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He’d never washed away the painting.

It had become their place to meet, the place he’d always inevitably wait for her when he wanted time or blood. The exchange had occurred multiple times, the pair of them chasing each other, Trigg leaving hints to his whereabouts and Clover coming after him. He’d lead her on sometimes, leaving before she found him to drag out the suspense. It was the part he liked best, the lead up. His brother kept telling him it was stupid, kept telling him that maybe he shouldn't go to the caverns alone anymore. He'd brushed it off, punched his arm affectionately before heading out for the night.

As he stood there now he knew she’d come, if not immediately then within the next hour or two. He’d let the dampness of the caverns run over the paint, had let it warp and fade, letting it became a shadow of its former self. Running to ruin, it seemed more than appropriate. It was also a sort of “**** you”, a declaration that he wasn’t afraid and that he didn’t care who saw it. She’d tried to warn him that it was a risk but he was all about risks.

Music flooded his senses, headphones on and a song pounding through it as he kept himself amused waiting for her. Waiting for ANYTHING to take the mundane out of his night.

He hadn't removed the evidence from the cavern wall, but she cared less and less about the fact. The image had faded anyway, making her hardly recognizable. The damp had claimed her body, leaving simple streaks of color where there had once been clear and vibrant lines showing off curves and setting her apart from the dark rock beneath. Clo wanted him to repair the art, to return it to its former glory, but she kept the dangerous fact to herself. The only reason she'd reached out to Athena and Jesse was because the image had bled out, blurred into an image of any generic woman. If it had still clearly showed her, she never would have invited her husband, she wouldn't have invited her husband in to possibly hurt Trigg. She would have left the open invitation with Athena and left it at that. But she'd reached out to Jesse; she'd told him she wanted him to meet Trigg. And she hoped he'd show, she hoped he'd put any and all immediate reactions to the back of his mind and make the voyage to the caverns. At the end of the day, she didn't know if Athena or Jesse would show. She didn't know if either would follow the directions and choose to introduce themselves to the blood thief. And if they didn't show, if they chose not to be involved, Clo had prepared for that possibility as well.

Clo hadn't exactly told Trigg about her plans, but she assumed he'd accept her plans; she assumed he'd handle the situation with some kind of grace. And if he left, if he wanted to leave, then she had every intention of going after him. Clo wanted her two worlds to mesh, to work perfectly together, and yet she knew the chances of Jesse and Athena getting along with the human were slim to none. She just hoped for a change. She just hoped she was wrong. After their number of meetings in the dark, dank caverns, Clo felt as if it were time to expand, time to take a risk. She knew she'd defend Trigg, if she felt she needed to defend him. She knew she'd stand up against her own husband and one of her best friends. She didn't quite know why, other than the fact that she'd laid claim to the man known as Trigg. He belonged to her, and she took care of her things. But he was more than a thing, more than a fancy object she'd discovered. Trigg became dangerous, because he became an unknown variable. He became something, someone, she couldn't cram into a slot. He became someone she couldn't define. They weren't necessarily friends. They certainly weren't lovers. He was an obsession, she supposed -- yes, he'd become her obsession. Obsessions had no slots. Obsessions usually died a swift death. And yet he lived. She'd let him live.

With him on her mind, Clo took the fadeportal to the caverns and began the process of locating their meeting place. At the beginning, she'd had trouble finding the spot again. She'd found him elsewhere. But, over time, she'd grown used to finding him there, at the place where he'd painted her; she'd memorized rock formations and subtle changes in the floor and ceiling of the cavern. She'd marked dead ends. She'd marked useless turns. Clo did everything she could to get her back to where they'd first met. And there, where they'd first exchanged blood, they exchanged blood again and again. She'd somehow lied -- no, she'd been misleading -- unable to tell the blood thief that they could no longer exchange blood. And she had some terrible feeling that Jesse knew. It could have been her nerves. It could have been pure paranoia. Clo didn't know. She did know that, on that night, she had no plans to exchange blood. She had no reason to add to the list of reasons why her friend and her husband likely wanted to dismember the man.

