A to B [Open]

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

The sewers.

They weren’t exactly welcoming, but they were a way to get from A to B. Cosimo wasn’t exactly a sewer-rat; they reminded him of that five minutes of his life where life had reached rock bottom. The paladin cult was something that he had slipped into via a friend of a friend – a guy that he lived with because it was the only place that he had to go on such short notice. Rafael had been so convincing, too. He was tough as nails and had a brusque honesty about him. As soon as it was proven to Cosimo that vampires were real and that they were the scourge of the Earth, what else could the Italian do but fall in line? Without knowing the other side of the story, what else was he to know?

He was told they had no souls.

He was told they were as good as the zombies in the Quarantine Zone. The rabid vampires there – the ferals? That was how he pictured all vampire-kind. That was why he assumed that this cause he had inadvertently been roped into was a good one. They should all be destroyed, for the good of mankind.

And yet, there was so much he didn’t know, too. He was fed snippets, bits and pieces. And his English, to begin with, left a lot to be desired. There were things he’d have missed. At least he no longer had the tattoos. After he’d discovered that he didn’t heal, but scarred, he’d sliced them off with a hot knife. Now, where they had once been there were scars. Athena didn’t seem to mind. That was all that really mattered.

The moment he met a coherent vampire face to face was probably the moment it had all started going south. He’d discovered that not all vampires were feral or rabid. There were those who we rethinking, rational beings, and yet he was training to kill them. The whole notion of vampires was still so new and disconcerting that the knowledge threw Cosimo off balance. He fucked up. He got caught. The rest, as they say, was history.

He was ostracised, bereft, homeless, and suffering. Until he had been adopted, taken under the wing of one of the vampires he’d been taught to hate. Elizabeth. How long had it been since he’d seen her? He was on his way now to the Catacombs, where he would search out more pieces to use to forge more weaponry. He’d started to sell it on the Auctions rather than keep them for a family who had their own operations, and their own forges. Their own ways of gaining what they needed. Cosimo had been so attached, so determined to please Elizabeth in all things, but lately he’d been forcing himself to try to gain some distance. He tried not to go back to the Tower too often; he never did see her there anymore. And he only ever heard from her when he was the one who called her, or summoned her, or expressed a wish to see her.

The woman was busy, he told himself. She had a husband and a family to take care of, as well as her other political affiliates. And yet, he didn’t think it did him much good to pine for his sire’s company; he did not think she would appreciate being bothered so often. And so he had stopped, and had taken a step back. He spent the rest of his time with Athena. At least when he was with her, all thought of his sire was banished.

Tonight, however, Athena was at work. And Cosimo had worked so hard to learn how to forge his own swords, that it was the only way he knew how to preoccupy himself. The catacombs were his haunt when not at home. At least he could sell what he created; he could sell them cheaply, to young vampires who might not have someone to help them, like he had.

His boots sloshes through a puddle of water; it wasn’t too far to the entrance and he normally could get there without running into trouble. At least, these days, he could take on the hunters in the sewers. He wasn’t too weak or inexperienced to best them. Which was why he walked with something bordering on a swagger of confidence.

When he rounded the corner, however, it was not a hunter that he ran into. It was a vampire. Wild – about as rabid as the vampires in the Quarantine Zone, but different. Cosimo didn’t think to harm it, until it lunged at him as he tried to pass. As if it would attack anything that moved. A flurry of Italian curse words crawled from Cosimo’s throat as he hastily drew his weapons. He slammed against the wall to steady himself as he aimed his gun, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He fired. And he missed.

The wild vampire retaliated – bullets flew, and though Cosimo felt one lodge into his shoulder and another rip through his jacket to graze at his upper arm, he didn’t stop, nor did he give up. He’d been forced to drop his gun, but lunged forward to wrestle the other vampire to the ground; in a moment of utter frenzy, the vampire began to scream and write, its skin bubbling and blistering as it burned. Cosimo was unsure what he had just done. Was that him? Had he done that? He didn’t have the time to stop and think about it. The vampire was up on its feet again, lunging and slashing with a sword. Cosimo flailed backwards, the blade narrowly missing his face several times before he ducked and rolled, unsheathing his own blade.

