Qui vivra verra [Blaize]

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

Qui vivra verra
SHE WHO LIVES, SHALL SEE.

<Darcy> Eugénie had pursued tertiary education while balancing many part-time jobs for the better part of three years. Sleep and leisure time had both become a luxury she’d taught herself not to want for. The dark circles under her eyes were a fixture to her person, and the angles of her body had only sharpened with every missed meal. Rare were the occasions she got to present herself as she wished, always caught between shifts and assignments with no time for the non-essential. In light of her objective, no sacrifice was too great. Comparing the rough terrain she’d travelled to the remaining steps left in her journey, there was no limit to how much more effort she was willing to exert to get there. Yet, the obstacle that remained wasn’t hers to overcome; it was for someone else to remove.

To keep herself from growing restless as she waited for her fate to be determined, Eugénie threw herself into work. With more time on her hands than she knew what to do with, she went about her tasks at a moderate pace, continuously checking her phone for a reply that was due any day now.



<Blaize> Blaize wasn't dancing tonight. There were other things to focus on, things that he'd been putting off -- but the business would not continue to succeed if its boss and owner didn't do the things that were required of him; there was banking that needed to be processed and pays that needed to be made. On the desk beside him was spread the time sheets for the limited few who worked for him, adding up the hours and applying the generous wage he'd allowed them. Bills also needed to be paid, and some phone calls were required to chase up the men he had out on the streets, sourcing and selling the less than savory items that Blaize had available for purchase. One of his employees was outside still, and perhaps, after she went home, then he would throw himself into his new routine, the choreography he'd recently concocted.

Office work was dull, and it wasn’t nearly distracting enough. Thirst clawed at the dancer’s insides, screaming for satisfaction. At least when he was dancing, the need abated. When he was fully focused on something that was his passion, everything else faded away. Now? That thirst was beginning to take its toll, encouraging him to work faster.



<Darcy> For many minutes she remained eerily still, gaze focused on the phone screen. There was no way to describe what she felt. Slowly, she began to unravel.

Act I: Denial — “No, no. No, no, no, no, no.” It wasn’t possible. It was surely a mistake. How? How could she fail when she’d worked so hard? How dare they take this victory away from her? How could they do such a thing? “No. No, no. NO!” The phone was thrown across the room, shattering much like her dreams were in this very second. The broomstick slipped from her hands.

Act II: Anger — Eugénie turn on her heel, hands gripping the bar for support as her lungs refused to fill. How could they? Her knuckles whitened, the pads of her fingers aching. No matter how much she wanted to bend the wood, her grip wasn’t powerful enough. Stepping away, she tried to control herself. Her hands balled into fists, and before she could consider the consequences, she slammed them both into the mirror.



<Blaize> The continued repetition of the word ‘no’ in varying degrees of vehemence of course clutched at Blaize’s attention. His stared out of the office door, which opened up onto the studio – the one that had suffered all kinds of puddles due to the severe storm several nights prior, and the saturated people coming and going. He couldn’t see anything from where he sat but the windows that looked out onto the University quad. In the reflection of said windows he could see the blonde; the way she stared at her phone, the way she threw said phone and eventually slammed her fists into the floor-to-ceiling mirror. From where he sat he could hear the crack and, seconds later, the sonorous sound of the heavy glass falling to the floor. At least the mirror was panelled, and she hadn’t inadvertently taken out the entire wall.

With his lips pressed into a thin line, Blaize stood and went to the office door. He couldn’t say he’d had much to do with Darcy – he barely had anything to do with any of his employees beyond Laura, who then managed everyone else. She was the one who had interviewed Darcy. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Should I dock that from your pay?” he asked, clearly displeased.



<Darcy> Eugénie jumped away from the mirror as it shattered to her feet. Her hands ached, the pale skin scored to the bone at her knuckles. Trembling fingers became slick with blood as she tested her joints, splaying them in mid-air. It didn’t occur to her yet that she’d be in trouble for vandalising private property. So often she held herself back from acting upon her impulses, that the cathartic effect was hypnotic.

Glancing up at the adjacent mirrors, she saw no one. There was seldom anyone else here at this hour, and for once she desperately wished for the voice to be in her head. Occasionally Laura would be on her way out as Eugénie walked in, but this was a man’s voice — one she didn’t particularly recognise. Turning on her heel, a shallow breath caught in her chest. That was... the owner, was it not? Uselessly covering her knuckles with the other bloody hand, she dared not move. “I’m very sorry. I— I have no excuse.”



<Blaize> He’d kept in the shadow of the office door to try to minimize the effect of no reflection in the mirrors. At the sight of the life-giving crimson, however, he found himself subconsciously moving forward, trademark frown creasing his brow. There was a voice in his head telling him that he was surging forward to help, to offer cover for the blood, something to staunch the bleeding. But he had nothing. He had no towel nor bandage, and the clothes on his back stayed right where they were.

And then there was the scent, drifting to him across the room. The scent of sustenance, of that thing which he had denied himself for… how long had it been now? A week? Longer? The red was so vibrant and stark against Darcy’s white knuckles and Blaize… well, he couldn’t resist. No matter what he tried to tell his own limbs to do, they would not cooperate. Darcy was apologising and if Blaize were of his right mind he would have responded with some tart quip. Instead, he said nothing.

Instead, he grabbed at her hand and lifted it to his mouth, tongue catching a stray rivulet of blood as it tried to escape over the edge of Darcy’s thumb. His lips, where they closed over the wound, did nothing to staunch the bleeding. No, instead – as he tried to pull more blood from the gash as it was willing to give – he only made it worse.