When Clo arrived, she sent text messages to Athena and Jesse, letting both of them know she'd arrived and awaited their arrival. She snuck up behind Trigg, keeping some distance between them, and then she circled around to his front. He likely couldn't hear her arrival, so she waved at him, signaling for him to remove his headphones. She made sure he knew about her plans. She made sure she warned him about the addition of two more vampires. Even though she promised herself she'd stick up for him, she neglected to share the fact. Trigg didn't need to know she'd defend him. The fact would go to his head. Together, the two waited.

"Fok, Clover. You sure I have to do this?" The man was pouting, he knew he was pouting but he couldn't help himself. His disappointed face wasn't too far from his angry face, features scrunched up in mild annoyance. Why did she have to ruin this by bringing others in? Why couldn't they just be? He wasn't convinced he would enjoy this new addition to the game, because it was becoming too real. He wasn't ready for too real. There was a lack of definition to their bond that he enjoyed and wished to preserve as long as possible. His favourite part of all things was anticipation and she gave him that in spades. Why ruin the mystery with reality?

Worst of all, she wasn't even going to let him have her blood that night.

He was craving it, not a hunger like that he felt for food, not necessary to fuel his human body but necessary for the abilities that he stole. He couldn't maintain them without the blood. "Not even a quick lick, chick?" The wink he gave her was utterly salacious, a hand creeping around her waist, tugging her towards him in the darkened caverns. She knew he wouldn't follow through, he'd never tried. He'd kept it all vague, nothing solid that could be considered "wrong", not by his standards. If he was being honest with himself he'd acknowledge that the true betrayal wasn't in their physical actions, but in how they stalked each other, obsessed over and tried to possess each other. The left hand lifted towards her face, the back of his knuckles stroking down her cheek across the cold, smooth skin. "Going to get you in trouble, ja?"

Clover wanted to say no, that they didn’t have to include anyone else in what they had, but she didn’t know exactly what they had, and that fact left her struggling. Their undefined relationship weighed on her mind. She’d never mastered the ability to just be, to follow along without knowing the ending. She even cheated with books, reading the ending before reading the beginning. Clo just wanted someone else to give her permission to enjoy what she had with Trigg, even if she knew that both of the people she invited would ultimately disapprove. She hoped -- she prayed, even -- that they would somehow find something in the blood thief that would alter their opinions and allow her to breathe easy. While Jesse had heard part of the tale, Athena had the unabridged edition; Athena knew everything there was to know and then some. Clo regretted not sharing everything with her husband, but she’d been misleading for a very good reason. She hadn’t wanted her fun to end. She hadn’t wanted Trigg to drift away. She thought the human so very shallow that cutting him off meant truly cutting him off. And maybe that was the truth.

She felt an ache in her stomach, an ache that reminded her that maybe they were too close, that maybe they’d ventured just a little too far off the path. She’d only just resolved things with Jesse. She’d only just fixed another issue with her marriage. And then Trigg had to slip an arm around her waist and draw her near. His words had brought a smile to her face. He had quite the sense of humor. Again, she wanted to say no, but she hesitated. What was wrong with her? What kept her from immediately denying the silly request? At any moment, her friend or her husband could stroll around the corner. Clo wanted to live dangerously. She wanted to match Trigg’s reckless behavior. The two of them had descended to a whole new level, and that descent felt amazing. Her mind told her to say no, to quickly refuse, but that knot in her stomach told her to say yes, to quickly perform an exchange of blood and hope that no one would interrupt.

“No,” she spoke, after a long pause. “Not even a quick lick,” she joked. Clo rested her palms atop his shoulders and looked into his eyes. She saw nothing there. She’d allowed her obsession to consume her. She knew. And yet she continued walking along that narrow strip of road, a strip of road that led to nothing but absolute desertion. They both needed to play their cards right. They both needed to present themselves as something they weren’t. She needed to lie a little. She needed to manipulate a little. But she hadn’t been that person for such a long time. She’d grown rusty. And even more than that, she’d learned that those tactics weren’t meant for marriage. Playing the game meant playing her husband, and that wasn’t in the cards. Touching. She’d told him that they shared no intimate exchanges, but it seemed that way, didn’t it, Clover?