They danced and tarried for a few long minutes before Cosimo gained the upper hand; first a plunge in the heart, next a slash across the chest, and finally a hack at the head. Blood spurted from the fallen vampire, the face now unrecognisable. The body slumped to the ground before dispersing into ash, and Cosimo was left panting, staring.

What the **** just happened?

[Foster (DELETED 8013)]

Vampires were real. The fact left a filthy taste in her mouth, as if she were spreading lies and propaganda. But no. Foster knew the truth, just as the paladin and sorcerer had known the truth, just as the vampire that’d cursed her had known the truth. It was really happening. She was really a vampire hunter. And more than that, she couldn’t turn back. As she lifted the cover over the Wickbridge entrance to the sewers, Foster tried to rationalize the last week of her life. The last seven days were the last days of normalcy, or they were the beginnings of her decline.

When she met Scott, the vampire that thrust her into the underbelly of Harper Rock, Foster had been just another student celebrating a small break from uni. She’d been home visiting her grandparents. But then she’d allowed her friends to shove her into speed dating, and then she met a man that charmed the pants off of her, quite literally. And where did it go from there? Where did it go, Foster? It went downhill, sending her spiraling into a wormhole that led directly toward the path of a paladin. The transition happened so quickly that it made her head spin. She’d gone from studying for her master’s degree to being burned alive, and then she’d killed two people.

Distracted by her thoughts, Foster slipped on the wet bricks of the sewer floor and flew backwards. Her fingers brushed along the slick bricks lining the walls, but she couldn’t get a good grip. She fell onto her back, landing with a dull thud and a splash of water. Her jeans and t-shirt were soaked straight through, along with the ends of her hair. She looked and smelled like a drowned rat, but she didn’t really care. She had no one to impress. Her grandparents were out of town, and she was a vampire hunter. She was a paladin, skulking through the sewers. She looked, and felt, like a homeless person.

“I can’t believe this,” she hissed, turning over onto her hands and knees. She slid once more and almost face-planted, but she caught herself. When she got back to her feet, she made sure to take better care and pay attention to her footing. “I can’t believe this.” Even though she didn’t mean to, she began to cry. The sewers seemed like a perfect place to reevaluate her life, and she concluded that she didn’t have much of it left.

Vampires were real. Vampire hunters were real. And she was dying. No, she wasn’t dying. The paladin had been lying to her, just as the sorcerer had been lying to her. Foster just refused to believe that she only had thirty days left. She hadn’t done everything she wanted to do. She had so many things left to accomplish. Foster wanted to get her degree, get a good job, get renovations done on her grandparents’ house--the list went on and on. But she was dying. The little voice at the back of her head whispered to her, reminding her and haunting her. Fadebeasts were real.

Vampires frequented a few places, as she’d learned, or as she assumed. Vampires preferred darker areas, areas away from human traffic. She went into the sewers to travel to the quarantine zone, but she happened upon quite a few faces. She suspected some of them were vampires, so she made she to hurry along. She kept her head low and kept her steps sure, as if she belonged there just as much as they did, but she saw one gaunt face that stood out amongst the others. When she locked eyes with the man, she knew that it was too late. The vampire, for she was certain it was a vampire, identified its prey, and Foster identified her target.

People didn’t run from certain wild animals. When people ran, the animals gave chase. As soon as Foster broke eye contact, she turned and ran. Her sneakers made larger splashes and the water that hadn’t broken through the sides of the shoes spilled over the tops and soaked her socks. The noise she made left an auditory trail for the vampire to follow, but she knew. She knew the reaction her movement caused, and she led the vampire further away from groups of people, luring the creature into one of the other darkened tunnels.

Foster looked over her shoulder every few steps, but she couldn’t see anything. She had to rely on her ears, and it made things much harder. She could barely hear over the splashes her own footsteps created. Faced with the option of three different directions, Foster came to a grinding halt. She slid a little, not expecting such a sudden end to her hurried footsteps, and she looked down the three tunnels as if she were looking at the world’s hardest puzzle. Her lungs burning, her heart pounding out of her chest, Foster whipped back around to face the tunnel she’d only just escaped. And there was the vampire, smiling at her. The sick expression on its face made Foster think that the man was actually going to eat her, but she reminded herself that vampires weren’t the sort to eat humans. Of course they weren’t. They weren’t lions.

