Realistic or Modern Moonlit Retreats [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

Somehow, it was no surprise to Antonia when Inga appeared out of nowhere and fell upon Max, who looked very agitated with this. Enough to release Antonia – or perhaps that was shock? He did instinctively reach towards his stake, but relaxed enough to laugh as he realized who it was, “Jesus, Inga,” he settled into chuckles, “Thought you were someone else. Almost staked you there,” they were a bit aways from the vast majority of hunters, “Yeah, ah – old habits,” he looked to Antonia, “Sorry about that, mel meum – I forget you’re capable.”

Antonia shook her head, “It’s fine,” they were getting in over their head as it was, they’d nearly been surrounded. Breaking out of that had been necessary. “I suppose I should get the car started as it is,” the next part of her job was escort to one group of hunters, after all.

“Heh, right,” Max agreed, “I should get back to the fray then, Josey’s not looking too great,” he grinned, “gotta make sure everyone else gets out of there. I’ll see you soon,” he promised, heading to get closer while Antonia looked for the situation with August.

At least no one was attacking her car or trying to turn it into an explosive, though the comment of Josey did have Antonia skimming the crowd for Joseph, as well. Amon wouldn’t really hold them responsible if Joseph died, and she did want him dead. It’s not like he deserved to live just because Amon liked him for a fortnight or two.

Not to mention Max didn’t actually seem to be making his way towards Joseph. He’d gotten holed up by others, and Terrence seemed to have set his sights on Joseph.

“Amon really doesn’t deserve this,” what she meant was obvious enough, “shall we get Joseph out of the fray?” There ought to be enough room in her car to shove him in and get him out of there with the hunters they’d pick up that had the vials. Sure, Joseph wasn’t on the list of leaving this soon, but exceptions could be made.

She could throw him in the trunk if he really annoyed her.

~***~

Cassidy’s eyes widened. Her expression was immediately apologetic as her gaze fell on Maria, but there was no real way to apologize for this, was there? This had been a trap. Cassidy knew she was going to kill hunters – the reality that some of them were dear to Lilian hadn’t entirely slipped her mind, but Lilian was so willing to go along with it…she’d allowed herself to think it would be all right.

It no longer was.

How many others that Lilian knew, that Lilian liked, had died that night?

“No, Lilian’s fine!” her only real protest to this all, although she could protest this being the hunter’s fault, damnit. Not that Maria gave her a chance, and she was quickly turned to the defensive. Likely, she could have done more to get out of that, but fear of harming Maria too much kept her holding back.

‘I don’t…have to kill anyone.’ Sure, this was war, but the goal was the vials.

Soon they’d have ways out.

Soon they’d know it was all clear to break free and run.

Soon – but not soon enough as Maria did manage to get a stake in her arm. Cassidy responded with equal violence before Maria could fully pull the stake out, catching Maria’s arm and burying her claws into it, wrenching Maria’s arm away – with stake in hand – and shoving her back.

She thought it was a crippling enough injury for the moment, but Maria just switched the stake to her other hand, that look of absolute hatred still on her face.

‘Fuck.’ Cassidy considered turning and running, but a look over her shoulder showed her the path was hellish, before she heard that exertion shout and flinched out of the way of Maria’s next strike, before sending a kick at the back of Maria’s legs to topple her, and again look for a way out of the mess so she didn’t have to kill Maria, or hurt her any further.

 

[Syntra]

“Aww,” Inga’s smile was a bit sharp, almost as if she meant to say ‘I’d like to see you try, bitch.’ Incidentally, that was exactly the sentiment behind it, “Such a shame that you didn’t.” Not even untrue! Max attacking her right there would have given her the excuse to pay him back in kind, and while Inga still didn’t have any hard evidence that doing so would have been remotely deserved on his side, she’d learned not to discount her instincts pretty early on. All those ‘something’s wrong here’ vibes? More than mere feelings, they tended to be previews. Hints of conclusions yet unreached. Something her brain had already caught up on, but hadn’t fully processed, and so, instead of doing nothing, it tried to have her back via waving around a big ‘spoiler alert’ sign. Still, she couldn’t really say that outloud. Therefore: “Believe it or not, but most of my friends started out trying to kill me. It’s a nice little tradition.”

At least he did have the good sense to fuck off, though not before calling Antonia mel meum again, and not before dropping the Joseph info. Both bothered Inga just about equally, though for vastly different reasons.

“Damn,” she sighed, “Amon’s gonna think I killed him if we don’t save his sorry ass, isn’t he?” The indignation in her voice was righteous, because of course it was. What, was she Joseph’s nanny now? How was it her fault that he couldn’t even sneeze without falling into yet another inane trap? And, to make it worse, Inga had actually tried to get him to practice in the past. She really, really had! Why he’d rejected every single time was a complete mystery, especially after she’d given him a detailed account of just deeply he sucked at, well, just about everything. Some people couldn’t tell what convincing argument was if it kicked them in the ass! Which, in turn, meant they were destined to receive perpetual ass-kicking from others. Life was fair that way. “And just because I’ve murdered all the other Veturia, too. I have to say, this community really has a nasty issue with jumping to conclusions.”

Complaining about it did fuck all, though.

So, rescue mission it was!

Terrence and Joseph were locked in what seemed to be a rather tense hand-to-hand combat, although Inga supposed that wasn’t 100% accurate. After all, Terrence had a stake and Joseph very much didn’t! So, hand-to-stake combat? Something like that? And the stake part of the equation was winning, considering how easily the man had managed to pin poor Josie against a wall.

“Burn in hell, bloodsu—” Inga casually thrust her sword in the passer-by’s guts, without sparing him a glance, “I distract the big scary hunter, you take Joseph to safety? We’ll rendezvous wherever your car is.”

And, ever the woman of her word, Inga set out to do just that. “Hey, you ugly motherfucker over there!” A solid start, especially since Terrence did turn his head. “Yes, you. Do you see any other ugly motherfuckers?” To be fair, the number of those that fit the description was quite staggering, “I, uh, shit on your god?” Not her subtlest effort, but accusing Inga Singedottir of subtlety, of all things, would have been rather foolish in the first place. Not everyone could make diplomacy their main stat, dammit! Though, now that she had his full attention, Inga lunged at the man.

Terrence indeed let go of his prey to go deal with the bigger threat, and, disoriented as he was, Joseph almost stumbled over his own two feet with the sudden loss of stability. Almost, but not quite. Ironically, it was the sight of Antonia that caused him to sober up; and, judging by the horror in his eyes, he wasn’t glad to see her. “What the fuck,” he cried out. “Leave me alone, Lenart. You can take your stupid vendetta and shove it where the sun don’t shine!”

…Oh. Did he think Inga had saved him just so that Antonia could kill him in a more ‘fuck you’ way?

~***~

Oh, so Lilian was fine. Awesome. Good for her! That they’d all been dying of worry was an unfortunate side effect, but given that they were also dying quite literally now, Maria supposed that she could consider that to be just… convenient little practice. Their training wheels!

God, she couldn’t believe that Deana was right. About everything. She still wanted to deny it; to believe that there was something to Lilian’s last spiel, for no other reason than that it had been Lilian saying it.

Lilian, who wasn’t a liar. Lilian, who, for all of her elephant in a porcelain store tendencies, generally meant well. Lilian, who… she apparently didn’t know? Or at least not all that well?

Because her best friend Lilian wouldn’t just sentence them to death like that! Not for anything, much less the pretty eyes of a fucking vampire.

Julie’s words from that meeting still rang in her ears, though she tried to pay them no mind. There was no point. What Lilian did in private was her own damn thing now; for all she cared, she could go jump off a fucking cliff. Perhaps that was what she should do, to make this easier for everyone. How could they ever look her in the eyes again?

(Not that Lilian gave a damn about that. Dialing her fucking number would have been this easy, but no! Not a peep from her, for weeks. The silence spoke more eloquently than words possibly could.)

Still, Maria couldn’t help herself: “How did you corrupt her?” A beat, “Are you really sleeping with her?” And no, she wasn’t sure whether hearing the truth would please her, but, with everything that had ever been dear to her bursting into flames, Maria also didn’t give a fuck about that anymore.

If the band aid had to go, she’d rather rip it off.

The bloodsucker did manage to hurt her somewhat, which she saw more than she truly felt. It would hurt like a bitch later, but with all that adrenaline? Not so much now! And Maria was thankful for the delayed interest rate, because she still had a vamp to—

“Ack!”

The kick sent her to the ground, and the nasty ‘crack’ that followed hinted that the fall wasn’t quite lucky. But that was good, right? At least Cassidy didn’t have to worry anymore?

Well, no.

Sadly for her, Maria wasn’t the only hunter out there.

“Maria!” That voice belonged to Eugene, which, in itself, wasn’t so bad. The sword aiming at Cassidy’s heart, though?

Yeah, that was quite the problem.

 

[Lucyfer]

Antonia scoffed at ‘big, scary hunter’, but nodded her consent regardless. It was better for Inga to deal with Terrence, after all. He was higher ranking, and clearly capable of handling the extra strength a vampire had, if Joseph’s situation was any determination of that. Besides, Antonia preferred it that way; she always had, and she probably always would. Murder was well and good, when it was someone she actually cared about murdering…but even then, she was likely to pass it off to others.

Something poor Joseph hadn’t seemed to figure out when he looked at her after stumbling. “Lady Lenart,” she corrected, more on principal than anything else, before she pressed her sword against his chest – flat side, of course, there would be no stabbing him – and let it go so he’d get the hint.

The best way to deflect mistrust was to give away your weapon, although if Joseph had seen anything that day, he’d probably seen that Antonia didn’t mind appearing completely powerless when the cold, hard fact was that she never was without power.

A power she’d exhibit soon enough to make sure she got to the car.

She just had to get the idiot to trust her far enough to the car. “You can take the sword and go get yourself killed, or you can follow me to a car, and greet the next sunset, Lord Joseph.” She made her emphasis unnecessarily strong on the title, before she just…walked away.

Well, walked away, and made sure every hunter who got close was met with the Stare Of Terror, that focused power which froze them in their place before ‘fight or flight’ could kick in. Some quickly fled. Others decided to fight someone else who didn’t make them reconsider which god they worshipped in that moment.

A few poor saps remained frozen and got their heads broken for it, but that wasn’t Antonia’s concern. Her concern was her dear August, far enough to be safe, but close enough that she had been worried. She still gave the top of the car an appreciative pat as she unlocked it and slid into the driver’s seat, turning it on, the quiet roar pleasing. She’d let Joseph get in, and she’d wait a few seconds for Inga, before deciding if she needed to drive closer or not.

~***~

Cassidy had so been hoping this was an end to it when Maria fell, and she heard that terrible crack. “Sorry,” she managed to utter, before someone was shouting Maria’s name, and that someone came at her with a sword. She recognized his face as she stepped back, only to find a wall hadn’t been far from her back.

Something the hunter recognized as well, either more skilled, or more lucid, than Maria. Both were possible - Maria had been in the midst of a passionate anger when engaging her, which wasn’t always the best way to fight.

Cassidy ducked the next strike, bringing her arms up to her face to shield against the follow-up that she couldn’t dodge in time, though at least that was with a kick and not a sword. It was still strong – damn these hunter mutations! – and she toppled to the ground, only to have Eugene on top of her a second later.

There wasn’t a great choice before her. Not that she had time to think through every possibility, and as much as she didn’t want to kill him, she also did not want to die. As he brought the sword down to pierce her heart, she thrust up one terribly elongated and clawed arm upwards, impaling him on the claws.

The sword dropped.

Cassidy went paler than she was as she recognized her own error, one of the claws quite clearly through Eugene’s heart, the blood spilling out rapidly down her fingers and onto her own chest. She had to push against him, to get him off of her, and to get up. She had to withdraw the claws, “No, no, no…no…I’m—no…” no amount of denial could take it back as she stayed on her knees, unable to rise, her own horror a weight too strong to let her get to her feet in the moment.

The claws went away, but the blood upon her didn’t.

 

[Syntra]

What the fuck? Joseph didn’t need to say the phrase aloud for it to be pretty clear that, yes, those were his thoughts exactly. Antonia Lenart, saving him? Instead of throwing him under the bus, with all the delicious plausible deniability this situation offered? He could practically hear the excuses in his head:

‘Oh, well, war’s war. Sorry for your loss, Lady Isolde.’

‘What, am I supposed to babysit all of your warriors personally?’

‘I have no idea what happened to him. As you can imagine, I was rather busy myself.’

And, yeah, those excuses were good. Joseph himself would have likely believed them, had they been said about anyone else, and by anyone who wasn’t Antonia Lenart. Why the fuck was she not taking the chance, then? Didn’t she want them all dead?

The possibility of it being some kinda elaborate trap still lingered. Maybe he was walking towards a much worse fate; towards a stay in a torture chamber, or towards becoming Inga’s newest guinea pig, if those rumors about her being an intellectual now were true, or towards… something. Whatever horrors the two came up with, Joseph didn’t think he could come close to imagining them.

The thing was, walking anywhere at all was better than staying there. Perhaps dying was a distinct fucking upgrade from dying for sure, and, once you really thought about it, there weren’t a lot of reasons to hesitate. And, contrary to popular opinion, Joseph Hartmann could think! He just preferred not to. More often than not, thinking about pointless bullshit was what got you in trouble. “Lady Lenart,” he corrected himself, unsure how to… well, deal with any of this. Why did he feel embarrassed all of a sudden? Oh, yeah. The outburst! Somehow, Antonia not reacting to any of it was worse than if she had screamed, “I’m, uh, sorry.”

Still not quite convinced this wasn’t some bizarre dream, Joseph followed Antonia to her car and made himself comfortable in the passenger’s seat. With some luck, the hunter would off Inga for him, and then he could—

But Joseph Hartmann rarely got lucky. That alone should have hinted at what the outcome of this fiasco would be, and when Inga materialized near the car, somewhat bloodied yet distinctly okay, Joseph couldn’t help but sigh.

Of fucking course.

“They really don’t make ‘em like they used to,” Inga complained, before sitting down next to Antonia, “The hunters from before at least had the decency to provide a challenge, but all these guys have is confidence. Which, fine with me! Follow your dreams! But make sure the confidence is actually deserved.” At that point, her eyes darted to Joseph. “Oh, hi, Josie. Enjoying the night? Antonia isn’t playing the chauffer for just about anyone, so we expect a generous tip. You might need a payment plan.”

She didn’t really look like she wanted to kill him, either. You could never tell what was going on in Inga Singedottir’s fucked up mind, but he… wasn’t getting any danger signals here? Odd. Real fucking odd! “Okay, I’m not complaining, but what the hell? I thought you wanted me dead?”

Inga just rolled her eyes, “No, Joseph. The truth is, I’ve always secretly loved you. The thought of losing you, without ever getting to say it… It was too much to bear.”

“Oh,” he leaned forward, “Really? You know, I’ve kind of wondered about you and me…”

Judging by the expression on Inga’s face, Joseph might as well have told her he’d murdered her beloved granny. “Wait, what?”

