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curiositykilledthelasombra · 7 years ago

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Bluebook #4: Off-Screen

(There was about two months worth of sessions that didn’t get a bluebook. Oops. Since then, Brian’s fully recovered, he was made the keeper of a forming pack. Liam’s joined a medic pack known as Bleeding Angels, though he’s still just a pledge. The group has discovered some nefarious plots on the island involving injections and viruses and a previous group that had mutated and died horribly because of it; accidentally incited a mutiny; accidentally fixed the accidental mutiny; purposefully rescued the person they had mutinied against; and most recently was trying to get back on the learning track when a mission came up. This mission was to check out a potential source of information, but to also look for a red-haired woman who haunted a few of the infected’s dreams. Liam, who was getting Vampire 101 training because they want him as an Emergency Field Medic, did not get dragged along on the mission. He is not pleased. The following bluebook was what was happening on his end of things, off-screen. In drabble format.)

“The next time I find your unauthorized ass in the morgue, I’m going to assume you’re legitimately dead and put you in the cooler~!” Was his pleasantly delivered threat, as he waved poor Jackie off.

---

Breakfast, now belated, still involved his routine check to the library, to ensure that Al had also eaten something. There was too much going on for him to sit and chat, no matter how much he wanted to, and no matter how many more questions burned in him. So, for now, his visit was more of a check-in than a catch-up.

At least Al was still there. He didn’t think they could be considered friends, but Liam liked him. It was a comfort to know he had stuck around, at least.

---

He was worried, of course. His phone was checked as regularly as possible, but he had his own duties to attend to, as well. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to stare at the phone all day, waiting for the little red circle to pop up in the top right corner of the messenger app.

Oh, did he want to see that little red circle in the corner of his messenger app.

More than that, he wanted to text them. He wanted to reach out and say ‘Be safe!’...but what if something happened, because he did? What if his stupid, incessant need for some contact with his people - whom he had not been without, until now - actually put them in more danger? He had seen enough movies to know that a well-intentioned call or text could alert the Hunter to their presence. So he waited for them to reach out first. Someone would, when it was safe. He knew it.

He'd keep working. He'd keep waiting for that little red dot.

----

Aldis’ short tone, the emergency in his commands. That put him on edge. It sounded like they had found something. Nothing apparently and immediately dangerous, but something. Glancing between the actual, initiated Bleeding Angel and the Professor, waiting for them and their actual ranks to step up and do something, wasn't actually doing anything. Neither of them even stirred at the calls, the alerts and the pages. Nobody seemed to care that there were people in the field who needed a response, and who may or may not need some help.

Someone had to answer the call.

His people were out there.

He would, he thought. He could respond. The consequences that may arise from answering despite not technically being a Bleeding Angel could be dealt with later.

Someone had to answer the call.

He did.

---

The second he left Alavestra in the ghoul’s bathroom, his phone was pulled from his pocket. The readings that had come back suggested fire and brimstone. Not just fire and brimstone. Literal Hell levels of fire and brimstone. Those were more or less her words. Trembling fingers had to try several times to actually get the phone to pull from sleep mode, and once it was, he paused. His finger floated above Brian’s contact information, a hair away from pressing down on the little outline of a phone’s handset.

What if Brian was in danger at that moment? What if any of them were? Would his call cause more problems? If he called, they could die. If he didn’t call, something else could potentially kill them. They were in or near what sounded like an active volcano, or hell itself. They must have known this; you couldn’t overlook something with this sort of read-out…

But he could make a case to get them to leave. It was too dangerous to be where they were, especially as Vampires… Maybe a text, first. Maybe the phone was on vibrate, which was much less threatening… Clumsy hands navigated the screens in his haste, switching from phone to messenger, as he made his way down the hallway to administer a new drip to Wiley.

LITERAL HELL, BRIAN

---

The line went dead, and all Liam could hear was Brian’s voice, saying things in a tone that was wrong. All wrong. The inflections were Brian’s, the vague accent, but the delivery...there was no amusement, no concern, no emotion behind the words. Empty. Brian’s voice, but empty. It took conscious effort to pull the phone from his ear, his hands once more trembling as he slammed his finger down on the button to re-dial. Dark eyes were focused on a random point directly ahead of him, staring unseeing as a tone in his ear rang and rang.

It clicked to voicemail.

Dread clawed up his throat, pulling a terrified inhale right along with it. It tore at him from the inside out. Something was wrong. They were near Literal Hell, and something was wrong. His free hand clutched over his heart, digging his nails into skin and fabric, pulling as if that would alleviate the tightness there. As if it would save him from the overwhelming weight that crushed down on him. The choke he heard, the silence that followed, the footsteps; he hadn’t been alone. Then the voice. Brian had never sounded so...devoid of emotion. His mind jumped immediately to possession. Another round of dominate. Another someone, using his Sire - his Brian - against his will. Again.