She wasted no time drawing her sword, and the vampire followed suit. She rushed forward, her motions slightly slower than his, and he countered her quick jab. The two continued in their vicious dance, but he clearly had the upper hand with his sword skills. It was only when Foster slashed with her sword and then followed with a punch that things changed. The strength behind her fist broke the man’s nose, and she pulled back her sword and impaled the vampire. She repeated the action several times, and then she beheaded the man. The severed head landed in the water with a splash and then rolled over onto its side. Foster should have been alarmed, or at least sick to her stomach, but she wasn’t. He wasn’t her first kill, and the city was probably overrun with the same bastards, the same self-entitled vampires destroying people’s lives.

As she stared at the headless body, Foster slid her sword back into the sheath and swung it onto her back. One hand resting on her stomach, she chose the left tunnel and continued on straight. While she expected a smooth transition to the sewer grate of the quarantine zone, she got something else. She stumbled across a man battling the same sort of creature she’d just encountered. His creature had dispersed, and she was left wondering if some just didn’t disperse, if some just remained as empty vessels.

“Are you one of them?” Foster reached for her sword, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

If Cosimo could keep himself awake as the sun came up, there were certain things that might have kept him awake. Even so, when the sun went down, and if he found himself alone in his apartment – even if Athena was sleeping beside him – he’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the things that he was capable of. Where did his loyalties lie? What was his purpose?

Once, he’d been a Paladin. Once, he’d hunted vampires. He hadn’t been very successful. Now that he was a vampire, he had been forced to kill hunters. He’d been forced to kill Paladins that he recognised – men and women who did not see him for who he had once been, but instead saw him only as the monster he had become. A monster that had to be killed, no questions asked. How could they not see that nothing changed when a person was turned? They were given immortality; they were given more power. They grew stronger with time, and he could admit that sometimes that power might go to one’s head. But, mostly, they remained who they were, unless circumstance dictated otherwise. And yet, no one wanted to hear it. There was a moment, there, that Cosimo had tried to track them down on purpose. He’d been vindictive. And yet it hadn’t lasted long. He avoided the sewers as much as he could so he didn’t have to come face to face with his own humanity, or lack thereof.

Now, here he was. A vampire who’d just killed another vampire. It was self-defence. But who had that vampire once been, and how had they become so vicious and rabid? Did they attack anyone? Why had they attacked him? The catacombs were easier. The ancients were far too decrepit and disintegrated for Cosimo to think there could be any semblance of a soul left to pity. The mooncalves were just monstrosities. It was easier to train there, where he could also find the parts that he needed to forge.

That’s where his loyalties lay, right? With Elizabeth, and helping the family. And yet, he soon realised that he did not care much for the ‘family’. He did not know them. Myk, yes. He cared about Myk. There were a couple of others he had met whom he could care for, given time – Astrid, Bella – but he’d not had the opportunity. They’d slipped away, just as he could feel himself slipping. It wasn’t something that he’d rationalised. His loyalty was to Athena, but even she could be distant, sometimes.

A sharp voice brought him out of his spiralling thoughts.

A woman, reaching for her sword, looking like she’d had a hell of a night down here in the sewers. Cosimo straightened, his own sword still gripped tightly in his hand. It was not hard to recognise that the girl was human; in this small space, the beat of her heart almost echoed. Cosimo cleared his throat, eyes moving from her sword to her face. He really didn’t want to have to fight anyone else tonight, but maybe he wouldn’t have a choice.

”Scusa. I do not understand the question…” he said, buying himself time. If she elaborated, maybe he’d have a better idea of her intentions.

[Foster (DELETED 8013)]

His accent only increased her level of suspicion. She wondered if he were faking the accent in some attempt to throw her off his trail, but he would have been silly to try such a tactic. A deep frown on her face, Foster slowly pulled the sword from its sheath and lowered her arm to her side. The top portion of the sword dipped into the water and connected with the stone floor, but she could have easily jerked her arm upward and lashed out at him. She had to be on guard. The option of thirty days seemed much more appealing than instant death. Foster reminded herself of that whenever she felt a sneaking suspicion that she’d stumbled upon a vampire. Although, she’d only just begun to explore the path of a paladin. She had so much left to learn, and she meant to absorb as much as possible before she reached that thirty-day mark.