That was when he started to laugh; a deep, guttural sound, not mocking but very amused, “Nah, don’t worry. Just couldn’t resist, given how obviously not into men you are.”

“And you know that how?”

“Uh, hello? You’re the opposite of subtle? I even tried to set you up with Emmeline back in the day.”

“What, no way! I was so into her!”

At that, it was Joseph’s turn to look confused, “Which is why you told her to fuck off? How does that compute?”

“I… thought she was making fun of me?”

“Oh, gods. You really are fucked in the head, Inga Singedottir.” It sounded exasperated more than anything else, and before Inga could react, he turned to Antonia again: “So were you just trying to fuck with me, or what is this?”

~***~

Okay, we should probably… get the fuck out of here. And, by ‘we,’ Lilian meant herself and Cassidy. Well, others, too, but mainly the two of them, because the fight was heating up in a way that was straight up uncomfortable, and dying here wasn’t too high up her ladder of priorities. The main problem with that, though? Not knowing where the hell Cass was. That, and all the fuckers trying to kill them. Goddammit! Lilian parried another blow before kicking the attacker aside, less than willing to get entangled in one-on-one combat.

Where are you, Cass?

That was her main concern, along with ‘please, be okay.’

What if she wasn’t? What then?

Cass was far from a weakling, but shit happened, and you didn’t have to be incompetent to get hit with a stray Molotov. More often than not, who lived or died was… well, a crapshoot. A coincidence. Something you could only control to a very limited extent, no matter how much copium you inhaled.

Given how many friends had died on her, Lilian knew that better than most.
All had been fighters; all trained for combat since they’d been old enough to walk.

Something that Cass distinctly wasn’t.

Stop panicking. Because panic, ladies and gentlemen, didn’t help anyone! Neither did telling herself not to fucking feel that way, though; if anything, the anxiety crushing her chest only got stronger with the remainder. One, two, three. Breathe, Lilian. It’ll be fine.

Right! She just had to find her.

Easier said than done, which was all the more reason to start trying harder. Alright, so when was the last time she’d seen her? More importantly, where had that been? The street looked painfully the same, with its various shades of grey, but Lilian thought that she had maybe spotted her… yes, just about there, a few meters to the left, close to that abandoned-looking building.

Whatever higher force that existed must have decided not to fuck her over for once, because she actually could see what seemed to be Cass’s silhouette against the dark background. Oh, thank god.

“Cass!” she shouted, “Cass, c’mon, we have to…”

But that was when she noticed more details. Maria, with her mouth frozen in a silent scream; the body on the asphalt, lying in a pool of its own blood.

Lilian didn’t know the person.

Or rather, she didn’t want to know them.

Besides, it was dark! It could have been anyone; that he was wearing Eugene’s clothes and looked like Eugene did didn’t have to mean a lot, considering just how average-looking Eugene was. They’d joked about it together, she and him and Maria, and—

Then the realization hit her.

“Shit,” Lilian covered her mouth, “Why are you just standing there? Someone call the fucking ambulance!”

And no, she wasn’t nearly strong enough to question why she’d found him in the company she did. That… could wait. Not fucking important, right now. With shaking hands, the huntress tried to grab her own phone, but she’d forgotten where she’d left it, and that made it a little difficult. Multiple things did, though she tried to not think of them. Not thinking, especially of things like ‘what constitutes a mortal wound,’ in turn made it a little easier. “Can someone at least try and stop the bleeding?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Inga joined not long after. Antonia wouldn’t reveal any hint of relief, but it was there. She did not doubt Inga, but she was too familiar with war and loss to accept that her life had been a given when left alone to deal with a mutated hunter. There were still too many unknowns about the mutations in general to be certain of anything at all relating to them. She started the car and began to wheel it away from the violence as Inga addressed Joseph, getting back on the streets and finding her way through the navigational horror that was this city’s poor planning and infrastructure to hit the meet-up point for Jasmine.

She was still attentive enough to be amused by Inga and Joseph’s back and forth about loves fake and real. Inga and this Emmeline, it seemed, had not gotten a chance to be together because of Ina’s self-confidence issues. ‘Shame.’ Was it? No. If Emmeline had gotten to her, then Antonia wouldn’t have her at all.

‘Not that I…oh shut the fuck up.’ Sometimes, she had to tell herself that. Denial was a common trap to fall into, but Antonia didn’t like lying to herself. She knew very well her emotions were still complicated over Inga. That she wanted Inga in ways she couldn’t reconcile with all she held against Inga. The odds of it balancing out seemed slim, so that meant just living in that frustrating in–between until something tipped it over.

Still - any sort of positive relationship with the Veturia was better off destroyed, all the way around, love, friendship, or anything else. Except perhaps whatever Joseph had going on with Inga, since Amon decided Joseph was entertaining enough to live.

Or whatever Amon had going on.

Antonia generally preferred not to know.

“Language, Lord Joseph,” Antonia said deadpan, not that she actually cared, only that it did somewhat amuse her to force Joseph to remember who she was, and that he shouldn’t actually be this casual anywhere close to her. She had a reputation, one he apparently knew very well, “If I have confused you, I apologize, but I do not understand in what way,” here was the part where she denied everything.

Except, well, the spiel was utter bullshit, and maybe reverse psychology would work? “Obviously I cannot let every Veturia that Lady Isolde granted me use of die, and what better way to convince the masses who think Isolde is just insane that I’m sincere in my desire not to cause anymore harm than by rescuing one of the Veturia from the fight?” It was, in fact, a good argument.

It was one she could spin, except, none of it was true.

This attack wasn’t to get rid of Veturia. She didn’t care how many lived or died, although she hoped the majority of them did die. In the long run, she cared if they lived or died, but this night? Any little death was a bonus.

“Now that you have an answer you can believe,” she rolled her eyes, “the truth is that I didn’t want to deal with Amon’s grief when you died because he’s dramatic and I have actual work to do, since he does nothing.”

Nothing except make sure no one was stopping her car, of course, which was definitely in defiance of every speed limit, and may have run close to hitting another car on the road a time or two.

Not that it did – she would never scratch August.

~***~

Lilian reached them, Cassidy and Maria frozen in their own versions of horror at what had occurred with Eugene. Eugene, of course, could not react to his own demise. He could just continue to bleed from the wounds, and Cassidy could just continue to murmur denials that changed nothing at all, because that was not how reality worked.

Reality worked by bringing Lilian in, who wanted to call an ambulance, which was going to do nothing. To apply pressure to a wound, that was already fatal. Cassidy wasn’t sure Eugene was even still alive enough to count as medically alive, and yet she still found herself shrugging off her jacket and putting it over Eugene’s chest, pressing her hands down on the wound, as if there might be a chance.

They weren’t normal humans, after all.

There could be? Maybe?

“I—maybe—maybe more of the god’s….” maybe more of the god’s blessing would save him, was what she wanted to say, glancing at Maria, fearful of what she’d see there, but looking at her was more like a slap to the face, a reminder of what the god’s blessing could do. Not that Maria was a monster, but couldn’t anyone become that? She had wanted to save Lilian’s friends from that, and now one of them was…dead.

Just dead.

The pressure went slack.

‘There’s only one way and you know it.’ Cassidy had never turned anyone, but she knew how. It wasn’t innate. She’d seen it, and she’d been told how, as well. It wasn’t difficult, like figuring out sex wasn’t difficult. Making it good took practice, but it was still a relatively simple and primal thing.

So was turning a person.

Did she even dare to mention it, when she had told Lilian that she wouldn’t turn her without consent? Did she offer it to Eugene who never gave consent? ‘It’s different when you’re here. It really is.’ He could always fuck off and walk into the sun if he disagreed, right? Didn’t Inga say as much about anyone who didn’t like being turned after the fact? They still had the choice to go die, but they never got the chance to live without…well…action.

She looked up from the bloodstained jacket and back at Lilian, “I…I…could.” She couldn’t say the rest. She could just let Lilian accept on his behalf or not.

Or Maria try to violently reject it, of course. She was still attuned to her, even if the rest of the battlefield seemed to fade away.

 

[Syntra]

Joseph… tried to help me? Inga’s brain hadn’t quite processed that fact yet, much like Joseph’s brain, in turn, couldn’t process just why everything had gone to hell with Emmeline. But why would he do that? He’d never liked her. Of that, Inga was pretty fucking sure. He’d always been so annoying, asking her inane questions about— Oh. Oh. Had that been interest? Friendly interest? It never had been that on Matteo’s side, whose main goal had been to prove her wrong about every single belief she’d ever held, but Joseph… wasn’t Matteo. Maybe it hadn’t been fair of her to assume that his motivations had been the same?

Of course, it hadn’t been a conscious assumption.

When you approached a beaten dog with a stick, it didn’t really consider that you might really just use it for walking.

Well, this is awkward. What was she even supposed to say? ‘Hey Josie, sorry for the centuries of bullying! But also, I am not going to stop killing your family because the love of my life wants me to continue. Sooo, you may wanna invest in more funeral tuxes? Ones that actually fit.’

Okay, perhaps Inga should have put at least some points into diplomacy. No point in crying over spilled milk, though! And since silence was the easiest way to deal with all that nonsense for now, she did stay quiet, thinking about all the things that had and had not happened, and of the roads not taken.

It wasn’t exactly regret that she felt, because leaving the Veturia had been a good thing. A few more decades, and they would have destroyed her. Not that they hadn’t, in a way, but… well, at least she’d been able to pick up the pieces, and glue them together into something that almost looked like what she wanted to be.

Almost, but not quite.

Still better than nothing, though, and with them, she would have been nothing.

But maybe it had not all been so terrible. Not everyone had been Matteo, or Isolde, or even Otto, the little shit. There could have been others in a situation that wasn’t so dissimilar to hers, backed into a corner and so alone that even being buried in a mass grave seemed less painful.

It wasn’t. It never was, but you only really realized that when it was too fucking late.

Not like it matters. They are all going to die.

Joseph, surprisingly enough, had the decency to blush. “I, uh, I’m sorry?” The real question was, why the fuck did he actually feel sorry? The bitch had had Tyr killed! That was still a thing! But she’d also saved him, and the not-quite-gratitude that he felt blocked the worst of his fury. “You do realize you’re probably making Isolde even more mad, right? Lady Lenart,” he added, for that sweet propriety, “She didn't exactly send the people she values.” Although, imagining Isolde valuing literally anyone admittedly was something of a stretch. A great fucking joke! “Wait, no, no need to answer that. That’s probably a bonus for you, isn’t it?”

The veneer of good manners, thin as it was, wore off the second Amon’s name was mentioned, though. “Grief? What the fuck, the guy doesn’t even know me! He just… always emerges out of nowhere and tries to give me advice and things,” from his tone alone, you might think Joseph was talking about Amon punching him instead, “I just don’t understand what his deal is!”

“I doubt Amon knows what Amon’s deal is,” Inga interjected. “But, from where I stand, it does look like he might actually like you, Josie.”

“Why, though?!”

“Not sure if you noticed, Joseph,” Inga rolled her eyes, “But neither of us is actually called Amon. Why don’t you ask him?”

Which was a surprisingly valid point, actually. “Can you call Amon?” he turned to Antonia again, “Because I’m fucking sick of this bullshit!”

The near death experience had apparently made him more immune to… well, all those pesky self-preservation things.

~***~

Ah, there it was! Her phone.

What was the number, again?

911, like the 911 problems that she had.

The ambulance likely being late due to the sheer fucking chaos was just one of those, and probably not the most pressing one. Believe it or not, some rational part of Lilian did understand that a timely arrival would have required much more than the streets being peaceful. A time machine, for one; that, or Eugene just not standing where he’d stood upon receiving that blow. The blade missing what had once been his heart.

Had been, as in, past tense, because could you even call it that anymore? Lilian hadn’t paid that much attention in her biology classes, thinking them to be not just pointless but extremely pointless; after all, it wasn’t like learning what the spleen did got them any closer to their vampire-killing goals. Back in those days, utility had been the king. Even so, she hadn’t escaped knowing what the heart looked like, and what it shouldn’t look like.

Eugene’s resembling a mangled piece of meat didn’t strike her as a good sign.

Cassidy was there, though. She dropped to her knees, and tried to stop the bleeding, for all the good it was doing. In that moment, Lilian might have loved her; she also might have hated her for feeding those stupid fucking hopes, but whatever the feeling was, she didn’t feel like dissecting it.

Not when dissecting was… something of a sensitive topic, now.

(Would there be an autopsy? Was there one in such cases, or did Michael just sweep it under the rug? And why the fuck was she thinking about that in the first place?)

“I…I could.”

Could… what? Lilian almost asked, but before she could collect her scattered thoughts and convert them into words, the answer came to her on its own. Oh.

Would Eugene want that? Likely not. There were few things pretty much any hunter wanted less, what with the bullshit rationale of them losing their souls, and the not-so-bullshit expectation of them losing their family. Their very purpose, too. Being turned into the very creature you hunted… Nah, not the best thing to wake up to.

But, without that, he wouldn’t fucking wake up at all!

Lilian felt like vomiting. She also felt like screaming, and crying, and doing any number of useless things, just so that she didn’t have to do what really had to be done here, which was to fucking pick.

To decide, between life and death.

Between…

“Do it.” The voice that came out of her throat didn’t quite sound like her own, but it also couldn’t have belonged to anyone else. So, it had to be her? Probably?

The words were apparently enough to break Maria out of her trance, as she grabbed her by the arm. “Don’t you fucking dare! Haven’t you done enough already?!”

“What do you me—?”

But more hunters were heading their way, and one glance told Lilian that, if they didn’t fuck off real fast, there would be three corpses instead of one.

And who would benefit from that?

God fucking dammit.

Wrestling herself from Maria’s hold wasn’t hard, though tearing her gaze away from Eugene’s limp body certainly was. A familiar wetness was burning at her eyes, which she decided to do nothing about. What was there to do, anyway?

“Cass, we… we need to go. Now.”

 

[Lucyfer]

‘It is a bonus, yes.’ Antonia wouldn’t say that aloud, because she was, of course, still publicly denying that she was killing the Veturia bit by bit, and had been for centuries. She even claimed that to be the lie, with the truth being Amon’s grief. And it was! In this single instance, though she still hoped every other Veturia died.

They likely wouldn’t. Perhaps she should have whispered it to Max? He might have still been up for it, if he could make it look like an accident in the mess. He likely could have.

Ah well - a missed opportunity.

It seemed the Amon situation was not about to be a missed opportunity this time. Antonia considered making Joseph literally confront Amon. Plenty lost their bravado when confronted with the self-proclaimed Sun God. Knowing that, she decided to have her fun. “Yes, I can call him, but hold on, let me at least…there she is,” Antonia saw Jasmine, and slid the car into a hard stop.

Jasmine was able to pile in, bundle of vials in a case obvious. “Got it. I think the other team got theirs – we didn’t stay together long,” as was always the plan, of course. They had to split up to prioritize at least getting one out, though Antonia hoped for both. Jasmine did give Joseph a queer look as she realized he was there, but opted not to say anything about it.

There was enough room in the car, after all, and Antonia only wasted a second of time to dial Amon through the car’s radio, before it was driving off.

