#(or at least all the music majors were always confined in the basement)

[bunmellos]

they’re demolishing the old arts/music building at my uni and every time i walk past it there’s a small crowd of people standing there watching the destruction

[glitchyfrills]

Please, Take It ~Part 8~

((Part 1, Part2, Part 3🌹, Part 4🖌, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Bonus: CuttyRen’s Dawn of The Rose))

(((GlitchNote: First, a TW is self loathing bothers you please skip or read with caution. Second, Thank you so much for your patience and kindness. It really does mean a lot to me and I appreciate it so much during this difficult time. Writing has seriously been helpful this past week and I’m grateful for the encouragement. Enjoy! 🌹🖌)))

Opening his eyes he didn’t see what he expected. He expected nothing but darkness. Instead he was blinded by the brightness of the room he seemed to be in. It was a room he was unfamiliar with but somehow it felt familiar. It was definitely not a room that could be found at the studio. There was no ink to be found. There was nothing in this room. Just him.

“Really? You think it’s just you in here?”

The Voice startled him. Normally that voice could only be heard in the confined space of his mind. But The Voice was definitely not in his mind but in the strange room he was in.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Shawn called out trying to sound demanding and not at all frightened.

He looked around the room to see if anyone was around. The only thing he saw was a black puddle that had not been there a moment ago. Cautiously he approached it and it began to bubble and rise, taking the form of a person.

Frightening him he fell back as the figure slowly formed. He watched as the figure stood at what seemed to be his height and build. Once fully formed the ink fell away and revealed the person that was formed by it. Shawn felt like he wanted to scream and run but his body wasn’t getting the message. He remained motionless on the floor as he watched someone with his face walk seductively towards him.

He scooted away from whatever it was that was coming towards him. Somehow he bumped into what could only be explained as a wall but didn’t look like it. The entire room was white. No edges could be made out.

‘Where am I?’ He questioned in his head as he scrambled onto his feet to stand. Running his hands over the white space around him. It felt like a wall but at the same time it wasn’t; solid but with give if forced upon.

“I’m surprised at you, Shawn.”

With his back pressed firmly against whatever was behind him he forced himself to look at the being in front of him. His mind raced trying to comprehend what he was seeing before him.

It was him. But also not him. It was like he was looking at his reflection in a mirror but the reflection frightened him to his core.

The being slinked him was way closer to Shawn; a welcomed grin on his face as he saw the fear in Shawn’s eyes. Shawn managed to extend his arm out to stop the being from coming closer.

Looking at his extended arm then back to meet his eyes, being chuckled, “You really think that is going to hold me off?”

Shawn looked at his arm and began to lower it but reconsidered. Glaring at the being before him and shouted, “Who are ya and where are we?! Where’s Jack?!” He tried to look past the being to see around them but all he saw was white.

“Ha! Really? You are concerned about him?” Stepping closer as the expression on their face changed from sinister to amused.

“Of course I am! I went down to the basement to save him!”

“A lot of good that did you.” They scoffed.

Shawn was getting angry. “What do ya mean?! Where the fuck am I?! Stop playing with me and answer my questions!”

The amused look fell and the seductive once again graced their face. Slowly they made their way closer. As they got closer Shawn could truly see what they looked like. It was frightening how similar they both looked. The same body structure and build. Even their features were exact. The only exception was that this being had confidence radiating off of them that could be seen just by looking into their eyes. It reminded him of how Dark carried himself. But looking into Dark’s eyes he had found kindness. Looking into this beings eyes terrified him to his core.

Their hand reached out to Shawn’s extended one, lightly fluttering their figertips over his and up his arm sending a tingling sensation over him. Shawn wanted to push them away but his body was frozen. No matter how much his brain screamed at his muscles to move they wouldn’t. He soon felt the light touch on his cheek coaxing him to look at them face to face.

Reluctantly turning he saw the one major physical difference between them. From one of the beings eyes black ink dripped.

Horrified Shawn gasped, “What are you?”

The two locked eyes for a moment. Shawn’s heart sank when the being’s smile slowly and wickedly spread across their face. He had never seen a smile so sinister. Carefully they leaned close to Shawn’s ear and shivers went down his spine as he felt the beings cold icy breath on his ear.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Giddily they backed away and mockingly bowed to Shawn. Dramatically they removed a slim paintbrush from behind their ear and struck a pose as if they were about to paint something.

“You’ve been acknowledging me as “The Voice” but I am much much more than that. I am everything you wish you could be.” Placing the paintbrush to the corner of their mouth he looked Shawn up and down in a bit of disappointment. “And believe me you could be so much more than you are.”

Shawn forcibly pushed himself off the wall. Keeping a good amount of distance between him and The Voice he walked towards them cautiously.

“What is that shite supposed to mean?” His patience was nonexistent at this point. Shawn had demanded answers and he was going to get them. Before The Voice could respond Shawn interjected. “And don’t talk in riddles. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

A twitch of pain stuck his heart and a frown fell upon his face for a moment. Dark. What had happened to Dark? Was he okay?

“You mean that hunk of a mythical beast back at the basement?” The voice fanned himself with the flat cap he had removed from his head. “He’s fine. In more ways than one.” He winked at Shawn as he placed the cap back on.

Jealousy began to rise and make him face red, “He’s mine! Stay away from him!”

The Voice rolled their eyes, “Technically he’s ours. You and I are one and the same, lad.”

“What?” Shawn was in disbelief.

