† WARPATH [INVITE] †
Posted: 24 Sep 2017, 21:07
S A W Y E R
I can’t do this without him.
Goddamnit, Ephraim. **** you.
Raking her fingers through her hair, she tried to untangle the mess of chocolate as they knotted around her knuckles, though it was to no avail. She tried to tell herself that it was the sharp pull against her scalp that brought the fresh wave of tears to her eyes, but she knew that it was a ******* lie. As much as she hated showing that sign of weakness, of wearing it against her pale skin for all to see, she couldn’t control it. The tears had long since stained her cheeks, and it didn’t matter how often she brushed her hands against her cheeks, the tracks against her flesh remained. It wasn’t as if she had gone into this blind or uneducated. She knew the dangers, and she had known that one of them would fall.
She had just always thought it’d be her.
It made sense. She was weaker of the two. Her body hadn’t been able to withstand the damage she had done to it before she had met him. She was uncontrolled, wild. So, how the **** was she the one still standing? It was fucked up. He should be here. He was the one with the ******* cause. She was no one. Her only reason for ******* being was him. He was fueled with righteousness. She was fueled by hatred. He was everything ******* good – and she was the epitome of wicked. It didn’t matter how long she had sat at the table, her fingers peeling away bits of wood from the surface, he wasn’t coming back. He wouldn’t walk back through that door, toss her that secret smile, and take her to bed.
Slamming her hands against the table, she suddenly shoved her chair back with enough force to send it crashing into the wall. “****!” The single word exploded from her glossed lips with the force of her pain and anger behind it, and within seconds, she heard Jenna’s door open and the sound of her boots echoing off the thin walls as she rushed to the kitchen. “Sawyer! What’s wrong?” The question was simple, and as she met the sorcerer’s eyes, she realized it was her fault. She had taken her from their sanctuary when the assault had happened. She had been the one to lock her up and leave Ephraim to fight them alone. With that thought in her mind, she acted without thinking.
One moment, Jenna had been in front of her, hands reaching to curl around the trembling paladin’s shoulders, and the next, she was across the room, her small form slumping to the floor. “How the **** could you ask that? He’s gone, and you let it ******* happen!” It only took Jenna second to clear her head, and as she scrambled back to her feet, she saw the true culprit to this sudden shift in the paladin. Behind her on the kitchen counter, laying open and empty, was the bottle of tequila that had been tucked beneath her bed – and the metal pill box Ephraim had confiscated the night they had found the girl. “No, no. Sawyer, it’s not like that. He—“ [/color]
Her words were cut off as the paladin brushed past her, the heavy door slamming shut behind her with enough power to rattle the windows and send a few pictures crashing to the floor. “****, this isn’t going to go over well at all. I’m so dead,” the sorcerer hissed as she grabbed her jacket and pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans. Without bothering to lock the door behind her, she rushed into the night after Sawyer, her fingers frantically typing out a warning to Osmund.
[T] Sawyer’s relapsed. It’s my fault. She’s gone. I’m trying to find her now, but she’s on a suicide mission. Keep him contained!
<<E P H R A I M + S T E E L E>>
In truth, he didn’t remember getting there. He didn’t remember much beyond the flash of pain and a darkness that descended upon him in a hurry. Most of the last few nights had been little more than trading pain. He vaguely remembered hiding out in an abandoned penthouse apartment, before they were attacked and he and Sawyer had been separated. That was when he’d landed in the Theater, and that was when he and the vampire had found one another.
Sawyer.
The thought of her brought his eyes open, and the world crashed into him all at once. The pain was immeasurable, almost unbearable if not for the mask of the morphine that had been veiled over the intense agony that coursed through him. Shocking blue eyes drifted lazily to the machine at his side, where he saw blood being pumped into his veins. That was when he realized where he had landed himself. He would have laughed, were he not filled with the agony of his recovery and the worry over Sawyer that ate at him. He tried to sit up, and only managed a pained grunt that ended in his falling back to the bed. He was feeling better every moment, but so slowly that he could only barely notice.
It was then that he heard the old Nokia chirp, and he knew that Osmond was there with him. His presence only made him worry more. If he had expected to wake to anyone, it would have been to Sawyer. He sighed, and through eyes squinted in pain, he turned his gaze to the old sorcerer as he tapped slowly at the ancient phone. “Sawyer?” he asked through a groggy cloud of pain and morphine. The elderly man held up a single finger as the other continued to steadily tap at the solid buttons of the tiny brick of a phone, until he was finished with his text. Finally, steely grey eyes turned to the paladin, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes spreading across his face.
