Looking back, pushing forward (OPEN)

[Aubrey (DELETED 5968)]

Location: Corvidae Flats

Dropping down onto the pure white couch, she kicked her boot-clad feet up onto the footrest in front of her and sighed. Aubrey was exhausted, completely exhausted, having been killing zombies for the past week in a row, almost. She rubbed her dirty, goo-stained hands over her equally dirty face and muttered to herself. The girl felt endlessly filthy lately, so she'd bought a pack of wet face wipes, like they use for babies, and some hand sanitizer which she was always dousing herself with. She pulled out one of those cloths and wiped her face again, then sanitized her hands and pulled a compact from the small canvas bag she always had looped over her shoulder.

The reflection staring back at her was not what she envisioned her own to be. Hollowed cheeks, sickeningly pale skin and rotting eyes looked back at her. She had to just barely stop herself from gagging at the decaying visage before her. Instantly she put it down, and pulled out her travel makeup bag, deciding to apply by memory instead of her reflection. She'd done this so many times, the small brush of darkener over her eyebrows to make them stand out, the eyeliner and mascara highlighting her chocolate eyes, a dash of old-fashioned red lipstick to frame full lips. Even if it was that dying thing looking into the mirror, Aubrey reminded herself that to others, she would look the same as she always had - beautiful, well-kept, stunning (no one said she wasn't a narcissist).

The undead cheerleader put the makeup away satisfied and feeling like she could relax. Her mind, still so close to human, craved for a drink but she knew it'd make her sick. She didn't have all of the talents yet as an allurist that would allow for consumption. The contraband blood pack she'd purchased from the shop would have to do. Daintily, she dusted off the pack and dug through her purse again to pull out a straw wrapped in plastic. She unsheathed it, and pierced the blood pack with it, cheeks hollowing slightly as she greedily drank in the blood, attempting to be somewhat discreet.

As she drank, she thought back on her friends and family, her squad, her professors at HRU. She wondered if anyone missed her, what her mother thought when the university called to tell her there was a 'wild animal attack' that claimed the life of their eldest daughter, the good one, their pride and joy. She wondered if the 'My Child is on HRU Honour Roll' sticker remained on her mom's Prius or if she'd removed it. She thought of Nikki, her tabby cat, curled up at home waiting for her to come back. Stupid little things came to her mind and she swore she could feel tears building in her eyes.

It was no good to think of it now. Now, there was only killing.

Killing and learning to let go.

[Lancaster]

Elliot had bought an apartment in Corvidae Flats, had given it up for a human to live in, and then had promptly forgotten about it. For months, there was a property that he hadn’t paid any attention to – much like a lot of his property, really. The dwelling in the sewers, for one – the place he refused to visit because it reminded him of the black hole that he had once spiralled into. The refusal to die or to kill himself, but the urge to hide away from the world, to keep himself from anyone and everyone because he had believed that he could only ever do people harm. He believed himself to be a bad luck charm, completely against his will.

Of course, it had been much more complicated than that. Elliot had control issues, and it was those control issues that had landed him in such a dark place. It was no one’s fault but his own. Since then, he had learned some modicum of control. And, if not that, he had gained an acceptance of his fate. It didn’t mean that he liked it. It didn’t even mean that he had fully moved on. But with acceptance, he was able to better handle his guilt. Guilt was what fuelled him.

Now, he had four businesses. Two were attached to Lancaster’s – the pub, and the backpackers upstairs. One was attached to his boat – yet another property that Pi hadn’t known about. He’d bought it as a place to go to escape, but he hadn’t needed to escape for a very long time. So he’d turned it into a party boat, which could be hired by any who needed a party venue. And he had the music shop, open in 8th Dimension Mall. These were the properties that he cared for most prominently. Though, now that he’d also set Aliyah up in Corvidae Flats, he began to realise that he should, in part, play landlord. He should check in every now and again to make sure everything was running smoothly.

He was on his way toward the elevator when he was accosted by a zombie. Why anyone allowed the zombies to get past the front door, he didn’t know. How the lobby stayed as clean as it did was also a mystery. Instinct kicked in, and within seconds the zombie was dead at Elliot’s feet; those few seconds had also rendered his suit completely ruined – at least for the rest of the night. He didn’t have any weapons on him. He’d taken the zombie down with his bare hands. Now he had corpse-muck all over his long fingers, and splattered over his jacket and shoes.

