Into the Storm (Open)

[Essex Gray (DELETED 7232)]

Outside the driven rain thrummed angrily against the pavement, each droplet shattering upon impact and drenching the sidewalks, which wrapped around the large red brick, in a shade of murky gray. The tall library walls resonated with the sounds of thunder crashing nearby, and through the windows the occasional burst of lighting flashed across the floor. Essex loved the rain, it reminded her of home. The two things that the English countryside was known for was it's inexplicably terrible cuisine and the incessant rain.

Willowy fingertips leafed through pages of articles regarding local disappearances, had no one here ever heard of a computer? In a digital age, here she had toiled away the daylight hours combing through volumes of old news paper clippings which dated back decades. She mindlessly chewed on the tip of the black pen she held between two pouted lips which pursed in concentration. Her warm brown eyes skimmed line after line, "disappeared…body never recovered….wife and mother of three". A sickened knot formed in the pit of Essex's stomach and her chest ached for this woman she'd never known these children who would never see their mother again. How many others had there been?

Essex couldn't bare to read another word. She'd had her fill of morbid fascination for one day. She rose to her feet and stretched her arms out behind her, locking her fingertips together and arching her back ever so slightly in an attempt at trying to work out the abuse she'd endured at the hands of that wooden torture device these people called a chair. She gathered up the oversized archive books and carried them up to the front desk, the middle aged woman at the counter didn't even bother to look up at Essex as she left, she merely thumbed through her copy of Cosmopolitan, the cover of which boasted such headlines as "How To Achieve the Perfect Sun-kissed Glow" and "25 Sex Tips To Blow His Mind," an involuntary cringe briefly crossed her face as she imagined the man that might be interested in trying those tips out.

Walking back to her hotel, passing building after building, she finally began to feel the anxiety of her day melt away as she headed into one of the more populated areas in town. As she happened by several lower level windows she could hear the muffled sounds of televisions sets playing, laughter, and more than once a couple arguing back and forth over their suspicions of infidelity or finances or whatever it was two people who've grown tired of one another argue about. She paused a moment longer than she should have, heeding her attention to one quarrel in particular. A woman was accusing what appeared to be her husband of being unfaithful, and with a close friend of hers no less. Her quivering voice seemed fatigued and irate all at once as though the poor thing had exhausted herself with rage, while the insensate husband merely laughed in her face and told her she was insane. 

It was something Essex had no intimate perception of but she felt for the woman nonetheless. Who had time for a relationship, She recited a quick prayer under her breath and continued on, wanting to put some distance between herself and the shouting so that she would no longer feel the temptation to listen. Essex's solid grip tightened around the small gold cross that hung from her neck until the whites of her bones began to show through the healthy pink tinge of her ivory colored skin.

[Cedric Costello]

Wearing

The music was sombre as it drifted from the belly of the piano. A slow, easy tune. The sound of cutlery clinking against porcelain was an addendum to the piano; the man in his neatly cut suit behind the instrument near invisible as people ate, and laughed, and reconnected. Cedric felt apart from them, somehow, but when he was the man behind the music – the one who’d performed in front of thousands in packed concert halls in Europe – he felt above them.

He felt above them because he did not have to eat the food that they ate. He did not have to abide by the same rules of time that they did. As all that food was absorbed into their systems, making them fat or giving them cancer or causing acid reflux or allergic reactions, he would live on. While they grew old and suffered all kinds of mortal ailments, he would survive. When Castalia had told him he should look for something new, she had not been kidding. Something new was what she had given him, and it blew his mind.

But even vampires needed money. Even vampires had to survive – to pay rent, to afford the small comforts. Or the large comforts. Cedric had lost everything in his mortal life, and Castalia had given him a new life. Now he focused on the future; if he was going to live forever, he would make himself comfortable. But he needed the money, first. He needed to make a few solid investments. Instead of being paid to play a piano in the corner, he would pay someone else. Maybe he could give up the music completely. The music had ruined his life – it was time he quit the addiction.

At the end of his shift, Cedric removed his tie and shoved it into his pocket. Although it was snowing outside, he had no need of a jacket; it was slung over his arm as he rifled around in one of the pockets for his cigarettes. Putting one to his lips, he lit it up and inhaled. He could not eat or drink but he could still smoke, which was a relief. Better yet? It wouldn’t kill him.

Out on the street, he looked left, then right, before crossing the street. There was a car coming, but it was far enough away that he could jog across the road to avoid it. The car, however, had other ideas; the ice was slick, melted, and the car’s tires hadn’t been prepared for the weather, yet. The slightest touch on the breaks, and the care went sliding, edging sideways and slithering over to the other side of the street, into oncoming traffic. Cedric watched in utter fascination – it would either all be okay, depending on the cars. Or it would all go pear-shaped.