Liam nearly dropped the phone, as he pulled it from his ear and hit the end button. Both trembling hands clutched at the phone for stability, his thumbs flying across the screen to swap to the messenger app once more. He had never typed so quickly in his life; thank goodness for autocorrect.

They were sporadic, these texts. Some a few minutes apart, some immediately following one another; he was rushing to get Alavestra at the same time, needing someone with some status to get something done. To protect his - their - people.

THE FUCK

Hello?!?!

Pick up your phone

What the duck was that

Brian

BRIAN

Pick up your god damed phone

I SWEAR TO GOD

If its not you anymore

Please still be you

Please be okay

I’d it isnt you

Whoever it is???

I will find you and i will murder you

---

Before he could send more texts, his phone lit up. He couldn’t feel the vibration through the trembling of his hands, but he saw the name that lit up the screen, superimposed over one of the puppy pictures he had assigned to his contact information. He felt his heart stop, the sensation a mere ghost of bodily panic responses from his human life. Icy panic seemed to coarse through his veins in that second; his body tense, just as afraid to pick up the call as he was to miss it.

He hit accept, and immediately had the phone to his ear, with some scathing words at the tip of his tongue, threats he was ready to make good on in an instant -

Instead, he heard Brian’s voice. His real voice, with the proper inflictions and all. His proper, perfect voice. It knocked the wind from his sails, but he said nothing. He listened for another moment, another few attempts from Brian to get him to answer. Each call of his name seemed to thaw some of the icy tendrils that had dug into him; his eyes began to blur, his blank vision obscured with the thickness of bloody tears.

“Can you hear me?” Brian had asked.

“Yes.” He croaked back, relieved.

---

He’d known what Brian was going to say before he said it. It wasn’t the first time he had heard it from him, but the first time didn’t count; he had just been saved from torture and death at that point, and injured within inches of his life.

Still, he drew in a breath when he heard those three little words, as if it still surprised him.

His reply bubbled in his throat, caught and held there, wanting so badly to say it back, but so very scared to. They hadn’t known each other for long. They had so much they still needed to talk about and sort out. It was too soon to hear it, nevermind say it -

But he said it back anyway, because none of that mattered.

Brian did, though. And he had to let him know.

---

It was unfair, how chipper Brian had sounded as that call ended. He made it seem like everything was right with the world again, because he was ultimately okay, and because they had both confessed their love. Despite admitting these feelings, the ones that felt so right and yet were so alien to him, Liam felt a deep resentment course through him.

It wasn’t okay.

Brian was okay now, but he hadn’t been. Something had taken his voice from him. Threatened them. They were in literal hell, with a literal demon. The danger was still there.

And Liam was so very far away from it all.

Nearly everyone that he even remotely cared for was on that mission. He couldn’t help them. He couldn’t try to save them. He was useless.

He choked, and bit down on his bottom lip. Suddenly unsteady on his feet, Liam felt his knees buckle, but he didn’t resist the small tumble back; his shoulder blades made rough contact with the wall, but he barely felt it. He couldn’t feel anything, in that moment. Everything was painfully, blissfully silent.

Liam slid down the wall, unwilling and uninterested in trying to keep himself standing for another second, until he was sitting on the floor.

He clutched his phone to his chest with both hands, he bowed himself forward, and he cried.

---

Pulling himself back together had been a chore. He hated crying, and even more than that, he hated crying blood, when his jumpsuit was white. By the time he was finished, his left forearm was marred by smears of deep red, and he hated it.

His feelings had dulled some, by the time Brian’s next rounds of texts came in. Of course they were staying to fight it. Of course they were - he expected nothing less, when he thought about it long enough to be honest about it…

Oh, how he hated them all right now.

Everyone.

Including himself.

---

He hadn’t handled that well, he realized as he left Wiley’s room.

Then again, he handled it as well as he could have, considering his day so far, and considering he had nearly forgotten that Wiley existed. Distantly, he made a mental note to work on his bedside manner, or at least get some lessons on how to handle that conversation differently - he never really had to talk to the families before. Usually someone with higher rank than himself had that talk.

But that was something for later.

For now, he was just glad to have something to do. Something that wasn’t just sitting around and feeling.

He'd do as he was asked, and then he'd make sure the Angels were on alert for this upcoming disaster, if they weren't already; it wouldn't hit them on the island until the next night, or perhaps the one after, but...they had to be prepared.