Jasmine saw the name on the phone screen. “Wait, why are you calling Amon? Did something go wrong?” Jasmine had met Amon twice. In her opinion, that was more than enough times to be around him, but she also understood he was…quite powerful. And Antonia’s friend. She didn’t think Antonia would bother him without a good reason.

“No, nothing went wrong,” Antonia answered, “Don’t worry, you don’t need to speak to him, this isn’t about the mission,” although Jasmine might want to as this got entertaining.

Amon answered, the words in Latin, laced with worry that could only come across in the ancient languages – he did, after all, know what tonight was, “Antony, are you all right?”

Jasmine squinted a bit. Sure, it didn’t make it easier to understand, but she couldn’t help it. She knew Latin thanks to Antonia – but Amon’s voice was so accented when he spoke it, unlike any accent she knew, that she wasn’t sure she got it all.

Antony answered in kind, “Everything is fine, but Joseph wants to talk to you and I want to be entertained.” Whether or not Joseph understood was debatable. Jasmine understood Antonia at least, and stifled a laugh, not sure what she was in for, but certain it would be entertaining.

Amon shifted back to the common tongue, accent leaving – not entirely, of course, but it was easier to understand. “Joseph? Are you all right?” an apt question, no doubt. Joseph never seemed to take him up on any offers, so he was also prepared to be entertained by this change of heart to engage.

~***~

Lilian told her to go forward with this. Maria was against it. That was enough to make Cassidy hesitate, although perhaps she shouldn’t have concerned herself with Maria. It wouldn’t have mattered, in the end. The situation was crushing back in on them, hunters verging closer to the situation of their fallen comrade and their traitor. Cassidy wouldn’t have had time, unless she picked Eugene up, and even she understood the odds of successfully getting out of there with his weight were far slimmer.

She was strong, strong enough to carry him, but it would still slow her down. She wasn’t a werewolf, or blessed beyond normal vampires with additional strength. It was better for her, for Lilian, that she just pick herself up and run.

How she wished that she was stronger though!

Cassidy had to rise, but she left her jacket. How could she take it back, stained with his blood? It was the only thing she could offer, a shield against the visceral sight of his open wounds, and she managed to move to where Lilian was to take in the command to just…leave.

She gave Eugene one last look, of course. ‘I’m sorry.’ Intentional or not, self-defense or not, she had still killed him, and his chance at life slipped away with her, as she ran ahead to find a path out of this area, not familiar enough with the streets, but familiar enough with getting lost to help weave a path through alleys and main roads, around dead ends, always looking back for Lilian, always looking back to make sure they weren’t followed, until the shock of bright lights and busy streets revealed they had probably made it far enough away from any trouble to follow them.

The lights were staggering.

Her strength faded enough that she caught herself on a bench set aside for people waiting on a bus. Blood stained it immediately, never dry enough on her hands to stop existing flowing. Her hand clenched around the bench and she gasped the, “I’m sorry,” that she’d said a thousand times in her mind, but not nearly enough aloud, as she keeled forward to kneel besides the bench, hand still on it for support.

It wasn’t as if she could reach out to Lilian for support, after what she had done.

She wouldn’t be surprised if Lilian wanted to leave her right then, and so she didn’t dare to look at her, either.

“I’m so sorry.”

The words would never be enough, no matter how many times they were spoken. What could she ever do to make it up? ‘Nothing.’

 

[Syntra]

It wasn't often that Inga Singedottir regretted being a vampire, but when she did, not being able to digest popcorn was the prime cause. Popcorn was, like, the ideal food for drama! The perfect crunchiness to theatrics ratio! That they hadn't invented it before her death was honestly one of unlife's biggest cruelties, since Inga did believe with her whole heart that it was better to love something and then lose it, than to never know that love at all. Had she been familiar with the taste, she might have at least imagined it now!

Because Joseph calling Amon to, what, yell at him? Complain about the friendship he hadn't ordered? A certified popcorn scenario!

Antonia just going along with the Veturia boy's whims was a part of it, and Inga couldn't help but give her a cheeky little smile. "Careful there, Antonia. What if they find out they're getting along for real? Before you know it, you'll be funding Joseph's tuxedo collection."

"Hey!" Joseph pursed his lips, "I don't need a sponsor. I buy everything on my own," which, if he had to be honest, probably explained why none of it ever fit properly. His pay wasn't that great, but he still had his standards, and that often left him with less than ideal choices. Still, he'd rather die before showing up literally anywhere in a T-shirt! Or in whatever parody for clothes that Inga seemed to love so much these days.

You could count on her to look like a goddamn clown in pretty much any era.

"Oh. Hi, Jasmine!" Inga waved at the hunter, ignoring Joseph's entire spiel, "I see you had a bountiful harvest." So far, the whole mission seemed like a perfect success; the samples had been secured, and, next to all the dead hunters, the numbers of their own fallen looked... acceptable. Probably not to those who were actually dead, but, hey! Shouldn't have died if you wanted your opinion to count.

That was just how things worked.

What kind of history would it even be if you allowed the losers to write it?

Meanwhile, Antonia proceeded to dial Amon's number, and Inga didn't even try to hide the way she immediately burst into laughter. The look that Joseph gave her for it was searing, which... did make her come up with some kinda defense? If you could call it that, "No, no, I'm sorry -- I know this is actually super serious. Just say your piece, Josie! We're all cheering for you here!"

You probably couldn't.

Joseph had his own opinions on that, but he chose not to pay attention to Inga for now, instead focusing on the man that had made his life a living hell for the past... okay, fine, he hadn't done such a thing. To be fair to Amon, he hadn't done much to him at all, but it was still fucking weird, and Joseph was bothered enough. "Yes, I am! And thanks to you, apparently!" Somehow, it sounded like an accusation, "Also thanks to Lady Lenart and Inga," still the strangest fucking duo in existence, if you asked him, "Which is not how this should go. I mean, what the fuck? I like living, but why the hell am I getting rescued by my enemies? Explain yourself, Lord Amon!"

~***~

It was all a blur.

Voices, screaming over one another; the tears in her eyes; the need to fucking go, now, regardless of what the direction was. To go, and never stop, because stopping would mean actually acknowledging shit, which Lilian didn't feel remotely ready for.

Would she ever be?

Probably not.

There were things you could prepare for, and things that just... whacked you over the head with a fucking sledgehammer.

Something told her that the things that were waiting for didn't fall into the former category.

Everything in her wanted to run, and run, and run some more, but her legs weren't on board with the plan, nor were her lungs. Lilian still didn't quite understand how she'd escaped the mayhem in the first place, but it was a good thing she had; making even one more step seemed nothing short of impossible, the same way it was impossible to stop her tears.

Feels like glass. Glass in her eyes; glass in her chest; glass as far as you could see. Maybe she was made of glass, as well, which would explain why it was so easy for her to shatter.

The bench offered a welcome reprieve, and Lilian sat down next to Cassidy. Cassidy, who... was apologizing?

She didn't need to ask why.

She didn't want to, because hearing the admission from her lips would make it feel even more real than it already did.

And wasn't it too fucking real already?

Knowing what Cass had done.

Knowing that she had--

Not quite sure what she should do, Lilian looked down at her hands. The night was quiet; occasionally, you could hear the odd car or the laughter of a passing couple, but that was it. Something about the stillness felt downright threatening, like the gasp before a scream.

What am I even supposed to say to that? "It's fine, I have other friends?"

And she did, but none of them were Eugene. Not to mention, maybe she didn't even have those, because most of her friends were hunters, and they might take an issue with the whole 'dating Eugene's killer' bit. To say that Lilian herself was feeling some type of way about it all would be quite the understatement, but she, herself, didn't really know what it was.

If words were hard, then what were thoughts?

"Tell me what happened," Lilian finally spoke up, looking anywhere but at Cass, "I want to hear it. Everything."

 

[Lucyfer]

Antonia was trying to imagine Amon’s face as Joseph spoke of being fine with such accusation in his tone. He wasn’t giving away any laughter immediately, and she supposed he might even be wearing a stoic’s expression for his own amusement. Or amusement they couldn’t see, just because this was Too Much.

Even Jasmine was giving Joseph quite the side-eye for his complaints. Of course, she wasn’t exactly in the loop on the Joseph and Amon situation. She was aware enough of Amon to think that complaining of aid wasn’t the smartest decision in the book. If he felt like revoking it, it probably meant he was going to kill that person.

A low chuckle came from the phone at the end of Joseph’s spiel, “Lord Joseph,” Amon all but purred, “Are we enemies? I hadn’t the faintest idea, I thought we were over all of that by now,” Antonia could easily imagine the way his lips curled into a smile. “Lady Lenart, are you rescuing him to assassinate me?”

“I would hire a far better hunter than that, Amon.”

“Mmm, I see. Why did you rescue him?”

“He was in trouble and you’re obsessed with him almost as much as you are the sun.” She deadpanned it all, only because she knew that was, indeed, far more dramatic. Appear to have no stake in this, appear not to care, and it became several times more amusing. Which, she wouldn’t have cared about under normal circumstances…but they had just succeeded in her mission, and Joseph wanted to yell at Amon about living, so it was a weird day.

“Well, yes, but usually you look out for me a bit better than that and don’t rescue my enemies. Did you know we were enemies?”

“Hadn’t a clue. I also thought we were done with that, but you know how the rumor mill circulates.”

“Usually just about you, dear Antony.”

The smirk and silence were enough for Amon to continue – even if he couldn’t see the smirk.

“Are we enemies, Joseph?” Amon asked, “I did not wish to see you as much, but I have been willfully blind to such things before, which I suppose has caused much painful confusion. I can cease such a delusion, if you would like.”

Jasmine couldn’t help but mouth ‘dramatic ass bitch’, knowing full well it applied to Antonia, and she had suspicions it might apply to everyone in that car.

Vampires!

~***~

Cassidy knew that Lilian wasn’t looking at her, even if she was also avoiding looking at Lilian. There was a strange knowing that accompanied mutual avoidance, even if the topic couldn’t be avoided another moment after Lilian took her seat and heard the apologies that came on breathless gasps. Tears, that fell to the pavement, hardly making an impact in even staining it darker.

Lilian was owed an explanation.

Cassidy did not intend to deprive her of it, but finding the words was difficult. Where did she begin? How did she begin? “Maria found me. Or I found Maria,” who was to say, “she attacked me.” Of course she did, and Cassidy had managed not to kill her, but, “I hurt her,” of course, “I meant to run away but Eugene saw.”

And Eugene came at her.

That didn’t need to be said, did it? Of course he did, he came to defend his friend, and she felt the pain of that desperation he must have felt well up in a gasped sob, a sob she didn’t deserve, pain she didn’t deserve, as she fought to hold it back by holding her breath for a few seconds, swallowing at it, shutting her eyes against it, until she could speak through that tightness. “He did what he should have. He defended her.” There was no fault for him, none at all, because she understood what panic he must have felt.

“He got me off balance. I fell. He followed. And I…I stabbed him.”

Self-defense.

It could have been better.

It could have been less fatal. “I’m sorry,” again, that useless phrase, that useless set of words that fixed fuck-all. “I never…I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t.” The suppressed pain came out in a shudder, and she let go of the bench to wrap the arm around her knees instead, already pressing into her chest as she stayed crouched by the bench, rather than dared to try and sit properly on it. She needed to compress herself.

It was the only way she wasn’t going to fall to pieces.

“If…if we need to be apart…I can…I’ll find another place to stay tonight.”

Or forever.

She killed Eugene, the least she could do was give Lilian an apartment.

 

[Syntra]

Lilian listened. There wasn't much else for her to do but listen, so she did exactly that, her eyes never once moving away from the pavement.

She wished it was more interesting. More attention-grabbing. Something should have been there, dammit! A weird-seeming crack, an unusual bug, pretty much anything aside from the perfectly uniform sea of grey, boring to look at and not at all distracting. You did ask, she reminded herself. So why do you want a distraction now, coward?

Maybe because, sometimes, you didn't fucking know what you wanted. Not until you got it. The cause-consequence line seemed straight enough in a lot of cases, but Lilian still found that it was somewhat hard to predict how you'd feel about reaching that destination without... well, actually being there.

Kind of like agreeing to go fuck over the local hunters, and then being awfully surprised that some of them might die as a result. That some of those dead might even be her friends.

Maths was merciless.

Statistics, too.

What had she expected, with hunter friends being the only friends she'd ever had? The Venn diagram of her social connections and the organization might as well have been a fucking circle!

Well, aside from Cass. Cass, and everyone that she knew through Cass. Something of a sore point, now.

The story was as predictable as it was heartbreaking. Of course. Of fucking course that Maria couldn't just let it go, simply because she was Maria and letting go wasn't her forte. It could be sort of cute, for example when she insisted on throwing you a birthday party no matter what, even if everyone was exhausted after a mission and wanted to just sleep. "It's your day," she'd say, with that big, stupid smile on her face, "You gotta enjoy it. I don't make the rules here, Lils!"

It was less cute with grudges.

And, like clockwork, Eugene had come to her rescue, the knight in shining armor that he was. Had been. They'd always advised them against it! 'Save yourself first,' had been the usual mantra, and one that tended to be followed, because it was the sensible thing to do. The logical thing to do. Survivor's guilt was still better than the coldness of a grave, and everyone dealt with it in their own way. Eugene, though... well, he'd never quite learned that lesson.

Now he never would.

"I see." She didn't sound angry, which was possibly the worst outcome here, given that Lilian Perry got angry at pretty much everything. Not being able to squeeze the last few drops of ketchup from the bottle? A cause for a nuclear-grade meltdown! So was the store not having her favorite soup, or the water in her bath being too cold, and most mild inconveniences you could imagine, in general. Now, she just sounded... tired. A little bit lost, too.

This would have been easier had she actually been an asshole. But Cass, her sweet, earnest Cass, was so obviously shattered by the whole ordeal that Lilian just couldn't bring herself to react with the usual fury.

And that she couldn't forgive her, either? An entirely separate issue. Something for the future Lilian to handle, because the current one had way too much on her plate already, and adding just one more ounce would break her arms.

"That won't bring him back, will it?" Definitely an unfair thing to say, but what was fair here? Nothing. Absolutely nothing! "No, I just..." A gasp escaped from her mouth, though it might as well have been a sob. Not like the distinction really mattered, "...Need to sleep. Let's go home. We can... talk later."

About things. About all the things, but fuck that now, since she was tired and needed to not be for a while. For that, sleeping did seem like the best bet.

~***~

Inga was pleased to learn that pretty much all of her predictions turned out to be true, and those that didn't only failed because they actually got exceeded. Whatever this shit was? Comedy of the year material right there! Which, of course, meant that not participating had never been an option.

"Lord Amon," she began, her voice uncharacteristically solemn, "Have mercy on poor Joseph's soul. He knows not what he's asking of you!" Inga, and dramatic? Nope, couldn't possibly happen, "It is hard for him to imagine the terrible fury that would fall on his head if he were to become your enemy for real. Is it not better to forget the old grievances? To let your heart bloom with new hope?" One thing was clear; as far as Shakespearean tragedies went, Inga actually would have made for a surprisingly decent actress. Nothing about the performance seemed remotely authentic, but dammit, was there soul in it! True passion!