”I ******* hate this place,” he muttered to himself, lifting his eyes to search out the bar. Maybe there’d be some water there. He could at least wash his hands.

[Attire]

[Aubrey (DELETED 5968)]

With the blood pack drained, she pulled out a new wet cloth and went back to washing her hands. The act was vigorous, concentrated, brown eyebrows furrowed down at her work. The diseased blood of the zombies made her skin itch and she wanted to be rid of it, feeling as if it was always on her, like she couldn’t escape. A sigh left her red-painted lips as she worked the wet cloth beneath her fingernails now, leaving no inch unclean.

Aubrey would be happy to leave Corvidae Flats. She swore she couldn’t remember what the outdoors looked like and she’d only been on her mission of killing the zombies for a week at most. It was Constance’s plan, and the newly-turned fledgeling didn’t want to disappoint her sire. Their relationship was…tense, at times. She kept going back to that night, the night she died from a feral vampire attack. She’d closed her eyes and given up, expecting to die, and the next thing she knew the blonde was standing above her and her body was changing.

Since then Aubrey felt she did nothing but piss Constance off with her constant questions, her lack of understanding when it came to this world. The young allurist let out a sigh and shook her head at the thought, looking up from her work and tossing the cloth and the empty blood pack into a trash bin next to the couch. That’s when she spotted the man, having completely missed the commotion of him killing the zombie. She was so used to that racket now that the disgusting squish of diseased flesh tearing sounded normal.

His hands were a mess just as hers had been, and Aubrey watched as he looked around for something to clean them off with. She was on her feet at once, clutching the pack of Lysol wipes and moving towards him. She didn’t know him, but she noted he was well-dressed despite the goo and handsome. He looked uncomfortable in this place but not in a new sort of way, as if it was a place he’d rather have avoided. As she neared him, she stopped at an appropriate distance away and cleared her throat.

“Looking for something to get the goo off with?” Aubrey asked, raising a slender brow and holding up the packet of wet wipes.

[Constance]

.There is no greater Hell than being the prisoner of fear.

It had only been two months since the woman had been pulled from the Shadow Realm, and in those two months, she had yet to fully adjust. No one could tell her how long it would take for her world to balance, nor could they tell her how long it would take for her heart to heal. When her life had been ripped asunder and she'd sought comfort in death, she had expected it to be permanent. She'd resigned herself to a life of hallowed screams and shadows until a strong hand had managed to pull her free. The darkness still clung to her skin, and she had a sensation of never being clean. It crawled along her flesh, a memory that would never fade. It was forever etched into her mind, until she was simply going through life without really living. She tried to shake it off, to focus on the road ahead, but the shadows had spider-webbed their way through her brain, only expelled by the very person that had called her home. Whenever Kyrian was near, it didn't seem as bleak. They both, however, had their own lives to live, and she wasn't going to become one of those women that depended on a man for her own happiness or strength. She utterly refused to become her mother.

As she neared the Flats, she could feel the panic build in her chest. It wasn't the zombies or even the Feral that she feared, but the empty apartment on the eighth floor. The thought of him caused her throat to close up, and for a moment, she forgot she didn't have to breathe to survive. She felt as if she were suffocating on the memories, hand reaching to press against the wall for balance. "You told her to come here," she reminded herself, her voice breathless and strained. Taking only a second for herself, she bowed her head and counted back from ten as the memories plagued her thoughts. The first time they met, the first time they had made love, even the first time they had fought. It had all taken place in his apartment. She never told anyone about it, and she had done her best to stay clear of putting herself in a situation where she would have to - then she had turned Aubrey.

It was her childe's name that broke through the memory reel and compelled her to open the door. It felt as if she were walking against the current as she sought out the brunette. It didn't take her long to find her, and it didn't take her long to find her heading for a man. Sidestepping a zombie as it ambled it's way towards her, she made her way across the room. In the time it took her to reach her childe from the door, her entire demeanor had changed. Though she still felt as if she were drowning, she had her bubbly, flirtatious smile in place as her hand rested on Aubrey's shoulder. "At least you're trying to be helpful, Problem. I brought you something that should help." She kept her voice cheerful as she dropped shopping bags at her feet, one with the logo from Bath and Body works, the other from Light It Up and Skyye. "I had some free time on my hands today, thought I'd do a little shopping for you. There's some scented lotion and hand wipes in there. I can only imagine you're getting totally sick of the Lysol smell." Pressing a kiss to her cheek, she turned her amber gaze to the man she'd been approaching.