“Yes, you’re going to get me in trouble,” she huffed, “and you’re going to get yourself in trouble.” She seemed almost childish then, in the way she pouted at him. It was her turn. But even though she denied him, she would have allowed him, had the circumstances been different. What was wrong with her? Why did a simple blood thief mean so much to her? He was like every other human. No. He was different. He was free-spirited. He lived life on the edge. Clo simply admired him. She wanted to aspire to be that free again, to just be.

Clo patted his shoulders then, but she let the arm remain around her waist. She opened her mouth to warn him, to tell him that she’d been misleading, to tell him that she’d promised her husband she’d stop exchanging blood with the man, but nothing came out. Trigg shouldn’t have touched her. He shouldn’t have held her. Just play the part, she wanted to tell him. Just ******* play the part. Clo moved her hands from his shoulders and pressed her right palm to his cheek. “Behave.” She gave him a light slap, a playful one, and stepped away from his hold. Again, she felt a knot in her stomach, that time making her feel more than a little uneasy. There was no yes on the tip of her tongue, no rushed feeling attached to the idea of exchanging blood with Trigg. Something told her to call the whole thing off and simply take Trigg elsewhere, somewhere outside of the caverns. She wanted to keep their undefined relationship and hope that they’d discover that along the way. “Remember who you’re meeting.” And that was the end of it, wasn't it? "I'd rather not be divorced tonight." It was a joke, and yet it wasn't a joke.

Trigg did not like being reprimanded, and certainly didn't like being told what he could or couldn't do. In this case, though, he would of course oblige, would never force to give blood as he knew how furious he'd be if she tried that on him. Sure, he'd taken it in the past but that was different, it was the kind of feeding they'd shared since. He didn't want to use intimate, but there was no other word for it. It wasn't sexual, not for him at least, it was something else. Not like he loved the chick, or was trying to charf her, it was just... Intimate. Close, and binding somehow. She knew it, he knew it and neither of them knew how to talk about it. The difference was she wanted for some reason to share it, to bring others into and he didn't. Of course he'd talked to Tanner, but otherwise no one needed to know as far as he was concerned, to him it made no difference. Nothing had to change.

When she reminded him of who he was waiting his nose wrinkled. They'd met, briefly. He'd felt sick that night, the second he'd walked into that shop and he didn't know why. Maybe it was the beer not sitting well, or something else, but he felt uneasy and it had been the reason why he hadn't gone back to get a tattoo. Something screamed at him to stay away, not to go back to the man's lair even if he was talented. Not worth it. Trigg had shrugged it off as weird but never gone back all the same, never thought about it again until Clover had told him a small amount about her husband when she'd presented the idea of them meeting. Yeah, he'd known she was married but he wasn't trying to fok with her so he didn't see why she'd be so nervous. They were... Well, not friends. He didn't know what they were.

He was happier keeping it that way. She clearly wasn't, and that bothered him, stirring strange feelings of something akin to jealousy, but not quite. It was more a possessive, demanding thing, a quiet clawing need to keep it private because it was for them and no one else. His expression was mildly sour as she pulled away and he dropped his arms. "Ag, man. Ja, you keep reminding me. Constant like. Maybe I should run away before he gets here, save us all some trouble?" He felt petulant, and knew he looked it, like he was about to pout and declare he didn't want to. Instead he stayed, arms folding across his chest, watching her. "Your man is gonna hate me. He should."

==========AUTOMATED POST==========

Jesse Fforde attempted to use a power against none, and was successful!

"Your man is gonna hate me. He should."

