Darkness Becomes Her ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~ Disclaimer: Own the ideas, but didn’t make money for it. Any comments, just e-mail me at “kfong60@hotmail.com” ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~ May the pestilence perish and fair no further, may the mortals tremble before the plague that now becomes their master. It had no smell, shape, colour nor form. It washed down in torrents just like a swarm. May their worthless lives cower before its sight, and extinguish before the day turns night. . . Never give up without a fight, or drown in darkness and thus disappears the hope of light. . . The truth can be so horrible, can't it? Why do you think that people lie to their families? To protect them from the truth! The Truth is a weapon, not a shield. The Truth is that sun that shines through the god forsaken Realm of Righteousness it symbolizes and burns everything that has ever come into the rays of its light. You can see light, just like you can see the Truth, but the Darkness is the shield. You cannot see in the darkness, and it shields you from that damned light of the all seeing with its lies. Does it hurt to know that? The way you've been lying to yourself is the path of Darkness, and you know it. . . * * * * * * * * Resident Evil * * * * * * * * ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~ As the setting sun solemnly shines through the high up windows, we see Racoon city rustling with changes. Nature’s beauty seemingly mocks the twist of fate. Created as a wondrous marvel, but treated as nothing. It’s existence first glance seemingly pointless and cruel amidst the glorious carnage of Racoon Central Park, tall buildings and scarlet sky that came to exist for its own purpose and not of mans. Below the bustling city full of activity, a girl surreptitiously made her way through a midnight carnival that was the by product of a virus. Claire Redfield’s footfalls seemed deafening in the quiet of the night. Many times she looked back to see if anyone was following her. Insecurity it would appear to all those who could see, but not unjustified. For you see, she was on the run and never stopping lest perchance the wandering would wander over here before she had vacated the premises. She had only wanted to find the whereabouts of her brother. But, like so much, that was all in the past now. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, it was gone. Now getting out alive was much more captivating thought and all inspiring. Why had fate been so cruel to her? But then again, no one said fate was sentimental. Her first instinct was not to believe any of it, reject it all. It had occurred to her that perhaps it was a bad dream, a figment of her imagination, that she herself had imagined it all, the whole thing. . . Maybe if she went about her business and acted as though nothing had happened, then later, when she sort of woke up again, she might find that none of it had ever happened. Sadly mistaken was she, and utterly disappointed. . . It had seemed another boring day, oh yeah it really did. That is if it weren’t for the preternatural hive of activity in the city bazaar, as crowds of people huddled everywhere granting her no room for peace. Usually it was a welcome sight, and created that wonderful atmosphere she loved to be showered in its glow like a sunbather feels the sun. Now after they showed their eccentric hospitality, she didn’t like crowds, didn’t like the intrusiveness of them. Now she didn’t want anything to do with them. Now she wanted to be spaced as faraway as possible, the canyon of a gap she had been deprived of. She had been lucky. Leon had been there to help him through this time of darkness. But they, no, they had no one like that. No angel was going to come down from heaven and save them and it seemed only rain would cry on their grave. Never would they as they are now experience the bliss of heaven or the fires of hell. The night seemed so cold and miserable now. The air was grey and featureless, a contrast to the wild crimson and pale mist hanging over the landscape. They were no longer in control of how ghastly they had became, how terrifying their actions. They all rose to their feet, all heads facing downwards, all trudged slowly. With only one purpose, and that was the reason she was on the run, on a mad crusade to escape the city now made a prison, a death trap just around the corner. They were an aberration; something that should not be, yet was. The images imbibed in her scalp were firm reminders that she wouldn’t be caught dead within ten feet of the neighbours if she could help it. They were too forward now, too cunning with hungry looks in their eyes. She ran briskly through another group, her steps drowned out over cold concrete by the noise of the crowd. Thanks to another bad judgement in the labyrinth of a maze with randomly strewn about zombies, she had put herself in needless danger. It was like a winding path through the forest; you could only see so far ahead before the pathway became obscured. Again she