[ Clothing ]

[Lancaster]

Elliot’s attention had been turned toward the bar; being a bar owner himself, he knew what lay behind the counter. If it was set up like a real bar ought to be set up (and he had his doubts, given the fact that this was a lobby often inundated with the ambling, soulless undead) then there should be a tap, and soap, and towels. It would be a miracle of those three things hadn’t been overrun and completely ruined, or stolen. Just a sink. Just a sink with running water, and that would do. His long body was angling in that direction before he was intersected by a young woman. And she was offering up… wet wipes?

Elliot laughed.

It wasn’t a nasty laugh. He wasn’t laughing at her. He was laughing because he had not seen such things outside of baby’s nurseries, to wipe their bums free of runny ****. Yes, zombie flesh and rotten goo could definitely be compared to offal, but the wet wipes seemed far too flimsy to deal with the kind of mess that Elliot had created. The zombie’s chest had been ripped open and the head torn clean from its body. There was not just weirdly gelatine-like blood on Elliot’s hands, but chunks of rotted skin and muscle. But, if it worked for others, why not give it a go?

”Thanks,” he said. Even the one word sounded lazy in his broad accent. He took one of the wipes, tearing in free, though he held it gingerly between two fingers while he tried to rid himself of some of the chunks. It would be no good to try to clean them with the flimsy wipe, because they’d just get smeared into his skin, and that wouldn’t be any use.

The two of them were joined by a third woman; a very well-dressed woman for this part of town. She looked like she’d just stepped out of some high-rise office tower. She looked like some kind of ball-kicking solicitor. No, no – maybe one of those fashion magazine editors. Elliot suddenly felt like a sham in his suit. Like she might think he was one of her kind of people, when he really definitely was not. The two women obviously knew each other, and Elliot quietly flicked chunks off his hands and jacket while he listened. One piece of gristly skin flew through the air to land on the second woman’s shoe. Elliot resisted the urge to laugh, again, and hoped she wouldn’t notice. Only after most of the chunks were gone did he use the wet wipe to try to clear away the slime. It worked surprisingly well.

At this point Elliot might have made some joke about how Lysol smelt like roses, but his complete inability to lie hindered him. It was probably a good thing.

”Does it strike either of you as totally strange – mystifying obscure – that we’re standing around here in our good clothing after a nice socially acceptable shopping trip in this damned lobby overrun with ******* zombies? Like nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s out of the ordinary,” he says. He doesn’t know either of them, but he finds it easy to start these random conversations with strangers. No one ever really feels like a stranger to Elliot. Everyone’s a friend until they prove themselves otherwise.

He balls up the ruined wet wipe in one hand, not sure what to do with it.

”Thanks for the wet wipe…” he adds to his random statement, nodding toward the first girl.

[Skylar]