“Don’t play stupid with me,” she sighed, her aching shoulders slumped. Lifting her free hand, she motioned to the spot where the vampire had once been. “I saw you. I’m asking you if I cut your head off, are you going to turn to ash?”

The paladin that had taken her under his wing had warned her that some vampires didn’t give off any sort of outward signs. Sometimes, they looked like normal humans. When vampires were able to blend in, he warned, they weren’t the sort she needed to fight. He advised her to stick to easier prey, at least until she mastered her abilities. But Foster had her own mission. “If you won’t answer the question, then I’m assuming you are,” she warned. Her little addition came out stronger and louder, as if she were trying to intimidate him into revealing the truth.

Foster didn’t want to hurt an innocent human, but they were standing in the sewers. She doubted he was a human out for a stroll in the sewers. Lips pursed, she eyed him over. The darkness in the sewers really hurt her senses, especially her sight, so she couldn’t get much of a view of him. She made out his general profile, and he didn’t seem like a vampire. But what did a vampire seem like? A vampire seemed like a bloodthirsty monster, one hellbent on offsetting the balance of things. Foster had to admit to herself that she had a personal vendetta, but she justified her thirst for vengeance by saying it was all for others. She did what she did to keep others safe.

With a roll of her wrist, she brought her sword up and tightened her hold on the blade’s grip. The material groaned under the applied pressure, and she gritted her teeth. She hated that sound. Wet material against wet material. But she had to be ready. That was her thing. Be ready for anything, Foster. That had been one of the last teachings she’d ever received, right before she killed her teacher. For all she knew, the man standing before her was just another monster, the worst of the worst. He probably slaughtered babies and kicked puppies. Again, for all she knew. Foster was grasping at straws, since, at first meeting, he hadn't rushed at her and he hadn't done anything to hurt her.

[Cosimo Alessi (DELETED 6612)]

‹Cosimo Alessi› Cosimo stood there like a stunned fish, mouth gaping, opening and closing with indecision. Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but much, much worse. He was trying to figure out what this woman was. Who was she? And why was she asking such questions? He was torn between yes and no. Between pride and cowardice. Between strength and weakness. The grip on his sword tightened; drops of blood had got between his skin and the marked metal of the hilt. It was drying, and sticky.

“I am,” he said, though he held his free hand up as if to stop whatever might happen next. His fingers were long, yet dirty, one brow quirked as he subtly bowed – just a small movement of his body. Defensive, almost. “But I have killed another, see? We are not all the same,” he said, gesturing with spread fingers to the ash scattered and bleeding into the puddles of the sewerage.


‹Foster› Foster snorted, the sound echoing off the slick bricks of the sewer walls. As she shifted on her feet, the woman heard the squishing sound emitted by the wet material of her socks and shoes. If they fought, she knew she had a major disadvantage: One, she was tired from her last battle; two, she was slower in her movements, thanks to her shoes. Yet she still had a tight grip on her sword, as if she’d dismiss her disadvantages and charge right to her own death. If it meant the possibility of killing another of those bastards, then she meant to take the chance!

“You’re all the same. Ruining lives. Killing the innocent. Destroying families. Don’t think for five seconds that your innocent accent is going to save you, ********. I know it’s fake!” Foster took a quick step forward and struck the tip of her blade across the sewer wall. The connection sent a fast bit of sparks that lit up the area, and then nothing. She’d seen a glimpse of his face and she found him just as innocent as his voice sounded. “You look like a mom and pop kind of person,” she spat, disgusted with his appearance. “Come at me already!”


‹Cosimo Alessi› “I am not faking it!” he said, aghast. Out of everything that she said, it should not have been the crack at his accent that he took the most offense from. As she approached, the sparks very briefly lighting up the area, Cosimo took one quick step backward. It was involuntary. After he had done it, he was ashamed enough to stop and straighten his shoulders. To stand his ground.

“I will not come at you,” he said. “Not unless you come at me, first,” he said. He realised, again, how childish he sounded. He cleared his throat and contemplated putting his sword away, just to show this woman how serious he was. How much he did not want to attack; that she could do what she liked. “I used to be one of you,” he said. He went for assumptions, just like she did. She assumed that he was a monster, so he would assume the worst, too. “A hunter. This is something that I chose only because if I stayed on the streets through Winter I would have died. It was the next best alternative. I was persuaded. Because we are not all monsters, see,” he said.