<Darcy> There was an imperceptible shift in the air that only her reptilian brain caught onto. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, but Eugénie didn’t move. She had nowhere to go. It wouldn’t be the first time she felt cornered while a man approached her, but logic muted her instinct. The evidence of her crime was scattered about her, and he surely was only approaching to investigate the extent of the damage she’d caused.

When it became evident that it was not his intent, the blonde took a step back. The glass shards crunched under her shifting weight. Startled, Eugénie’s initial response was stuttered. Her eyebrows arched and eyes widened. What kind of pervert was he? “What are—No, stop!” It hurt when his mouth enclosed her thumb, and she reacted accordingly, attempting to pull her hand free from his grasp. Her opposite hand gripped his throat, pushing against cold skin. Gaze darting to the side, in search of help, she stumbled into the wooden bar as she witnessed herself prey to a man with no reflection.



<Blaize> This was the exact reason why Blaize knew he shouldn’t deprive himself – and yet, with each passing night, telling himself ‘you have to do something about this’ he kept putting it off. And putting it off. Until it was too late. The thirst had a hold on him and instinct took over. Mystic power came into play – a muffled, muted wall came up around the pair, a magical barrier that stopped anyone from looking, from seeing what was going on within the studio should they happen to peer through the studio windows.

The vampire knew that the wounded hand wasn’t going to give him enough blood – not quick enough, anyway. As Darcy tried to push him off, the more savage he got, the more he used his strength to try stop her from struggling. As she yanked her hand free he let it go, but his bright eyes landed upon a shard of mirror that hadn’t yet fallen to the ground. He dug it from the wall and, without precursor, without warning, he used the sharp edge to slash mercilessly at Darcy’s throat.

Guilt curdled in his gut, slow to rise, slow to fight back against the thirst he had deprived for so long. The shard was dropped, to collect, smeared with blood, among the other shards of mirror on the ground – none of which reflected his movements. Artery now open to his ravenous hunger, his lips found Darcy’s throat, wrapping his arms around her not reassuringly, but simply to keep her from getting free.



<Darcy> Eugénie hadn’t been living under a rock, but with little time to spare and a million places to be, she seldom glanced at news headlines or found herself at the wrong place at the wrong time. From the occasional small talk with her classmates and colleagues she’d heard of someone who’d seen or heard of someone else. She knew vampires existed, but the reality in which they did felt so very removed from her own. Any illusion of distance or immunity came crashing down, and unlike the mirror, could never be pieced together.

One did not survive as Eugénie did without learning about struggle. No matter how unfair or rigged the fight may be, she wasn’t going to accept defeat until her spirit broke. Life, man, vampire, monster… No one took from her what she was unwilling to give.

A high-pitched scream ripped through her, muted to the world around them. Pain flared along her throat as he cut into her. No sooner had he done so did she felt the blood drain from her head and extremities. Not unlike having an extraction for testing, her body reacted poorly to the directional shift in her bloodstream. Suddenly dizzy, Eugénie went limp in his crushing grasp, bloodied hands barely pushing against his torso.



<Blaize> The scream was enough to give the vampire pause, but not a long pause. It was enough to spark the beginning of regret, though his tongue was quick to lap at the wound, to push the blood from the flesh, blunt teeth digging into tender skin if only to afford a bigger mouthful. A growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat, breath cold as it flared from his nostrils, Adam’s Apple dancing, frenzied, as he gulped down the hot blood.

That Darcy stopped struggling failed to register, that her body was limp and he was taking far more than the requisite pint that could be lost without fatality -- he was far too thirsty, deprived for far too long, needful of all that one body could offer.

It was only as the thirst started to abate, now having gained its fill, that the regret and guilt reared their heads, late to the party, too weak to have stopped a thing. Blood dropped from his lips over his chin as he let go and reared back, hopeful that Darcy was fine, that she would have the strength to stand on her own two feet.

[Blaize]

<Darcy> The existence of vampires had not shaken her belief in death’s definitiveness. As far as Eugénie was concerned, nothing lay in wait for her beyond this. That didn’t make her fate any easier to accept. The darkness closing in on her blurred field of vision was far from reassuring. She felt diminished and helpless in its wake, unable to fight the steady scatter of her conscience. When had she ever given up without a fight? When had she ever given up?

A surge of panic brought a moment’s clarity. It led her to pain, the ache along her throat not yet subsided. Her grip on the assailant tightened, but there was no force left in her fingers with which to hold on. Heavy hands fell to her sides as she was relinquished. Whatever ‘in-between’ he had drawn her into, time and space did not exist in this place. Neither did she, it would seem.

Her ransacked body swayed, and she staggered sideways, unable to grasp the bar for support. Her limbs existed beyond the reach of her mind. Eugénie didn’t feel the impact. Perhaps this was why they called it the void.



<Blaize> If he had been of sounder state of mind, Blaize might have caught the collapsing body. Instead, he watched as one might a train wreck outside of a window through which he could not pass. It was an out of body experience, watching as if he were only a witness and this was not a thing-that-he-had-done.

He had killed only once before. A nameless man. A man whose name he had never learned, and he had no idea what had happened to the body, either. He’d consoled himself because he had not meant to -- it was not due to a feeding gone wrong. It was an elbow to the chin when the young vampire had been unaware of his own strength. The man was thief and who knows what else he’d had on his mind when he’d preyed upon Alice? He was a bad man. His death was not a tragedy.