“You are seriously not getting this,�� they sighed. “You and I are two halves of a whole being. This half,” gesturing to themselves, “was dormant until that fateful day in the studio. You remember, the day Joey Drew demanded every department “donate” and object and place them on pedestals.”

Shawn did remember. He had personally volunteered to be the one to work on the Heavenly Toys donation. Which was an odd thing for him to do since he had done his best up until that point to just blend in. He had spent the better part of a week working on that Bendy doll. Making sure every detail was perfect. It was that particular doll that had given him the idea to attempt a different face for the dolls. That hadn’t gone over well. But what did that Bendy doll have to do with The Voice? The question echoed in his head as he tried to connect the dots.

He recalled the urgency in Joey’s voice as he made it clear that these donations must be made promptly. Also how the room's energy felt that morning where they would be displayed. Placing the toy on its pedestal had been strange. Feeling everyone’s eyes on him as he sat the Bendy doll down, adjusting it just so so it wouldn’t fall over. The need to make it as presentable as he could for some reason was strong.

Leaving what was the break room that morning he felt as if someone, or something, had followed him. Which was impossible since he was the only employee of The Heavenly Toys Department to go to the donation presentation. Could that feeling have been The Voice awakening?

“Ding ding ding!” TheVoice clapped their hands in mocking applause. “Took you long enough.” They rolled their eyes as they took hold of his shoulder and turned him around, allowing themselves to place their head over Shawn’s shoulder. “What a marvelous day! The Inky god Joey wanted to please must have found you favorable to grant you someone such as myself to surface.”

“What Inky god?” What were they talking about, “I told ya not to talk in riddles.”

“No riddles. Just a fact. Don’t you remember Sammy’s rambling?” With the hand in front of Shawn he mimicked someone talking.

Shawn thought back, Sammy both frightened and intrigued him. He was always extra cautious around him; trying his best not to get caught staring. Sammy was always well dressed and walked like he owned every square foot he walked on. Shawn enjoyed watching him walk. He both admired and envied Sammy’s confidence. Miles had caught him once looking at Sammy while he was at the bandstand directing the musicians so Jack could listen to it and add lyrics. He had been leaning over the railing and lost his train of thought watching Sammy sway to the music. It was Miles tapping him on the shoulder that spooked him back to the moment. He had rushed and fumbled over his words coming up with a reason why he was there. He knew Miles didn’t believe him but trusted that if anyone else had seen him and asked Miles would give them the reason he had come up with.

Miles.

Were they okay? Again his heart ached at the thought of Miles trapped in the studio by some horrible ink monster. Or worse one of the monsters.

“The way your mind races!” The Voice cried out in frustration throwing their arms in the air causing them to push away from Shawn almost causing him to fall forward. “Don’t knock the ink monster thing. At least they ain’t dead.”

“Ain’t dead?” He repeated. “What do ya mean?”

“Not deceased. They are technically still alive,” The voice shrugged their shoulders as they explained in an uninterested tome. “The Ink possesses the body and takes over. The Ink needs the body alive to function.”

Shawn was horrified by the words leaving The Voice’s mouth. Possession? What had Joey gotten them all into?! He could feel the heat of the anger he was feeling rush through him. Rushing towards the voice he grabbed their shirt and pushed them into what felt like a wall.

“What the hell happened to Miles?!” The grip on their shirt got tighter as he pulled them away from the wall then forcibly back to it again. “They shouldn’t be harmed for Joey’s recklessness! No one should!” His mind flooded with the names and faces of every employee he knew and even some he didn’t.

With a devilish grin on their face, acting as if Shawn wasn’t shouting into their face and forcing their back into the wall repeatedly and forcefully, they coldly said, “You care too much for others that don’t give a damn about you.”

“Shut up.”

“You were nothing but a joke to them.”

“I said shut up.”

“Just a drunk artist that couldn’t make it in the real art world.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Shawn pulled The Voice by their shirt and threw them to the ground. The rush of adrenaline rage had him gasping for air as he watched The Voice hit the ground hard. The Voice lay there motionless but then the sound of laughter was heard; quiet at first then it got louder and louder until it became a fit of hysterical laughter. Holding their sides as if the laughter was causing them physical pain as they sat up on the floor. Casually as if nothing had happened they rose from the floor.

Shawn was desperately trying to find a way out. But all he saw was white.

“Where do you think you're gonna go?”

He didn’t turn to look back at the voice. Shawn was determined to get out of this prison and find his way back to Dark and hopefully fix whatever mess was happening at the studio.

“There’s nowhere to hide inside a bad dream.”

Shawn felt something hold him in place. ‘Not this again.’ The force holding him felt familiar but not entirely. Unlike with Dark’s hold he couldn’t seem to break free. He pushed and struggled but still remained planted where he stood.

Shawn heard The Voice chuckle menacingly. Then the force holding him pulled him back towards The Voice. He felt like he was about to stumble back into the floor but was caught by The Voice.

Handling him and with a calm but taunting voice they said, “Don’t worry I’m not gonna to hurt you.” A wicked smile crossed their face as they continued, “I’m gonna kill you.”

Forcing Shawn to stand upright they wrapped their arms around him to hug him from behind. Shawn managed to put his hands on the arms holding onto to him and attempted to force them away. He failed. No matter how much strength he put into it it seemed effortless. The Voice behind him laughed at his attempts of escape.