But, he knew that this could be a losing argument. He knew how it was drummed into them. He knew how persuasive the hunters could be. And he was also aware how monstrous vampires could be. ”Per favour, I was a victim, once,” he said. As if that would explain everything.


‹Foster› Hunter. That’s exactly what she considered herself, what she was. Foster didn’t lower her weapon, but she relaxed her muscles; she watched him with such an intensity that she was surprised he didn’t burst into flames! He’d backed down, in a way, and she already felt triumphant. Her sword cried for his blood, but she never expected to attack someone she was having a conversation with, let alone someone that had called her out for what she was--she was a hunter. More accurately, Foster was a paladin.

“Oh you were?” Foster laughed, a dark chuckle that surprised even her. “So you’re a traitor to the cause then? The one who recruited me briefly mentioned hunters that betrayed their brothers and sisters. If you were a hunter, you should have chosen death rather than turning into a bloodthirsty monster. You’re pathetic!” Foster expected him to raise his blade, but she remained as she was. There was a cocky way in which she stood, as if she expected to swing at him and then send a fist straight into his jaw.

“What kind of a vampire doesn’t want to fight?” The expression on her face clearly communicated her confusion. She waited for him to attack. She wanted him to charge at her. He just wasn’t the braindead prey she’d just encountered. As if in warning, she swung her blade at him. It was only to remind him that she had a weapon, that she was capable.


‹Cosimo Alessi› Cosimo’s reaction was swift and instinctive. As soon as the blade swung toward him, his own blade lifted to block it. Metal clashed against metal, the clang ricocheting off the grimy brick walls, echoing down the halls of the sewers. Cosimo didn’t ever consider himself a traitor; he’d never really known what he was doing. He was just going where the wind took carried him, until it carried him to a dead end and he had to figure out a way to find his way back. And yet he hadn’t gone back. He’d found a rabbit hole, had crawled inside, and was now lost. A laugh cracked from his throat and he shook his head.

“I was a man of little choice,” he said. “I had no choice,” he rephrased. “If I wanted a place to stay, to eat. Something to do…” he said. He’d always been a man searching for a cause. He always wanted something to devote himself to, which was probably why he was so attached to his sire. But even that was a dead end. It was not a cause that gave him any satisfaction, and a person must have satisfaction of his own, too.

“I choose life. I would not choose to die. This is not death. It is just a different kind of life,” he said. “If we were all as monstrous as you think that we are, there would be no humans left in this city,” he said. He was trying to crack through the walls. How long had she been subject to the preaching? How many months or years’ worth of bad opinion did he have to get through? The exit was behind him, somewhere. If he continued to lead them that way – well, he wasn’t afraid to run.


‹Foster› As much as she wanted him to draw his blade, Foster never expected him to--well, to move so quickly and block so swiftly. The way she stared him down was meant to dissuade him, but her looks did nothing. He didn’t strike out at her, as she’d anticipated, so she just stood there, looking at where there blades had connected and where he stood. He was acting like a fool. He should have fought her, attempted to eliminate her, or at least run away. Instead, he kept talking to her. There they stood, him trying to convince her of something and her trying to lure him into a fight.
“There isn’t another ending for me. I choose to go out with a bang,” she grinned, as if she’d suddenly accepted her fate. She’d only just cried over the fact that her death loomed over her. There was no doubt in her mind. Foster couldn’t reveal too much of her situation or she’d end up with a sword through her belly and a swifter death than she could imagine. In fact, she shouldn’t have been given the opportunity to be a hunter. Opportunity, as if she’d been given exactly what she wanted.

“You just have to preserve your food supply and stretch it out for as long as possible. It’s not mercy, and it’s not about being good or being inherently good. It’s just smart hunting,” she defended, still clinging to her ideals. It was easy to imagine vampires as monsters, given the fact that her first encounter had been a mess. “I can track you. I’ll just kill you when you least expect it.” It was another attempt to bait him into a fight, one that didn’t make her feel as if she were suddenly attacking some regular guy on the street.