Darcy, however, as little as Blaize knew about her, was not a bad person. Not that he knew. She was an innocent who’d apologised for the damage she’d done, who was merely working for money to survive. And now she was on the floor of the studio, her blood making a bigger mess than any puddle of water. Blaize turned away, rubbing at his face with his hands, scrubbing the blood from his fingers onto his shirt, hoping that the whole situation would go away.

But it did not.

When he turned back around, she was still there; he could hear the staggering beat of her heart, barely clinging to life. This was not like Aleksandra, who’d been in a similar situation but not by Blaize’s hand. This was not like Breno. This was something that he had done. Something that only he could try to fix -- or something that he would have to live with.

The severity hit him like a steam train and he had no time to think about how good he felt, now that he had fed. He was down on the ground, knowing that he would be rightly hated (or feared, or both) but that he had to try.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words feeling empty, hollow. Useless.

He’d reached into his pocket and his phone was in his hand. He could call the ambulance. But then what? He’d be taken for murder. For attempted murder. They knew about vampires, now. If she lived to tell them about it -- would she remember? Was it worth the risk? He deserved it… but if they didn’t make it. She’d be dead. The phone slipped from his fingers. The shards of mirror ripped through his jeans and dug into his thighs as he sat, and dragged the prone body into his lap. He had one arm around her waist, bowed over her as he waited for the decision to solidify, as if waiting for something to happen that would make the decision for him.



<Darcy> Eugénie was suspended in a lacunar plane between everything and nothing. Darkness lapped at her cognition like tranquil waves on a shore, taking with it fragments of her being. What horrific punishment was this, to be aware of one’s decline with no power to stop it? If this was death, then she did not want it.

She had never put much thought into how her life would end, but these weren’t her terms. A hard life had taught her that fairness was elusive and for the privileged few, but this was beyond unfair. This was completely unmerited. Surely she had not done sufficient wrong in her life to warrant a slow, painful death such as this.

Then again, only a believer would measure up their life to a moral code. If there was one lesson she was taking to the grave it was that one had to fight for what one wanted. And so, Eugénie resisted. She filled her lungs with a deep, ragged breath that did her more harm than good. Coughing set off every nerve pained by the glass buried in her skin. Her features contorted, the second act repeating: anger — this time at her forced idleness and aggressor — surfaced in the form of a mumbled, French insult.



<Blaize> It would have been easy enough to blame Darcy. She was the one who’d broken the mirror with a clean fist, who’d made herself bleed. She was the one who’d done so -- even if unknowingly -- in the company of a hungry vampire. Before the excuses even had a chance to surface, however, Blaize knew that they would not stand. They were the flimsy excuses of someone not wanting to take credit for their own mistakes, wanting to foist the blame on to someone else.

He knew, now, that he would not be docking Darcy’s pay. If she lived he’d never mention the mirror again.

The last thing he expected was to be insulted. Although Blaize couldn’t claim to be fluent in French, he knew the swearwords. And he knew that Darcy had done just that. He’d almost have laughed if he could summon an ounce of mirth -- a hard thing to summon on an ordinary day for the too-focused Swan.

“Say it again with feeling,” he muttered instead. He grabbed one of the shards at his side and was tempted to give it to her, to tell her to stab him back. Eye for an eye, and all that. But to then expect her to take his blood like he’d taken hers, well. That would be a bit much to ask. So instead he used the sharp edge of the mirror to draw a jagged line into his own skin, slicing open the vein at his wrist. The wound oozed, blood that was not pushed by a frantic heart.

“...if you want to live,” he said, holding the wound close to Darcy’s lips, raising a knee so that she could half sit up.



<Darcy> Eugénie groaned hollowly at his taunt. There was little left in her to reiterate her feelings towards him. Opening her eyes was a feat in and of itself. Squinting unhappily, she scowled in his general direction. Three versions of him hovered unsteadily above her, and her half-lidded gaze sluggishly darted from one to the other.

Darkness played tricks on her sight once again. It wasn’t as unwelcome this time given the dizziness the world caused. When numbness blanketed her aching body, her features steadily relaxed. Though the sudden shift in position had her eyes widening and mouth contorting in pain. A thready hiss incurred another coughing fit, forcing the air from her lungs.

Her airways felt like a dusty old house, simultaneously dry and humid. It hurt to swallow, but she did so anyway. Perhaps the air would slide down with greater ease if she did. Eugénie didn’t fully comprehend what she was doing, her mind dysfunctional due to the loss of blood. The concussion didn’t help. Whatever he’d offered was respite from the rasp, and she took without further prompting. It was cold and tasted metallic, but it went down smoothly. The discomfort in her chest abated as she drank, but her need for breath forced her off his wrist in due time.

Peering through heavy lashes, Eugénie realised what was happening only once his wrist hovered bloodily in the periphery of her sight. It was beyond her comprehension what had just transpired, but something deep down understood. There would be consequences to what he’d just made her do, she simply didn’t know what they’d be. For months now she had heard the stories, but they were buried deep, deep in her subconscious. Whatever this was, it was perverted and sick. What kind of murderer was he, feeding her blood?

This was not how things would end. Somehow, Eugénie was capable of swinging her arm upwards. Her hand, still marred in her own blood, dug a substantial size of glass into his cheek -- hard. Pain rippled up her fingers and down her forearm as the edge cut further into her skin on impact, but she hoped he had it just as bad.



<Blaize> It seemed far too easy. Although he’d offered a bleeding wrist he didn’t expect that she would take it so readily. Even if vampires were common knowledge now, the ordinary person wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to drink the blood of the undead. And he hadn’t thought it through, either. He couldn’t just fix her up and brush her off and send her on her way. It didn’t work like that. The blood had healing properties, yes, but only after it had taken the life from its consumer, first. She was going to be changed, forever. And there was a good chance he’d not see her again, either. Why would she want to stick around to play buddy buddy with her murderer.