Joseph, for the most part, was torn between rolling his eyes at Inga's antics and being genuinely terrified of everyone who wasn't Inga. Antonia... looked serious about this? Not that he had ever seen her look not serious, but that only supported his hypothesis that she did, in fact, mean all of it.

Whether Amon meant what he said was debatable, and perhaps not even something that the Sun God himself knew.

Ugh, what a mess! For a second or two, Joseph considered fucking off. Sure, it wasn't easy to fuck off when you were a) stuck in a moving vehicle, b) almost guaranteed to be pursued, but answering that question also didn't strike him as the simplest thing in the world. Mostly, it was that he had no idea what he'd expected from this. Calling Amon in the first place had been a brainfart, and now he had to, what? Live with the consequences of his actions? Give him a fucking break!

Also, of course that he wanted Amon to be an enemy. He was a Veturia! Inga already had the monopoly on weird, obviously forbidden relationships here, and he wasn't too eager to become a pariah himself.

Heh, become.

As if any of them gave a damn about him.

In the end, the confusion did leak into his response: "I suppose that I don't strictly want that," what, "But I still don't get why this is a thing! You should at least try to get to know me if you're going to... ugh, I don't know."

How did the cool kids call it? Trainwreck? Yeah, this night was turning out to be a trainwreck of epic fucking proportions!

 

[Lucyfer]

Even Cassidy agreed that anger would have been somehow easier to deal with. The exhaustion, the simple doneness of Lilian’s response, did not make her feel less anxious or less insecure. She knew all that response was really doing, was putting things off. Which, was more or less what Lilian said, too.

That could be good.

Clearer heads could prevail, later. At least she’d know Lilian’s eventual response was measured and thoughtful of all they’d been through, and all that had happened in the fight, as well as who Eugene was to her. Which…well, Cassidy didn’t know a great deal about, other than he was a friend alongside Maria, a trio, it seemed, that ought to have remained inseparable. Then she had to show up in Lilian’s life and ruin everything through sheer dumb luck on all sides, and now one of the three was dead.

Dead, and she couldn’t fix it any longer.

Something Lilian made obvious. “No,” separating wouldn’t bring him back, Cassidy could only miserably agree. Not that it had been the intent. The intent was only to offer space to breathe. She thought it still might be a good thing, but wandering around aimlessly wasn’t going to help her.

Still, she knew where some of the checkpoints were for vampires in this battle so they got scooped up and taken to safety.

Barring that, there was always Valencia’s hotel.

Perhaps Lilian needed to go home, but Cassidy…needed the space, she realized, as she forced herself to unball and stand on shaky legs. “I’ll see you home,” she promised, “I’m…I’m going to bother Tristan or…someone.” Antonia, Inga, a host of other vampires she now knew the names of. Older vampires, who might have fucked up this badly in the past and might have advice on how to deal with it.

“We can talk when you’re ready. I’ll come home then.” She understood the oppressive environment of them both being there might be…a bit much for her right then. Maybe after a day she’d go home anyways just to…check in, but she didn’t think it was good for her to stay that night.

Not when they’d both just be avoiding each other and the topic.

~***~

Amon did finally let out a low chuckle at Joseph’s statement. “I have been trying to get to know you, Lord Joseph, but you seem to find reason to run off, not be around, or take offense to my every attempt,” Amon pointed out, “I will admit I was not the most courteous at Lord Tyr’s demise when I addressed you, and I will not apologize for that.”

He was Amon. He meant to be discourteous there because he hated Tyr. He wouldn’t apologize for what Joseph recognized as truth. “But he had good tastes in siring you, and I have not held you to his standard.”

Otherwise Joseph would indeed be dead, but Amon knew the difference of Sire and Childe. The sins of the sire did not always fall to the childe.

“I suppose I could have taken the hint that you did not wish to know me, or be friends, but I did not,” that was also said with no apology. “Is that the case, Lord Joseph? I can cease my attempts to know you, without considering you an enemy, if you so desire.”

Antonia was certain Amon knew he was playing Joseph into a corner. Sure, being enemies was off the table, but having suggested getting to know each other, now Joseph certainly wasn’t going to deny Amon that chance. Which meant, the meme world was going to explode the second Amon and Joseph were seen anywhere together, interacting like normal people. Well, as normal as Amon ever got, which was…not normal at all.

Of course, she held her tongue.

She didn’t need to say anything, anymore.

She was a little sad she wasn't involved in the shitposting group, though. She might have to ask Inga to share some of these with her.

 

[Syntra]

“If you want.”

And, well, that was it. Cassidy did accompany her home, for what it was worth, and Lilian then watched with dull... something as the door shut behind her again.

What that dull something was, she couldn’t quite tell; whether it was resentment, sorrow, or some odd, especially unpleasant combination of both, facing it felt nothing short of impossible now. Like trying to lift a mountain with her pinky finger. Not that she could lift a mountain with her whole arm, but—

I really need to sleep. Ah, yes! The voice of reason! Eugene would have been proud.

Eugene, who’d often stayed up late just to tell her off for not getting enough sleep. With all of his mother hen tendencies, he’d never quite grasped that she was an adult as well; a situation that was especially comical, given he was actually younger than her. Not by much, but he was!

Or had been.

That… would take some getting used to.

Some getting used to, and a lot of alcohol.

A well-adjusted, responsible person would have understood how bad of an idea that was. That hypothetical version of Lilian would have reminded herself of all the times that she’d regretted getting hammered, come to the conclusion that it wasn’t actually worth it, and gone straight to bed. The current Lilian… did understand it as well. Self-awareness wasn’t a complete stranger to her, in that it often hung around just behind the corner instead of straight up living in another country. More often than not, she could identify the problem.

The thing was, she also didn’t give a fuck.

It hurt now, which meant that Lilian, also, needed something for the pain now, and since they hadn’t figured out how to make band aids for the soul yet, it looked like there weren’t that many other options left. So, booze to the rescue!

Too bad that she had to open the fridge to get it. The fridge, which was full of blood; an endless row of packs, one next to another, each of them a reminder of just who she was living with.

A vampire. A vampire, who’d killed her closest friend.

She didn’t do it on purpose. No, that much was obvious. Lilian couldn’t imagine many things that Cassidy wanted to do less, aside from maybe hurting her directly. Regardless of what had happened, she still wasn’t nearly paranoid enough to spin inane theories about the treachery of vampires and Cass planning to do this kinda shit all along. Clearly, it had been… an accident. An unfortunate roll of the dice.

Except that she still had to live with that dice roll. She had to, possibly for years, and intentions mattered fuck all when blood had been spilled. When she’d never get to say so many things to Eugene now! How she’d loved him for looking out for her, despite all the eye rolls. How fucking stupid the whole zombie apocalypse shtick was. How much she wanted that bomb-ass pumpkin pie recipe, in case she’d ever learned to use the oven for more than just public endangerment, and how she’d actually thought he was cool all along for inventing it, but, sour grapes.

Always sour grapes.

Now there was just the sourness left.

Not bothering to get herself a glass, Lilian took a gulp straight from the bottle. It was cheap shit, only really good for murdering your brain cells en masse, but that was exactly the appeal here.

To not think. To not have to look in the mirror. To not be, for a little while.

Chasing that sweet oblivion, Lilian drank, drank, and drank some more, but the stupid thoughts just wouldn’t fuck off. As if on purpose, they sounded louder in her head now; more defined, the more blurred the other details got.

And one of them became ever insistent: I wonder, when will be the funeral?

~***~

Nice one, Amon! He can’t possibly refuse you now!

Wait. Was Inga actually cheering for this disaster to happen? She may have been, if only because she was something of a disaster connoisseur, and because it was funny to watch as someone’s life imploded before her very eyes. Usually, that someone was her; it not being the case for once provided a fresh, much-needed twist on the formula. A dash of seasoning!

And, with the newfound not-quite-appreciation for Joseph, Inga could also see how this could be good for him. Well, presumably? The Veturia likely hadn’t changed much, in that ‘asshole’ was still the main demographic. You kind of had to be one, or become one, to be okay with many things that were the norm over there, and once she was done closing her eyes to the truth, it became clear how much that warped everything.

Before meeting the Optimates gang, Inga couldn’t even imagine a leader having the same kind of relationship with his subordinates as Amon did with Antonia. It just… hadn’t existed in the same mental category.

Joseph had known, what? Matteo and Isolde?

Great rolemodels! If you wanted a manual on how to scar everyone forever.

Joseph bit his lip, clearly conflicted. That alone was a good start; if nothing else, it meant that sending Amon where the sun didn’t shine was not actually his first impulse. Well, well, well! Wasn’t that funny? Inga hadn’t quite decided yet, but what she did know, and with great certainty, was that she was a fan. Where can I get Amon x Joseph T-shirts? The thought emerged from the darkest corners of her mind, which obviously meant that she had to embrace it. Could I possibly sell these? Oh man, Antonia would be so proud! Her first business venture, and already something guaranteed to be a banger. She could use the money to finance her rose research, and—

“I suppose,” Joseph finally said.

“You suppose what?” Inga raised her eyebrow. “C’mon, Josie, we don’t live inside your head. Give us some of that sweet, sweet context!”

“That I’m going to fucking punch you, Inga!”

“A foregone conclusion, if I’ve ever seen one. But aside from that?”

Joseph’s expression was an answer of its own, though she still couldn’t resist pushing a bit, “Weeeeell?”

“I suppose that I don’t mind getting to know you, Lord Amon,” Joseph wisely decided to ignore Inga, “If you stop being weird about it. And if you stop insulting my sire!” Some of the usual combativeness returned to his voice, “I don’t want to listen to that.”

Sure, Amon didn’t need to love him, but Joseph also didn’t think he had to rub the salt into his wounds.

 

[Lucyfer]

Tristan was available to share a room, though Cassidy knew it wasn’t free. Nothing was ever free with Tristan, and she should have been wary that he wasn’t naming prices as her debt to him increased, Starting with Lilian, and continuing with Lilian, but she was hardly going to hold Lilian responsible for either of those situations as she shambled in, a wreck from the fight, a wreck from the night, and was all but shoved into a bathroom with oversized, clean clothing, and an “I don’t want to hear it” before her host vanished.

She cleaned up, numbly, trying to get every speck of blood off of her and out from underneath her nails. It was a good hour before she stepped out of the room and into the rest of Tristan’s penthouse, in the baggy clothes. She didn’t find him in any of the public living spaces, so she did go to one of the shut doors, took a breath – and almost knocked on his face as he opened it.

“Stop looming.”

Cassidy jolted back and Tristan leaned in the doorway, hair black, expression the epitome of irritation, but not without a certain…pity. It wasn’t empathy or even sympathy, it was pity, and it seemed he guessed things, or knew things, from how poorly Cassidy tried to explain why she was coming over without…saying it. “This is what always happens with hunters, you know. In the end, you fuck up one of their friends and it goes to shit from there.”

“Said from experience?”

“Not my own. I think the Princess has some, but,” he shrugged, “she’s too cold to help you out, probably.” He sighed, “I can’t help either. I haven’t seen it work out.”

Cassidy clenched her fists, wanting to demand an answer for why he came to talk to her – but she supposed that was obvious. She had been looming after all, and that drew his attention. “You do a lot of shitposting. Don’t you ever sometimes feel like you go too far?”

“Too far? Lol,” he actually said that, “no. But I can tell you a thing or two about forgiveness if that’s the general vibe you’re going for here. Getting it, that is. I’ve fucked up enough. Not really sure I’ve been forgiven, but people act like I have been.”

“What did you do that you actually cared enough to seek forgiveness for?” Cassidy probably shouldn’t have asked it in such a condescending way, but she was still a little angry at his greeting and ‘not helping’ bit.

“Oh, you know, world domination,” he waved it off like it was bullshit, and Cassidy scoffed, believing it was bullshit, “Do you want to hear or no?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “What?”

“Sacrifice,” Tristan said. “Can’t say what. Can’t even say how. But getting forgiveness requires sacrifice. Maybe time, maybe someone, or something, but putting in as much as was lost, is how you get forgiveness. You can’t ever really fill the hole with it, but it makes it smaller. So, when you and Flower Power are talking, you’re going to have to start figuring out what that is, if you want to make this work.” He pushed off the doorway, “of course I think it’s a stupid idea to continue relationships with hunters, but no one ever listens to me, so, YOLO.”

And with that, he shut the door, along with a, “I’m playing Elden Ring right now so don’t bother me while I stomp noobs trying to fight Malenia.”

Cassidy sighed.

There were nuances of truth in there. She was sure of that.

However, she thought it might do her better to talk to someone in a…similar position. Not Antonia, but Inga. Inga seemed…a bit more open to talking about her own fuck-ups, or just talking in general, so Cassidy went to the room set aside for her, and sent a text to Inga.

Hey, when you have a minute…I could use someone to talk to. Just…call me.​

~***~

Antonia kept a straight face through Inga’s harassment of Joseph for details, even if his answer was obvious enough to her – and likely Amon. Amon also remained silent through the harassment, but as he got clarity, it was easy to hear the way he clapped his hands together, “Done~ but I’ll hear no insults towards Lady Lenart, then,” he said, no doubt pegging her correctly as the most contentious figure, given he knew her role in having Tyr killed, now.

And the rumors.

“So I shall see you at 9pm tomorrow?” Naturally, he would slide into making plans immediately to meet with Joseph and get to know him, and it was on that note the evening continued as Antonia saw to their arrival back at her mansion, and then the dividing up of everyone to their own places, Inga, of course, with the vials of the God’s Blessing so she could look into this more for them.

~***~

Vrishaketu made it out of the battle well enough, and killing plenty of hunters along the way. He may as well milk it for all he could, right? He wasn’t often given free reign to kill like that, without worrying about abandoning his current host body. It could have even been called a good day, if he hadn’t had to call Isolde and tell her the plans got messed up – he’d deliver Antonia another day.

A problem arose with Inga, not that he’d let her be aware of it. No, no, he’d still meet her for the blood drawing, and he’d reach out to one of those who actually knew who he was – Leif, the one he considered as the assassin of the group that survived his supposed death.

Convincing everyone he’d lived had been a bit of a chore, but they came around, Leif included.

So he waited for Leif in the place he was using as a home away from home – paid for, of course, by Lady Lenart who’d never let her hunters endure piss poor housing. That also meant it was housed under Valencia’s hotel, so it was no oddity for vampires to show up besides the weird hunter-turned-vampire that was Max’s existence.

He recognized Leif when he entered and lifted a hand to signal him over to the table at the hotel bar. He wasn’t really worried about cameras – Tristan had all of that well scoped out as part of getting a free room here, among other things.

He was 90% sure Tristan was somehow blackmailing Valencia, but Tristan told him fuck all.

“Thanks for getting up here on short notice,” Vrishaketu said, “got a bit of a problem. Ever hear of Inga Singedottir?” not that he left it at that. He had a picture pulled up, because Leif was going to need to know who his target was.