“Calm down, I’m not actually going to kill you. I need you alive.” The Voice finally released him. “Without you we’d end up like Jack.”

“What do you mean, ‘end up like, Jack’?” The words came out before getting a chance to stop them. He really didn’t want to have a conversation with the voice but he needed information.

The Voice rolled their eyes as he nonchalantly waved to Shawn and walked away, “It’s not important.”

“Tell me what ya meant by that!” Grabbing their shoulder he forced The Voice to face him. When they did he was met with a scheming grin.

Locking eyes with Shawn they gave in and answered him, “Because of me you are different. Special. Without me you’d be just another monster by now. A mere puppet for the ink to play and wreak havoc with.”

Shawn was still trying to make sense of the new world he seemed to find himself in. A world where the ink he and the other employees used to draw, paint, and animate cartoon characters with is somehow processing people. Turning them into ink filled monsters.

“The ink isn’t the thing to blame.”

His focus returned to The Voice.

“Joey struck the deal for success. He couldn’t keep he’s end of the deal and so…,” the Voice shrugged their shoulders as if Shawn was supposed to know what they were going to say.

“And because Joey messes up the rest of us have to pay?!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” The Voice slowly shook their head. “Should have listened closer to Sammy.”

“What?” Shawn was confused. “Did Sammy know what was happening?”

He didn’t want to believe that Sammy was capable of keeping important information like this from others. Sammy was intimidating but he wasn’t heartless; at least Shawn wanted to believe that.

“You could say that. He felt a new beginning was coming. The Creator was on their way to set everyone free,” The Voice couldn’t help but laugh as they did their best to impersonate the music director.

Shawn vaguely remembered those phrases being mumbled by Sammy. Whenever someone had annoyed him or done something he didn’t like he would mutter something and storm away. Pieces of a puzzle he didn’t even know about were being put together.

“Who is the creator?” Shawn asked.

The laughter from The Voice died down as they turned to face Shawn. A chill went down his spine. Should he have asked; did he really want to know about this creator that brought hell to the studio? He was about to take back his question when The Voice raised a hand to stop him.

“The Creator was summoned that day in the break room. The offerings pleased The Creator but…,” there was a long pause. The Voice turned away from Shawn, looking off into the white abyss that was the space they were in.

“But what?!” Shawn asked in hopes The Voice would continue. Instead The Voice’s shoulders began to shake as laughter grew louder.

“The Creator wasn’t pleased with how your employer took advantage of his generosity!” The Voice was in Shawn’s face quickly. It was as if they had projected themselves. One moment they were feet away from him the next he could feel spit on his face as The Voice violently spoke.

Doing his best not to seem fearful he asked, “You know The Creator?”

“I live because of The Creator.” The Voice was shaking now. Shawn lifted his hand to grip the hands of The Voice and forced them to let go of his suspenders. Once free he took a step back and watched as The Voice composed themselves; adjusting their flat cap, retucking the black button up, and adjusting their white suspenders. Observing them Shawn could see that The Voice was a negative version of himself. Where he wore white The Voice wore black and vise versa. The only thing that mirrored them was the hat and slacks they both wore and what they lacked was a tie.

“It’s because unlike you I’m free.”

The Voice speaking startled Shawn. Having someone read his mind was something he couldn’t get used to. “What?”

“First, I’m not reading your mind. I can hear your thoughts because we share a mind. Second, I’m free.” They locked eyes with Shawn. Try as he might he couldn’t break the striking gaze. It was as if The Voice’s eyes physically held him in it. “I don’t let others dictate me and what I do. Unlike you I’m not tied down. Yes I have held back but it’s because you weren’t ready for me.” They reach out to gently touch Shawn’s ink stained cheek with their fingertips but he forced himself back. The feeling of something tugging him back to where he once stood was felt but he struggled to keep himself away from The Voice.

A sinister smile crossed The Voice’s face, “But I see that a certain visitor has changed all that.”

Dark.

His face flashed in Shawn’s mind. He had changed since he came into his life. He most definitely felt different. A sadness was felt as he thought of never seeing the mysterious dark eyed man from the painting.

The Voice letting out a frustrated sigh brought Shawn’s attention back to them. “You seriously think we are stuck here don’t you?”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “I see no exits from this place. It’s just a white endless room”

Rolling their eyes The Voice snapped his fingers and suddenly from a dark cloud that left drops of dark ink on the white floor appeared the rose that Shawn had left behind on his office desk.

His eyes grew wide as The Voice gently touched the petals of the rose causing the familiar intoxicating perfume to fill the room.

“H-how did ya do that?” Shawn stammered.

“I have my ways.”

“What are ya?” He knew he had asked this question before but he had yet to get an answer.

The Voice just laughed and snapped the rose away, “I’m your ticket back. You just have to do one thing…”

His heart ached at the disappearance of the rose.

Shawn didn’t know getting back to the studio was an option. He remained quiet; hoping The Voice would continue.

“But before I tell you what you have to do you must agree to it.”

Shawn was about to argue that that was an unfair turn but The Voice raised the rose and waved it to stop his words.

“That’s just how this is going to work. I would say that I’m sorry but…,” they shrugged their shoulders, “I’m not.”

Shawn debated with himself; was whatever The Voice wanted from him worth getting back to the studio? His heart skipping answered the question for him. He wanted to get back to Dark. He needed to get back to him and hopefully help anyone else left in the studio.

Reluctantly he agreed, his jaw and fists clenched.