It felt wrong, having the blood taken rather than given. It wasn’t something that Blaize took pleasure in, but it was a necessary evil. But it didn’t last long. Or it could have lasted half an hour and Blaize wouldn’t have noticed. He was too busy thinking about what would happen next.

But it was a night of surprises, and Blaize couldn’t have truly foreseen the slash that he had, not long ago, considered suggesting to Darcy. The reflective glass made contact with a sharp, flawless cheek -- it may have been awkward, a clumsy attempt at an attack but the vampire was pinned and luck, at least a small ounce of it, was on Darcy’s side. Skin peeled back as the mirror slashed downward, pressing into porcelain skin until it ‘popped’ and the jagged edge penetrated through to the gum. The reaction was delayed until the pain registered, and Blaize shouted, hand slapped to his cheek and wrenching the shard from Darcy’s grasp. He threw it across the room. It wasn’t as if he’d deprived her of possible weapons. But it felt good. He slipped out from beneath her, pushing himself to his feet as he put distance between himself and, for lack of a better word, his victim.



<Darcy> Eugénie’s perception of time continued to falter... Simultaneously fleeting and viscid, the seconds both evaporated and dragged on. Something moved from beneath her, and much like fireworks, pain burst and ebbed across her body in response to the shift. If asked, she couldn’t have specified where it hurt. She couldn’t even feel the edges of herself, darkness and numbness robbing from her any sense of self. Whatever whole she’d once constituted was now nothing more but feebly connect fragments.

Staring past the ceiling into the stream of mismatched memories and tangled thoughts, her breathing grew shallower by the minute. It wasn’t a quick death, by any means, but with little cognition left to recognise such a fact, it didn’t matter. Eventually, marked only by the tightening of her features in response to the pain, her heart cramped.

The room grew quiet as her heart and breathing stopped. Soon enough, the vampire blood coated her insides, weaving through her corpse in preparation of her spirit’s return. The only sign of its return was her head rolling to its side to face the mirror, where her reflection had disappeared.

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

<Blaize> The distance provided them both a reprieve. Darcy was clearly a little pissed off at the vampire who decided to turn her into a meal, to kill her, to turn her in order to assuage his own guilt. And the vampire was concerned about the consequences; would it work? Or would her body reject the blood? It hadn’t happened yet, that any of his childer had naturally rejected the turn. But there was always still the anxiety, the possibility. And the stronger possibility that the the change would take, and she would loathe him for it.

Space was definitely required.

The jagged breath of relief as Darcy’s reflection in the mirror slowly faded was… well, not exactly relief. He was overjoyed, of course, that she had not died, that he did not have a body that he would have to try to take care of. Especially when said body belonged to a woman who would be missed. Mainly, he was happy that she had not succumbed to a permanent death.

The dancer paced to the door and made sure it was locked, pulling the blinds on the windows. He would wait for Darcy to wake, to be lucid before he decided what to do next. Taking her back to his place -- a stranger’s home -- could only make things worse. Eventually he stopped moving and slid down one of the mirrors, taking a seat close, but still at a distance, from his newest progeny.



<Darcy> Eugénie became conscious long before her wounds had weaved themselves shut.

For many moments she lay in silent stillness, simply being. She could feel the glass shards pressing into her hairline. There was tension there too, the dried blood twisting and pulling on her ashen strands. Tentatively, she craned her neck, surprised by both her mobility and the lack of pain it caused.

Her gaze focused on the intimate space between her and the wall. Whatever darkness had clouded her vision earlier was nowhere to be seen. Instead, everything her eyes settled on was pristinely defined. Everything except for her reflection in the unmarred mirror before her.

The empty studio room was all she could see reflected.

Frowning, Eugénie propped herself up. The tug on her bloodied hair drew a hiss from her lips, and she reached back to detangle whatever knot caused it. Shards of glass fell from her messy mane, drawing her attention to the chaos that surrounded her. The harmonics in this place really amplified the sound.

Blood—now dry—caught her attention. Brow furrowing further, her hand dropped from her head to the stained floorboards. Her sleeve was covered in it, stained a deep red that clashed with the light grey fabric. What in the world had happened? What had she done? What had been done to her?

Reaching for her neck, Eugénie’s eyes widened. Her brain refused to supply any context, but she knew there was meant to be something on her throat instead of tender skin. She turned her attention to the room. It was impossible to miss the man with no reflection: there, seated, bloodied. The man who’d…

...what had he done exactly?

“You—”



<Blaize> The Swan didn’t move when Darcy moved. Preoccupied with assessing her own body, her own injuries, he didn’t want to startle her with an y sudden movements. He winced when the glass crunched beneath her; he should have at least tried to shift her from the mess. An afterthought, and nothing to be done about it now.

It was understandable that she might be a little confused. Blaize considered his options. He could lie, couldn’t he? But her confusion might not last long. She’d call him out on his lie.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. Repeated the apology that she might not recall he had uttered before. She was near dead. Why would she recall anything he’d said?

“Your first lesson, I suppose. A lesson to us both. Don’t deprive yourself of blood,” he said with a wince. It could have been a joke. Maybe it had started as a joke. It certainly hadn’t been delivered that way.



<Darcy> Her mind supplied an incomplete picture: the broken glass, the spilled blood, the hand still grasping her neck--cold to the touch. The taste of blood on her lips which did not match the smell around her. Somehow, she could perceive that.