Smoke billowed unwittingly from Cedric’s nostrils – would this be his fault, if people died, or were injured? Surely not…

[Essex Gray (DELETED 7232)]

Her mind was lost, it had wandered down a dark path of it's own invention. It was something about this place, the entire city just felt, for lack of a better word, wrong. Teeming with unexplained disappearances and suspicious deaths, with each passing day she spent here it seemed more and more likely that they could all be connected somehow. Essex felt as though she was finally on to something, it seemed as though her past was finally catching up to her or rather she was catching up to it.

The thunderclap of crushing metal and a shrill screech of tires on the pavement shook Essex from her careless reverie. She glanced up in time to see two cars, mangled and intertwined by colision, sliding toward her across the icy road. A sharp intake of breath filled her lungs but that was all the movement her lithe body seemed to manage. She wanted to run, to flee but her feet remained unmoved, paralyzed by fear.

She shut her eyes tightly, consigning herself to fate. Onlookers shrieked as a wave of panic swept over the street. She could hear the rushed footsteps of others scrambling to get out of the way and then with a deafening crash, the two cars met with the brick wall no more than five feet to her right.

Essex slowly opened her eyes and turned to survey the wreckage. A large black truck had pinned what was once a small silver car, now to marred to tell what make it had been, against the building. The windshield of the car was cracked, and a pool of blood surrounded the point of impact on the drivers side glass. She could vaguely make out the shape of the driver, a man slumped over with his head resting against the steering wheel.

With great hesitation, she finally took several steps toward the car, her knees buckling beneath her as she moved. She could see the driver more clearly now, a trickle of blood ran down the left side of his face from a deep gash on his forehead while his eyes starred blankly into nothing. The expression on his face was one of fear and shock, as though he had looked into the great beyond and found nothing. Essex again, clasped her hand around the cross at her neck and whispered a hushed prayer for the man and those who would morn his departure from this world to the next.

[Cedric Costello]

The cars would not come out of the mishap unscathed. In fact, it was much the opposite.

Cedric couldn’t decipher his feelings as his feet carried him toward the wreckage. It had happened so close, where the truck had slammed into the smaller car, that he could feel the wave of hot air. It contrasted with the biting cold. Overhead, no stars could be seen. The night sky was made blacker by the lingering clouds; to add insult to injury, the rain from earlier had now turned to snow. The white flecks clung to his hair, even settled upon his skin without melting. He had no body heat to melt it with. If the snow did melt, the closer he got to the wreck, it was due to the heat radiating from the wrecked cars.

He circled around the wreck, standing nearby a petite blonde. She clutched at something around her neck, mumbling under her breath. Cedric hadn’t even thought of prayer. Religion was not something that he adhered to – especially now, that his whole world had changed. Now that he knew what existed, he was more likely to believe in the old Gods, than the new one.

The hot scent of blood did not dissuade Cedric. It did not disgust him, or horrify him. Instead, the slender canines extended from aching gums and his thirst reminded him of its existence. It wasn’t as persistent as his sire’s had been. It didn’t bother him, except when near blood. Still quite new to this life himself, it was hard to resist the bright red cruor. He watched it with a fascination that he failed to properly mask.

“… I shouldn’t have crossed the road,” he said, Dutch accented voice rumbling in the cold chaos. The whole scene had him feeling numb. But there was that feeling again. That feeling of being above it all, somehow. Death was inevitable. If Cedric hadn’t crossed the road and caused the driver to put his foot on the breaks – even if just slightly – would he have just died later, by some other cause? Maybe it would have happened regardless.

“Do you believe your prayers will make a difference?” he asked the stranger, only now glancing down at her. She had been so close to death herself. He had watched. He had seen the way the cars had missed her by that much. Maybe her prayers were not for the dead driver, but instead in thanks for her own survival. Someone else, nearby, was sobbing into a phone. Someone else had called the ambulance. The other driver was out of his own car, being comforted by someone else. All this grief for a person that none of them knew.

[Essex Gray (DELETED 7232)]

"Do you really believe your prayers will make a difference?" The voice of a indifference fell heavily on her ears. She couldn't fathom such callousness at a time like this. A life had been lost, she didn't know if this had been a good man, someone worth mourning but she knew he was a son to someone, perhaps a father, a husband, Essex wondered somberly if anyone was waiting on him at home. She hoped not. With extensive experience in the field of waiting for a loved one to come home that never did, she sincerely hoped not.

Did she really believe her prayers would make a difference? She wasn't sure, she had quarreled most of her life with the existence of a higher power. She had seen plenty in her short years to argue that God was fiction, nothing more than a symbol to keep the masses in line, but perhaps it was because of the atrocities she had been witness to that Essex needed to cling to the hope that she was wrong. So much ugliness and hate existed in the world, she mused, even if she were wrong in the end, would it really be so bad to hope.

"Do you really think they can hurt?" She uttered in an accusing fashion her soft English voice resonating in the night air. She turned her attention to the strange man, he seemed so calm, so out of place amongst the chaos. His expression was void save the slight hint of something she couldn't quite place that seemed to linger about his eyes, amusement perhaps? He was much taller than Essex which made the sensation of being scolded like a small child all the more distinct.