“Jenna. Sawyer is with her, Ephraim. You need to rest. They will be here when Sawyer is feeling better. Jenna is seeing to her as we speak.” The old man was careful to tiptoe around the truth, carefully navigating his way through the information that he knew would only cause the man in front of him distress, would only make his whole situation worse. Healing was a difficult process for the average man. The amount of damage that this man had been able to withstand before he had collapsed absolutely astounded Osmond. The physical prowess of the paladin had surprised him; shocked him, even. It had become clear to him that what Ephraim had become was just another blur of the line between man and monster.
He doubted, however, that the man could see that; that he would understand.
Ephraim’s arm felt like lead, a heavy trunk of a tree attached to the muscle of his shoulder as he lifted his hand to push long strands of sandy blonde hair from his face. He had been cleaned, the wounds he’d sustained were dressed and healing, thought he amount of blood he was still missing left him weak, the potent combination of missing blood and the drugs that helped him deal with the pain that burned at every one of his nerves left him dizzy and unaware of a great portion of his surroundings. He felt sluggish and unfit to properly call himself awake. He had heard the old man, though, and was thankful that the old codger was there to give him news, even if it was slow in coming. At least he knew that Sawyer had made it out alright, and that she was with Jenna.
The sorceress might’ve been tiny, but she was skilled. He was sure that she would have Sawyer right in no time, that she would be safely here, and he could see for himself that she was doing okay. He felt an urge to curse, and suppressed it with a growl beneath his breath. The only reason they were separated at all was because of them. The blood-filching sub-human garbage that had somehow stuck to their boots on their way through the city. He knew about the ability to track his own prey, the way that his own power worked, and it only made sense that the vampire monsters had their own abilities to hunt them down. He should have expected it, and prepared.
He would still be well, and Sawyer would have been fine by now.
Lazily, he let his eyes drift to the clock, then, and gauged the time. He began counting seconds, passing the time until she was there. His hand idly groped for his phone before he remembered that he was in a hospital, and that his things had likely been taken. He frowned, and turned to the old man sitting in the corner of his room. “Osmond, bring me my phone.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the man’s face go so white.
S A W Y E R
For someone so intoxicated, she moves quick, Jenna thought as she hurried down the broken pavement that lined the streets outside of their apartment. They didn’t live in the most beautiful of places, but despite Sawyer’s displeasure – and distrust for the structure – it was home. Jenna knew every shadow, every corner, and every crevice like the back of her hand. There wasn’t a place that the younger woman could hide that she wouldn’t be able to seek her out, which explained why she had nearly stumbled upon the downed brunette.
“Sawyer, please,” she whispered as she reached out, her fingers curling against the nape of her neck. She could feel the sweat that coated her skin, causing her to cringe. It was worse than she thought. She had expected her to spiral – but this, none of them could ever had anticipated this. When she was certain that she wouldn’t run again, she stepped around her and dropped to her knees, her fingers moving to grasp at her frail shoulders.
“He’s not dead, Sawyer. I should have explained that sooner. He’s still alive. Osmund is with him---“
Whatever she had thought to say after that was silenced as the paladin lifted her head, her gaze bright with the heavy dose of drugs pulsing through her system, and as wild as she had ever seen them. She wasn’t highly religious – if anything, she was more on level with the girl she now watched, fear etching across her features – but she swore she saw the devil come to life in her eyes in that moment.
“He’s alive?” It was hard for her to push the words out, her throat aching from the burn of alcohol and swallowed bile. As soon as the words were breathed into the air, the scent of her breath causing the sorcerer to cover her mouth, she lifted herself to her feet. She had left with one direction in mind – to avenge her man – but now, she had to see him. She had to touch him, to know for herself that the ***** wasn’t lying to her. As she stood to her full height, she felt the world shift beneath her, the buildings blurring together as she tossed her hands out, fingers digging into the brick next to her. “****.”
Once she was certain she wouldn’t find herself on her *** again, she made to step around the sorcerer, only to come to a stop when she felt her restraining hand on her chest. “You can’t. Not like this.” Her voice was sharp, and Sawyer heard the conviction within it. She thought to stop her, to keep her away from the one reason she had to exist. It would have been amusing, had it not triggered the demon that lurked within her heart. Without warning, she lifted her hand, damp fingers curling around her slender wrist. She watched the fear enter the blonde’s eyes as she peeled her hand from her chest, the bone cracking beneath her grasp.