 

[Syntra]

“Maya, my friend! The light of my life!”

The crackling on the end of the line suggested that Maya was a bit exasperated, though Inga had long stopped paying attention to such things. When exasperation seemed to be everyone’s default setting around you, you sort of… started filtering it away. “Yes, that would be me. What is it that you need this time, Inga?”

“What,” Inga shifted around a bit, holding the phone with her shoulder as she poured more of the so-called ‘blessing’ into one of the beakers, “Can’t I just call because I wanna hear about your day?”

“Well, do you wanna hear about my day?”

“Not really.”

“Ya know, it really wouldn’t kill you if you asked me about these things once in a while. I’m feeling neglected over here.”

Inga rolled her eyes, “I’d ask you more often if you actually bothered to do interesting stuff! Let me guess: you spent it browsing Amon’s cat videos?”

“No,” came her friend’s immediate response, “Making fresh memes about you and Antonia.”

Somehow, Maya joining the traitors like that didn’t shock Inga in the slightest. Ever since the reveal, she’d been obsessed with… well, pretty much everything that she had no right to stick her nose in? Something about her ‘having been waiting for this for ages’ and ‘needing to document this for the future generations.’ What ‘this’ referred to, in that context, was a question that Inga hadn’t quite found the courage to ask. “You SHOULD have watched those videos instead.”

“And deprive the world of my comedic genius?”

“…”

“Want to see them? I wonder what you’d say about the one with—”

“No.”

“Geez, someone’s being a bit sensitive! But, okay, I’m done having fun at your expense. Why are you calling?”

Fucking finally! “I was just wondering if you still know the guy who knows the guy who is, like, THE tech wizard around here. The one who keeps inventing new shit?”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much.” And it really didn’t, because knowing these kinds of people was kinda Maya’s job. Selling information meant that she had to stay in the loop; without that, there obviously would have been nothing to sell. “You mean Arif?”

“That’s the name! Listen, you think he can make a tracker for me? A real tiny one, enough so that it can pass through a needle.”

“Is this a Biblical reference, or do you actually…?”

“Don’t ask.”

‘Don’t ask’ was a codeword for ‘you don’t fucking want to know,’ and, if nothing else, Maya had at least learned to recognize when Inga really meant these things.

“You’re doing something shady again,” she accused, as if that was remotely surprising, “But, yes. That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Awesome. Then, pretty please~!”

The matter of payment was discussed, and when it was finally time to say goodbye to Maya, Inga found herself rather satisfied with the deal. Cutting edge tech, in exchange for getting to have fun in a professional-level lab? That was like being paid for eating cotton candy!

Not that she knew what eating cotton candy actually felt like.

It did strike her as a fun thing to put in your mouth, though, and so Inga was fond of using it in her comparisons.

Okay, time to text Max?

Because those things did go hand in hand. “To find out what a motherfucker is up to, tail his ass” wasn’t an ancient Old Norse proverb, but Inga was of the opinion that it definitely should have been. It was one of those things that just worked! And drawing his blood was a good way to make it happen, simply because, when you didn’t know what to watch out for, you’d never notice something being inserted during the process.

That was when her screen lit up again.

Well, well, well! Aren’t I a social butterfly tonight?

If this trend continued, Inga might as well… start her own talk show, or whatever the fuck it was that popular chicks did.

A weird thought!

It being Cassidy, of all people, was even weirder, but why not? Not like there was much work left to do, and Inga wasn’t all that fond of the part where she just… stared into the wall, waiting for the results.

So, she dialed her number, “Hey, hey!” the cheer in her voice was genuine, “What is it that you need the awesome Inga’s wisdom for? I’m great at everything, aside from all the things I suck at.” Which, admittedly, was a pretty long list, “Wait, no, don’t open your mouth yet. I could use a change of scenery,” staying in the lab was always distracting in its own way, “Meet you at Hazy Escape in a minute?”

Hazy Escape was one of those vamp-operated bars, complete with blood dolls and cheesy atmosphere. Inga rarely visited it, if only because a) she had nobody to go with, b) when she did go alone, strangers tried to talk to her. That wasn’t necessarily a bother, but she also had to be in the mood for that kind of thing.

It wasn’t even that far, so Inga found herself sitting on one of those bar stools not too long after, drinking from a – pleasantly warm – cup of blood. “Oh, hi!” she waved at Cassidy. “Why the long face? Has someone died?”

~***~

Vrishaketu didn’t call often.

For Leif’s tastes, his calls were actually getting much too sparse. Lofty goals did require time, yes; they also required you to fucking do something, though, and there hadn’t been much of that in the past decade or so.

Not on his side of things, anyway.

And what was a blade even for, if you didn’t keep it wet with blood?

Patience, he reminded himself, You’ve waited for this long already. What’s a few more centuries?

Which, was very much true. That didn’t mean that the waiting had gotten any easier, though; waiting, and looking, and not being able to change a damn thing. Other things changing far too readily for his liking, too. It… wasn’t simple, being someone like himself, in an age that no longer had a need for such men.

Of course, that just meant he had to remake it in his image. No big deal, right?

Oh, if only!

Leif sighed, and entered the lobby. Few heads turned, which was entirely by design. Nothing about him suggested that he was special in any way shape or form, aside from, perhaps, some tattoos, all of which were dutifully covered. An uninitiated observer would only see a middle-aged man, not too tall but not too short; not too thin but not too thick; not too anything, because all those little ‘too’ things did was draw undue attention. If anyone had to name his most striking feature, it would probably be his green eyes, which were watching Vrishaketu with undisguised interest.

Vrishaketu, their dear leader.

The one hope for a better world.

That he actually hadn’t died was the one small blessing to their cause.

“No, it’s fine,” he waved his hand, and chuckled before sitting down, “All it did it is make me curious.” And that feeling grew by the minute, because Vrishaketu seemed to have a fascinating target in mind this time around. Well, perhaps not objectively, but: “Inga! Protected by Yngvi. A good name,” he nodded approvingly, “Although I fear Yngvi won’t help her much if I’m to bring you her head.” A shame, in a way. Leif didn’t get to meet too many of his countrymen out there, for reasons that he didn’t fully understand. Perhaps they preferred to stay in their homeland? Could be! Nights were much longer in Scandinavia, and that was… preferable. More comfortable for his kind. “What is she, Icelandic? Danish?” The name only really ruled out Finland, which had always been the odd one out.

Posers.

“But, no,” he took the photo, and glanced at the woman, “Can’t say I’m familiar with her. What did she do to spite you so, hm?” A frivolous question, though Leif also couldn’t help himself. Curiosity had… always been one of his worse vices. More to the point, however: “Anything that I should be aware of? Habits, whereabouts? Talents?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Cassidy pulled herself out of Tristan’s penthouse and went down to the Hazy Escape. She didn’t feel like being anywhere public, and especially not this kind of location. Sure, she knew she ought to drink something, but for once she actually felt like her appetite was dead. That hadn’t even happened when she was young and full of guilt.

This was, truly, a far deeper kind of guilt.

When she saw Inga, she approached, still in the horribly too-large clothes (and unbeknownst to her, also very gamer coded – she was unfamiliar with the caryll runes of Bloodborne, and certainly not the one Eye rune), unable to shake her solemn expression, even though she tried to give her a smile in greeting. It fell flat, and as she slid into her seat and heard Inga’s question, she put her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. “Yes,” came the answer, almost a sob again because she was absolutely not over this.

She also knew Inga was oblivious so it wasn’t her fault for asking it like that. Lots of hunters died. Inga wouldn’t know one had been important.

There was an interruption of someone coming over and asking her if she wanted anything to drink. A murmured, “No,” was the best she could give to that, not daring to lift her head until after they had gone to look at Inga, to try and give her an answer that would say it all without, well, causing her to actually start crying in public.

That wasn’t any fun.

“I killed one of Lilian’s friends, Inga. I don’t know what to do.” That it was eating her up was obvious. “You’ve…you’re…you know what it’s like, I thought…I thought you could help, because of the whole…Antonia thing.” It was her one hope in all of this, that somehow, Inga learned enough to help Cassidy make this a little more right.

~***~

Vrishaketu knew a bit here and there about the gods and goddess of the world, but keeping any one of them straight was next to impossible given the numerous deities he’d grown up with. So, he didn’t pay much mind to Leif’s comment, other than it meant that this person could mean something to him. Odds weren’t good, if he didn’t recognize the name right off, but then, Vrishaketu knew there was more to it than that.

“I can’t say I know where she comes from, but she’s at least over a thousand years old,” he answered, “a former Veturia per Isolde,” which wasn’t a problem, given it was former, or seemed to be former, by any sane mind. “She got in the way of me collecting Lady Lenart for Isolde, which I would rather like to do as it will advance me far up the chain with my next host.” Which he wouldn’t name right then, because it wasn’t set in stone.

Also, he was in her hotel, and he didn’t care what kind of tech-wizardry Tristan pulled, there were some risks that were a bit too bold, even for him.

“I’m not sure where she is residing, but she is around Lady Lenart often enough, and will likely be near the next time I think to make an attempt,” he sighed, “so we will need to arrange it between each other. Regarding talents…that’s where it gets interesting,” he couldn’t help the quirk of her lips, “while she’s rather intelligent in a way – she’s figured out my blood doesn’t belong to a newborn – she seems to either have your talent, or perhaps invisibility. She appears out of nowhere, and it’s not just me being inattentive.”

No, he knew it was something more than that, and he’d been around Leif enough to suspect it could be very much the same. Given the location, he considered it probable she was perhaps a childe of a childe, or childe of a sibling, to Leif. It would make sense. After all, there used to be quite a few more people with talents similar (but never quite the same) as Lady Lenart. They were all dead now, of course.

He knew Lenart to be the mutation, much like Tristan was the mutation of his line. Not that anyone ever inherited body-hopping, the same way people never inherited Amon’s talent, but he knew the vast majority of his childes inherited shapeshifting rather than astral projection like Tristan.

It made the boy stand out, among other reasons.

 

[Syntra]

Oh, damn. There weren’t that many moments when Inga Singedottir regretted acting with the subtlety of your average sledgehammer, but if you were curious what an exception to that rule would be… well, seek no further! Because this wasn’t fun. In fact, it was the opposite of fun. Cassidy looking as destroyed about it as she did contributed a lot to that awesome ‘you fucked up’ feeling, and, in the aftermath of the confession, all Inga did for a few seconds was stare into her cup blankly.

“Sorry,” was her first reaction, “I… didn’t know.” Obviously! But also, sorry for not being able to help all that much. Because: You should have picked a better rolemodel here, kid. Ideally someone who didn’t have ‘disaster’ written all over her metaphoric Wikipedia entry, and also someone who fucking knew what she was doing. Just, anyone but the chick who was fumbling around in the dark?

But maybe that would actually make it more relatable.

More… relevant, to her own situation.

There was no clean way out of this as far as Inga could see, but perhaps Cassidy would find some comfort in knowing that it wasn’t just her life that sucked. Everyone’s lives were miserable! In unity, solidarity!

Or something.

I’m too old for this, Inga thought, not for the first time. Alternatively, maybe Cassidy was simply too young for this; too young, and too hopeful, which would explain how she thought that literally anyone could help in this situation, let alone her.

That was just the thing, though, wasn’t it?

She was young, and innocent, and Inga did have a soft spot for all those things that she, herself, wasn’t really allowed to be.

“You should eat,” she chided, “Starving yourself won’t help. Unless you’re planning a hunger strike? Doesn’t seem like too effective of an approach to me.”

Who cared about generic mother hen advice, though? Not Cassidy, who had come to her for a reason.

“Just so you’re aware, I… don’t believe Antonia has actually forgiven me,” Inga finally said. For once, she sounded serious; there wasn’t a hint of tease in her voice, or of much else. The matter-of-factness was a little staggering, at least for anyone who had spent more than five minutes talking to her usual self. “You don’t actually know what’s going on, do you?” Beyond the memes, which she didn’t at all consider a trustworthy source, “Trust me, it’s better that way. But, for context: I have killed her sire. I didn’t know who he was at the time, nor did I know her, and it honestly didn’t mean much to me because I killed a lot of people that day,” an awkward chuckle, “I don’t even remember the faces. I don’t think I really looked.”

Not looking was easier. In a way, she’d spent her entire life not looking, until Antonia had come and made her.

Another thing to be thankful for.

“I had my orders,” she added, “So it wasn’t like I just decided to go on a killing spree for fun, but my hands are quite bloody.” Why was she sharing all this? In part to distract Cassidy a bit, because it was always better to laugh at another’s misery than to wallow in yours. Making herself the target was the pragmatic choice, given that her wound was scarred over. Not fresh anymore. In the process of… healing? Hopefully! And also because Cass had been honest about what she, herself, had done. Being too stingy with details would have felt unfair at best.

“That’s my sin, and what I’m atoning for. If you’re asking what I learned about that…” Inga offered a small smile, “It’s that you can’t change people’s hearts. The only one that you can change is yours. So, it’s better… not to expect much, and do things because you want to do them, instead of thinking there will be a reward. I’m not saying it won't work, but most of it really is up to Lils-Lils.”

She could forgive Cassidy, or she could not. Who knew?

At this point, probably not even Lilian herself.

“Nudging her in that direction could be good, though. What do you think would help? C’mon, you know her better than I do. Give me some ideas!”

After all, there was no universal recipe for forgiveness.

~***~

Hmm, hmm. Whoever this Inga was, one thing seemed clear; her choice of allies was… rather poor. Life-ending, even. At the same time, she had intercepted Vrishaketu’s attempt successfully, which meant there likely were multiple things to be wary of.

Not that he had to be wary often. Few noticed it when he set his sights on a target, and fewer still could fight back in a way that actually mattered. Privately, Leif felt more than a little sorry for them; he did, and quite unambiguously so, just like you could feel sorry for the cockroaches that had infested your apartment and had to be exterminated as a result. Often, it… wasn’t their fault. Not really. All they did was live, and didn’t they all live the best they could?

But someone else’s best was often his worst.

Such as when they decided to stand in their way.

“That was rather unwise of her,” he chuckled, “But wait, isn’t that the one Tristan keeps joking about?” Leif didn’t really keep up with the world of internet, thinking it both frivolous and empty, but some of the so-called ‘memes’ had reached him. He… didn’t know what to think about them, and so he chose not to think anything at all. Still, the association was there! And when Vrishaketu mentioned Lenart, his brain connected the dots. “Perhaps you could ask him about our dear Inga, then. I can look for her on my own, but if he gave me a hint or two,” the man shrugged, “I imagine I’d be able to locate her much faster. You know how these things are.”

They both did. Tristan could be a great source of information when he wanted to be, and the issue was that he usually didn’t want that. Or, well, not often enough for Leif not to resent him.

In truth, he still didn’t understand the relationship the two had. To be Vrishaketu’s childe, and not give their cause his all? Almost as unthinkable as actually tolerating it. Of course, it also wasn’t for one such as him to criticize their leader, and so he held his tongue.