Blackie was looking pathetic and was probably in need of some time outside of the apartment. Neither Ric or I are pet people and yet we were making the best of it, as his childe had bought him a black, boxer pup for Christmas. I'd basically forbidden him from including the pup in one of his projects. Not that I'm sure he'd of actually done that, it just seemed like something that needing saying, just in case. I mean buying someone a pet when they gut animals on an almost daily basis in the name of "art"... Probably not the best idea. The poor thing didn't seem all that happy with us, though we weren't mistreating it in any way. It seemed to have a natural aversion to Ric and Ric still hadn't thought to name it. Blackie was what I called him, poor little thing. Since the critter was so obviously in need of some fun, I decided to take it for a walk around the quarantine zone.
The walk itself was pretty cool. Blackie behaved. Kind of. If you can count barking at zombies and then trying to cower behind me if they came too close as behaving. He certainly seemed to enjoy the chance to sniff and mark pretty much every inch of surface he could get near. Even though he's a pup he seems to know what he's doing, even if he does squat down to do his marking. For some reason Blackie seems confused as to his gender. I have to wonder if that's normal behaviour for a pup though and if so, when/how do they learn to **** their leg up things. I sure as **** wasn't going to be able to teach him that one.
We were on our way back home when I walked into the lobby and heard that oh so familiar voice. It was hard to miss what with that sexy, Australian lilt of his.
"Says the walking corpse."
I chime in on the end of the conversation, having heard Ellie's mini rant on the situation they found themselves in. Like vampires have any right talking about what’s normal. We're not normal. We're abominations if you believe most of the hype. Which I don't. I think we're more like superheroes. Or villains. Depending on how we choose to use our gifts.
"Hello papa bear."
I sing out as I draw closer to him. I reach out with my free hand and place it on the back of his neck so I can drag him down to my height and give him a kiss on the cheek before I give him the best hug I can manage with my critter in tow.
Blackie's already trying to pull away from the small crowd of people. Apparently pets do take after their owners, even if their owners haven't really claimed them as such.
I look to the two women he's with and nod to them. I recognise one of them as Chatterbox but it takes me a moment to connect her real name to her face. Ric had a thing about nicknames and I highly doubt me calling her by his name for her was going to be a good idea.
"Hi."
My free hand makes a small, semi-circular motion by way of a hello. If I was more of a girly girl I might consider the fact that I'm out dressed by the others about me but the thought never enters my mind. I liked how I dressed and really that's all that matters. Being a jeans and t-shirt girl wasn't anything to be ashamed of, at least I didn't think so. My blonde hair hangs loose down my back and probably looks a little worse for wear what with the abuse it too while we were outside and exposed to the elements.
"I'm not sure if you remember me or not. I met you at the Altaire thing just before Christmas."
I'm looking at Constance as I say this. She was the one that - if my memory was correct - had given us all the glass phoenix shaped ornaments.
"I'm Skylar. I was there somewhat briefly. I was Ric's date. I want to call you Chatterbox..."
I laugh and smile warmly at the woman. Okay so I couldn't help myself. It was entirely Ric's fault. Him and his stupid nicknames. Knowing him he called her that because he thought she talked too much. All his nicknames seemed to be descriptive of the person on some level.
"But it's Constance, right?"

[Aubrey (DELETED 5968)]

Aubrey wasn’t insulted when the man laughed at her, far too confident in herself to think that she was the thing he was laughing at. She instantly smirked, and gave a little shrug as if to say ‘Better than nothin’’ in response to the chuckling. “You’re welcome,” she said, giving a little grin. “My name is Aubrey,” she added, considering offering her hand but, given the amount of flesh and slime covering them, decided not to. She held out the package, expecting him to need more than one of the thin yet efficient wipes. The sound of the door opening and closing was lost to her ears, but soon she was turning to look.

She always felt it the moment Constance walked into the room and turned, offering the woman a smile. The allurist noted the differences in her sire’s behavior when it was the two of them, and when there were others. It seemed as if Constance had a stronger mask for those around her but she let Aubrey see those pauses, the moments where a flash of pain played across her face or she went blank at the mention of a single name. She knew the woman was damaged and recovering from something, but her one attempt at finding out what had been shut down and she’d since given up trying.

“You say that with such surprise,” she teased her sire, grinning impishly at the hint that Aubrey surprised her by being helpful. Green eyes turned to the woman’s hands and she raised her eyebrows at the shopping bags, feeling a little rise of excitement at the sight of them.

“Oooh…Bath and Body Works? You do love me,” she cooed, crouching down to rifle through the bags while Constance introduced herself to the man whose name she hadn’t caught yet, and promptly had her designer shoe defaced by a speck of zombie goo.

“Oh boy…she’s going to murder you,” the younger vampire breathed, rising to listen to the man’s observation all the while monitoring her sire’s face for signs of rage. “It’s completely strange, stranger still that I hardly notice them unless I’m setting out to kill them for the night. Besides that I couldn't care less,” she said, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and smiling, nodding in return when he thanked her.

They were joined by another, a childlike blonde who draped herself across the man and embraced him. Aubrey nodded back when Skylar gave her the gesture. Her hands lifts, fingers wiggling before she glanced down to the bag of Bath and Body Works goods again. She listened as Skylar spoke with her sire and only looked up again when she mentioned ‘Ric, assuming she meant Roderic, the hottie Altaire. Eyebrows perked, subtly, as she realized she’d been joined by the girlfriend Freyja or someone had told her about. Really? Those two were together? They didn’t look like they matched, to her, but maybe they did.