Eugénie lifted her hand from her throat to her face, tongue darting to lick the tip of her index finger. Different taste too. The latter far more pleasant than she’d expected. In fact, she wanted more. More. It was this wild thought that brought together the pieces of this bizarre puzzle. If blood was what she craved, then there was no doubt about what she had become.

“Vampire,” she asserted. A glance at the empty mirror, where her reflection should be, confirmed the fact. The mechanism for such a transformation evaded her, but the proof of what she was was irrefutable. Like him, she had no reflection and craved blood. Her gaze narrowed as it settled on her assailant and creator, the blood on the side of his jaw and collar of his shirt making her gnash.

“All this—” Eugénie gestured around herself and to him “—to teach me a lesson? Why?”



<Blaize> Vampire, she said, and it was like a jolt to Blaize’s system. He straightened, infinitesimally, but it was there – a twitch that pulled him to attention. It was accompanied by a sharp intake of breath and a curt nod. Yes, that’s what he was, love it or hate it. Nothing that could be changed, now. For him, or for her. He watched every twinge, every tiny little movement of her expression, the tone of her voice, the flicker of her eyes. Her jaw was tense. She was not happy. No, of course she wasn’t. Not given a choice like Blaize had been, not saved from inevitable death like Aleksandra – she had every right to be unhappy.

“It’s a lesson by consequence, not one I initiated on purpose,” he said, sharply. “Deprivation leads to loss of control. Your death is your first lesson. Don’t deprive yourself, unless you want to kill,” he said. Guilt clawed at him like a rabid wolf in his chest but his face was passive, his eyes clear. Cold and empty.



<Darcy> Eugénie hadn’t gotten a proper look at him earlier; he’d moved too fast for her to get the chance to. Now, she watched him like a hawk would its prey. If only she’d been able to see then what she saw now, none of this would have happened.

Caught in a very uncomfortable mess of emotions, the fledgling chose her words with care.
Her lips pursed as she relaxed her jaw, tongue swirling about her mouth.

“What if I do lose control?”

Eugénie tugged on the loosened hairband. The struggle had unraveled most of her braid, and the blood was hard comb through with her fingers. Habit had her glancing back at her reflection, only for her to realise, yet again, she no longer had one. Her frown deepened.



<Blaize> “There are those that enjoy it," he said, watching Darcy as closely as she watched him. "I don't, particularly. I could apologise -- and I do apologise -- but it won't mean anything. In the end, if you lose control and take someone's life your apology isn't going to mean much. It won't just be your thirst. You won't know your own strength, to begin with," he said. He pushed his fingers through his hair and gracefully unfolded, climbing to his feet. "You lose control, you ..." he sighed, his hands on his hips. "... can call me, if you want to ever see me again.”



<Darcy> It was said that mimicry was a sign of interest, but Eugénie followed in his footsteps to even the playing field. In the process, she took stock of her body, startled by her command of it. The vampire spoke of strength, and she couldn’t deny it to be true. He spoke of death, but never had she felt so alive.

“I don’t even know your name.”



<Blaize> The unasked query went unanswered, and instead Blaize smiled. “Eugénie Darcy," he said. He'd mentioned her only the night before, and while doing the paperwork had, out of curiosity, only just double-checked the woman's name. 'Janitor' seemed like the wrong title for one who looked like she could walk a runway, if given the choice.

"Blaize Monroe," he said, a hand to his chest. As if the name could be applied to anyone but him. If he could see the blood still smeared on his chin, he might have done something about it. As it was, he tried to ignore whatever state he was in. Darcy's state would be worse. Or better? Blaize couldn't figure out, anymore, where she stood.



<Darcy> Blaize Monroe. Yes, she vaguely remembered now hearing that name in passing upon landing the job. The students too had spoken of him. However, she’d never met him. Any and all interaction she’d had with the studio was always handled by Laura. Never had she paid much mind to the details regarding ownership or reputation. Up until very recently, her studies and visa application to America had been the only foci in her life.
She was only here to work the required hours in exchange for the agreed-upon salary.

Eugènie scanned him from toe to head. Were it not for the bright head of peroxide hair, he would’ve gone unnoticed had ever crossed paths with him in the streets. Perhaps they had; she wouldn’t know. Arching a brow at him, she wondered if he knew what he looked like. The denim he sported was bloodied, his hair uncoiffed. It was with difficulty that she resisted looking at the mirror to check her own state. There was no doubt in her mind that her attire would draw attention should she leave like this. The jacket she’d brought with her wasn’t long enough to mask the mess.

It’d take time for her to come to grips with the turn her life had taken in just a matter of a few hours. Her lease was up in ten days, the bulk of her belongings sold or given away, and now she had to reevaluate not only her plans for the future, but learn all about this lifestyle that’d been thrust upon her. It became obvious to her that the latter would take precedence, for there was a feeling she simply couldn’t shake.

“ I’m… hungry? No. Thirsty? I do not know what this feeling is, but it does not go away.”



<Blaize> Thirst, yes. Whatever had been on Blaize’s mind regarding the way Darcy gave him the once over was banished with an involuntary flinch. Thirst. It’s what had got them both into this mess. An urge that Blaize had satisfied only to have blood taken from him again. Though, he’d wager he took more than he gave back. For now, control was regained and thirst would no longer dictate his actions. He’d learned his lesson. For now. Maybe.

“Of course, yes,” he said, regaining his composure. “You ah… there’s blood. You can’t really go out like that,” he said. He took a step closer, then another. He was peering closely at Darcy’s mouth, now – if she was thirsty, there should be evidence of it. Canines. Fangs. Whatever they wanted to call them. Those that Blaize lacked.