“Perfect.” He offered his hand to Shawn for him to take.

“Tell me what you want from me.” Shawn’s voice was cold and emotionless.

“Let me out.”

Shawn wanted to be confused but he wasn’t. He knew exactly what The Voice meant by that. “I don’t want to end up like Jack.”

“You won’t. I promise.” Their hand still extended waiting for Shawn to take it. “You and I are so much stronger.”

He was about to take The Voice’s but recoiled. “Answer me one thing…”

The Voice raised an eyebrow, curiosity on his face.

“What do ya call yourself?”

The Voice let out a chuckle and quickly stepped closer to Shawn and took his hand. Then they touched their forehead to his and whispered, “You’ll soon find out.”

Without warning the white room vanished and darkness surrounded them. The only sound Shawn heard was The Voice’s echoing sinister laughter.

(((GlitchNote: Again thank you for reading and for your patience, kindness, and encouragement. It truly means everything to me. I hope this part was worth the wait. The next part might take longer to come out, I don’t know. I got the call a little while ago that I should probably go say goodbye to my dad. So positive thoughts and vibes my way are appreciated. I’m Sending you light and good vibes as well. Thank you again.✨)))

[ottorocket808]

Chapter Three: Holly, Jolly

Barb should’ve left Nancy’s ass. Off top what the hell happened?! Her nose is bleeding she just coughed up some weird liquid there’s slime everywhere but I am surprised she didn’t try to wipe off her glasses most people who wear glasses can’t see for shit without them pair that with the fact that The Upside Down is so dark you’d think she’d try to wipe off her glasses so she could at least kinda see. Screaming when you don’t know where you are is always a bad idea I’m pretty sure if she had just quickly and quietly climbed out and found somewhere to hide she’d be fine but she didn’t. Damn, Nancy lost her virginity and her ‘best friend’ was killed at the same time.

I wonder if Nancy thinks her mom forgot that she left in a sweater with her coat when she came back in a sweatshirt it was cold enough that she needed the sweatshirt but where’s your coat Nancy?

Joyce really does look a lil off sitting on Wills bed surrounded by lamps like I as the damn near omniscient viewer knows why but nobody else does. If Jonathan was around when the weird things happen he’d believe her. *cough* you know instead of stalking the popular kids. *cough*

Lucas made me want a wrist rocket but his plan has one major flaw the Demogorgon doesn’t have eyes for him to blind I wonder if it uses echolocation to see. My baby Dustin coming in clutch with the snacks which in all honesty is a great idea think about it let’s say Will was lost in the woods they have something to give him immediately in terms of food although he’d probably want water more at this point it’s been at least 3 days since he had a drink. Who puts a watch on someone without fastening it? Did he just teach El how to tell time? At least on a digital watch.

Is a trapper keeper a brand of binder or just what they used to call them?

Nancy, Barb is dead in the upside down she ain’t coming to school today, but quick question is Nancy Barbs only friend? Because ol girl saying she should know says to me that she’s the only one she hangs out with.

I’m surprised the MP actually tried to be helpful instead of stonewalling like I’m fairly certain that he was supposed to do.

Casual flex with the powers again I dig it and Mike should’ve known better 8 hours in the basement with nothing to do not happening at least she didn’t leave. She is adorable miming the dial tone. I wonder how long somebody would have to be in one of those tanks before they could crush a can with their mind.

Ah! Theres the dog but this is how you let people think that you agree with their terms while completing your own mission Joyce ain’t playin with these lights her baby is talking to her using them uh oh we need more wait is that Christmas music they normally hold off until after thanksgiving to start playing that and 17 boxes of lights and a cordless phone later this woman is serious.

They didn’t even use a night that it rained I know they weren’t gonna show the actual night but at least pick a tape that’s less suspicious. So I have the subtitles on and they keep saying low growling when the gate is shown so I wonder if that’s the Mindflayer in the background also their winch is too slow to be helpful.

I wonder if the DVDs have the deleted scenes I heard about one in particular from El being in Nancy’s room looking around she read her diary and apparently Nancy loves Steve but uh I doubt that she does she just thinks she does.

I wonder if El knows Barb is in the Upside Down.

Steve’s ‘friends’ are assholes.

But Lucas is gonna be acting the same way Mike does about El when a girl pays him an ounce of attention.

People really should watch what they say around their kids sidenote I can’t wait for this kid to go away every time him and his lackey pop up. Mike could’ve bit through his tongue because of what that asshat did.

Did Jonathan think he was the only one who was allowed to use the room because if it’s open to everybody without scheduled time slots him developing his creepy pictures in the darkroom where anybody could see was stupid.

It don’t seem like Karen and Joyce hang out I wonder if either of them actually has friends.

So it seems like Hop is a thot.

The lights are a great alarm system but it’s an awful place for a little kid to be with the Demogorgon climbing through walls and whatnot.

This is probably the most obvious way to say ‘I have no idea where your daughter is and I haven’t seen her since yesterday’

Nah Jonathan you started the night by looking for him you ended it being creepy as all hell don’t blame that on Wills disappearance. Bonus if you don’t destroy the negatives he still has access to the creepy pictures.

Why is she pretty much freaking out while waiting by the power lines? Was he about to zap her with a cattle prod for not wanting to go to solitary confinement because she didn’t want to kill a cat? Whatever you get after for even thinking about attacking a child you deserve. His relationship with her is manipulative and feels... fucked up is the only phrasing I can think of that emphatically says what I feel and stop caressing her head like that it’s creepy.