#liam jones #vampire the masquerade #vtm #lasombra #lsc

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curiositykilledthelasombra · 7 years ago

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Bluebook #3: Can’t Sleep

Brian was fast asleep, recovering from his horrific ordeal...and Liam lay against him, nestled in lax arms, one arm curled under his head as a makeshift pillow. Unlike his sire, he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to sleep. All he could do was search Brian’s broken face, his dark eyes moving from one wound to the next, taking them in, committing each and every mark to memory. They had already faded some since he had first seen him in Enforcer Coal’s van, and he knew they would disappear in time...but he wanted to remember them. He wanted to remember this. A twisted lesson to himself; the beginnings of what would likely be a lifetime of fuel for the burning fires of revenge. It didn’t quite matter why he insisted on remembering every inch of broken, twisted, and burned flesh; he just wanted to. He would find a use for it later.

As badly as he wanted to keep this memory, the ache in his heart to see him this way ran deeper. It dug and tore at him, nicking each insecurity and each question of reality along the way. In the nights between the capture and rescue, Liam had clung to hope. At one point, it was literally all he had, and even then it was naught but a tiny sliver. He dug in his heels for it, and put himself in a position that may backfire on him later, but he stood his ground, stubborn as always. He clung. He pressed his luck. He insisted. And it worked out; Brian was here. He was safe. He was healing. One day, he’d be back to himself. He wasn’t sure if he trusted this to be real, however: so few things worked out for him, and this seemed too good to be true. Every little foothold of good he had found since his turning had been so viciously taken from him after all...it stood to reason that this would too.

He squirmed against his slumbering companion, careful despite not needing to worry about waking him; he was out cold, aided by the good drugs the Angels had supplied. Gentle fingers brushed against patches of unharmed skin, ghosting down featherlight and barely touching along the line of Brian’s cheekbone, trailing down to his jaw. This was probably real, he decided; he could see him, he could touch him, that meant that it had to be real, right?

There were so many people he had to thank for this. He remembered a few of them at the barge, both to pass Brian to them, and again after, once his safety was more or less assured. He’d have to find them and thank them, as he did not get the chance to on the docks. Too much had happened. Too much he had dared to hope for, but never imagined he would achieve. Along with the memory of Brian’s wounds, he made a mental note: find those who helped, thank them, and find a way to repay them. It was the least he could do. Tonight, though, he would bask in having him here, safe and on the mend.

Dark eyes drifted towards Brian’s ruined eye - which was looking better, but still awful - and he remembered. He remembered the gore that it had been at first. He remembered bright horrors curling out from his back. The writhing eyes and mouths. The press against Emilio’s eye, and the give when it popped under the pressure. Each and every plea from his Uncle’s mouth, begging his Nephew for mercy. It was hypocritical, he knew: he had fought so hard for Brian’s freedom on the grounds of not being in control of himself. There was a chance that Emilio was the same. It startled him, how quickly he had jumped on his own opportunity for revenge. How he had stepped forward without hesitation, sputtering his need for payback and acting on it. As his thoughts shifted and danced, trying to find anything to ease his frazzled nerves the the guilt of hypocrisy, he settled on something that worked: Emilio had monologued at them the night everything happened. He had proven himself to be the sort of person who would do what he did. The kind to be cruel and vicious, to bully and press and torment into submission. Brian was not. Brian had left the impression of a humane individual. Emilio had deserved his treatment, Liam decided.

It worked, for now. The explanation allowed his mind a safety blanket in which to curl, freeing his thoughts to wander again, and he tore his attention away from his Sire’s bad eye. Now, he gazed at him as if he were whole, seeing past the wounds and the sheared hair to the Brian he had known before. The Brian that had laughed at him, and laughed with him. Ordered him a stupid cake. Danced with him. Held him close and touched him so affectionately.

The one that struggled to reach him on the dock, despite his battered body and the horrors he had been tortured with, just to see him. To thank him. To tell him that he loved him…

Love. Liam had never felt that, before. He wasn’t sure if he even knew how. What he was feeling right now, though, this deep affection he had no name for, was already overwhelming to him. Confusing. Scary. All of it. Liam leaned in a bit, pressing the faintest kiss to the corner of Brian’s sleep-slackened mouth, unable to resist.

These feelings, he figured, could wait. He could hold off on all of that, to try and get his footholds back. This new life of his was crazy, and often times he didn’t know which way was up. So first, that. Whatever happened after that, he figured, was a problem for future him. With a sigh, he shifted slowly, trying to ease himself as close to Brian as he could without hurting him, or waking him. His smell was off from the injuries, but it was just him enough to be comforting; and that is exactly what he wanted right now.

Tomorrow, before whatever else happened, he would bother the Bleeding Angels. He would annoy whichever one came to check on Brian first, to ask a thousand questions about vampire healing and care. He had so many questions after all, and hopefully whoever walked through that door would be willing to humor him.

His revenge sated, his sire recovered and on the mend, his feelings on the backburner...he could swing back to what he wanted. To what Brian said he could do; heal, and help.

After that: find whoever helped with Brian’s rescue. Thank them profusely.

Liam closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. He had a big night coming up, and bigger plans...dawn was coming, and he’d need all the rest he could get.