“I’d suggest blood packs,” he said. “Easier…”



<Darcy> “Blood packs?” The unfamiliarity of the words thickened her accent. Her brow furrowed at the concept. Surely he wasn’t suggesting—

“What are blood packs?” There was a moment’s pause as she realised he was getting closer. Experience had taught her to keep him at a distance, and so she took an involuntary step back. The glass crunched loudly beneath her soles as her weight shifted.

“And I have no other clothes.”

[Blaize]

<Blaize> When Darcy took a step backward, Blaize stopped. He deserved that. A sigh huffed from his nose and he nodded. "Blood packs. They can be bought on the black market, sourced from hospitals, I suppose," he said. It's why he didn't like them. He didn't like taking blood of any kind. Even from animals -- he'd been vegetarian as a human. And he didn't like to steal blood from those that needed it. But he would share none of this with Darcy. She needed to survive, and if she was not plagued by guilt then she'd have a far better chance. "Then we can take you home, get you some clean clothes. Can you last that long?" he asked. He could have suggested that she go alone, that he meet her somewhere. But if she lost control on the way... he would be responsible for that. And he wouldn't allow it.



<Darcy> Eugènie had not spared the vampire race much thought until now. The knowledge about them she had was limited and secondhand. Her interest in the supernatural genre was lacking, and she only knew what she currently was experiencing. Did her ignorance put her at a disadvantage? How much of what she had heard about vampires was true, anyway?

“I don’t know...?”

How was she supposed to answer that? If Blaize had been capable of answering that question himself, would he have put her through any of this? Eugénie frowned, glancing down at her body. She tentatively brushed away the glass clinging to her sleeves. Her casual flick of the wrist elicited a ripple within as the bloodied fabric shifted, amplifying the scent.

“This is not good.”



<Blaize> Blaize was a doer. He didn’t like standing around, indecisive. He felt like clapping his hands and telling Darcy ‘chop chop, get a move on’. At least he had sense enough to know that would be insensitive, and he had to school his patience. “That’s why I’ll come with you,” he said. She didn’t know if she could last, and Blaize was willing to take the lead. He wanted to approach, to pull up her sleeve, to turn her hand around and show her knuckles that were no doubt healing. But she’d already shown she was wary of him, so he stayed put, he stayed still.

“Check your wounds. They’re healing. It’s not good, no, for many reasons but it’s not all bad either. I know it’s not something you might have chosen but it is what it is. I can help you. You can take it or you can leave it. We can move, now, and do something about your thirst or we can stand around deliberating while it gets worse,” he said, tone sharp.


<Darcy> Eugènie’s did as she was told, though there was a part of her which already knew it to be true. The skin at her throat had felt raw when she’d touched it, but unbroken. Her bloodied knuckles weren’t sore, but the scabs were a reminder of what the skin had sustained. Her body was healing, and because of that it required blood. More.

“You may have saved my life, but that does not make it yours to direct,” she snapped back, glancing up to meet his eye. Her tone matched his, if not a little sharper. If he thought himself at liberty to command her, he was in for a drawn-out battle he would not win.


More.

Power dynamics and resentment would have to wait. Pursing her lips, Eugénie took stock of the mess around them. Blood, broken mirror, destroyed phone, discarded broomstick — and it was her job to clean it all up. Begrudgingly, she accepted her fault. If she’d controlled her temper, then there would have been no blood for him to react to. If she’d had controlled her temper… Just the thought of what hed set her off the first time was beginning to make her blood boil. If anything, the anger only worsened her bloodlust.

“And this? It can wait?” She asked, jutting her chin at the studio.



<Blaize> Blaize was calm, and he remained calm. Even when she snapped back – he knew she was right, and he wasn’t trying to direct her, so much as advise her. He didn’t fuel her temper, didn’t snap back. There was no reason to. And anyway, she seemed to calm. Blaize’s gaze didn’t shift from Darcy as she motioned to the mess. “It can wait,” he said with a nod. He had the keys. No one would need to use the studio until 7am the next day. They had most of the night to kill. They could go out and come back.

“I didn’t save your life. I took it,” he said. He didn’t know why he said it, except that it cooked his guilt to think that she might regard him as any kind of saviour. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the door to the locker room, to wherever she might have kept her things.



<Darcy> Eugénie worked well under pressure, knew little of life without stress. There was a part of her itching to get this done and dusted now rather than later, but she knew too well how long it’d take to truly finish the work. If he said it could wait, then who was she say the contrary? It was his establishment after all. Lifting her hands placatingly, she turned on her heel and walked away.

When the fledgling walked into the locker room, she anticipated her reflection in the mirror as it’d always been. For some reason, she expected it to reveal itself now that she was alone. When it did not, she turned her attention the faucet and attempted to wash off the blood on her face, throat, and hands.

Eugénie shrugged on her canvas jacket as she returned to the crime scene.
It was impossible to ignore the mess, but she flexed her fingers and did her best to anyway.

“You have a car, no?”



<Blaize> Blaize wasn’t a fan of mess but he was able to ignore it when there were more concerning matters at hand. Darcy disappeared and Blaize watched the empty doorway for five seconds before her turned from it, turned from where she might witness him, and scrubbed at his face with his hands. His eyes stared, wide, at the ceiling. He had some idea of what he was doing, and what was required of him. What he felt like doing was jumping into the lake so he could scream silently underwater.

Given that was not possible, not right now, he scolded himself. Told himself to regain composure and get on with it. Given time, the guilt would subside. And only he could do what he needed to assuage it.