felt like crying for her misfortune. Bad timing she guessed, and she so much wanted to stop and cry but there wasn’t even anytime to fulfill such a simple request! Just striving to stay alive made it rhetorical, unnecessary and even redundant. Seeing the police station growing closer was the only beacon in her dark mist of despair. Inebriated with this finding, she coerced hastily towards the doors that separated her from the inside. She felt she may yet succumb to being psychoneurotic if she were to share the streets with them much longer. It would be far safer she hoped, as she pushed her way pass the glassy doors reflecting her form and its dripping perspiration. The interior was much larger than its external dimensions suggested, with an elegantly constructed roof that seemed to rise into heaven. However, in the darkly lit extravagant hallway, the station took upon an almost sinister appearance with only the pale moonlight streaming through the stain glass windows. “Hello?” she tried, her voice bouncing off the walls. “Is anyone there?” only the cacophony of her own voice replied in return. The main hall was strangely empty, and quiet, too quiet. She analyzed her environment while double checking her Browning HP pistol in her sweaty hands. In her pocket she dug out 2 clips of 9mm parabellum rounds. Ejecting the clip in her gun, she checked to her dismay only 5 bullets were left, not including the one already in the chamber. Sliding it back into the holster, it fastened in place with a distinctive click of the locking mechanism. She held it close to her heart, for it was the only miniscule amount of comfort she could confide in. In the center a distance from her, was a reception desk, but no receptionist. To her left lay two doors and to the right another two. Making her way across the tiled floorboards, she tried opening the first door on the left. It was locked. No success. . . She continued to the next one down, and the knob turned. She raised her pistol in her right hand as she pushed the door open prepared. Immediately she saw an officer, wounded and bleeding profusely slouched down on the floor. He had raised his gun at her as the blood trickled down his forward obscuring his sight. Seeing that it wasn’t another zombie, he lowered his gun as she rushed to kneel towards him the previous hostility forgotten. “Are you alright?” worry in her tone. His back was resting against a desk, papers strewn about in disorder as if there hand been a hurricane. It looked quite serious and the man didn’t look like he’d be going anywhere soon. The fatal wounds clear as the brink of day made sure of that. “I’ve been better. . .” he clenched painfully, “It’s not safe here.” And then he told her. It didn’t take long, four or five minutes at most, and she sat very still through it all, watching him with a kind of dazed horror as she went further and further away from him with each word. The contour of his eyes carried the sign of the legitimacy of his words to not go off unheeded. She rolled her eyes, “Is it anywhere?” she added sarcastically. She began trying to discern how she could help the man before he practically bled to death. He blinked and raised his brow, before shuffling a hand into a pocket and pulled out a key card and hands it to her. “Take this. . . It’ll open the other doors.” He replied tersely. She pocketed it quickly. ”Now go. . .” he weakly ordered, but she seemed to give him a look that said ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Seeing her reluctance to remove herself because of his state, he raised his gun to emphasize and to give the reason why she should do as he asked. “Go!” he shouted, not to be denied. She scrambled to her feet. Her first instinct was to make a hasty exit out of fear at the sudden turn of events. Not a moment before she had left, did the rebounding sound of a click came from the door. The man had locked her out. ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~ Small Cut Scene. . . Behind the barricade, the man gave his muscles the rest it so desired, without his willpower it easily complied. Lowering his gun, the trigger slid off his fingers with a dull thud. He felt bad for making the girl leave, but there was no other way. He knew it would be far too dangerous for the girl to stick around, for he had no inclination how much longer he could fight it. He had a sinking feeling it would be relatively soon in the near future. He chuckled a bit. He was alone again, it had been his decision, he didn’t have to like it, but he knew it was for the best. He was a police officer, and it was imperative and logical that he would act upon the safety of others. For, afraid was he would do something later he would no doubt regret. Afraid was he that the next time they met, if she were to brave the stakes against her, he will be no longer. Just something more primal, was all that’s left. The fan above continued to swing clockwise, the air whistling in its wake, just over his head. He had now become absolutely motionless, and he kept his head down so that the light from the lamp by the desk beside him fell across the upper part of his face, leaving the chin and mouth in shadow. ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~ She was whence more in the main hall. Hearing that familiar distinctive click behind her, she knew it was locked. Peering down to the key now grasped firmly in her hand, she shifted it to face level for another look. It sparkled slightly under the moonbeams shining in through the ceiling, and in the shape of a tarot card. Seeing the contours of the reception desk match the cards previous owner’s descriptions, she moved briskly towards the destination in short distance. Random lights danced off the blinking screen of the computer situated above the wooden frame. Below it, just catching the corner of her exploring eyes, she stumbled upon what was a slot that looked perfect for the card she had attained. Above it were two round lights, one red which was lit, and one green which was not. Quickly analyzing what it would do logically or maybe purely on instinct, she sheathed the card in the socket with the tip of her finger until she heard a click, halted midway. The red haze switched to the forest green. Around her, the series of slinking snaps could be heard in various tones ranging from loud and insignificant in the distance. Didn’t take a genius to know what transpired here do to her fumbling. She took a door to the left, it led her to an office where desks were strewn about for visitors, and reports. The room itself, as far as she could see in half darkness was pleasant. It had a more natural feel to it, with the brighter lighting differentiating from the outside world. There was some file cabinets to her left, dripping probably from a sink to her right, and weapons storage next to the wooden door on the opposite side. She couldn’t help thinking she was walking into a sci-fi. Luckily none of the infected were here, and her countenance showed the wash of relief. Her first priority was getting more ammo, she was running low on rounds. If she was lucky, and she certainly was hopeful, there just might be a bigger gun inside the storage. Moving around the fringes of desks, she zigzagged her way to the opposite side. Holstering her pistol in its compartment by her hips, she gave a yank at the protuberances made to open. Being stubborn, it refused to open. But no matter, as she just had to dig into one of her vest pockets for her lock picks to rectify the problem. Impetuously, she had the two instruments venture into the small key hole just below the handles, and rustled them around a bit. The lock had only been a minor nuisance, but the dripping noises were really bothering her more than she could fathom. It kept a rhythm in perfect synchronization. Drip, drip, drip. . . A click here, and another there and the lock was no more. Swinging the doors open indolently, she was like a pompous child in a candy store. There she was, staring at 5 full clips of 9mm perebullum rounds, an identical pistol to her own in the rack, and a Kevlar vest and pants. First she pocketed the clips, as they were a scarcity, and how far she could get depended on them. Another gun never hurts, and the body wear though created to protect oneself from stray bullets, was made of a tough material that would give her a limited amount of protection from everything else. It was better than the casual wear she had on her back. Strapping another leather holster to her left side, she reached for the gun on the rack next. Was it her, or was that dripping getting louder? Realizing this with the logical side of her brain, she became deafly silent, arm still outstretched while the other firmly placed on the handle of her defense. Slowly, she turned to peer over her shoulder. There was nothing but still. . . Drip, drip, drip. . . Where was it coming from? She had already mapped the whole layout around her, and still she found nothing. The only trepidation, was that there was nothing wrong. She became so quiet she could make out her own breathing. Then she felt a certain wetness just above her eyes in descent, her free hand impetuous to wipe the obscurity. Placing her finger tips into view for a better look, she found the water was red. Eyes widening, she reared staunchly above her, and found what appeared to be a human except the skin was inside out and the brain could be seen. It was liked a reptile, and a kind of slithering quality as it crawled. Its tongue lashed out far longer than what it seemed towards her, and she hurled herself into a hasty shoulder roll to safety. Upon the apex of her roll, she quickly let burst a few shots towards the creature, some found its mark, while others harmlessly passed. The ones that hit seemed effective, as the creature writhed in agony and seemed apprehensive that it was hurt, unlike the world of the dead. She had glanced the aberrations arm and side. While backing away, she pressed the trigger sparking a few more before it registered empty with a halting snap. As quick as she could, she ejected the empty magazine, and reached for