Clo focused on those words. Up until that point, she’d felt unsure, as if butterflies had found a new place in her gut; she felt playful, at least at the beginning, but her nerves, her paranoia, circled around the perimeter, as if, at any moment, they’d overtake every other emotion and leave her drowning, leave her reeling. Jesse would hate him. What had she been thinking? Of course Jesse would hate him. Clo studied the blood thief, as if looking at him for the very first time, but she saw the same promise. She had hoped Jesse would see the same spark that had drawn her in, that had saved the human from death’s doorstep, but doubt crept up her spine and swallowed her whole. Doubt feasted on her flesh and hollowed out her insides. He should, Trigg had said. And if Jesse hated Trigg, then it was her fault, her doing. Because she’d lied. Because she’d continued exchanging blood with the blood thief. Clo wanted to tell Trigg to leave, to cancel the whole meeting, but some part of her hoped that Jesse would react differently, that he’d look past her mistakes and give Trigg an honest chance. Clo wanted Jesse to give the man some opportunity to earn his own.

As she stood there, she folded her own arms over her chest. She wanted Athena; she needed Athena. But would the woman even show? Would the woman spare minutes out of her day to show up for one of her closest friends? Clo didn’t know. She hoped, but hope seemed harder and harder to summon. “He won’t hate you,” she said, trying her best to sound convincing. In the end, the statement sounded as if she were asking him rather than telling him. She’d stressed the words. She’d spoken clearly. And yet that had taken them nowhere. “I’m nervous,” she admitted, as if that would do them any good, “but I promise he’ll give you a chance. I’ll talk to him. I’ll explain my reasoning. He can’t hate you.” But Jesse could. And as Trigg had said, perhaps Jesse should. The butterflies felt like a violent tornado, as if, at any moment, they’d sweep her away, dragging her off to an alternate universe, dragging her off to a place where she hadn’t been so ******* selfish, so ******* stupid.

When she heard the growl, she knew. No one had to tell her. No one had to explain. Perhaps he’d arrived at the end, just at the moment she’d said her final words to Trigg, or maybe he’d been there the whole time, watching the entire exchange. Clover focused on herself; she descended into the depths of herself. Beyond her own emotions, she felt a mixture of feelings, ones that left her feeling violently ill. Jesse felt that way. Yes, he’d been there the whole time. She didn’t need to guess. She didn’t need him to tell her. Excuses bubbled up from her gut as if she were a volcano just waiting to erupt. She’d stepped in front of Trigg, not to block him from sight but to put herself at point, to try and reason with her irate husband. And even though she’d moved, even though the words had been so ready to spill forth, she found herself unable to speak. Perhaps her tongue had been cut out, instead of his. “Jesse,” she found herself saying. His name. That’s all she wanted to say. Saying his name, she meant to magically avoid their oncoming conversation. Maybe -- no, undoubtedly -- her husband would want to kill Trigg, to rip his throat out and leave him to choke on his own blood. Clover went through multiple scenarios, each one worse than the last.

She should have never tried to join two worlds together. She’d been caught, at the worst possible time. Jesse knew. She knew that he knew. Jesse couldn’t speak, couldn’t demand answers to questions that grew from the tip of his tongue. So he stood there. So they stood there. She saw the shadows before they lashed out. The shadows had gathered around her husband as if he’d been the master and she some type of wayward pupil, a poor attempt at the real thing. She couldn’t react fast enough. Maybe she might have moved. Maybe she might have dragged Trigg away. Instead, she raised her arms, exposing her midsection but shielding her head. The shadows impaled her, going directly through her gut, through her left shoulder, past her body. All of those little butterflies escaped, rising like a tide and drifting like a breeze. The pain was excruciating. The shadows had lashed out with such an intensity, without any direct target, and yet they’d found her, as if summoned forth like a phoenix, born anew from the darkness surrounding them. She didn’t know if he meant to hurt her or if he meant to kill her. The shadows that had missed her seemed dead set on continuing their path. And then they swirled, they twirled, they coiled like a violent snake. Yes, exactly like a snake. When the shadows retreated, she wobbled on her feet. She pressed her palms to the hole in her gut. The other injury had been minor, it required no attention.