[color=A62D4D] “I’m getting really ******* tired of you telling me what to do,” [/color] she growled, the sound so feral, she watched the color drain from her friend’s face. She could only nod as she fought the tears, her broken wrist still captured. She didn’t try to fight her, nor did she move when her hand was suddenly dropped, the sudden throb causing her to cry out. “I’m glad we’re clear.” She didn’t bother to ask for directions as she gave the blonde a wide berth and headed into the city, leaving the woman behind to try and salvage what she could of her massive ****-up. Cradling her arm against her chest, she tucked her phone between her chin and shoulder, Osmund’s number already dialed.
When he picked up, she swallowed the tears and hoped they didn’t reflect in her voice as she watched the woman’s retreat with worry. “I couldn’t control her. She’s on her way, and she – just stay out of her way, old man. That’s all I can offer now. She thought he was dead.”
<<E P H R A I M + S T E E L E>>
If the old man’s face had been white before he had answered the phone, he looked like a living corpse when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. He watched the man’s visible rise and fall from panic, back into his cool, level-headedness as he attempted to navigate another minefield in an already explosive situation. He nodded his head and gave a longsuffering sigh as he turned his back to Ephraim and moved to place a hand against the door of the man’s room. “Just see to it that the pansies make it where they are going. I know they are in good hands, but they are fragile flowers. I don’t want them to get to their rightful owners in poor condition, or it’s going to look bad for our business, understand?”
He paused for a moment, without really listening before he spoke without waiting or really even discerning if there were any words being spoken on the other end of the line. “Good. See to it.” He brooked no argument, his finger tapping the End key, and he turned back to the man in the bed. His face became a smile, then, as he moved to resume his seat. “Sorry about that. Shipment of pansies gone awry. We have to stay on top of these things, or they’ll get out of hand, you know.” He widened his smile as he pocketed his phone, weathered fingers folding together in a bony steeple as he leaned toward the man’s bed. Cloudy eyes that had begun to show their age looked the man over, a sort of sadness filling them as he watched the way the other breathed. Every moment was full of thinly veiled agony.
Ephraim’s cold eyes finally looked away from the old man, unable to see the pity in his gaze. He was incapable of accepting pity, of accepting any form of compassion, really, when it came to this situation. This was what he had come to Harper Rock for. He had known that it would not be easy; that there was a good chance that he wouldn’t walk away from the city alive. That he had only landed in the hospital was lucky, considering the nature of his foe and the injuries that he had sustained. He was baffled that he had come away at all, with any blood to speak of. That much, he was thankful for. He lived to fight another day, and only by the grace of God was he able to consider his situation at all.
He grunted in pain as he lifted himself up, finally, and let his cool gaze move over the room, searching for his things. “That’s fine, Osmond, but you didn’t give me the phone. I’d like to talk to Sawyer.” The old man waved his hand idly as he shook his head. “They took your things, Ephraim. They’re neatly packed in a little box and put away in a locker. They don’t know you like I know you. They fully expected you dead before the night was out. I tried to tell them to leave your things, but they wouldn’t have it. Thought I was trying to steal from you. Most ridiculous thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Absolutely absurd.” He gave a grumble of irritation as he gave the young man a shrug of his tired, stooped shoulders. “She will be here soon enough. It turns out Jenna needs a visit with the doctor. She apparently had a little mishap and broke her wrist. They won’t be too long now, I’m sure.”
He could see Ephraim visibly calm, sinking back into his bed as he gave a light nod, eyes turning away to watch the monitor that they had hooked up to him. It was clear, by the way that he was already moving in the bed, that he would be up and on his feet by the morning. Nothing, it seemed, would hold the man down. He would be back on the streets in a week, Osmond had no doubts.
S A W Y E R
In her state of destruction, she didn’t think twice about stepping into the city alone and unprotected. While she could still feel the weight of the sword against her spine, she knew that it wouldn’t be enough to stop an assault, should they find her. It didn’t bother her, however. In fact, as she stumbled down the beaten path towards the hospital, she welcomed them. Whatever hope she had going into this had been ripped from her when she had woken to the dying light of the day without him at her side. In a few short weeks, he had managed to twist himself into heart, to fill the fissures with a light that she had thought she’d never witness.