another in her belt. She was fumbling, and her hands were clammy as she fumbled with entering the new cartridge. If only her hands could stop shaking! Not totally foolish to the contraption she wielded, the creature lashed out in the precious few seconds while she staggered around meaninglessly in its opinion. His tongue was like a flesh whip, knocking the pistol out of her hands where it twirled away on the other side. That knocked her slightly out of her nostalgic state, enough to retrace her steps to the other pistol a few steps away in the cabinet. The glossy orbs of the creature followed her form, and dropped from the ceiling on her tail. Swiping the gun out claw-like from the storage, she turned on the ball of her feet to meet her predator. Aiming for a one shot kill between the eyes, it too launched its offensive means of attack. ‘Now or never.’ She thought to herself, pulling the trigger. Time seemed to stop. She could see it all perfectly clear, as the trigger began rolling back, while the tongue was closing in on her again. Reaching the apex of its journey, the trigger rebounded like a spring, rewarding the fruits of her labor. For a moment she allowed this fact to lull her to a false sense of security, that everything would be alright. Till the messenger from her ears told her that all she got was just that empty snapping sound in return, from the instrument that betrayed her. The appendage wrapped around her feet disturbing her center of gravitation, before she fell to the floor. Steam ascended the air, and she found out the hard way its saliva was acid-like substance when she tried to untie herself with her small hands that reeled back in agony. She began to slide towards the awaiting executioner, caught like a fish in a fisher’s net. Luckily she had both arms free, and with that in mind she reached for her combat knife that was about 5 inches long that she kept in a leather knife pouch over her shoulder. Bringing the blade down decisively on the string of her death, she brought the blade down, down, and down again in perfect stabbing strikes. But the rotten flesh was tougher than she thought. The creature shrugged off her petty attempts of escape as nothing more than bee stings. She was like a fly caught effectively in a spider’s web. Her boots were already beginning to melt under the burning menstruations, and if she didn’t have her inevitable flesh burn to the bone like a hot knife through butter first, than she’d be eaten alive. The consequences beyond her control were neither appeasing and she could do without if she could. Now with no where to go, she starred into the jaws of death. All that could save her now was a miracle, and her prayers were answered in a form less angelic than one would imagine. Something from the fringes of her vision implacably cloaked in ebony fluctuated behind the terror. She didn’t know how she had missed it, but feared with her life that things just took a turn for the worst with the new arrival. Faded in like an apparition, blood-red orbs dark and clever that seemed to drink the light thirstily, where it stopped abruptly around the taint, a wave of overwhelming, all consuming darkness. But a few graceful swift flicks of the wrist in the form of an asterisk, nothing appeared out of the ordinary at first, not even the creature knew what would befall it. That was until its arms and legs fell in chunks smearing the floorboards, gruesome enough to make her want to vomit. The tongue no longer was attached to her feet, so she hastily scurried away to create some distance between the two monstrosities. The victim squealed in unrelenting agonizing pain. Never in its short existence did it believe that itself would fall prey to a higher predator on the ladder. To the reasonable, this would have been the sign to stop, but to eyes of the beholder, it only inebriated him. Its cries of mercy, were cries of joy welcoming him. Grasping new finger holds into the undamaged chest of it, he hoisted the abomination to its feet. He always looked straight into their eyes, before breaking out into a smile. The conscious, logical part of his mind quickly fades away to a familiar tingling nothingness, becoming entranced by the glimmering of the torch light still on his bloody hands. A pitiless state where the ultimate fate of all light is consumed by unknowable darkness. Coming to replace that important side of his psyche is a more instinctual side, the part of him that doesn’t give up, doesn’t know how, that fights until death and darkness and beyond. Eternity seemed to pass as Claire watched with abject horror to its conclusion. A lone figure hunched down, returning on the brink of insanity. Starring at his latest victims flesh dripping through his fingers, sliding off from head to toe washing away the dirt with its own corruption. His hair preternaturally an icy color, now laced thick with the red fluid creating a more evil appeal in thick wet locks. The color, texture, smell, and taste even after all these centuries, never failed to have him stop and admire this