Tommy H and Carol still suck but they suck while TRYING to sound cool.

Quick question how the hell does El know what it’s like to be picked on? Were some of the soldiers making fun of her or something? Or maybe she understands him being embarrassed.

I do wonder what brought the Demogorgon out in broad daylight because Nancy ain’t bleeding there was no reason for it to be out.

I wonder what Will thought when he went to the Upside Down version of his house and saw the lights everywhere.

Tryna convince someone to see something that they don’t wanna see is an uphill battle Hop not everybody is meant to see conspiracies even if they are obvious. I wonder if that bracelet he’s wearing is one his daughter made for him.

It’s kinda funny that they didn’t notice that El shouldn’t know where Wills house is. if they gave her some time she might’ve been able to get him out but noooo. Because right after they leave he tells Joyce the same the thing El told the boys he’s right here.

If I was El I’d be confused because she knows where he is she can see him but now here’s this body.

[eternium-complex-blog]

Eternium Basement: Robot Rock

   The cramped one roomed apartment echoed with the ending theme of the "Robo-Hero" animated series. Davis quietly hums along. On his desk, next to his small monitor, lays an unfinished model of the "Dragon-Rex". Legacy edition; the gold and black version. When not watching, studying, or designing his own mecha; Davis enjoys collecting and assembling various model kits of his favorite me has. His room is a shrine to this passion.

"The show is simple, but it's a classic. Robo-Hero is the standard of all mecha heroes." He's in the middle of a lecture given to no one. Inside his head he is a professor, but outside he’s as quiet of a student you can get besides not being in class at all. "Nowadays the shows focus more on the drama of the pilots. Which allows for more interesting stories and giving credit to the pilots finally. Robo-Hero had like four and hardly anyone even knew... But nothing is going to beat Robo-Hero fighting a new monster of the week while giving insightful wisdom."

   He walks from his apartment building to the college. It's a short walk. Saves him a fortune not having to get a car. It's always colder in the mornings than the rest of the day. However, weather rarely dictated his wardrobe. He always wore his replica mecha pilot jacket. It bore some of the patches of his favorite mecha pilots like DinoCzar, Ace, Overlord, and of course an old Robo-Hero patch.

"The culture changed. People wanted less aliens and giant monsters, and more realism and internal struggle. Of course this wasn't just happening to mecha shows, but all facets of media. Though I think if you want realistic mecha fights you should just watch the actual mecha league tournaments. The shows are just there to promote toys and Saturday morning entertainment. The point I'm trying to make is... leave my cartoons alone."

   Davis arrives on campus. What follows is a montage of sitting in classes, listening to professors, walking to classes, and completing homework as it's being turned in. His first class is Art Theory. They are currently going over character design and how to tell a story through a character's appearance. The teacher, harmlessly joking, points out Davis and how him always wearing the pilots jacket shows his commitment and passion. Davis nervously chuckles along not knowing how to respond. The other students also playfully laugh, but then begin analyzing themselves on what they wore.

"Take someone like the classic Robo-hero." The professor continues her lecture. "Just looking at him and you get everything you need to know about him. Broad shoulders, big arms and legs, and of course his cape. Waving heroically behind him. Now look at the current champion, Overlord. Much more intricate with spikes and more accurate proportions, and horns resembling a crown. He also has a cape, but his silhouette is much more foreboding isn't it. This fits his character. The contrast to the classical heroes of before. This will be important for all you future mecha designers and engineers." She looks again to Davis.

    It is a small class, so she always singled out students. Davis liked the class and her, but hated being used as an example. The next class after this is an advanced math course. A mandatory for engineer majors.

    After the class Davis has a waiting period of 40 minutes. So he goes to the commons.

"The show actually gets the colors wrong on Robo-Hero. He has a more orange coloring to him. Where as the show gave him a red paint job to appeal more to kids." Davis imagines himself saying back in his art class. He wishes he could be quick witted and able to say something whenever he's put on the spot. When he's with friends he's sharp, but around strangers and in public he shuts off.

    His internal lecture is interrupted by the empty seat across from him becoming inhabited.

"Hey you finish the homework?" His best friend, Matt, asks hopeful. Hoping to copy off of him.

"Yeah... before I turned it in." Davis responds.

"Shit you turned it in?" Matt asks desperately.

"Yes. I have the class before you. What you expect me to not turn in my work just so you can copy?"

"Yeah..."

"No, screw you. Don't make me your last chance to get your work done. Hell I was barely finishing it when I was turning it in."

    They both laugh and continue talking to eachother over their typical topics; mechas, shows, people they don't like, and classes. The two of them have been friends since middle school. They shared the passion for mechas and both agreed to follow their dreams together.

    Their passion however stemmed from slightly different motives. Davis saw them as real life heroes, and desperately desired to be just like them. Matt however was slightly less noble. Matt puts it simply; "chicks dig giant robots."

"Anyways, there's this bonfire party thing on the beach tonight. We should go. It should be fun. Get us out for a bit. Maybe find you a girl." Matt hops his eyebrows up and down.

"Ehh... I don't know." Davis thought about it. Parties really weren't his scene. "Besides, Uncle Mac is making sloppy Joes tonight."

    The man they were referring to isn't actually their uncle, but the overseer of their apartment building. Since most of the residence there are students who can't or for some reason refuse to live directly on campus; he took it upon himself to look after all of them. Wether it be simply feeding them, or waiving certain fees the students couldn't afford.