‹Cosimo Alessi› Cosimo peered at the woman. He could see her in the dark. Light filtered down through the grates in the streets above. It was dim light; not much to see by, but there were perks to the vampiric existence. He could see with perfect clarity. There was a vicious intent in the woman’s words; she was not just some fanatic persuaded into a cause. No, he realised there had to have been something else. There had to have been some reason. Some encounter. Cosimo’s mouth twisted into a frown. Hadn’t they all suffered enough? Did anyone in this damnable city have any luck at all?

“I have suffered at the hand of both vampires and of hunters. I do not know what has happened to you that you are this way. I will not suggest tracking me. I will not suggest tracking any vampire. We have safe places. We have traps. You will die, before you can get close enough to hurt,” he said, shaking his head. The hunters could, of course, take on the wild things in the sewers. They could take on the ferals in the Quarantine Zone. They could take on the young and the weak. The lost. There were plenty of those.

But those who fought, who trained, who honed their abilities and fostered the power that they were given, over time – they were the dangerous ones. He swallowed. “… you are on a… a missione suicida?” he asked, tentatively. “You want to kill yourself?” Blunt. But to the point. He took yet another step backward.


‹Foster› There were vampires in the open. She knew of vampires in public places, in areas that were public and yet were away from prying eyes. Her mentor had the chance to attack in one of those places. She remembered well. The warning was as plain as day, but the confusion was just as evident. What the hell was the guy’s problem? First they were going to fight, and then they ended up having a rather pleasant, and all around informative, conversation. Foster just lowered her blade and stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“I don’t have to kill myself. I’m dying,” she said. “Are you crazy? Is that why we’re having this conversation right now? No, you aren’t a fighter. Christ. Let me find the one vampire that chooses to talk rather than fight. Now what am I supposed to do?” Fostered lifted her free hand and ran her fingers through her brown hair, tugging lightly on the locks. According to her mentor, vampires always chose to fight, especially when cornered, yet the man took steps backward. Was he luring her into a trap, feigning some type of concern?

“Is this a trap?” As if he would answer the question honestly. Foster just sheathed her sword, leaving the blade on her back, and looked over the man’s shoulder. The confidence, yet again, surfaced. If it came to hand-to-hand, she knew she was smaller and that gave her some type of advantage, plus she had a gun. He just wasn’t a fighter. She reassured herself. She relied on her judgment, just as told. He’d moved away, so she moved forward, initiating a little dance.

[Foster (DELETED 8013)]

‹Cosimo Alessi› “I am a fighter,” he said, squaring his shoulders once more. As if to prove his point, the blade twirled in his grasp. A sword that he himself had made. It wasn’t the best it could be yet, but he was working on it. He was getting better every night. “I just choose to not fight you he said. She had come at him with her blade, but she hadn’t been pushy about it. More like she was pushing a button to see what would happen, but she hadn’t continued with her attack. It had been a spurt, a tarry. A testing of the waters.

“I fight to defend myself, and I fight the things that are no longer alive,” he said. His head cocked toward the catacombs, where the ancients and the mooncalves resided. “I do not live to fight, nor do I think a fighter is defined by his… fighting,” he said. Sometimes, when trying to wax lyrical, Cosimo lost his grasp on the Italian to English translation. It came out garbled, sometimes a little nonsensical. Or entirely too simple.

Seeing as the huntress had sheathed her sword, Cosimo followed suit. It was a silent, unspoken agreement. And if she chose to attack him, she would see how quick he could be. And anyway, he was distracted by her admission; by the fact that she was dying. “What has been done to you?” he asked. A personal question. Maybe he would make her angry; he tended to do that, when asking personal questions. When asking about the wellbeing of strangers, he tended to bleed. But he had not yet learned his lesson.

‹Foster› With the way that he spoke, he was like an herbivore amongst carnivores. He fought the zombies, the ferals, and the mooncalves; he fought the things that went bump in the night. He said he was a fighter, but he put his blade away, just as she'd put her blade away. Their weapons were gone, but they still stood there, he with his squared shoulders and she with her shrewd stare. He said fighters weren't defined by their fighting, but that made no sense to her. Fighters fought. Fighters were defined as those who fought. Whether he meant to be philosophical or not, he'd lost her.