That light turning dim, now.
Running her fingers through her dampened curls, she gave a low groan as she felt that familiar twist in her stomach, the one that warned her she was a second from losing her dinner. Of course, she couldn’t remember the last time she had consumed something that didn’t have a alcohol content. When she felt the pressure rise up her chest, she stumbled into the alley at her side and doubled over, one arm pressed to her stomach as the other braced against the garbage bin, her weight forming a dent as she tasted the tequila as it spewed from her lips. With each heave, the darkened liquid splashed against the ground, and by the grace of god, somehow missed the white of her shoes all together. Not that she truly gave a ****.
She didn’t care for material things. The only reason she didn’t want them ruined was because waltzing into the hospital smelling of vomit and alcohol wouldn’t garner her any favor with the nurses. She knew the moment they took one look at her already, they would probably turn her away – and she truly wasn’t prepared to hurt some little old woman just trying to do her job. Like Jenna, her conscience taunted as she lifted herself to her full height and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The scene was all too familiar – except this time, there would be no bearded God to step into the mouth of the alley and whisk her to safety.
This time, she was alone.
Once she was certain she wouldn’t have another episode, she gathered her hair in a loose fist and brought it over her shoulder, the thick strands catching in the light to reflect the tint of purple that remained from the most recent dye attempt. She hated the natural color – but he loved it. He would admire the way the colors shifted in the light, and it was enough for her. Not that she would ever admit such a thing, especially to him. He already looked at her with an emotion she wasn’t ready to put a name to – though, if he meant he’d stay with her, that he wouldn’t let those wretched fucks take her from him, she’d let him do whatever he wanted.
Stepping from the alley, she staggered her way down the sidewalk again, cerulean eyes attempting to make out the blinding lights of the signs to find the bright red that told her she was headed in the right direction. Making it to the corner of Bullwood, she made to step into the street when a shout suddenly broke the silence of the night, the voice feminine and strained – a second before she felt the burn of the bullet as it slammed into her thigh. The echo of the gun echoed off the buildings as she collapsed with a cry, one hand pressing to the ground as the other curled around her sword. Freeing it from its scabbard, she swung when she heard the steady approach, the blade meeting nothing but air as the vampire disappeared.
I can’t do this without him.
Goddamnit, Ephraim. **** you.
Raking her fingers through her hair, she tried to untangle the mess of chocolate as they knotted around her knuckles, though it was to no avail. She tried to tell herself that it was the sharp pull against her scalp that brought the fresh wave of tears to her eyes, but she knew that it was a ******* lie. As much as she hated showing that sign of weakness, of wearing it against her pale skin for all to see, she couldn’t control it. The tears had long since stained her cheeks, and it didn’t matter how often she brushed her hands against her cheeks, the tracks against her flesh remained. It wasn’t as if she had gone into this blind or uneducated. She knew the dangers, and she had known that one of them would fall.
She had just always thought it’d be her.
It made sense. She was weaker of the two. Her body hadn’t been able to withstand the damage she had done to it before she had met him. She was uncontrolled, wild. So, how the **** was she the one still standing? It was fucked up. He should be here. He was the one with the ******* cause. She was no one. Her only reason for ******* being was him. He was fueled with righteousness. She was fueled by hatred. He was everything ******* good – and she was the epitome of wicked. It didn’t matter how long she had sat at the table, her fingers peeling away bits of wood from the surface, he wasn’t coming back. He wouldn’t walk back through that door, toss her that secret smile, and take her to bed.
Slamming her hands against the table, she suddenly shoved her chair back with enough force to send it crashing into the wall. “****!” The single word exploded from her glossed lips with the force of her pain and anger behind it, and within seconds, she heard Jenna’s door open and the sound of her boots echoing off the thin walls as she rushed to the kitchen. “Sawyer! What’s wrong?” The question was simple, and as she met the sorcerer’s eyes, she realized it was her fault. She had taken her from their sanctuary when the assault had happened. She had been the one to lock her up and leave Ephraim to fight them alone. With that thought in her mind, she acted without thinking.