    The two of them debate about it. Their need for free food greatly out weightes their need for a social life. Despite this however, Matt came up with a compromise.

"Well the thing is like all night. We can go check it out after we eat."

    They both agree on the plan and go their separate ways when classes resume. They only share one class through out the whole day, Mecha engineering. Since Davis started earlier than Matt, his day ends sooner. He's back at the apartment by 3 o'clock. He stops by the community kitchen in the building on his way to his room. Uncle Mac is already in there slow cooking the pork. Another resident is also in the kitchen talking to Uncle Mac, Tai.

    Uncle Mac notices Davis and greets him.

"Ayy, Davy! How was your day?"

"Good." Davis never really knew how to answer that question. Even if he did have a bad day, he felt it easier and better to just say "good" anyways. Not mix anyone in his problems. "Matt told me about this bon fire party thing. So I guess we're going to that later."

"So you tellin me I made all this food for nutin?" Uncle Mac responds with fake agitation.

"Oh no. Believe me there isn't much that we'd miss your food for. Nah, we decided we'd check it out after we eat."

"Yeah you best not be skippin out on my meals." He laughs to himself as he goes back to stirring some gravy in a pan. "Tai you going to this party too?"

"No, no. I... i don't party." Davis could be quiet and shy when around new people or put on the spot, but this was nothing compared to Tai all the time.

"Boy what you mean you don't party? You too cool to party?" Uncle Mac begins to shimmy to music only he can hear. "Everybody party's. When I was your age you'd only find me at a party." Uncle Mac and Davis laugh together as he begins to show them how he would party. Within the confined space of the kitchen. Even Tai got a kick out of it.

"I just have a lot of homework and studying. Can't really party." Tai responds.

"Yeah no, that's important. Keep it up... I'm just saying don't be afraid to let loose a little. Shack em bones of yours. You're young use that energy.

    Davis remembers that he too has homework he has to get done before heading to the party. He takes his leave and heads for his room. He sits down at his desk and begins to work. He tells himself not to turn on the TV, listen to music, or use his phone until he at least finishes 2 assignments.

    Once he feels as though he's done enough to not feel guilty. He turns on his TV and starts work on his "Dragon-Rex" model, hoping to finish it finally. After awhile he checks his phone and sees a message telling him that food is ready. He heads downstairs to the kitchen and gets his plate. They eat outside in front of the building. This was their typical dinning area since they don't have one inside. Matt shows up a bit later and starts eating with them.

    Once they finished eating, Matt and Davis left for the beach. As they approach they could the various sounds of the party going on. They finally arrive and it goes about how they expected. The two of them off to the side together complaining about everything and making fun of everyone. Matt occasionally breaking off to get a drink or talk to someone.

    Things start to pick up when a "rival" of theirs, Gary a fellow mecha engineer major, showed up in a small mecha he "built himself".

"Wow look, Gary brought his own walker." Davis remarks enthusiastically.

"Yeah it's be impressive if it could the one thing you know... walk." Matt responds sharply.

    It is true the self-made monstrosity could barely work. Anytime it actually tried to walk it struggled and a loud grinding noise could be heard.

"Like why go bi-pedal if you don't know how to properly install hydraulics? Go treads and save yourself the embarrassment. I'm surprised he even got the balancing right." Davis comments taking a sip of his drink that he only filled once.

"You think Gary knows the meaning of 'embarassment'? Nah, he'd eat a bowl of shit if you told him it was gourmet." They both laugh and watch on.

"If you guys know so much why don't you go and tell him something." The voice caught them by surprise.

"What-?" They both respond turning their heads to the left where the voice came from.

    Instead of a formal response they are answered with the flash of a camera. Temporarily blinding them for a brief moment. The person holding the camera is a girl, taking a picture of the scene in front of them. Gary pathetically piloting his mecha with a crowd of drunk college students cheering him on. The girl lowers her camera and reveals her face. Her hair is a medium length and green with a cynical face.

"Why don't you guys go and show him up if you know so much? Or are your majors in talking shit and drinking?"

    Davis and Matt just stared at her for a second. Both trying to think of something witty to say. Davis is mostly taken back by her beauty.

"It's a minor." Matt finally spoke. Davis thought of the same thing but a second too late.

"How long have you been standing there?" Davis asks.

"Long enough to pick up your guys characters."

"Oh... so you're some edgy sociology major huh?" Matt asks defensively to someone proclaiming of knowing him.

"Maybe..." she takes another picture. Blinding Matt again. Davis saw it coming and closes his eyes in preparation.

    Davis sees his chance and wishes to talk more to her. She's the first girl he's talked to at the party and the first in months. However, he isn't quiet sure how to do so. He doesn't want to ask something stupid and scare her off.

"Umm... you want a drink?" He nervously asks her.

"Yours?"

"Wha-No, no someone else's." Davis quickly realizes his mistake and tries to correct himself. "I mean like another. Like a drink that hasn't been drink."

"Drunk, and sure." She gives an almost unnoticeable glance up and down. Checking out Davis.

    Matt seeing his friend trying to make a move takes his leave.

"You know what, you've inspired me camera girl. I'm going to go over there and apply my expertise to Gary's monstrosity." Matt steps forward out of their side-by-side line they formed. "Ayy Gary, looks like you could use some help..." Matt's voice trails off as he walks toward Gary and the crowd.

"Oh so what drink you want?" Davis asks.