Leif listened to the rest, making mental notes as he did, only for his mind to stumble over a… certain detail. “My talent?” he repeated, not quite believing his ears, “Nonsense. It isn’t an easy thing to inherit.” Rather than ‘not easy to inherit,’ perhaps he should have said ‘impossible,’ because everything suggested so. “I was the only one in our line to have it,” his own sire, bless her dead little heart, had been sweet, but useless. Her talent had been much the same, and had mostly revolved around… well, making others’ lives easier. She’d been able to make things disappear; abstract things, like pain, and not so abstract things, like diseases. All but him had followed in her footsteps, and become talented enough healers to be accepted in human circles. There had obviously been something wrong with them, but why question it?

They’d brought relief, and it wasn’t that strange for them to demand blood as payment. Many gods used it as a currency.

No, it was Leif who was the mutation. He’d tried to make a worthy heir as well, numerous times, only for it to never work. All had been a reflection of his own sire. He could swear they’d looked like her as well, and watched him with the same eyes – with the same unspoken implication that he was a monster, too.

That was why he’d stopped trying.

Although, not before— How old is she, again?

“It’s likely invisibility,” he said, “Or something similar but not quite the same. I’ve known those who could switch their location with an object and such.” A thought came and didn’t quite go, though, the thought, in fact, and once again, Leif couldn’t help himself: “Does she have to die immediately? I’d like to… test something first. Of course, she’d be out of commission for sure so she wouldn’t threaten your plans. Also, any special request? Should I frame someone?”

That was always his favorite aspect of these jobs, if only because vanilla assassinations got real old real fast.

 

[Lucyfer]

Cassidy nodded, evidence she heard the apology, and accepted it. As for food, she just sighed. She understood the logic, but she just didn’t have an appetite. She would work on it later. The last thing she needed was to lose control and bite someone again. Bite Lilian. Or one of her friends, with her current luck.

Inga’s story wove itself out, the truth among the memes making themselves known. She winced all the same at the ‘just orders’, glad it seemed Inga had grown beyond that…just, perhaps, too late for some things.

Then again, vampires lived long lives. Who was to say forgiveness wasn’t possible, one day? That was naivety, though, but Cassidy had to hope for such things. Just as she had to hope for it in the lifespan of a human.

Cassidy knew her sin shouldn’t expect forgiveness. She should do things selflessly, without expectation…except, of course, she had fallen for Lilian. She had thought of futures with Lilian, with a dog, that now seemed on the verge of dissolving into nothing. Cassidy didn’t really know what to do about it, and she sighed as Inga reminded her of that terrible fact: it was all up to Lilian, and she would leave it up to Lilian.

But she would nudge.

“I wish I knew. I…I’ve left her at the apartment. I think that was more for me than her. After what I did…I couldn’t stand the thought of the tension, but I’ve also likely made it worse in some way. I should…I should probably check in tomorrow,” see how it felt, see what she could do to help.

“I don’t really know much about Eugene.” Which was somehow relevant, or it felt relevant. To know what was owed, didn’t she have to know more? Obviously, it was a large debt, but she didn’t…fully understand it. She hadn’t had friends like this, she’d spent her human life running away from people and places, always looking for the illusive more, and then…well, finding it.

But Inga was asking for ideas based on what she knew of Lilian.

She knew Lilian liked to drink.

She knew Lilian was cheesy as fuck – that thought hurt as much as it still made her smile.

She knew Lilian could defend herself, and anyone else, and this not being able to help Eugene was likely fucking her up, as much as it was fucking Cassidy up.

“She’s a cheesy, hopeless romantic who also happens to have a past life as a hunter, and it’s where all her best friends are,” Cassidy sighed, “Maybe if I watched more Romcoms I’d know the right, cheesy steps to take to make this better,” probably not, because this was real life, and Romcoms didn’t get that dark. They were comedies, after all.

“I…I’ve never messed up like this, Inga, I don’t know. I can’t just turn myself into the police as an act of repentance,” she would, if it would have done anything. “I can’t bring him back now…I was going to,” another thing that made her pause, and again, bury her head in her hands, “Fuck, I was really going to bring him back without even knowing if he’d….” if he’d like it. If he’d adjust.

He'd probably hate it.

Maria had been right to protest.

“And I told her I’d never do that….” But in the moment…well, moments were fucking everything up, weren’t they?

~***~

Vrishaketu snorted at the idea of Tristan giving him any information. Sire or not, on board or not, Tristan had become increasingly dedicated to his own brand of anarchism, which did not respect what Vrishaketu wanted very often. Once he’d mentioned he was working alongside Isolde for the moment, Tristan had tuned out. And called him a sell-out, more than once. “I’m sure he knows, I’m not sure what his going price is any longer, but I can try to find out.” More information on where to find Inga, or what places she haunted, would be useful for them both.

Just as any clarification of her talent could be useful, though despite all Tristan figured out, that never was his strong point. He still hadn’t nailed Antonia’s talent, after all. He hadn’t connected the dots with moments where his emotions left his control, but then, few did. That was the art of it.

He wouldn’t argue with Leif on talents; such things were impossible to determine, really. “Mm, I would lean towards the object one more than invisibility. Not that my senses were at their best in a bloodbath, but I had no hint of her presence until she was there.” And then she hadn’t been hiding it at all, which made it all the more strange. Rather akin to Leif, but he was willing to accept other possibilities. Talents were strange things, after all. Similar ones cropped up all the time, that was one of the notable things about mutations.

They were usually similar in some way.

“I don’t need her dead, so whatever you do with her, concerns me little so long as she doesn’t interfere,” Vrishaketu said, and chuckled, “if you can frame Amon, that would amuse me, but I doubt it would stick long enough to cause any damage. I haven’t anyone in mind, but if you feel like picking from among our so-called elites, so long as it isn’t our dear host Valencia, be my…ah.”

Tristan had walked in, and walked right to their table, taking a seat, “Tristan, right?” He adapted to Max in a moment.

“Don’t fuck with me right now,” Tristan glowered, “I told you not to come here more than necessary.”

“This is necessary.”

“Yeah, like the whole world doesn’t know Leif is a fucking assassin, and it looks weird as hell for a hunter to be talking to a vampire assassin,” Tristan huffed, as if it didn’t look weird that he was joining them. Of course, he knew he was probably the only one who recognized Leif for what he was. He knew Leif banked on that ordinary bullshit, and sadly, he knew it worked. “So, Inga?”

Apparently he’d been spying, and they wouldn’t need to go to him to find out what his price was. He was coming to barter – a rarity. Well, at least he was the only one they needed to worry about. Well, that, and how he got there so fast, but Vrishaketu knew better than to ask these things, because Tristan didn’t answer the questions, or he hand-waved it as technology and ‘you wouldn’t understand’, which was probably true, but besides the point. “After this, everything with Isolde ends, right?”

“You have quite the issue with her….”

“Same I have with Princess, but at least she’s reigned herself in.” Tristan stated, “I know where Inga lives, but I want guarantees that all work with Isolde ends after that, okay?” He looked between the two, expecting, apparently, both to agree even if Vrishaketu was the one in charge.

“You realize I’m only using her?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think you’re doing.” Tristan said, “I care what you ARE doing, and I’d rather you work with Amon, or hells, Lixin.”

Vrishaketu snorted, “Neither of them know our place in the world, at least Isolde understands that much.” Still, he sighed, “Fine, you have my word.” He needed this information. Besides, what would Tristan actually do if he worked with Isolde again? Fuck all, that’s what.

Tristan still looked at Leif for his word, too.

 

[Syntra]

“Hmm…” Inga pursed her lips, evaluating the romcom tidbit with much greater seriousness than it probably deserved, “Yeah, no. I don’t think racing to the airport to stop her from leaving would help. You’d just look stupid, considering she isn’t even trying to leave.” And Eugene, who had already left? The guy couldn’t be reached by any airline in the world, though she didn’t think that had to be pointed out. There was being analytical, and then there was… rubbing salt in people’s wounds. Being needlessly cruel. Inga did sometimes find it hard to see the difference between the two, but that felt exceedingly clear now, with the lines drawn not in sand but in stone. In this at least, she could… empathize. Put herself in Cassidy’s shoes, a little bit.

Wow! A new feeling to the collection! How exciting.

Would she keep finding those, if she lived long enough? Inga didn’t really think so, but she’d also been terrifyingly, earth-shatteringly wrong before.

Something about the thought struck her as oddly appealing.

“And flowers would just make her mad,” she continued, “I mean, it’s kinda hard to imagine Lils not getting mad in any case, but she also seems like she knows how to get over it?” Maybe not when dead friends were involved, though. “The thing is, I doubt there are shortcuts.” And, judging from what Cass had told her and from what she, herself, knew, there also wasn’t a… clear-cut direction.

With Antonia, it was simple. Not easy – often the opposite of easy – but also blessedly obvious, much like it was obvious that, when your house burst into flames, you just had to put them out. There was no other way. Antonia had people to be murdered; Inga was good at murder. Everything fit neatly, like two pieces of an esoteric puzzle that didn’t quite know that they belonged together. What about Lilian, though? What could she want?

Probably something normal. Ironically, that made it more difficult; at least for Inga, who was self-aware enough to admit that she was not a good representative sample for… well, most people. Most groups. For nutjobs? Oh, sure! But maybe not even that, because every nutjob was nutjobby in their own way, and she’d just hate to get the flavor wrong.

Wasn’t madness always personal?

Even if all you did was hide behind it.

“Look, I’m not the best person for this,” Inga sighed, deciding once again to go with honesty, “My situation is my own. It doesn’t translate over well. But…” Always that little, elusive but, the impulse to reach out even if it was likely to end in pain, “We all fuck up, Cassidy. Some more than others, sure. Some less. It sucks that this is your first big mess, but it is what it is, and you’ll learn to handle it.” Of that, at least, Inga was pretty fucking sure. The brain was a powerful processing machine, and it would generate some way for her to deal with it all in time.

Now, would it be a good way?

Ever the question!

“But, police?” some incredulousness crept into her expression, “Those corrupt fucks? This is a problem you made, so don’t think to outsource the solution to someone else. You should… take it easy for now, and reach out when you don’t feel like crying.” In some respects, leaving probably had been for the best. Because: “I’m not sure she’ll want to comfort you. I mean, isn’t that kinda your job? You like Lils,” that much was also obvious, given all Cassidy had said, “She likes you, so go and be there for her.”

Sure, Lilian wanting to chase after whatever scraps of resolution that she might get could be unpleasant for Cass, but it wasn’t like there was anything pleasant about this.

~***~

“Unless the invisibility also goes with some other… anti-detection elements. Could be, could be!” But, as fun as it was to speculate about this, Leif also knew it was fairly pointless. It could have been that, though it also could have been a million other things, and philosophizing about it based on the scarce pieces of information Vrishaketu had offered wouldn’t get them any closer to the truth than trying to divine it from tea leaves would have.

Oh, some still believed in tea leaves.

Not Leif, though. Never Leif, who had learned early on there wasn’t anything to rely on but himself.

“Either way, I am looking forward to this mission for sure. Something tells me it might break the monotony.” Was it spoiled of him, to complain just how easy the killings had gotten? Perhaps, but it was hardly his fault that sitting on his laurels didn’t make him happy.

He might have forgotten what did, though that was beside the point. That he’d never known was also an option. The years before he’d found Vrishaketu had been marked with this… strangest longing, and he’d never quite deciphered just what it was, much like he’d never grasped so many other things.

At least the organization granted him a purpose.

Ever gracious, Vrishaketu gave him the blessing to follow his heart’s desires, and Leif offered a sheepish smile in return. “Trying to frame Amon might be fun, too. Not sure how I’d ever mimic his talent,” it did leave the corpses in a pretty… particular state, “But, as a challenge? I could try. Oh, I will.” Doing so would likely attract the attention of Amon himself, which was an outcome that Leif wasn’t at all blind to. What did that matter, though?

Not even a god could hurt a shadow.

Not a god, not a sun, not anything.

Before him, all were powerless.

Tristan’s arrival was as unexpected as it was not, mainly because the boy did whatever he wanted. He always does. It was hard to hide the distaste for him, and so he didn’t; in his eyes, Tristan was little more than the spoiled childe of an exceptional sire, somehow both unfit to grasp the same greatness or serve well. The one thing he was wonderful at, though? Pushing all of his buttons! “I think you might not have been loud enough, Tristan,” Leif rolled his eyes, “That lovely couple in the back probably didn’t hear. You may want to go closer and repeat everything, word-for-word.”

Not that he was actually worried about his cover, but was not being an asshole really that hard?

Although, hmm… At least it seems he wants to be useful this time. That he’d dared to attach actual conditions to his offer was outrageous enough, but Leif knew how to pick his battles, and also knew that this wasn’t one of them. Vrishaketu… seemed to have a soft spot, as unruly as his childe was.

“I don’t even work with Isolde,” he pointed out, “The only man I take orders from is sitting in front of you.” To make this easier, though: “Yes, I promise. I would not defy my master’s will.” True enough! Too bad that Leif would, in fact, serve Isolde, if Vrishaketu so much as indicated that such was his wish. That was what loyalty was about. “Where can I find this Inga, then?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Cassidy listened to what Inga had to say, even as she acknowledged she might not be much help. She shook her head quickly as Inga noted that she shouldn’t expect Lilian to comfort her. “No, god, no,” she wouldn’t at all ask that of Lilian or even…appear like she needed much comfort. She did, and she’d cried her fair share, but she would hold it together around Lilian, because Lilian had every right to her sorrow and her anger, and Cassidy didn’t want to inflict guilt on her because of that.

She was the one who deserved the guilt.

“You’re are right, though. There’s nothing I can really…do, except be there as she weathers the storm, and try to…I guess, feel out what she needs from me,” but this first night, it was definitely better that they be alone. Or at least, better for her, since she would indeed be crying about it. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow evening.”

Feel it out, and likely still show up, if only to get some clothes, and some blood, so she wasn’t fully indebted to Tristan. “Is it okay to reach out to you if I have…more questions about things or just need to vent over the situation?” Obviously, she couldn’t do that to Lilian, “I’d ask Tristan, but I think I’m already in too deep with him and what I owe him, I’d rather not owe him my soul.”

A joke, but not really.

She was still waiting for the cost to come down. The fact he was withholding it likely meant he was holding it for a very good reason, or thought he might have one, down the line. Which, knowing Silvon, never boded well for her.

~***~

Tristan did fix Leif with that dull stare of his as he suggested he speak of louder, and then – well – did: “HEY EVERYONE! GOT A FUCKIN’ CELEBRITY IN HERE!” Vrishaketu looked panicked, but rather than cast the glare at Tristan – he did, for a second – he put it onto Leif, because everyone knew how the fuck Tristan acted when challenged or threatened. “Mother. Fucking. LEIF THE ASSASSIN ya’ll!”

People looked over. Vampires looked over. The humans mostly ignored this, some of the vampires arched a brow, but most, did, in fact, look away.

“Tristan, why.” Vrishaketu asked, because he knew the repercussions of this. People had now heard. People would now know. It meant nothing now, but it could mean everything later.