“I have a car,” he said when Darcy returned, as calm as before. He was not aware that the blood had spilled, that his collar was stained with it. Though, he could just remove the top later; underneath was a long black shirt. The outfit would be incomplete, but his vanity could take a back seat for the night.

Outside, the car was parked on the curb; an old red Skoda that had probably seen better days, but which still worked, and was sturdy. Blaize was not a fan of waste and saw no need in replacing the reliable machine. “You’ll have to tell me where to go,” he said, flicking off the lights by the front door and waiting for Darcy to exit before he would lock the door behind her.



<Darcy> “I live on the other side of the landfill.”

Just between Stag Heath and Coastside, Eugénie wanted to add, but she presumed he’d know where she meant. It was not a pleasant place to live. During her first year she’d been robbed at gunpoint half a dozen times. Since, she’d learned to overcome the fear and avoid trouble. Someone as busy as her had little time to worry about the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

Despite their lack of relationship, the blood -- his blood -- that flowed through her somehow made him less of a stranger. Perhaps it was innate familiarity -- what existed of him in her recognised him, and in turn, lowered her defences. Or perhaps she was simply too tired to undertake this alone. It’d been a long day, and it would be a long night, too.

“A very... European car...” she asserted interestedly, walking around the front of said vehicle. It was… It both suited him and fell short of her expectations. “Mine was red also, but it was a Fiat Uno.”



<Blaize> Blaize nodded. “Not too far, then,” he said. Just down the road, really. It wasn’t as if she lived on the other side of town, cutting down her commute to work. He realised he didn’t know all too much about Darcy, though it wasn’t a grand realisation. He barely knew anything about anyone. The interest just wasn’t there.

“Yeah, the car belonged to my mother. Hand-me-down. It still runs perfectly and there’s no point replacing what’s not broke, so,” he shrugged, unlocking the driver’s door and getting in, reaching across to unlock the passenger side. And, true to his word, when he turned the ignition the car sprung to life. No stutters or revs, no pollution. He waited for Darcy to get in before putting on his seatbelt.

“Are we seriously talking about cars right now…?” he asked, glancing sideways.



<Darcy> Eugénie’s hands felt empty. Her fingers furled and unfurled at her sides as she waited for the door to be unlocked. It was only as she slipped into the passenger’s seat that she realised what it was she was missing. Her phone was practically an extension of her, a constant source of timetables, calculations, emails, reminders, music. Reaching for the seatbelt, she glanced around the car before looking at Blaize.

“What would—”

From here she could really see the blood. Distractedly, she turned her attention to the windshield. “—you prefer to talk about?”


<Blaize> “Surely you have questions,” Blaize said. Now that Darcy was settled, he peeled away from the curb and headed down the road that led to the exit of the vast University campus.

“Questions or… I don’t know. Anger,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road rather than chancing another glance sideways. He’d just… unless she didn’t remember, still. Surely, that must be the case? How long would the reprieve last until it all came back to her, clear as day? As soon as they were out on the main road, he pushed the car a little faster. If they got where they needed to go and did what they needed to do as fast as they could, all the better.


<Darcy> Darcy glanced out the passenger’s window as she considered his words, mouth pursed. Questions... It was difficult to know where to start when one knew absolutely nothing, or next to nothing, about the context. She’d never been one to waste time on inapplicable theories, nor was she interested in contemplating the improbable, and until tonight, that’s exactly what vampires were: absurd. Now, she was one of them, evidenced by the thirst she couldn’t shake, and the lack of reflection reconfirmed by the empty car side mirror.

“I don’t know anything about vampires. I never was interested,” she explained, glancing towards the towering traffic light. The colours were spectacular, the once solid red now an array of smaller red fragments, each corresponding to a different wavelength. Blinking slowly to adjust her vision, she realised what it was she was seeing for the very first time. Infrared: an entire new spectrum.

“Everything looks very different. I have enhanced vision, no? What else has changed?”

[Blaize]

<Blaize> “Everything,” Blaize responded. He was smirking, guilt beginning to take a back seat. It was a good thing, that Darcy’s first experience of vampirism was a positive one. At least, he assumed that her observation of heightened senses was a good thing.

“Enhanced vision, smell, hearing, touch. You will be far stronger, your stamina greater. You’ll be capable of so much more, too, the longer you’re a vampire,” he said. Should he tell her all about Paths now, or leave it until a later time? Would it be too much to take in? He’d stopped at the red, light, his eyes ahead, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

“We’re all different,” he said instead. “But we’ll deal with the basics first, learn as we go,” he said. Even he wasn’t sure of all the different paths and what they were capable of. If he didn’t have answers, he would ask Lyonel. The traffic light turned green, and the car eased forward. They were well on their way. “Deal with … the gruesome bits first, then move on to the good.”

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

Eugénie had always experienced the world concretely. Adjusting to vampirism would be a trying experience considering it threatened everything she understood to be. Scratching idly at the dry skin around her thumbnail, she sought comfort in Blaize’s promise of baby steps. She wondered what more and different entailed, not liking the relative nature of the words given the absence of something to compare it to. Surely everything would be more and different when measured up to the human experience she’d had up until now… Nevermind, it was best to focus on the immediate.  

Her eyes continued to wander, and the ridges along her skin felt more prominent the longer she touched them. Her brow furrowed as she glance at the driver, pursed lips parting to question him further. “The gruesome… the blood? You do not enjoy it, no? Do many vampires struggle with the morality of their existence?”  

This thirst she felt... Eugénie doubted she’d feel anything but relief in quenching it, no matter the cost.