They only met on the same page when he asked her such a personal question. No one else had bothered to ask, not really. Foster could have been paranoid. She could have dug through his question and made something insane out of the fresh dirt; instead, she took his question at face value. Before she'd met him, she'd been crying her eyes out, tromping through the damp sewers. After they parted, she might return to the same. "I met you." She let the words hang there for a minute before she finally clarified. "I met a vampire playing human, and when things got tough, he left me for dead."

Foster had never admitted such things aloud. She'd sworn off any possibility of including friends or family in her mess, so she had no one. In fact, since Scott and her mentor, she hadn't really spoken to anyone else, unless a few words with restaurant workers and librarians counted. "It's stereotypical, isn't it? Meet a girl stupid enough to give a vampire a chance and boom! Suddenly, you're dying, and he's nowhere to be found. All the same," she frowned, "and each one is a little worse than the last. Feral. Wild. Bloodthirsty. Or maybe they're like you, Chuck. Smart, funny, put together. More dangerous than the others, because you know how important it is to blend in. You travel amongst the sheep in their clothing."

‹Cosimo Alessi› Cosimo couldn’t really believe his ears; the argument, in his opinion, was flimsy, regardless of whether this woman’s hurt was real. The entire wasn’t there, but Cosimo got the gist. Some vampire had left her out in the cold after doing something to her that only a vampire could do - at this point, he looked her up and down and saw that she looked healthy enough, so how was she dying? - and death was a big deal. It was a little worse than a one night stand, or a cheat. Still, Cosimo couldn’t help but defend himself. More so, because she wasn’t accusing him of being like every other man, but like every other monster.

“I agree, that many are feral and wild and bloodthirsty. I… have seen how the darkness, it brings the worst out in people, and they split. They become Hyde, more than they are Jekyll, si?” he said. Though, he had only met a few who seemed that way. Others - his own sire, for example - had only ever been kind.

“Not all men are cheats and liars. Not all vampires are monsters,” he clarified. “It is unfair to think that all are bad because you have had a bad experience, si? I am sorry for your circumstance. But there is nothing that can be done? You are… dying?” he asked, tentatively. An attempt to figure out what had gone wrong. Maybe she hadn’t talked to the right people, and maybe there was an easy solution that was not yet aware of. It might have been stupid to ask. Death isn’t small, and usually those who are dying will do all that they could to avoid it. Still, he asked his questions.

‹Foster› He was unconvincing, at first, and she felt herself closing off. She could imagine some mental barrier rising up between the two of them, as if they’d ever shared any common ground. The moment he mentioned Jekyll and Hyde, she got a look on her face. Her nose wrinkled. Her eyes narrowed. She looked disgusted, but her look was meant to convey both her confusion and her irritation. Why had he gone to such a topic in order to explain himself? “Jekyll and Hyde,” she repeated, the words almost foreign. He moved on from there, connecting each line of thought, but he left her at the beginning, just hanging on that example. Blaming the darkness. Explaining it away. Perhaps they were both wrong?

“I don’t think it’s unfair,” she said. “I don’t think it’s unfair at all. Furthermore, I don’t think it’s right for you to try and, to try and minimize this. Yes, I’m dying. No, I don’t think there’s anything that can be done. My mentor told me that the only option is death. I have a month, and the clock is ticking. That’s it.”

She hadn’t missed the way he looked her over. He was probably trying to find signs of a physical ailment, when her story had only just begun. It wasn’t like she was showing. At least, she didn’t think she was. Frowning, Foster looked down at her stomach to find that it was relatively the same. “Any other choice is disgraceful. It’s not to say I’m not afraid. It’s also not to say I’m admitting I’m terrified. It is what it is.” Oh yes, she was terrified.

‹Cosimo Alessi› How could Cosimo argue with that? The woman had clearly made up her mind; it was an opinion that couldn’t be swayed, and like every other woman in this god-forsaken city, he assumed that the more he tried to help the more angry he would make them. It was as if there was some unspoken law against helping strangers, one that Cosimo hadn’t been filled in on during any of his many inductions into this city - back when he was human, nor after he was turned.

“We will agree to disagree,” he said. Diplomatic. When people were unreasonable, it was a waste of breath to argue with them. Cosimo had learned this. He squared his shoulders, unaware of the concerned frown that creased the centre of his brow.