Tristan just leaned back in his seat. ‘Because fuck you, that’s why.’ He didn’t say that, of course, “He wanted people to know. Assassins don’t get much credit since people don’t know them. He can go get some accolades and tell some stories over the bloodwine now,” Tristan shrugged but nodded, “I’ll take your word.” He said not with his usual cavalier manner.

He said it, indeed, as if he was actually taking something, as if it would have value, and if he found that value wanting…well, everyone at the table knew what Tristan could do, but Vrishaketu continued to mentally disregard it, as Tristan took out pen and paper, and wrote the address.

If he’d learned one thing from Antonia, it was plausible deniability, and trails of texts didn’t work for that. Sure, he could delete them, hack phones, remove screenshots – but why? Handwriting was a far more ephemeral thing, especially when he was careful to put every letter in capital letters, in a block style.

And then he offered it to Leif. “This is the address. You’re not getting anything else so make it count.”

 

[Syntra]

When Lilian woke up, her first thought was ‘ouch.’ It may have been her second thought as well, and, if she had to be honest, probably also her third and fourth one. The road to coherence seemed longer than usual; it took a few seconds of confused blinking into the – afternoon? – sun for the huntress to start asking the relevant questions. Questions such as: How much did I drink yesterday? Likely more than she should have. Enough for her not to remember much, which… kinda felt like a bad sign? For all her drinking escapades, Lilian just didn’t have a lot of experience with memory lapses. She didn’t fucking want those, either! If Eugene ever learned of this fiasco, he’d never let her live it dow—

Oh.

So, some constructive criticism for her past self? Clearly, she should have fucking drunk more. What did a girl have to do around here to forget shit for real? Smash her skull open with a sledgehammer? Maybe Inga would actually help with that, Lilian pondered, If I framed it as a neuroscience experiment.

Tempting! Though not quite as tempting as giving booze therapy a go again. Only losers gave up mere inches away from the finishing tape, and Lilian Perry didn’t really think she was a loser. A traitor, for sure; a bad friend, as well. You’d need an entire damn thesaurus to list all the insults that fit, but wasn’t that just… another reason to not fuck up here?

To do something right for once. She couldn’t do a damn thing without getting one of her friends killed, but she could, at the very least, murder the braincells that had okayed the plan. Yay, justice?

Intending to do just that, Lilian stumbled her way into the kitchen. She opened the fridge, grabbed the one bottle that had somehow survived her nightly raid, and… yeah, that was when her stomach decided it wanted no part of this. Fuck!

That she’d made it into the bathroom in time was a small blessing, mainly because cleaning vomit from the floor was a surefire way to turn an already shitty day into something infinitely worse.

Not that it could be much worse. Even the worst-case scenario, which was something like Michael Serafis himself walking through the door and executing her for treason, would have been a fucking improvement! Because… well, there were a lot of reasons. Not having to deal with Cassidy walking through the same door later was a good one.

What was she going to do about that?

Lilian still had no idea.

~***~

Oh, gods. No, no, no! Except that gods had no power over Tristan, much like everyone else who wasn’t Tristan. That was how Tristan worked. At that point, Leif could do little more than hide his face in his palms and contemplate murder… which, while quite pleasant in itself, obviously didn’t stop the brat from shouting his name from the fucking rooftops. “What is your problem?” he hissed at the boy. “Do you want us to fail that badly?”

It was probably nothing, but ‘probably’ wasn’t ‘100% certainty.’ It was as far from that as could be, and Leif had seen many a good plan go to hell for reasons much less severe than that. What if someone recognized him? Remembered his face? Did anyone here know Inga?

This mission did not need more complications.

Of course, that was why he refrained from making a scene. From drawing even more attention to himself. Tristan was a dramatic bitch; everyone knew as much, and so the outburst would likely be forgotten if he just… acted as if none of this actually mattered. Inside jokes, right?

That he was actually seething was beside the point. Nobody could tell, so it might as well not have been a thing at all.

Leif leaned across the table, and grabbed the address. “Thank you,” he said, “This will not take long.”

These jobs never did.

~***~

“No problem,” Inga smiled, “I’m the best person to bitch at things with.” Also the best person to bitch at, mainly because she had a lot of traits that were both very annoying and very noticeable. Not the point, though! Instead, the point was: “Feel free to reach out any time.”

And that was how the two separated. Inga went home; Cassidy… presumably to Tristan’s, or wherever it was that she was staying for the time being.

Hopefully Lils will get over it? It wasn’t like it was Inga’s problem per se, but she did have to admit the two made a pretty cute couple. Them breaking up because of something like that would have been… kinda sad. Her inner romantic sure as hell didn’t approve!

But Inga’s inner romantic had to fuck off, because she had too much work to be Like That now.

Appropriately, the next few days passed in a haze. Meeting Max proved to be simple; smuggling the tracker into his bloodstream did, too. It really was kind of amazing how nobody ever noticed shit like that? All Inga had to do was talk, talk, and talk some more, while her hands worked far quicker than anyone ever expected them to. Just like that, the man was branded. Success!

Man, I really am a genius. A woman ahead of her time! Inga did feel the need to remind herself of the fact, solely because everyone else was still too bitter to acknowledge it. Presumably due to it highlighting how mediocre they actually were? Eh, no matter! What did matter were these samples she was analyzing for Antonia. One of the good things about blood was that it never lied, and already, certain interesting findings had emerged.

Interesting findings, such as—

Wait, what?

Inga looked up from her notes, alarmed all of a sudden. She couldn’t tell why she was alarmed, but the feeling that made her hairs raise on end was quite unambiguous, and ignoring it didn’t feel like a good idea. Why? So she could congratulate herself for being, quote unquote, one hundred percent rational? Inga was the first person who would tell you that rationality sucked. It just made you blind to all the not-so-rational things! And since few things in this world were governed by reason, that felt like a distinct fucking downgrade.

Uhhh… is that shadow actually moving?

 

[Lucyfer]

The day was long.

Not literally, days never got any longer than 24 hours, but waiting made it feel infinitely longer when Cassidy knew what was ahead of her. She still had to return home and face Lilian. She debated on how much warning to give Lilian, if she gave any at all. Was it right to send a text, or was that a surefire way to see Lilian scramble away from the place?

Or be prepared with a stake?

In the end, Cassidy settled on sending a text right as night had settled and she could get out of the hotel.

Hey
Swinging by

It was left terribly vague, but what did she say? Did she downplay it by just indicating she needed clothes, and they didn’t have to talk? Did she expressly invite conversation? She fought with it too long, backspaced too much, that this seemed…well enough. Even the lack of punctuation. There was no ‘end’ in it, in that way. It was as open, or as closed, as it needed to be.

It didn’t make getting off the bus any easier, or walking down to her room. At least she still had her keys, so that was a non-issue. Even so, she knocked to give a warning, before slipping the key in and opening the door, wondering how trashed her place might be…how trashed Lilian might be.

“Hey, Lilian?” she called on stepping in, tone as reticent as the step, but all the same – in she went, dressed in the terribly oversized Zelda hoodie, and wishing she could just drown in it, or hide in it, a bit better.

~***~

Antonia’s life didn’t settle after the event at the bar. Of course, she was waiting on more information on the blood samples, and tallying the dead. Quite a few Veturia, though Joseph’s name wasn’t on the list. She almost considered thanking Isolde for the sacrifice, though of course, that wouldn’t be appropriate. Commiserating with her over it just wasn’t happening, either, so of course, Antonia ignored it, like all the other dead. She’d offer a cursory apology if necessary, but everyone knew what they’d signed up for.

This was war, after all.

That also meant touching base with her hunters, and providing what limited updates she could from the meetings they weren’t invited to, among other things.

Max did call her out with the intention of getting more information on being a vampire, since he didn’t exactly have a sire to get information from any longer, so Antonia did meet him out at one of the blood bars when invited.

“Glad you could make it! I already ordered for you,” he said, offering her the mug, “seems to be that a lot of people are migrating to cold blood. Guess it’s what I’m used to, but I thought I’d try it warmed up.”

“It’s better,” Antonia said, “though it’s like from the vein, which some want to…not experience. Those who haven’t mastered your control yet,” which, she supposed, was still strange but what wasn’t strange about being a vampire?

“No updates from Inga on that?” he chuckled.

Antonia rolled her eyes as she shook her head, “Nothing yet,” she answered, “Why, eager to learn?”

“Of course - anything to help me figure out about myself. Though, I would have preferred a more interesting talent than that,” he confessed, and chuckled when Antonia startled at her own first sip. “What?”

“This isn’t….”

“Human? Yeah. I remember you mentioned preferring vampire and this place offered it.”

Had she ever mentioned that to him? She didn’t recall, but it was possible as a joke about why she didn’t care about drinking his blood. She made them, in certain moods. Still, she reconsidered more, and set the cup down. “It’s not generally smiled upon, Max. Not illegal, but it leads to it.”

“Why is that illegal? It’s just another way to kill, and,” he chuckled, “you all don’t seem to have made killing illegal.”

“We have, but I suppose when it’s allowed the method isn’t usually a concern,” and so, of course, in the mind of helping him understand vampirism, the history, and what he’d signed up for, she began with that topic.

And she sipped more, not realizing how easily her favorite taste obscurred the poison beneath the surface.

 

[Syntra]

Lilian’s mobile beeped.

She didn’t really want to check it, and the name that showed up in the notification – Cass < 3 – was not the motivation it once might have been. Should I just delete it? Well, she could. She could also throw the mobile into the toilet, try to set it on fire, or do any number of things that would accomplish exactly nothing, aside from plunging her even deeper into uncertainty.

As if she wasn’t fucking drowning in it already.

As if she wasn’t… ugh, Lilian didn’t know what.

She stared at the phone, wishing it was a ticking time bomb instead. At least she’d know what to do with a bomb, dammit! And it would be nice if she could say the same thing about this, but she very much couldn’t. Well, it’s not like this can possibly get worse… Unless Cassidy had messaged her to let her know that, whoopsie, she’d killed someone else, and wouldn’t it be nice if Lilian helped her bury them? That’s not fair, and you know it. And she did, but maybe she also wasn’t especially interested in being fair.

Life wasn’t fair, so why should she be?

Because you like her.

Whether that was still true was kind of hard to tell, but the thought did emerge in her mind automatically, the same way your leg moved when you hit your knee just right.

Though, in the end, her curiosity got the best of her.

Hey

Swinging by

Uh, okay? Lilian didn’t feel remotely fucking ready, but, in all honesty, she had no idea if she’d ever be. So, instead of everything that she did and didn’t want to say, she wrote a simple ‘fine’ in response and watched with dead eyes as the mobile lit up with the ‘delivered’ message.

I fucking wish someone could deliver me from this, too.

Getting a heart attack just about now sounded real tempting, but of no – no such luck. Of fucking course!

When Cassidy entered, she found she returned to a relatively non-thrashed apartment and a very thrashed Lilian. At one point, the huntress had apparently collapsed on the couch and hadn’t really bothered to get up; the empty bottles scattered around it suggested so, anyway. The dark circles under her eyes did, too. “Yeah, I’m… here,” she said, rather uselessly. “What, did you come to get your things?”

~***~

Someone other than Inga might have ignored the shadow. That hypothetical person wouldn’t have even noticed, because, well, what could shadows do? Kill you?

Except that they could.

Especially those that didn’t actually act like shadows at all.

Maybe she was seeing things. Maybe the thin thread her sanity was hanging onto finally snapped. Maybe she was about to become a nutjob for real! But maybe, maybe—

“Hey there,” Inga said, loud and clear. “Nice of you to visit, but don’t you think it would have been even nicer if you actually said hello? Or let me know in advance. I must look like a terrible host now, with my place being so messy!”

At first, there was nothing; just a silence that stretched on and on, like those awkward seconds shortly before you got rejected by your crush. Would she get rejected here as well? Would she? It looked that way for a while, and during that short intermezzo, Inga reached for her sword.

Perhaps it was that impulse that caused the man to materialize; perhaps it was something else. “My apologies,” he smiled, “I’m not one for formalities. Besides, it doesn’t happen too often that I’m welcome. It makes me… a little more wary than I should be.”

“Aww,” Inga arched a brow, “Poor, misunderstood mystery guy! Ever discovered why that might be the case?” She did have a few tips, most of them some variation on ‘breaking into people’s houses isn’t cute’ or ‘that giant sword in your hand doesn’t invite a lot of trust.’ Predictably, he was armed to the teeth; but so was she.

Apparently, there were… also other things that they had in common, but Inga couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. Not when the thought was connected to implications. And weren’t implications the worst? The way they constantly hinted at stuff she didn’t want to be real was a true 0/10 experience!

“I might have an idea or two,” the man admitted. “Most people just cannot appreciate a good death. Would you believe?”

There! She saw the movement a second before it truly happened; it was reflected both in his stance and in his look, both a tell-tale sign for her to raise her blade or else. The swords clashed, and for a moment, she could see his… what was it? Disappointment? Something like that? “That is rude,” Inga agreed, “But maybe the deaths you are providing just aren’t that good.”

“Maybe,” he agreed easily, “I suppose you will have to judge for yourself.” And then he just… wasn’t there anymore. Two could play this game, though! Inga dissolved into nothingness immediately after, intending to… well, put some distance between them. To figure out what the fuck she should do, because how did you even fight someone who pulled the same bullshit tricks you did? She was supposed to have the copyright for this kind of cheating, dammit!

The stranger didn’t seem to share the mindset, though. “Oh, Inga,” he said, once again flickering into existence, “So it is true. I’ve been looking for you for such a long time!”

Okay, what the actual fuck? “I wish I could say the same about you because not reciprocating is kinda awkward, but I wasn’t really looking for a knock-off version of myself.”

“Knock-off version of yourself?” Something in his tone suggested she would be eating those words, though he didn’t say so outright. No, Leif was too much of a gentleman to just shatter her dreams… even if this Inga didn’t appear to be much of a lady. “We’ll see about that. Let us dance, then!”

And dance they did. Inga supposed she could congratulate herself for having practiced so much lately, because had this happened a few months ago? It would have wiped her. Switching between forms so rapidly was still exhausting, the cold sweat on her forehead a proof enough, but at least she could more or less keep up with this weird fucker without tota—

“What, is that all?”

Okay, maybe she couldn’t.

Such was the conclusion Inga arrived at when she looked down at her stomach, and the sword that was buried in it, and… the still intangible bastard? Oh.

The pain was a surprise, though not as big as whatever it was this guy had going on.

Let her repeat: What the fuck?

“Tsk, tsk. I have to say, this is rather disappointing. Can’t you try a little harder?”

He’s just toying with me, Inga realized, and it was not a fun realization. That it easily could have been her heart was pretty obvious now, just as it was obvious she was running out of moves. What to go for here? Strategic retreat? Except that she probably couldn’t maintain the shadow thing anymore. Not long enough for her to get anywhere, the exhaustion catching up with her faster than she would have liked.

Fucking hell, and just when she wanted to survive!

As much as Inga hated to admit it, this would have been a great death. An epic one, just like in her stories. A fated adversary emerging out of nowhere to come for your ass? A skald song material for sure!