One moment, Jenna had been in front of her, hands reaching to curl around the trembling paladin’s shoulders, and the next, she was across the room, her small form slumping to the floor. “How the **** could you ask that? He’s gone, and you let it ******* happen!” It only took Jenna second to clear her head, and as she scrambled back to her feet, she saw the true culprit to this sudden shift in the paladin. Behind her on the kitchen counter, laying open and empty, was the bottle of tequila that had been tucked beneath her bed – and the metal pill box Ephraim had confiscated the night they had found the girl. “No, no. Sawyer, it’s not like that. He—“ [/color]
Her words were cut off as the paladin brushed past her, the heavy door slamming shut behind her with enough power to rattle the windows and send a few pictures crashing to the floor. “****, this isn’t going to go over well at all. I’m so dead,” the sorcerer hissed as she grabbed her jacket and pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans. Without bothering to lock the door behind her, she rushed into the night after Sawyer, her fingers frantically typing out a warning to Osmund.
[T] Sawyer’s relapsed. It’s my fault. She’s gone. I’m trying to find her now, but she’s on a suicide mission. Keep him contained!
<<E P H R A I M + S T E E L E>>
In truth, he didn’t remember getting there. He didn’t remember much beyond the flash of pain and a darkness that descended upon him in a hurry. Most of the last few nights had been little more than trading pain. He vaguely remembered hiding out in an abandoned penthouse apartment, before they were attacked and he and Sawyer had been separated. That was when he’d landed in the Theater, and that was when he and the vampire had found one another.
Sawyer.
The thought of her brought his eyes open, and the world crashed into him all at once. The pain was immeasurable, almost unbearable if not for the mask of the morphine that had been veiled over the intense agony that coursed through him. Shocking blue eyes drifted lazily to the machine at his side, where he saw blood being pumped into his veins. That was when he realized where he had landed himself. He would have laughed, were he not filled with the agony of his recovery and the worry over Sawyer that ate at him. He tried to sit up, and only managed a pained grunt that ended in his falling back to the bed. He was feeling better every moment, but so slowly that he could only barely notice.
It was then that he heard the old Nokia chirp, and he knew that Osmond was there with him. His presence only made him worry more. If he had expected to wake to anyone, it would have been to Sawyer. He sighed, and through eyes squinted in pain, he turned his gaze to the old sorcerer as he tapped slowly at the ancient phone. “Sawyer?” he asked through a groggy cloud of pain and morphine. The elderly man held up a single finger as the other continued to steadily tap at the solid buttons of the tiny brick of a phone, until he was finished with his text. Finally, steely grey eyes turned to the paladin, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes spreading across his face.
“Jenna. Sawyer is with her, Ephraim. You need to rest. They will be here when Sawyer is feeling better. Jenna is seeing to her as we speak.” The old man was careful to tiptoe around the truth, carefully navigating his way through the information that he knew would only cause the man in front of him distress, would only make his whole situation worse. Healing was a difficult process for the average man. The amount of damage that this man had been able to withstand before he had collapsed absolutely astounded Osmond. The physical prowess of the paladin had surprised him; shocked him, even. It had become clear to him that what Ephraim had become was just another blur of the line between man and monster.
He doubted, however, that the man could see that; that he would understand.
Ephraim’s arm felt like lead, a heavy trunk of a tree attached to the muscle of his shoulder as he lifted his hand to push long strands of sandy blonde hair from his face. He had been cleaned, the wounds he’d sustained were dressed and healing, thought he amount of blood he was still missing left him weak, the potent combination of missing blood and the drugs that helped him deal with the pain that burned at every one of his nerves left him dizzy and unaware of a great portion of his surroundings. He felt sluggish and unfit to properly call himself awake. He had heard the old man, though, and was thankful that the old codger was there to give him news, even if it was slow in coming. At least he knew that Sawyer had made it out alright, and that she was with Jenna.
The sorceress might’ve been tiny, but she was skilled. He was sure that she would have Sawyer right in no time, that she would be safely here, and he could see for himself that she was doing okay. He felt an urge to curse, and suppressed it with a growl beneath his breath. The only reason they were separated at all was because of them. The blood-filching sub-human garbage that had somehow stuck to their boots on their way through the city. He knew about the ability to track his own prey, the way that his own power worked, and it only made sense that the vampire monsters had their own abilities to hunt them down. He should have expected it, and prepared.
He would still be well, and Sawyer would have been fine by now.
Lazily, he let his eyes drift to the clock, then, and gauged the time. He began counting seconds, passing the time until she was there. His hand idly groped for his phone before he remembered that he was in a hospital, and that his things had likely been taken. He frowned, and turned to the old man sitting in the corner of his room. “Osmond, bring me my phone.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the man’s face go so white.