[Blaize]

The dancer’s brows furrowed. This thing that had happened--it was a secret, wasn’t it? It was something he’d shared briefly with Aleksandra and avoided talking about otherwise. It was something he had kept from Lyonel, though he was certain that Lyonel must know. Must. Right? It was a weakness that Blaize refused to admit to, and yet here was Darcy. Asking him the question as if it were the most normal thing in the world, laying it bare.

“As far as I’m aware the guilt is rare,” he said, tone terse. He didn’t want to talk about it. But he supposed it was a necessity. How had he got around this topic with the others? He’d been vague, he’d said everyone reacted differently. He cleared his throat. “There’s… you don’t have to kill to get what you need, so there’s really no need to feel moral pressure,” he said. His fingers tightened their grip upon the steering wheel, whiter than white.

“There are blood bags, too. But they’re stolen from the hospital, right? I doubt they’d be given willingly…” he said, trying to justify the reasons why he’d let himself get so damned deprived.

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

Blaize looked uneasy, but she didn’t relent. Her curiosity trumped his comfort; he owed her answers. She watched him for a few moments before facing the passenger’s window. The world was captivating as it sped past them. No edges blurred as her mind was capable of registering everything that flew by, no matter how poorly lit or distant.

Eugénie filled her lungs, and paused. She released the air, feeling nothing but the rasp of it through her nostrils. She inhaled and exhaled again, this time through her mouth. The scent of the car didn’t translate to her taste buds, and yet, she could almost taste the dried blood — her own — on his clothes. Seconds passed without another breath as she savoured the bloodlust. Deoxygenated, she did not feel the capillaries in her head begin to swell or her chest begin to hurt. From her understanding, vampires needn’t breathe, but to remain conscious without the familiar discomfort was a novel sensation.

Yet, to speak, vocal chords necessitated air.

The killer filled her lungs, piecing together her thoughts as she shifted her attention away from the physical experience. She mulled over his words for a beat, attempting to understand their nonsensical nature. It seemed counterproductive to fight what one was... How long had been this? Why was he like this? Though she anticipated a struggle of her own in regards to her transformation, she couldn’t empathise with Blaize.

It wasn’t natural for her to thirst for human blood, but that was what vampires did and a vampire was what she now was. Eugénie felt little remorse about the prospect of taking from others, just as she felt little resentment towards him for having done what was in his nature. Whatever insult she initially felt had since ebbed, the new reality before her too engaging for a grudge to carry over. The anger towards him had simply been misplaced - she should have been more careful, should have paid attention, shouldn't have allowed herself to ever be in that situation. But now that it had all transpired? To what avail was it to hang onto those thoughts?

Perhaps for Blaize’s guilt to be assuaged and not shadow the remainder of their conversation, she should, as much as she could, let him off the hook as they said in English.

“Blehze, I don’t feel anger. I don’t feel much at all really. I was shocked in beginning, evidently, but to feel guilt over this is bull-cheet. You did not kill me -- you changed me. That is redemption, no? If for--uh, forgiven-ness you need, forgiven-ness you have. You sound like vegetarian who ate good steak then finding out it is with baby cow. Why are try to be vegetarian vampire when no tofu option?” 

[Blaize]

Redemption. The word sounded wrong. Redemption was tied to God and the Devil, to sin and damnation and forgiveness. It wasn’t redemption that he needed, at least that’s what he thought until his grip relaxed upon the steering wheel and a whisper of unneeded air was released from his lungs. It wasn’t often that he got a free pass from his ‘victims’. Normally they screamed bloody murder at him. Death wasn’t generally an outcome.

With that out of the way, Blaize could clam up again, close all the doors and lock them tight. Darcy was a victim of his weakness, she was his weakness was. There was no hiding that. But there was no reason to dwell on it, either.

”What you choose to do is what you choose to do,” he said. The urge was resisted to wipe his mouth on his shoulder, to rub at the blood that may or may not still be staining his skin. Self-control. It was a challenge, and he wouldn’t fail again. He instead focused on the goal at hand. He’d been the one to suggest that she needed clean clothes to go out, assuming that they would be going to a pub or a club so that she could find a living blood bag. Clearly he had not been thinking straight. Why go to the trouble of getting clean clothes when there was every chance she would get them dirty again? The first feed could be a messy affair.

It took half a second for the thought to enter his mind and change his goals. The wheel was wrenched to the left and a park secured on the side of the street. The sudden change in direction was induced by the sighting of a singular human meandering on his own, headed who knew where. The street was quiet.

”If you don’t want to be a ‘vegetarian’, this is your chance,” he said, unclicking his seatbelt and stepping from the car.

[Darcy (DELETED 9675)]

Eugénie wondered how a vegetarian could teach an omnivore to hunt. Experience was the greatest of teachers, and if one shied away from that experience, then whatever lessons it had to offer would go unlearned.

Then again, he’d made quick work of her.

Pushing the car door open, the fledgling took in their surroundings. She recognised this place, had walked through here many times, but never at this hour. Perhaps that was how she’d been spared any interaction with vampires. Never at the wrong place in the wrong time, always locked up somewhere, working, studying, or juggling both at once.

That human, however, was tempting fate.

Glancing downwards at herself as she stepped around the front of the car, Eugénie pulled on the lapels of her jacket. It’d have been easier to gauge what she looked like with a reflection. The vampire had to assume that her quick clean up had not erased the evidence of her struggle, and that her appearance wouldn’t be easy on the eyes.

Just as well the human was walking away from them, his back turned.
For the time being, their presence wasn’t taken note of.

Before Darcy crossed the road and begun her approach, she needed to know:

“Always from ze zroat?”
Th, her mind hissed, causing her expression to harden.
“—the throat?”