Though also no, not really, because no skald worth their salt would write a story about the hero not seeing the conclusion to his quest. About him dying in a random pub brawl. Not that Inga really thought she was a hero in any capacity, but… well, she still owed so much to Antonia. She couldn’t die like this!

Think, she tried, and failed, to deflect more blows, Fucking think!

 

[Lucyfer]

Lilian was there.

Trashed.

The bottles told the full story that her lounging on the couch hinted at. That, and her inability to move well. ‘I can’t leave her like this.’ She didn’t know if her presence would exacerbate things, but she couldn’t let Lilian continue killing herself with alcohol. “No, I came home,” Cassidy sighed as answer to the question.

Getting her things could have been the reason, but now, she supposed, she couldn’t leave. She didn’t want to leave. Inga was right – she was going to have to be strong and be the one providing comfort, but part of that was not letting Lilian drink herself into oblivion. So, she retrieved the bottles around her, and put them in the trash – as well as went to the sink with any that still had liquid in them to dump them out.

“I know I’m probably…making things harder by being here, but…I’m not going to leave you like this.” Not as blunt as it could have been, but blunt enough that Cassidy almost winced at her own words. She fully expected outrage at her attempts to empty out the alcohol, and her insinuation of how Lilian was.

She’d just have to deal with that, too.

Until Lilian was…at least over this first, grand hurdle of grief, and wasn’t drinking herself into oblivion. “I’ll have some ginger soda delivered and crackers.” Some sort of sports drinks, too. Those ought to help with the oncoming hangover and getting her shit back together.

~***~

When the poison hit, it wasn’t gradual. There were no warning signs for Antonia to catch, to tip her off to something being wrong. One moment, she was fine, and the next, her entire world melted together, the colors dripping off of what owned them, and her balance sliding away with it.

Max was there to catch her, of course, to give a chuckle about too much bloodwine – but it hadn’t been wine! Just blood! No words of protest came out, just sounds, and in her moment of lucid panic, she was able to try and grasp her single defense, of making everyone else as terrified as she was.

It was there for a second. Max’s grip tightened.

And then it slipped away with every other sensation.

Vrishaketu was able to carry Antonia back to his car and put her in the backseat. He didn’t worry about binding her, the poison would hold for a good while, and even when it wore off enough that she woke, her hands wouldn’t really be the issue – it’d be that damnable talent of hers that almost sent him running from the room in fear.

It hadn’t

It’d been too short lived for that.

‘It’s Isolde’s problem now.’ Which he should inform her of, because he needed to get paid. He got into his car and set his phone through his radio before driving off, dialing for Isolde with the hopes she’d answer so he could ask where the hell she wanted Antonia dropped.

Otherwise, he had no issues just bringing Antonia right to her doorstep. That was probably the plan anyways, but he knew better than to assume these things.

 

[Syntra]

Why had it seemed so obvious that Cassidy would leave? Because she’d already done that. She’d fucked off to… god-knows-where, and Lilian may or may not have been feeling resentful about it – the huntress hadn’t yet decided.

The things she hadn’t decided about could fill up an entire damn ocean, but she would ignore them all for now, in favor of the one aspect of this fiasco that did seem pretty clearcut. “Hey,” Lilian protested, “What are you doing? I…” ‘Have everything under control’ was the phrase that threatened to bubble past her lips, but it sounded fake even in her own head, and so she didn’t actually say it. This was well beyond any control, but why the fuck did she have to control herself? This was the one time to act out!

And no, pulling stupid shit like that wouldn’t fix things, but the same went for not doing so.

Nothing would fix the mess, or soothe the pain in her chest, or make her not feel awful about so much as trying to meet Cassidy’s stupidly earnest eyes.

The eyes she’d been so happy to drown in, a mere day ago.

“Just fucking stop, okay? That’s my emotional support booze!” Which… admittedly was a pretty funny way of saying it, and even Lilian acknowledged that on some level. Something about the tone made it sound not all that hilarious, though – maybe because she was this close to snapping. “And I don’t want any stupid crackers.”

Whether she wanted Cassidy to be there or not was another question, and also one that was much harder to answer. The one thing that could do her in. Crackers were a much easier target, so she went for those instead, “I just… “

Just, what? Why the hell were words so hard?

“I hate those. They fucking taste like cardboard, and I can’t handle cardboard.” With that, Lilian stood up on wobbly feet. The world was still spinning, but she also knew she couldn’t deal with all the sharp edges, and clearly defined things, now. With what was commonly called ‘sobriety.’ “Don’t you think I deserve something better than that? I mean, my friend just died, so I should… probably treat myself to caviar, or—”

Oh, fuck. Were those tears? They absolutely were, and, at this point, Lilian had no idea how to stop them.

~***~

Clang!

The sound of her weapon falling from her hand ought to have been more terrifying than that, but given that Inga herself also ended up on the ground, it very much felt like a secondary issue.

The sword pressed against her heart, though? Yeah, that was the main problem.

“Poor dear,” the man tilted his head aside, “This tired already?”

For once, Inga didn’t have a witty comment to share. She didn’t have much of anything anymore; not with blood loss this rapid, and not with the exhaustion threatening to push her brain through her nose. She had, what? A few minutes? Clinging to consciousness could be a draining affair. But still, she pushed through to let him know what she thought of his oh-so-moving concern: “Fuck… off, bitch.”

“Is that any way to speak to your superiors?” The pressure on the blade increased, “I don’t remotely think you’ve earned it.”

Oh, gods. Will you end me, or will you just keep spouting bullshit until the cows go home?

Option B was apparently correct, because it didn’t seem like he was in any rush. Quite the contrary; if Inga knew anything at all about corny villains, it looked like he was gearing up for a speech. And, indeed: “Pathetic. What have you been doing all those years, Inga?” All kinds of things! Things that could… potentially save her? But also damn her. There weren’t any escape routes left, aside from those she was willing to carve out herself. Was she, though? The option she had in mind was… risky at best. A last resort kinda deal, bordering on suicidal. Regardless, Inga did reach into her pocket, her fingers wrapping around the small piece of plastic. It was there; that, alone, provided some comfort.

The ability to choose was a luxury not many had.

“But you’re not a bad fighter,” he allowed, blissfully unaware, “And I suppose it’s not your fault, given that you had no guidance at all. I am hardly blind to that truth. Yes, you do have potential.” Okay, this was… heading in some unexpected directions. Directions whose doors she’d thought to be locked, with the keys thrown away! That he had switched into Old Norse probably shouldn’t have surprised her, but it was still a dagger in heart, and she couldn’t help the gasp.

“I am sorry I haven’t been good to you, Inga. For me, it was a… difficult time.”

No. No fucking way.

“But Vrishaketu is kind enough, and so I don’t actually have to kill you if you just behave a little bit.”

So many thoughts were swirling in her head at once that all Inga managed was to grasp at the one thing that didn’t make sense about this, because doing so was… easier. Less painful. The dots were there, but she didn’t have to connect them! She didn’t want to! “Vrisha… what?”

“You’ll learn in time,” he smiled, “I imagine you’ll need something new to do, with that Lenart woman out of the way.”

That Lenart woman… out of the way? Her Antonia?

Okay, not really hers, but—

But.

This actually left her with no choice at all, didn’t it?

Just like that, her panic was… well, not gone, but frozen in her veins, with a tiny label that said ‘not right now’, because that shit had to wait. Antonia sure as fuck wouldn’t!

“You asked what I have been doing all those years,” Inga said, her voice raspy, “The answer is… this. You bastard.”

And then she pressed the button.

That was the easy part; gathering what remained of her energy to shift for one last time, the hard one.

“Wha—?”

The man likely had questions, but he didn’t get to ask them. The ensuing explosion was quite effective at silencing him, but that was still nothing compared to all the things that immediately proceeded to catch on fire. A very vicious fire, too. One piece of friendly advice: Maybe don’t store white phosphorus near explosives, ladies and gentleman!

Unless, of course, you intended to turn your place into a death trap.

Inga very much had intended that, given that assassins were all but guaranteed to turn up on her doorstep one day.

The truth was that the entire hospital was boobytrapped to hell and back, though the motherfucker wouldn’t know, courtesy of him bypassing it all via not being tangible enough. Now, she wasn’t tangible enough – and somehow made it outside, with the flames raging violently behind her. What was it that gave her the strength? Love, or adrenaline?

All too often, the two felt like the same thing.

Not waiting to see if he survived or not, Inga hopped on her bike. Her hands were shaking, but she managed to dial Antonia’s number all the same, and—

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing again, just that annoying, beeping sound.

This is no time to be playing hard to get, sváss mínn. Why the hell won’t you pick up?!

But, well, maybe she didn’t really want to know. Except that she also had to! Dancing around the issue wouldn’t fix shit! So, Inga found Felix’s number in her contacts instead, “Felix! Yeah, yeah, it’s me, Inga. Listen, where’s Antonia? And who is Vrishaketu?”

~***~

Meanwhile, Vrishaketu wasn’t at all facing the same issue, because Isolde picked up instantly. “Oh? Already? My, you really can be quite effective,” she giggled into the phone, “But no, don’t bring her here. I have… special accommodations for those that haven’t come to terms with their fate just yet.” Some were rude enough to struggle, and wasn’t that the most annoying thing? If all just accepted it in their hearts that what she was doing was just, the world would have been a much better place.

Especially those with troublesome enough powers, like dear Antonia. Antonia, who was about to be hers! She could have her right now if she so desired, but… Patience, Isolde reminded herself, You’ve waited this long already, you can handle it for a little bit more.

But, oh, this really was like waiting until the Christmas Eve to open your presents when you knew where they were. Not that Isolde actually celebrated Christmas, though she supposed she understood the appeal now. This… what was it? Giddy anticipation? She hadn’t known it for decades.

“I’ll send you the address, my friend.” Unexpectedly cordial for someone like Isolde, but she could be gracious as well. That others rarely gave her a reason to be like that was really nobody’s fault but their own! “And make sure to visit me tomorrow. I’ll have… something for you as well. A proof of my gratitude, if you will.”

That which she had promised, of course. Isolde was nothing if not a woman of her word.

 

[Lucyfer]

Cassidy did not stop at the protest. She continued to get rid of the booze, but she was listening as Lilian complained about crackers, and started to cry over…crackers. Well, not really. Cassidy knew none of this was really about crackers or booze, and they had to break through that to do any real work.

Lilian stood.

She demanded caviar as the tears came, and as Cassidy was quite done dumping the alcohol down the drain, she was able to notice how wobbly she was. She wanted to walk right over and steady her, but she hesitated. Was that jus tasking to get punched?

Probably.

She might even deserve it.

“Okay. No crackers,” Cassidy said, without saying it wasn’t about the flavor, it was just to get something easy in her stomach. She heard it touted as a remedy for hangovers, along with sports drinks, but there were likely other things. Cassidy didn’t know them, but a drunk like Lilian should know them. ‘That’s rude.’

It was, and it was true.

Cassidy walked closer, reached out, hesitated, and pulled her hand back, “Do you want caviar, Lilian?” she’d find a way to get it, even if Lilian might just throw it up. Too heavy, too flavorful, too everything, all at once, but that was fine. She’d be eating, and they’d just try again, and again, and again. “I’ll find what you want, except more booze, or other…intoxicants. You can treat yourself to other emotional support foods and drinks, just tell me what.”

Still, stupidly, earnest.

And she felt that way, for once.

Stupidly earnest, with an emphasis on stupid.

~***~

Felix was not expecting a call from Inga. When he saw her name flash on his phone, he got a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Oh no.’ If Inga was calling him, it was for one of two reasons. The first reason, perhaps the one he’d prefer, was that she wanted to plan some weird surprise for Antonia and needed information he had about her – or help – to pull it off. That Antonia was also likely to be very annoyed with any surprises wouldn’t matter to Inga.

The second was that Antonia was in trouble.

“Hello?”

The answer was very much the second as he heard Inga’s voice, which seemed almost breathless with the rapid-fire questions about Antonia, and some name he didn’t know. Of course, he wouldn’t know it. The last time Vrishaketu’s name had bothered to cross Antonia’s lips was likely in some off-hand comment to Tristan, and even that had been a long, long time ago. Felix had no reason to know the name.

“She’s out with Max at one of the bars, ah…,” which one, which one? “Be Positive.” The name was as terrible as it was wonderful. “I don’t know who Vrishaketu is. Is everything okay, Inga? Should I go get Antonia?”

He could guess, already, that she wasn’t answering her phone. It was possible she just didn’t want to deal with Inga. It was more likely she couldn’t. Why else would Inga call him, and not get these answers directly from Antonia? Especially with a name that Felix didn’t know? Something had happened and it involved whoever that was.

~***~

Even Vrishaketu could recognize how pleased Isolde was. It was strange she didn’t want Antonia immediately, but he supposed her reasoning made sense. He wouldn’t want to deal with Antonia without preparations, which he’d made sure to take. The disguise, the poison, and of course – the quick hand off.

‘The Optimates will fall to pieces.’ Perhaps that was wishful thinking. Amon might keep them together through sheer force of charisma, but Vrishaketu doubted they’d survive well with Antonia’s guiding hand stabilizing it all.

“I will, Lady Isolde,” he said, for he would indeed get a reward or he would take one. Tristan would have no issues disrupting Isolde’s life, at least he could count on the boy for that if this didn’t go his way. “Antonia will be at the address, have no fear,” and after that, it was out of his hands and into Isolde’s.

When the address came through, he plugged it into his phone to navigate there. It was out of the way, of course – couldn’t have something like this too close to civilization, after all! Vrishaketu wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t a place that looked like an actual house. He was expecting a warehouse. ‘Suppose this is a better disguise.’ All the curtains were drawn, and there was an individual there to handle the affair; it wasn’t like Isolde left the door open, after all.

Antonia hadn’t woken, so the hand-off was easy, and he snapped a picture to send to Isolde so she would know his part was done, before fucking all the way off.

Now that he wouldn’t need his disguise for much longer, he planned to have a little fun with the hunters in this town, and that was going to require scouting out their headquarters in the middle of downtown, just a little bit better.

~***~

When Antonia regained enough consciousness and lucidity of thought to recognize she wasn’t at the bar any longer, or even in her own home, she was almost disappointed by the fact she couldn’t jolt upright and get a good look at things.

Her limbs were heavy.

Her senses were dulled. Even opening her eyes, she couldn’t see much through the darkness, nor hear much in the silence. A trailing thought gave her the impression this might be how things were for humans, but another considered not even they were this destitute in the realm of senses. ‘Where…?’

There was no answer to that question, or to the thousands of others that never fully formed, but left weak impressions that couldn’t rouse her to panic. She wanted to panic. Perhaps she even needed to panic, because that would be the only way of regaining some sense of power, but it wouldn’t come.

The sensation of helplessness never followed that realization, either.

Which was rather sad. Her arms and legs weren’t even bound, and she couldn’t convince them to move. She could curl her fingers, but they felt so far away, and almost not attached to her, that Antonia wasn’t even sure she had done it.

She couldn’t stir her heart with hatred for Max, although it whispered through her mind that she should, before the heaviness of the poison still coursing through her veins shut her eyes again, and she fell into torpor.