chest. He was curious to see what she would do with the creature, and when he started to think about what this guy might have been, who he might still be, he always became a little skittish.

”Maybe we have to forgive him for being a mess,” he mumbled. ”The guy probably lost his wits centuries ago. Did you ever wonder if there was still a soul in there?” Elliot asked, inquisitive as per usual. Was he the only one who thought like this, or were there others around who questioned the source?

She had dealt with death and the remains of civilizations a great deal in her former life, and now that she had become a necromancer, there were even more aspects to deal with. Her sympathetic streak stopped just short of the zombies and ancients in Harper Rock, though. The truth had placed a spotlight on the ugly.

The girl took a moment to stare at him as if his question had etched itself into the flesh of his face, and eventually she offered a brief shrug and tapped her temple. “Nah. I can hear them. There’s nothing tormented in these rags… just something that shouldn’t be here, I think. Like body snatchers. Creepy shits, they are. Shall we?”

There was very little to be done with the ancient, as his pockets had been picked, so she turned on her heel, took Elliot’s arm, and headed in the opposite direction. “I mean, I don’t know how souls work, but I don’t think they get stuck in bodies without spells or a necromancer of some sort to trap them there. I’ve dug up a lot of bones and the remains of life to study them and when a corpse starts walking around and groaning, it feels sinister. What makes you curious?”

She thought it a strange question, an odd wondering, but Solene liked to know where thoughts came from, so naturally, she poked at it.