“I can assume that I know what choices you find to be disgraceful. I will disagree with you on that, too. Any life is better than death. But you will believe me a monster, it does not matter what I say to convince you otherwise. Any condolences or help that I offer will not be welcome. Are we going to stand here all night?” he asked. It had become clear that this woman had a vendetta against vampire-kind; she had her reasons. The choices, Cosimo concluded, were few. They could either agree to part amicably, and each go their separate ways; or she would try to kill him.

Of course, he would prefer the former. But women - they were unpredictable. And, he mused, increasingly unreasonable.

‹Foster› Foster wondered the same. Were they going to stand there, going back and forth, arguing the same exact point? They disagreed. He wasn’t a disgrace; transitioning to a vampire wasn’t a disgrace. But Foster stood there, her expression one of determination. After everything that he said, he couldn’t sway her. Her mentor had stressed the importance of not being swayed, of the fact that there were vampires that could easily penetrate her mind. With a passing thought, she wondered if he had the ability. He’d failed, if so. Foster made sure that he failed.

“We both have better things to do,” she replied. She hadn’t missed a beat, despite the fact that his words had spurred her own thoughts. “You want to agree to disagree? Fine. I can go with that. I’m right though.” The last three words were added underneath her breath, and she cast a quick look to the side, as if sharing the secret with an imaginary friend.

Her shoes made a squishing sound as she shifted on her feet, and then she took a step backwards. He was polite. He was patient. Foster wasn’t turning her back to him. It seemed silly, but rules were rules, and training was training. “If we’re done here.” Another step. The farther she moved, the more she felt like she was leaving her only connection to the world. She’d spoken to no one else. No one else knew as much as he knew. She had no one. No, she’d had some conversation with a vampire. Foster didn’t even properly introduce herself.

‹Cosimo Alessi› Death was no small matter. It was a be all and end all. Cosimo had never been dead, but he hadn’t heard great things - and what was it like for a human? Where did they go? Did they go anywhere, or did they just end up in some dark limbo, wandering, lost souls held together only by their lament, and existing only as fodder for vampires and their magic?

Cosimo had been stuck, because he hadn’t wanted to fight this woman. He didn’t want to have to draw his blade, and nor did he want to have to kill her out of self-defense. He never much liked slaughtering the hunters, but when there was no other choice - kill or be killed - it was a necessity. Sometimes, he let his anger get the better of him. These people, some he’d recognised, some he used to call friends - and if not friends, acquaintances - had attacked without a second thought. None had stopped to talk to him like this woman had. Was she even a hunter, or just a normal person on the hunt for revenge? Her own kind of hunter, in a way.

It was a relief when she started to back away. It was a relief when she gave Cosimo his freedom. And yet, there was a strong urge to follow. It manifested in a tiny step forward, before he paused again. A slight scuff of his boot against the ash-strewn ground.

“My name is Cosimo--” he said, before he cut himself off. He had to remind himself, severely, that he couldn’t save everyone. It wasn’t possible. So he stopped, hands shoved into his pockets, and shook his head. “We are done here.”

Yes, he was letting her go and giving her the freedom to make her own choices - even if he believed they were the wrong ones.

‹Foster› Cosimo. What a weird name. Foster considered ignoring him, simply pretending that she hadn’t heard his attempt at further exchanges, but she decided, in the end, to reply. He’d identified himself, and she’d always remember the name. She was good with names. And the accent. She’d never forget that fake accent. As for the face, Foster couldn’t make out much about him in the dark. He probably saw her. He’d remember her. The advantages were with him. She knew that. But still, she told herself. He was, and yet he wasn’t, a monster; he was, and yet he wasn’t, a barbarian. Clicking her tongue, she stopped her retreat.

“People call me Foster,” she replied. Foster wasn’t her first name, but it was the truth. That was what she wanted to be called, and that was all he needed to know. “When we meet each other again, Cosimo,” she began, “I’m not putting my weapon away.”

When had been the keyword. She had every intention of finding him again, no matter how long it took. Because she didn’t like unfinished business, and he’d presented himself as such. More than that, he was a vampire. All of the positives about him paled in comparison to that single flaw, that single large flaw. He was a vampire. Foster hunted vampires. “Goodnight,” she added. Slowly, she pivoted on her heels and began walking away. She turned her back to him, going against what she was taught.