celestial liquid required by all living things. Blood actually has. . . a beautiful look to it. It. . . immortalizes things, yet proves their frailty. Giving a tentative lick off his long slender fingers, he knew that the essence was not pure enough. Such filthy tainted blood could never satisfy him as the pure breed do. Nothing else would ever do. A spark went off, the room lit a bit brighter for a fraction of a second. Breaking out of his reverie, he glanced at the piece of metal smoking ensconced in his upper arm. Turning to face the horrified culprit, he began closing the gap to his prize. He grinned. This was why he was here. He slowly strolled towards her picking up speed plodding across the platform, seemingly only slightly touching the ground with the soles of his feet. Claire fired round after round to great succession, but the creature wouldn’t go down! He took them as nothing more than glancing shots even though they lodged firmly in the various areas of his anatomy. But what really frightened her was how her efforts were but a short success as the inflicted wounds would eject the empty cartridges before closing the wound, and leave the aftermath like so much waste clatter to the floor. His long icy hair raced behind him, tracing his steps in the air current he surpassed. His smile seemed to widen, as the distance had closed by half. At that time her unreliable pistol clicked empty and she didn’t have enough time to reach and arm another magazine. She risked it all for a mad dash to the door from which she came. Vlad’s eyes followed her panicking form with amusement on her pointless struggle to live. Upon reaching the door, she gave a desperate pull, yet at the same time she made contact with the knob, it locked down. With her overexertion on the unyielding surface, she came to a sliding halt on her bottom behind a desk. There was no escaping it now she realized, and she scanned the area not obscured by the structural objects. No one was there. . . just the faint traces of blood around as proof that he had once been here. ‘He couldn’t have just run away could he? He couldn’t have faded away, like an apparition, could he?’ No, she wouldn’t kid herself into believing that. She wasn’t that stubborn. She had seen his hungry eyes, hungry for something to fill its empty belly. That look could not be faked, an impeccable façade that cannot be a lie. There must be a reason why he wasn’t here in the light of night, here feasting on the prize which was herself. She took out the only weapon on her whole body, the knife. How much good it do after comparing how much good her gun did was not something she wanted to think about. Crouching out of her hiding place, she gave a peek over the desktop. He was gone like mist under her meticulous eyes, nowhere was he to be found. She stood up and gave a sigh of relief. Maybe she had been wrong, as things were certainly looking up. That was till her air supply was obstructed as something slender wrapped around its coil like a snake. It caused her chin to rise, which in turn had her gazing up at him. The knife slid off her fingers and clattered to the floor. “You are strong but I am stronger, mortal.” He began running a hot breath over the bare of her neck making her flinch. Though she didn’t want to move as she had seen what his magical fingers could do in a heart beat. She was shocked that the undead could talk. But then again, this was no ordinary aberration. There had always been something far more demonic in his presence that made him different; more intelligent, more cunning, and evil. Her fate hanged on the threshold of this would be razor hand. He could turn his wrist slightly, put a bit more pressure on his hand, let it sink in. . . The skin will yield like silk, like rubber, like the strop. There is nothing more tender than a woman’s skin, and the blood is always there, ready to burst forth. A weapon like his cannot fail, it was the best one he got. Claire tried desperately to work moisture into her mouth in an attempt to scream, shriek or even whimper through her clenched teeth. Seeing the girl was not so stubborn to believe she had a chance, he smiled. “Fate chooses us all, the question is in what form. What I can foresee is yours will be guided by a dark star.” He finished coyly. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her, compelling her, forcing her to stay where she was and not walk away. Now with time captured, his eyes traveled slowly all the way down the length of her body, to her feet, and then up again. Claire caught only his mouth in her limited vision, smiling down at her with pale lips. It made her shiver as if the air suddenly became deadly cold and the wind was like a flat blade of ice on her neck. It was not a far comparison from the truth. Tightening the bond upon her delicate neck, he basked in the warmth of her small cry of pain as he barely pierced the skin. He sighed in contentment. She took the action in stride of her own impeding doom. She was at the mercy of this thing. Closing her eyes, she awaited the inevitable. This