Then, Skylar called Constance ‘Chatterbox’ and Aubrey felt her lips quirk, eyes once again turning to her sire and expecting to see a rage.

[Constance]

You can still taste him on the air, can’t you? Come on, you know you really miss him.

The voice snaked into her mind, the low growl causing her to tremble. She felt her fingers curl into her palms, her expression blanking for a moment before the man’s voice yanked her back. He was saying something about zombies, though the muck that had landed on her shoe had her attention. Slowly, she arched a perfect brow and crossed her arms over her chest, lips quirking into a faint smile. “You seriously just did that, handsome? I think you need to get down there and clean it off,” she said with a charming smile, though there was a hint of darkness dancing in her amber eyes. She kept expecting for the reason she was shaking to walk through the door, his smile dark and his eyes wild. She expected him to return at any given moment and take the world right from under her heels once again.

Swallowing past the bile rising quickly in her throat, she let her gaze dancing from Elliott to her childe, her plastic smile still in place as she bent down and brushed a chaste kiss over her cheekbone. “I do love you. As much as I want to kill you – again – you’re stuck with me.” Her teasing words were followed with a laugh as she lifted her hand to tuck a curl that had escaped her bun behind her ear. Before she could speak again, another woman showed up, the childlike blonde instantly triggering a memory in her mind. “Constance. I’m going to kill that man,” she laughed, hands dropping to slide into the pockets of her jeans. His nickname had, at one point, been fitting. Now, however, she felt it harder for her to be her usual peppy self. Something had taken hold of her heart and squeezed until she couldn’t breathe. The darkness had begun to call her again, its musical voice something she was finding hard to resist.

As her biceps tensed from the urge to lash out and run, she shook her head. “I don’t find this strange at all, really. The things that creep me out anymore are the zombified wolves.” Her voice pitched high for a second as she shuddered, before crossing her arms over her chest. “Kyrian has to practically drag me to the raids, and even then, I force my sister to go any further in and clear a path before I will.” Just saying his name was enough to cement her feet to the floor and clear her mind just enough to find clarity to the conversation. What was honestly strange to her was the fact she was still standing there, when all she wanted to do was give in and leave. The sounds around her did nothing to drown out the memories that were plaguing her thoughts, and she found herself turning, one arm wrapping tighter around Aubrey, making the brunette her anchor.

If she let her go, there was no promise that she wouldn’t fade into nothing.

[Lancaster]

The emotions swelled and rolled, like a dark wave. Like a black hole around the woman in her perfect clothes, with her perfect mask of an expression. Elliot knew it wasn’t coming from either of the others; he knew Skylar too well. It was as if her emotions came with a trademark lilt. They were like a foreign taste on his tongue, but more often he compared them to silent notes vibrating in the atmosphere; certain people plucked different strings, at all different pitches. It was hard to focus on the arrival of Skylar, though he was amenable to the way she manhandled him to kiss him on the cheek. He was used to that by now.

Most people were bearable. Most people weren’t feeling much of anything, and their emotions played like a bored or happy song, trilling away in the background. Easy to ignore. Even this Aubrey – yeah, Elliot could feel the different emotions pinging from her, but they weren’t as strong as Constance’s. From Skylar he was picking up… hell, he couldn’t even tell.

Constance’s emotion was overwhelming everyone else’s, eclipsing them. Yeah, Elliot would clean up the mess he’d made of her boot, but all he really wanted to do was pull her into a hug. A complete and utter stranger, and he wanted to take it all away from her. Had he known that emotion? Yes, and no. It had a different hue to it. Elliot had once spun out of control and had buried himself deep; he’d backed away and had given himself up to darkness. But there was something more, here. There was… loss. It wasn’t guilt that drove this woman, like it had Elliot. There was something far more debilitating, and he wondered how she was still standing.

He cleared his throat and glanced sideways at Skylar. He couldn’t remember. Could she feel it, too?

Constance. Constance and Aubrey. He tried to focus. They had to be Altaire, then, if they knew Roderic. Elliot couldn’t even feel angry; he was starting to feel exactly like Constance was feeling, and it was difficult to keep a straight face.