She deserved the attack. She deserved the hole in her gut. She deserved everything she got, and then some. But she still stared at Jesse, surprised that he’d attacked her, surprised that he’d been so furious as to physically wound her. Up until then, they’d only had arguments. But maybe, without a tongue, he defended himself in other ways. She wasn’t furious. She wasn’t going to retaliate. Maybe he hadn’t meant it, she defended. Maybe he hadn’t been in control, she continued. And yet, a little voice whispered that he’d meant to do more harm, that he’d meant to kill her, as well as Trigg, because she’d lied. She was a victim of her own selfish decisions. That was all. She’d practically done it to herself. She had no apologies prepared. She had no explanations at the ready. The black blood wouldn’t stop flowing, and she never wanted it to stop flowing. Bleed out, her depression whispered. But the wound wasn’t critical: The shadows hadn’t hit her head, nor had they hit her heart. She wouldn’t die. She wouldn’t bleed out. She’d scar, an ugly reminder. And she’d watch him walk away. That hurt more than anything else. He’d eventually turn and walk away. He’d tome home. He’d collect his things. And it would be over. Lying was such a nasty habit. Deceit didn’t belong in a marriage.

She wished the shadows had killed her.

If shadows could feed you, could heal you then it made sense they could harm you.

Of course, it was logical his brain seemed to try and tell him even as he bled onto the cavern floor.

Blood. He felt it, warm and wet at his shoulder and side where the shadows had struck him. They'd gone through her, right through Clover and he'd only managed to take a step back, to twist his body just a second too late. He felt weirdly numb, a hand lifting to touch the bleeding wound at his side with a dumb sort of "huh, would ya look at that?" expression on his face. The pain hadn't hit him yet, the shock was beginning to freeze his limbs and make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the chill of it held him in place. He was bleeding, in front of vampires. Again.

The wound on his side was shallow, it pierced the skin but nothing vital was touched, it might need a few stitches or at least those sticky ones he'd gotten once on his forehead when he'd cut it open in a scrap with his brother. The shoulder was pretty bad, it had tunneled through him like a drill, a fine wisp that traveled through skin and sinewy muscle. It could have been worse, but Trigg had no idea about good or bad. The pain came slowly, just a niggling stinging that radiated from the centre of his shoulder outwards, pins and needles traveling down to his fingertips. What a dick. He decided then and there that Clover's husband was a dick.

The less reactive part of him was trying to reason that he'd had it coming, but of course it was shut down quickly. Trigg hadn't done anything wrong, he'd not tried to sleep with her or anything even close. It wasn't what he wanted, they had a relationship built on blood and... And what? Some strange *** connection he couldn't name or label, that he couldn't formulate words to explain. It was a thing, it was just a thing between them. He hadn't cared that she had a husband, he didn't factor in. People never really did with Trigg, not really. There were a special handful who he spared a second thought, and the rest were just victims of his impulses; relevant only as long as his attention span could stretch. The truth was that it would snap if not stimulated, it would snap and break and leave the other party stinging. His brother had told him this, and Trigg had laughed, had told him to fok off with his psychoanalysing ********.

Trigg just wasn't interesting in thinking about the reasons behind his actions.

The blood thief had been saving his energy, storing it for the meeting and felt it now seem to stir in him, that powers he'd stolen urging him to heal, to mend and restore the lost blood. Could he knit that skin back together? Something in him whispered "Yes", urged him to try. It was why he stumbled back a few paces, retreating far enough that maybe, just maybe, those shadows might miss him if Jesse struck again. Buy yourself time, he thought, just look apologetic and heal this **** enough that you don't drop dead at their feet. He wasn't going to die because a pair of fokken vampires were airing out their dirty *** marital laundry in public. Not his drama, not his pain to share. "Ag, man. Yeesh. Good to see you again too, Jesse." Trigg murmured, plucking at the bleeding shirt, trying to peer beneath it.