was not something she could brush off with an ‘Oh shit’ like so much else. It was too real, too immediate for that. Her life had never been so directly threatened until now. Which came as a surprise when her shackles left her neck. Holding her chin up high in one hand, inclining her head slightly to the left, she looked up at his fiery glows and bit back a scream of terror as he seemed terribly nice. It would be so easy to kill her and be done with it, but why was he hesitating? Was there something he had overlooked? Was he trying to prove he had changed and was above all this? Was he seeking atonement for the many sins he carried out with pride, without mercy. He gave a small giggle at that. No, it was not that. . . Looking at her pleading eyes like so many before, he knew not of what made this one so special for him to give a second glance. In these eyes of hers. . . there was a certain intensity about her features, a frank astuteness that hid just below the almost comical expression of ill-ease, that caught the eyes of Dracula Vlad Tepes. He released her then, almost whimsically. She almost tripped as she wasn’t thinking she would be set free. She stared back at him with an unreadable expression. He frowned. He could not understand why she was so unhappy and disconsolate. Then again, maybe he did. She still stood there like a puppy who had forgotten her way home, yet directing back at him with precarious eyes. Perhaps she thought he wanted to play with her a bit more? Perchance that maybe so, presumably that was the most likely of scenarios. She maybe even presuming too much, you’d never know. He just stood there, waiting for something to happen. A condensing eye upon her made her feel small, tiny, insignificant. His trench cloak hanging off his impervious frame with a nocturnal quality. Having the chance to truly see him now, he was intimidating. His eyes shifted away from her, and for that she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She heard a click behind of a knob turning. She turned to meet the face of a child, shoulder length aquamarine hair, and in a very peculiar pink sundress. As the child strolled in, she leapt to her feet after finally registering the other evil was still breathing the very air they were in. Trembling having to face him again, Claire made a valiant front before the Count as if saying ‘You’ll have to get pass me.’ and directed the death threat at death itself. She shivered when he gave the attention she had demanded in another signature smile which easily brought out the message ‘Gladly!’. Refusing to back down, she reached for her gun holster, only to sweat drop as her journey served as a reminder that the gun was still quite a distance away on the floor. But really it was unnecessary, even redundant as the girl behind brushed past her and confronted the Count herself. Claire stood in confusion at such an unpredicted outcome of chance. Carrie had her arms on her back which was her neutral stance. Vlad had his arms at his sides. They stared at each other intensely, before breaking out into pleasantries. It was something many would ever understand. A monster, and a child. Something so wrong, how could they be faulted on something beyond their comprehension? It was because the fools had never witnessed, never felt the strong bond that they shared. Even with all their differences, She and he were bound by something more powerful than all the spirits and mortals combined. The girl and the creature began a conversation as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Found something?” Carrie asked. He smiled slightly. “I have.” With a hint of deviousness. “Well, what is it?” as if she didn’t know already, she raised a brow. He raised a finger to his lips. “That’s a secret!” he said coyly. “Well when can I find out?” curiously. “In time, Carrie, in time!” he spoke playfully. All the while, the subject of their discussion stood slack jawed on the sidelines. What was going on? The two turned to regard the outsider in unison. There was still a problematic situation on their hands. What should they do? Vlad was thinking. Dead men tell no tales, but relinquishing the girl was too distasteful to him. She was just so unpleasantly innocent. How could he not harm a cute little bunny like her? His thoughts ran in many directions as colorful as the rainbow. Claire took an involuntary step back. Now that she had the chance, she could see their skin was paler in the light and their matching eyes. She cursed herself for chiding herself the girl had only been an ordinary child. What was normal now a days? She backed herself into a wall, as the two surrounded her. Now looking at them, they seemed a little famished. Not enough to weaken them mind you, but enough to show they were not satiated. “Now girl, there’s nothing to fear. All you have to do is do what I tell you, and not question it.” Dracula began plaintively. She still quivered, and Carrie wanted to smack her companion at the back of his head, but refrained herself. Seeing the uneasiness and lack of