#liam jones #vampire the masquerade #v:tm #lasombra #lsc

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curiositykilledthelasombra · 7 years ago

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Bluebook #2: Alone

Liam stared up at the ceiling, the darkness so bright to him that he could see every little crack and notch and flaw. He counted every imperfection he could see, keeping a count in his head, anything to keep his mind off of the night's events. Anything to help him try to ignore the crushing weight in his chest, the heaviness of his limbs and the sizzling pain deep in his core. Anything to keep the loneliness at bay.

He had never been so alone in his life.

Since his mortal death, his available social circle fell from several dozen to four people, tops. Yesterday, he could at least count Brian, Weiyin, Ilya and perhaps maybe Tuyaa as his friends, though the latter was tentative at best. Today, in one night, he lost them all. Them, and dozens - perhaps even hundreds - of people he had never known before. He lost everyone he had, and everyone he could have had. Every potential ally. Every potential friend. Every. Single. Person. Gone. In the span of a few hours.

Weiyin, he lost almost right out of the gate. He wasn't sure what happened, but he at least knew that he had pushed too hard, and smothered any budding friendship they may have fostered.

Ilya, well...he was sure Ilya would never be his friend again. Whatever ties they had made with each other that emotional night was surely shattered beyond repair now. How can he expect to keep their friendship together, when his Sire murdered his Person? Where could he even start to try to fix it? There was no coming back from this. There just wasn't. The image of Ilya hissing at him was first and foremost in his mind. It haunted him, even as he counted the arbitrary marks in the ceiling.

And Brian...his sweet Brian. The man who hated having to change him, but couldn't just let him die. The kind, gentle man who looked at him as if he were the only person in the world, and held him as though he were precious and breakable. The honorable man who stubbornly stayed and fought for Philadelphia when everyone else had left, until he was forced out to protect his childer from those who would do him harm. Liam hasn't lost him yet, but he was going to, and soon. All because the Cardinal was an unfair, hasty man.

The rest...well, Tuyaa was ever the hard read, and everyone else, everyone he hadn't met and even some he never would, had loved Torrance so much that they blindly hated the man who had done it and wished him a slow and painful death.

Liam flinched. His eyes lined with red despite his best efforts, and he reached up to clutch the base of his own neck, digging his nails into the thinner skin, making himself hurt for the sake of hurting.

Ilya said that Brian had done it. He had watched him do it. He heard the man taunt and hiss. Liam found no reason to distrust Ilya's memory; he believed he did see Brian do this horrible and unspeakable thing. What he couldn't believe, what he had a hard time accepting, was that Brian had done it on purpose. There was just no way.

Brian had gone head-to-head with his own family in order to do what was right! He had clung to his word and his given duty with such dedication that he was the last remaining loyal Sabbat in all of Philadelphia! He looked at Liam with such sorrow that night, fearfully pleading for forgiveness, and begging to hear that Torrance was okay. The despair in his voice as he insisted he didn't mean to, that he was in some sort of frenzy…

Liam let out a choked sob, a noise that was immediately muffled by his hands, both of them clamping over his mouth. He could feel the bloody tears free themselves from his eyes, and slide down pale cheeks.

Nobody believed him.

Nobody believed that Brian himself wasn't capable of this. That there's no way such a sweet and gentle man would murder a dear friend in cold blood. They were so quick to call him a son of a bitch, a murdering bastard. They were all so quick to damn him, and wish his agonizing demise.

They were even faster to threaten Liam himself, for trying to voice his concerns. For trying to defend his Sire’s character and to advocate for a fair trial, because this situation didn't make sense. All they saw was the face value. They didn't want to hear reason. They didn't want to prove the motive behind it. They just wanted a swift and immediate death, and it didn't matter if he was the true murderer or not. Blood for blood, hollow and without truth.

And they all hated him by extension, for he was Brian's childer. Everyone. People who had never met him even hated him! How many times had Liam stood there in silence, listening to everyone's reaction to the death? How many times had he flinched when they asked after the killer, hoping they wouldn't turn claws on him out of spite if they figured out who he was.

He had nobody.

There was not a single person here that he could turn to. Nobody would care about him in all of this. Why would they? His sire killed a man loved by all. Nobody cared to hear him out. Nobody wanted to hear him out. Nobody could see beyond their grief. He could understand, he supposed...but that was not comforting. Not when their world was filled with impulsive murderers, who stabbed first and asked questions later.

Liam was making enemies of very important people and putting his life on the line, just to do what was right, and ensure his Sire got a fair trial.

And he was so alone in all of this.

He longed to see Brian. He wanted to hold him, and kiss him, and tell him that he believed him when he said he wasn't himself. Hell, he would have given anything to simply be able to sit beside him quietly right now.

He just didn't want to be alone.

#liam jones #vampire: the masquerade #v:tm #lasombra #lsc

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