He took another wet wipe from Aubrey’s stocks and dropped down to his haunches to clean the gunk from Constance’s shoe. There was no reason why he wouldn’t. He had made the mess, and it was only appropriate that he should clean it up. While he was down there, he really just wanted to curl up in a ball… but no. No. He pushed the foreign emotion away and stood, shoulders rounded and a smile planted on his lips.

He was a gentleman. The woman was hiding her emotion, and so he would do his best to not let on that he knew anything about it.

”Zombie wolves aren’t too hard, once you get used to them,” Elliot rumbled. There was a heaviness to his voice that wasn’t there before; but that smile remained on his lips. A smile that touched his eyes. He tried to send out calming or inspiring vibes; he wasn’t whether it would work.

”Have you seen one of those yet?” he asked Skylar, nudging her with his elbow; one day he should take her into a City of the Dead raid. See what she made of it. Even if it was to just turn around and leave again.

[Skylar]

"Thought so."
I bite back the urge to tell Constance there was probably already a queue for those that wanted to kill Ric and that she ought to get in line and what better way to hold that comment back than to smile. I kinda want to laugh but laughing just doesn't feel appropriate.
I listen to the woman babble on abut wolves and raids, none of it makes any sense to me but then I'm still relatively new to this life. Not so new though, that I hadn't already experienced a taste of just how much damage our bodies can take. It wasn't exactly an experience I'd want to repeat, but it was probably a good one in the scheme of things. I mean I learned something new from it and I am the sort to make lemonade when life hands me lemons.
As Ellie begins to wipe gunk off the woman's shoe I want to laugh, again, only I don't. There's something in the air that's threatening to choke me. I hadn't really noticed it before but now there was no escaping it. I'd felt pretty damn goo before I came in here and so I knew what I was feeling wasn't coming from me. Could be Ellie. He was pretty pissed off last time I saw him but I was sure we'd settled our differences. Well, settled them enough that he wouldn't be feeling like this upon seeing me. I missed the look he gave me earlier but I know he feels whatever this is too. It kinda sucks to be so tuned into these kinds of things at times. I mean I felt Ellie's rage like it was my own. This, I have no idea what this is, and like usual, I have no idea who it's coming from; my best guess is that it's one of the two Altaire gals.
It's times like this that I wish I had that mind power thing that Ellie has, the one that lets you project your voice directly into someone else’s brain. That would be damn handy right about now because then I could ask Ellie what the hell this feeling is and who it's coming from. Being around Ric I don't really get all that much practice at sorting through the variety of human emotions most people feel and when I'm out in a crowd, I have trouble focusing in on any one person in particular. The power's like a ******* drug though when I'm playing. I mean I've always enjoyed performing but now I can actually feel how others feel to hear me play and it just heightens the whole experience. It's pretty intense.
The moment Ellie stands, the atmosphere becomes a little less oppressive. I don't know how or why. I wonder if remembering something positive helped me in some way or not, as I start to feel a little more like me. Things had felt pretty shitty while Ellie had been crouched on the floor. I half imagine that Ellie was contemplating what would have happened if Pi had of walked in at that moment. I can't imagine she'd of been too impressed to see him kneeling at some woman's feet like that. The thought of that makes me giggle and I have to cough to stop myself from full out laughing at what to them would be nothing. I choke it back and shake my head.
"Nope. You think I go looking for **** like that? I don't think seeing some zombified puppy has ever, or will ever, be at the top of my to-do list, will it Blackie."
I look down and then behind me to the dog that is trying his best to get to the elevator. Seriously, the thing was about as subtle as Ric too. I purse my lips and give a short, low whistle. The dog's ears perk up and he cranes his neck to look at me. I give a gentle tug on the lead and he slowly and reluctantly returns, but he doesn't heel at my side like he should. Instead, he plonks his butt down on the floor behind me and then looks up at me with those big brown eyes that seem to say, 'this is the best you're getting from me.' With Blackie pacified - for the time being - I look back around to the group.
"Still in training."
I say it like it might explain away his behaviour, though it's not like he's actually done anything yet that I need to apologise for. He is a puppy though, and he is still learning; for the most part he's doing pretty well, he just has a few quirks and issues and needs to grow into himself.