S A W Y E R
For someone so intoxicated, she moves quick, Jenna thought as she hurried down the broken pavement that lined the streets outside of their apartment. They didn’t live in the most beautiful of places, but despite Sawyer’s displeasure – and distrust for the structure – it was home. Jenna knew every shadow, every corner, and every crevice like the back of her hand. There wasn’t a place that the younger woman could hide that she wouldn’t be able to seek her out, which explained why she had nearly stumbled upon the downed brunette.
“Sawyer, please,” she whispered as she reached out, her fingers curling against the nape of her neck. She could feel the sweat that coated her skin, causing her to cringe. It was worse than she thought. She had expected her to spiral – but this, none of them could ever had anticipated this. When she was certain that she wouldn’t run again, she stepped around her and dropped to her knees, her fingers moving to grasp at her frail shoulders.
“He’s not dead, Sawyer. I should have explained that sooner. He’s still alive. Osmund is with him---“
Whatever she had thought to say after that was silenced as the paladin lifted her head, her gaze bright with the heavy dose of drugs pulsing through her system, and as wild as she had ever seen them. She wasn’t highly religious – if anything, she was more on level with the girl she now watched, fear etching across her features – but she swore she saw the devil come to life in her eyes in that moment.
“He’s alive?” It was hard for her to push the words out, her throat aching from the burn of alcohol and swallowed bile. As soon as the words were breathed into the air, the scent of her breath causing the sorcerer to cover her mouth, she lifted herself to her feet. She had left with one direction in mind – to avenge her man – but now, she had to see him. She had to touch him, to know for herself that the ***** wasn’t lying to her. As she stood to her full height, she felt the world shift beneath her, the buildings blurring together as she tossed her hands out, fingers digging into the brick next to her. “****.”
Once she was certain she wouldn’t find herself on her *** again, she made to step around the sorcerer, only to come to a stop when she felt her restraining hand on her chest. “You can’t. Not like this.” Her voice was sharp, and Sawyer heard the conviction within it. She thought to stop her, to keep her away from the one reason she had to exist. It would have been amusing, had it not triggered the demon that lurked within her heart. Without warning, she lifted her hand, damp fingers curling around her slender wrist. She watched the fear enter the blonde’s eyes as she peeled her hand from her chest, the bone cracking beneath her grasp.
[color=A62D4D] “I’m getting really ******* tired of you telling me what to do,” [/color] she growled, the sound so feral, she watched the color drain from her friend’s face. She could only nod as she fought the tears, her broken wrist still captured. She didn’t try to fight her, nor did she move when her hand was suddenly dropped, the sudden throb causing her to cry out. “I’m glad we’re clear.” She didn’t bother to ask for directions as she gave the blonde a wide berth and headed into the city, leaving the woman behind to try and salvage what she could of her massive ****-up. Cradling her arm against her chest, she tucked her phone between her chin and shoulder, Osmund’s number already dialed.
When he picked up, she swallowed the tears and hoped they didn’t reflect in her voice as she watched the woman’s retreat with worry. “I couldn’t control her. She’s on her way, and she – just stay out of her way, old man. That’s all I can offer now. She thought he was dead.”
<<E P H R A I M + S T E E L E>>
If the old man’s face had been white before he had answered the phone, he looked like a living corpse when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. He watched the man’s visible rise and fall from panic, back into his cool, level-headedness as he attempted to navigate another minefield in an already explosive situation. He nodded his head and gave a longsuffering sigh as he turned his back to Ephraim and moved to place a hand against the door of the man’s room. “Just see to it that the pansies make it where they are going. I know they are in good hands, but they are fragile flowers. I don’t want them to get to their rightful owners in poor condition, or it’s going to look bad for our business, understand?”
He paused for a moment, without really listening before he spoke without waiting or really even discerning if there were any words being spoken on the other end of the line. “Good. See to it.” He brooked no argument, his finger tapping the End key, and he turned back to the man in the bed. His face became a smile, then, as he moved to resume his seat. “Sorry about that. Shipment of pansies gone awry. We have to stay on top of these things, or they’ll get out of hand, you know.” He widened his smile as he pocketed his phone, weathered fingers folding together in a bony steeple as he leaned toward the man’s bed. Cloudy eyes that had begun to show their age looked the man over, a sort of sadness filling them as he watched the way the other breathed. Every moment was full of thinly veiled agony.