"Oh, I really didn't want a drink... but I'll walk with you to go get you one."

"Okay," Davis looks at his drink. It's still halfway full. Davis not wanting to blow any chance he has begins chugging down all of it. He finishes and tries to hold in a burn, but it comes out as he speaks. "...let's go."

    The two of them walk and talk. Devils refilling his drink, but not taking anymore sips. As they continue to walk, she reveals that her name is Sora. Named after her parents favorite vid3o game character. Unfortunately Sora did end up having the same hair color as the protagonist. Prompting her to continuously dye it.

"It's actually suppose to be red." Sora adds.

"Well it still looks good. Green really looks good on you." Davis compliments her. Nervous about every word he says, but steadily becoming more comfortable. He enjoys her company.

"Thanks." Sora smiles at him.

"How come you don't just change your name?"

"Well... I don't want to spoil their fun. I think the dying is defiance enough. How about you? How are you with your parents, if you don't mind me asking?"

    Davis takes a moment to think. He didn't have some tragic background or interesting quirk about him. His family worked and never had to worry about money too often, and both his parents were alive and happily married.

"Umm, strict but supportive. When I told them I wanted to be s pilot, they said "go ahead, but be smart. Get a degree in something you can make money from" so... mecha engineer. One day maybe though, I'll have my own, but..." Davis stops. He doesn't know what else to say. The more he talks about his future the scarier it seems. A dream that's getting further away.

"Well that explains the jacket." Sora pinches the sleeve of his jacket. "But why settle for engineer? Why not just try to be a pilot?" The question strikes Davis harder than Sora intended.

"It-if... there isn't a lot of money. Only if I somehow become super successful. At least with engineering I have something to fall back on." Davis isn't even sure if he believes that. Part of him didn't want to admit that he was just scared to try.

"Yeah, but isn't it the same kind of risk? Being a successful engines for pilot. You're always going to risk something. So why not have it be on a dream?"

"What if a fail?" Davis asks trying not to show his cowardice.

"That's going to have to be up to." She responds sympathetically. She understands how he feels. She too feared the consequences of following a dream. An English major betting everything on being an author. The only difference being she had the tenacity to follow through. "Better to die trying, than to live having never tried at all" she tells herself everyday. "You have to start eventually... a mech isn't going to fall out of the sky for you."

"Mecha." Davis corrects.

    He takes a moment to digest everything they've disgust thus far. He looks around and realizes how far away they had walked from the party. Almost to end of the beach. To their right, away from the water, is a Forrest like area. It connects to a park not too far away. Davis remembers a shack inside the woods that he and Matt frequent months ago.

"Hey there's this totally awesome shack nearby, want to check it out?" Davis asks hoping to change the mood.

"I-is that like code for something?" Sora responds hesitant.

"No, it's just this random, abandoned shack out here that me and Matt would always check out."

"'Matt and I', and sure..."

    Davis leads her through the trees towards the shack. Sora begins to ask questions about it.

"What's so cool about this shack?"

"There's just always random stuff appearing in it. A couple of months ago me an-Matt and I were strapped for cash, so we started selling stuff we found in there."

"It ever occurs to you that it might be someone's storage?"

"Of course, but we never saw anything being moved and no one else seemed to know about it. Hey it saved our weekend."

    Sora laughs at how ridiculous the story sounds. They get closer to the clearing where the shack is. Though they are met with a surprise. Seemingly as if dropped on top of the shack, laid a mecha.

    At least 50ft tall, a white and blue paint job with red markings on the face plate. Most striking though about it, is it's figure. It looks very feminine in its design. Davis just stands in awe of seeing it. Easily the coolest thing to appear at the shack. Sora walks up next to Davis with her camera ready.

"You recognize it?" Sora asks him. He nods no unable to fully speak. He starts to walk towards it and Sora lifts up her camera ready to snap a photo.

    As she does however, the flash suddenly seems to activate the mecha somehow. It's massive body convulsing, like a person struggling to breath. This startles Davis and causes him to drop his drink. He starts to back pedal but stops. The mecha's arms flail around and knock what's left of the shack down. It starts to grab at it's face plate. Attempting to raise it up. After a brief struggle it finally retracts up and the mecha's true face is revealed. Pale white skin, with sharp blue eyes and no nose. It's mouth, a simple slit with no lips, but what appear to be uniform teeth hiden in its mouth. It looks around terrified and scans it's current location. As it does, it locks eyes with Davis.

[ol-plots-blog]

IN THE PRESENCE OF VAMPIRES pt. 2 (read pt. 1)

The morning had been taxing, and Lowell was exhausted. After speaking to the press about Prida’s murder - which had caused not only shockwaves through the press room, but owls had started flooding in after the WWN’s report - he’d had to endure meeting after meeting of concerned ministers. They’d each pressed his hand in condolence, and Lowell had grimaced and reassured them all in turn that this was a freak accident, that it wouldn’t be repeated, that he would take care of it.

But the parallel trails of blood that Lowell had followed like a twisted trail of bread crumbs to find Prida’s body had stuck with him. It wasn’t that Lowell had never been exposed to blood or death; he had, numerous times, but this was Prida. Lowell wanted to believe that he could protect those within his employ, and even those he cared about. There was also the fact that it looked terrible for his image as a Minister, and as unfeeling as it seemed, Lowell cared a great deal about that, too.