reply, he went a step further. “Do you understand?” he stressed while placing both hands on upon her shoulders, slithering to her nape. Seeing her nod, he nodded himself and reluctantly recalled his gifted fingers. The feel as her skin slid through his fingers was like a teddy bear being wrenched from a child. He scowled a bit at the loss, before dismissing it as meaningless self bickering. “Good girl. . .” he congratulated, though he would have preferred her to refuse to give him a reason to rid her miserable existence. Finally some of her previous braveness surfaced, and she seemed to be able to relax now. “So you’re not going to kill me?” she asked bluntly, hopefully as well. You could barely see the gears turning in his mind, but replied to the best of his abilities with a grin. “Not unless you ask me nicely,” he spoke tersely, “But don’t worry too much over your silly head about it, miss?” “Redfield,” she surprised herself, without quivering, “Claire Redfield. And you are?” she raised a brow. This felt weird introducing herself to them. Not a second ago would it have been implacable to consider such travesty of the possibility to come to terms with one of them, like them. But now strangely was it not as repugnant as she had comprehended. “Vlad Tepes,” he answered coyly, brushing away some liquid from his hands to return it to its immaculate splendor. For some reason the name seemed to wring a bell somewhere. It was as though she were familiar with the name, strange and unique as it was, but couldn’t place where she heard it before. He then waved a hand to the girl beside him, quiet up till now, “And this is my friend Carrie here.” She gave a bow, “Pleased to meet you, Claire.” Slowly, but surely she climbed to her feet. Her life spared, was a miraculous prospect. Vlad appeared indifferent and the girl named Carrie stood awaiting. She decided to quench her curiosity with Carrie instead, as it was much easier to talk to a child than the still sadistic looking humanlike that had gone through a bloodbath. Though he was rectifying the problem already, it did little to ease her worries. Now acquainted, she became bolder. She directed her gaze at Carrie and gave a strained smile. “So what brings you into the neighborhood?” Carrie stared at her feet, twirling her fingers around nonchalantly. “Well, my ‘friend’ and I wanted to know what brought about the,” She spoke truthfully, referring to the situation with an empty glance over her shoulder, no reason to lie. She then propped herself onto the floor, not minding the fact it was soaking. She liked it just fine, perhaps how a swimmer liked the prospect of being near a pool. Claire found it gross, and she made no attempt to conceal her disdain. “You should get off the floor, its ruining your dress.” She gave her opinion. Carrie just shrugged, “It gives my dress the pretty pink hue” she retorted softly. Her dress was normally as white as snow. It was blood that gave it the splendorous color just as it was said a corpse under a cherry blossom fed the petals their beauty. Maybe she needed to readjust her opinion on the girl. . . Vlad gave a gesture from where he stood, his companion caught it. Turning whence more, the duo briskly ran their fingers through the ruffles of their clothes, dusted themselves off, briskly onto their feet. The kind of briskness you find in all successful businessmen, the confident, and the powerful. It was a sign of class, gave off a solution like alchemy. “It has been a pleasure Miss Redfield, but it’s time for us to go.” He spoke coarsely, making his way to the next section. The sooner he left, the sooner he could leave behind the filthy street urchins. They could not be house broken, just an eye sore he could do without. The seeds of his intention had been planted, and perhaps it would germinate soon. His companion gave one last look of apathy to Claire, the smooth indifferent gaze one would direct to the already deceased. Claire didn’t like that look, even suggesting her most likely demise was indeed disturbing. But, was it not an impeccable assumption? There was no way she could refute the logic. Seeing them begin to leave, she found herself stopping them. “Wait!” she voiced hoping to halt them, “I’ll come with you.” She continued while catching up to their long strides to the untouched exit. “No.” he retorted demurely. “What?” disbelief in her tone, “Why? Wouldn’t it be safer if we stick together?” she tried reasoning. Though really, it was more so for the reason it would increase her chances of survival. Though it would be a relatively simple task she was undertaking, it was the odds of survival which made venturing into the midst unfavorable. “That would only benefit you, not me.” Just as if it were as notoriously as it sounded. “But we could come to a compromise. . .” he whispered the last part gleefully. She eyed him warily, the unpleasant foreboding nagging under consideration of dealing with him. Shaking off the symptoms, she hesitantly asked, “What do you want?” He stopped mid stride, facing away, facing her with only