Ephraim’s cold eyes finally looked away from the old man, unable to see the pity in his gaze. He was incapable of accepting pity, of accepting any form of compassion, really, when it came to this situation. This was what he had come to Harper Rock for. He had known that it would not be easy; that there was a good chance that he wouldn’t walk away from the city alive. That he had only landed in the hospital was lucky, considering the nature of his foe and the injuries that he had sustained. He was baffled that he had come away at all, with any blood to speak of. That much, he was thankful for. He lived to fight another day, and only by the grace of God was he able to consider his situation at all.
He grunted in pain as he lifted himself up, finally, and let his cool gaze move over the room, searching for his things. “That’s fine, Osmond, but you didn’t give me the phone. I’d like to talk to Sawyer.” The old man waved his hand idly as he shook his head. “They took your things, Ephraim. They’re neatly packed in a little box and put away in a locker. They don’t know you like I know you. They fully expected you dead before the night was out. I tried to tell them to leave your things, but they wouldn’t have it. Thought I was trying to steal from you. Most ridiculous thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Absolutely absurd.” He gave a grumble of irritation as he gave the young man a shrug of his tired, stooped shoulders. “She will be here soon enough. It turns out Jenna needs a visit with the doctor. She apparently had a little mishap and broke her wrist. They won’t be too long now, I’m sure.”
He could see Ephraim visibly calm, sinking back into his bed as he gave a light nod, eyes turning away to watch the monitor that they had hooked up to him. It was clear, by the way that he was already moving in the bed, that he would be up and on his feet by the morning. Nothing, it seemed, would hold the man down. He would be back on the streets in a week, Osmond had no doubts.
S A W Y E R
In her state of destruction, she didn’t think twice about stepping into the city alone and unprotected. While she could still feel the weight of the sword against her spine, she knew that it wouldn’t be enough to stop an assault, should they find her. It didn’t bother her, however. In fact, as she stumbled down the beaten path towards the hospital, she welcomed them. Whatever hope she had going into this had been ripped from her when she had woken to the dying light of the day without him at her side. In a few short weeks, he had managed to twist himself into heart, to fill the fissures with a light that she had thought she’d never witness.
That light turning dim, now.
Running her fingers through her dampened curls, she gave a low groan as she felt that familiar twist in her stomach, the one that warned her she was a second from losing her dinner. Of course, she couldn’t remember the last time she had consumed something that didn’t have a alcohol content. When she felt the pressure rise up her chest, she stumbled into the alley at her side and doubled over, one arm pressed to her stomach as the other braced against the garbage bin, her weight forming a dent as she tasted the tequila as it spewed from her lips. With each heave, the darkened liquid splashed against the ground, and by the grace of god, somehow missed the white of her shoes all together. Not that she truly gave a ****.
She didn’t care for material things. The only reason she didn’t want them ruined was because waltzing into the hospital smelling of vomit and alcohol wouldn’t garner her any favor with the nurses. She knew the moment they took one look at her already, they would probably turn her away – and she truly wasn’t prepared to hurt some little old woman just trying to do her job. Like Jenna, her conscience taunted as she lifted herself to her full height and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The scene was all too familiar – except this time, there would be no bearded God to step into the mouth of the alley and whisk her to safety.
This time, she was alone.
Once she was certain she wouldn’t have another episode, she gathered her hair in a loose fist and brought it over her shoulder, the thick strands catching in the light to reflect the tint of purple that remained from the most recent dye attempt. She hated the natural color – but he loved it. He would admire the way the colors shifted in the light, and it was enough for her. Not that she would ever admit such a thing, especially to him. He already looked at her with an emotion she wasn’t ready to put a name to – though, if he meant he’d stay with her, that he wouldn’t let those wretched fucks take her from him, she’d let him do whatever he wanted.
Stepping from the alley, she staggered her way down the sidewalk again, cerulean eyes attempting to make out the blinding lights of the signs to find the bright red that told her she was headed in the right direction. Making it to the corner of Bullwood, she made to step into the street when a shout suddenly broke the silence of the night, the voice feminine and strained – a second before she felt the burn of the bullet as it slammed into her thigh. The echo of the gun echoed off the buildings as she collapsed with a cry, one hand pressing to the ground as the other curled around her sword. Freeing it from its scabbard, she swung when she heard the steady approach, the blade meeting nothing but air as the vampire disappeared.