Flakes of snow fell around them, bathing the streets in a thin veil of white. The adrenaline that had pumped through her system before now slowed to a crawl and she was again aware of the bitter cold, she crossed hands over her arms in a rather vain attempt to stay warm. The thin fabric of her short black dress and beige overcoat served as a poor tools to stave away the chill. "Does a life really mean so little to you, sir, that you would chastise me for my prayers?" Essex retorted, a vexed frown crossing her face as she stared expectantly at the aloof stranger.

[Cedric Costello]

In light of the woman’s anger, Cedric realised too late the crassness of his question. If she didn’t think they would do any good, then she wouldn’t be uttering them. He fell into silence as he watched the scene unfold; he didn’t think much about the man’s family, or who he might have left behind. Instead, he thought about the man himself. Was he happy? Had he liked his life? Had he been having a run of good luck, only to now have it all snatched away? If Cedric could have saved him… would he?

The woman beside him seemed to radiate her grief. It was only fuelled by her anger. It was endearing, to say the very least. Cedric shifted on his feet, the epitome of a Doberman scolded by its master. There was remorse. The pianist might ride around on a high horse but it wasn’t one that he was entirely aware of, and it wasn’t hard to pull him off of it. He watched the way the woman hugged herself, and he grabbed the jacket he had looped over his shoulder. He flicked it out, and moved to drape it over the woman’s shoulders. She was much smaller than he was, and the thick, well-made jacket might provide a little more warmth.

”I am not chastising,” he said, his voice warm. ”Merely curious. You must forgive a man his bitterness. Some don’t have the strength to feel such sadness for people they don’t know,” he said. It was the human condition, wasn’t it? Some were made of better stuff. They had a natural inclination toward empathy and sympathy. They cared about others. They were affected by the bad fortune of strangers. But one couldn’t shoulder the sadness of every stranger. It would be impossible to live.

Although there was chaos in front of them, Cedric was more curious about the woman whom he had happened across. There was a gentle fervour to her that was a rare thing to behold. And she was foreign. What, he wondered, could have brought her to a place like this?

[Essex Gray (DELETED 7232)]

Her body tensed as he slid the jacket over her shoulders and didn't ease again until his hands were once more resting at his sides. The coat which she was certain must look natural on his frame hung awkwardly on her petite figure. She was accutely aware that it looked a bit like she was playing dress up but the jacket was warm and the usually sharp Essex had never been so happy about a fashion faux paus before in her life.

The rakish man seemed altered in his demeanor and the anger she had so intensely felt moments ago over his ill timed commentary melted away as he uttered "You must forgive a man his bitterness. Some don't have the strength to feel such sadness for people they don't know". His words resonated with her as, perhaps, the most profoudly genuine statement she had ever heard a person say outloud.

Surely she of all people could forgive a person their bitterness, she had endured her fair share over the years and while her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer she wondered silently what misfortunes had helped shape the skeptical man before her. Was he a scorned lover? Like her, had some family tragedy befallen him? Perhaps he was an alcoholic, maybe a gambler. Essex mused on, concocting a sordid past for him from her own wild supposition.

A reproachful blush crossed the pallor of her face as the shame set in. "If I must forgive a man his bitterness then surely you can excuse a woman's imprudence." Essex finally replied submissively, "I fear my reaction may have been brash and for that I would like to apologize.". The echo of sirens nearing sounded the arrival of the ambulance and the flash of red and blue lights illuminated the street as three police units pulled up to the scene of the accident.

[Cedric Costello]

The woman had every right to tense when Cedric got too close. A male stranger in a city like Harper Rock, where its missing could possibly outweigh its population? Anyone would be a little wary of strangers. They were in a public place, however, with authorities on the way. She couldn’t more safe, could she? Cedric didn’t have any designs on the woman; he didn’t intend to harm her, though with each uttered word between the two, his interest did grow. Especially when that hot blush touched her cheeks. What could she possibly be thinking?

”If a stranger approaches her on the street after a tragedy and questions her faith, a woman has every right to her impudence,” he said. Putting himself in her shoes, he’d probably have got his hackles up, too. Though he couldn’t imagine being in her shoes.

Cedric crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the authorities go about their jobs; the scene had become a hive of activity, and Cedric didn’t really want to hang around to be questioned. He glanced over his shoulder as he cleared his throat. Acquaintances were hard to come by in this city. There was a stereotype that Canadians were friendly, and he’d thought he’d have no trouble sliding into society, welcomed and embraced with warmth and gratitude. Harper Rock was a different kind of beast, however – and now that he had been inducted into the ranks of the undead, he started to understand why. Secrets were rife upon the streets. Walls were built and spikes were erected to keep them safe.

”I might have been brash in my approach. Perhaps I can… buy you a hot chocolate to apologise?” he said. ”I am new to the city, and judging by your accent…” he shrugged, the excuse slipping from his tongue unfinished. He thought that this woman might prove to be an interesting conversationalist. And lord knew, it’d be nice to have someone else to talk to – even if he himself had secrets that he would have to keep, at all costs.