the contours of his back, in but a whisper, though loud enough that she would have heard it. “Your blood.” pensively. “You’re joking right?” with platitude, belying her sarcasm she had hoped to etch within three simple words. Her resolve faltered a bit under the strange request. Rotating around, his smile came as a contrast to the dark corona he exuded. All his cordial gesture did was make him look even more devilish, though she doubted he noticed that. “Supply and demand, supply and demand.” He said businesslike. “Those two words are what drives the world.” His eyes lit up when placed upon her. “You have a supply I have a demand for. . .” he chuckled wistfully. “You must be kidding me.” She staunchly replied. What he was suggesting as an alternative was preposterous, scandalous, ridiculous! He gave her a weird look, “I kid you not.” Though repugnant to the mind to even consider, he was supplying her with something she couldn’t pass up. A deal of a lifetime! He could see what he offered coerced through her mind, weighing the pros and cons as if it were. He knew the battle was won even before it even started. “Your survival is the supply I can offer your demand. Supply and demand. Fulfill my demand with your supply, and I shall do the same for you. So do we have a deal?” Carrie meanwhile frowned in the sidelines. It was just so like him, to turn an educational experience like economics, to twisted logic to suit his needs. Looking at Vlad, hands in his pockets, she held her needs in check. Despite how tempting the offer, Claire was not so gullible to believe it all to be true without some sort of assurance. “And. . . I have your word you won’t suck me dry?” she finally replied humorlessly, brows raised, contemplating his countenance seriously disregarding how much good that would do. His face was a puzzle to unravel, and worked in mysterious, misleading ways. Something about it was strange, almost like an inner glow. Whatever it was, it made her more nerve racked than usual around people. Still, this man was a stranger, and thus she was cautious. “Of course not. Promises are an archaic concept that naïve little children and foolish old men believe in.” he scolded, shocked at what she was implying so pensively at the same time. Suggesting that he’d? he’d? Well. . . maybe not. He laughed at his own innocent joke, before finding it within himself to continue unheeded. “I prefer the rules of business, a gentlemen’s agreement you would call it. Do we have a deal? Give me the liquid that I want, and I shall supply the need that you require.” He finished triumphantly. Claire could tell something about the whole deal was wrong but she just couldn’t figure out what. “What stops me from just following you two?” she questioned rhetorically. He didn’t have to reply, with his silent predatory calmness daring her to try. Gulping back a breath, she had but one question left. She saw the long, sharp canine teeth he held within his jaws as he licked his lips. She studied him, as he studied her. The child struck him having more than half a brain, with an eye for business sense. “Will there be any side effects that you have failed to mention?” she carefully worded. Yes, she was smart on the ball, reading the terms of agreement before signing on the dotted line. “There are always consequences. Action followed by reaction. This is a rule of business after all, as well as life. But you’re in luck! There will be no harmful side effects however, so don’t worry about that.” He reprimanded. No one after all, that he could fathom, not benefit from learning new concepts in the game of life. He took a moment to really look at her again. He didn’t even know why he told her that, but it was amusing to know that she seemed genuinely concerned. Gritting her teeth to the only choice available, she decided to chance it. She nodded in that innocuous way, just like he knew she would. Of course, he could have taken her by force, but a willing subject was a hundred times more satisfying than an unwilling one. For the blood was always fresh, and he could take his own sweet time savoring every drop like a fine wine, deserving to be savored for its unique richness, exquisiteness, and flawlessness in which it was. He strode back towards her briskly. Time is an amazing thing. . . When you want it to last, it seldom does. When you want it to speed up, it always moves slower than snails. All that was left was to seal the deal. . . a prospect Claire was not looking forward to. So very innocent like a rose by any other name. . . it was all the incentive he needed, and how he looked forward to this. His arms slithered across her shoulders, a knowing smile, a flash of fangs. The imminent descent, piercing of skin, the sinking of flesh, writhing of despair with a mouth partly open fastening in breath. The tremble beneath his arms as the knees gave way. . . The sweet nectar tingling his tongue. No doubt indeed, ‘I’m in heaven. . .’ ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~ Authors Notes: Updates are slow as usual, but working on it!