After shaking the hand of a sweaty-palmed wizard who explained, for ten minutes, about the time Prida had made him a cup of coffee, Lowell excused himself to his office. The floor was quiet as he stepped out of the elevator, the marble floor suddenly echoing with the silence of Prida’s loss. Lowell had gotten used to her there; to the smell of her perfume filling the foyer as she walked to and from her office, or the exact way she made coffee, or the sound of her laughter while entertaining a minister. She’d been loyal to the very end, Lowell was sure of that - she’d fought and died by what she believed, which was that the creatures of this world must be controlled and contained.

She had paid the ultimate price. Lowell knew he should’ve tried harder to shield her from harm; should’ve made sure she didn’t live so far from the aurors, that she should’ve been properly trained herself. But in truth, Lowell had been blindsided by this - he had expected attempts on his own life, of course, but his secretary? It was a murder that showed these creatures and beasts had no humanity or reason left.

His office was dark and as he’d left it that morning, though the severed hand had been removed, taken by the aurors who were investigating. Lowering himself into his well-worn chair, Lowell pressed a hand to his face, drawing in a slow breath. He knew what he had to do next, but the execution would cost him a great deal - and he would need to wait til sun down.

“Sir?”

Lowell glanced up, tired eyes taking in Fischer and Blackwood standing there.

“Report,” he ordered, waving them in.

They nodded, taking two steps inside the office, before beginning the debrief. It was short, the investigation still in its preliminary stages, they said. But the creature that had murdered her was confirmed: vampire.

“As suspected,” Lowell murmured, rubbing his forehead again. He would like a strong drink, but dared not allow himself. “Very good. Head back to the manor and I’ll meet with you there in an hour. Tell the others.”

Fischer and Blackwood didn’t argue, though Fischer did hesitate for a second, as though debating whether to say what was on her mind.

“What is it, Fischer?”

Her mouth thinned into a line, and Blackwood looked on from the doorway. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, a moment of rare gentility. “About Prida.”

It was the first time that day that Lowell had actually believed anyone to be sincere about the loss, and Lowell met her eye.

“Thank you,” he said. “She was a good person.”

There was nothing more to say, and Fischer left with Blackwood, the two of them already bickering before they’d even entered the elevator, Lowell listening remotely to their heated words before there was silence once more.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this - like he was on the backfoot, like there was something he was missing. He understood the anger of these creatures - that they’d made very clear - but this was unexpected. Lowell usually planned for every possibility; strategised for every move that someone could make, every variable that could crop up. Was he losing his touch? The thought bothered him more than he would’ve liked to admit, and the itch for a drink was strong - just something to burn his throat, distract him from his thoughts.

Instead, Lowell stood and grabbed his wand, his coat, and headed out. He couldn’t be here, not when everything was so open ended, and with several more hours until the sun set, there was time to kill.

*

The Bowery was dark when Lowell apparated in.

Leaving the confines of the manor house after discussing the murder of Prida with his team, Lowell had allowed the sun to set and the night to settle before he’d grabbed his coat once more. The others had been exhausted as they wrapped up, though he was glad to see they fought through it - Winterbourne squeezing Walcott’s hand periodically, Caomh chattering small comments to Fitzpatrick in Gaelic that kept them both awake and engaged. Lowell had to admit that the team he’d chosen were strong and dedicated, and he was grateful for each of them.

And true to their nature, they’d offered to accompany him to the Bowery, some of them knowing its filth better than Lowell - some of them having worked there, bled out on the cobblestones, grew up knowing its twists and turns. But the destination that Lowell sought was not for the others to know about; his business was a private one, even from the people that he trusted most.

Of course, not many people in full possession of their rationality and sanity would walk into the Bowery at night; even the citizens knew which spots to avoid. They knew that Stabbing Street was nicknamed that for a reason; knew that the sound of cheers and screams from The Basement could lure you in like a siren and just as quickly take your money. They knew that the Meatlocker had whatever you needed, for a price, but the selection was more varied at Sade’s. They knew a decent drink could be found at Shelley’s Leg, but if you were after something less than legal, The Sabbat could provide.

Lowell knew all this and walked through the Bowery anyway. He knew the kind of people that lived and worked here - knew exactly which of laws were being flaunted, broken, abused. And he allowed it, because that was the way the Bowery worked. Besides, if he raided Sade’s, he’d find more than a dozen of his Minister’s with their pants around their ankles, and then he’d have to go through the hassle of employing more.

No; the Bowery was a teeming underbelly that worked to its own code, and the less Lowell and his Ministry disturbed it, the better off they all were. Besides, most of the Bowery remained self-contained: if you walked through it, then you knew what you were going to get. Newcomers never made the same mistake twice. Unlike Knockturn Alley - with its cheap criminals and shattered families trying to make the most of things, the Bowery was unforgiving. It made no pretense like Knockturn; it hard no well-meaning foil to it the way Diagon Alley was to Knockturn. There was no redemption on the streets of the Bowery - this is where people came when they were at their end, and the monsters came to toy with them.

The idea was of some comfort to Lowell as he walked through the main street of the Bowery, keeping his eyes straight forward but not from cowardice. At least he knew where to go to find the monsters in the world - and here, there was some control, some order to their reign. And, Lowell reasoned, a chance at negotiation.

The sources of light came from the glowing windows of the Bowery - the neon of Sade’s, kept further back for complete discretion versus the unabashed display that the Meatlocker put on. The pubs glowed invitingly, while the other establishments provided light through greasy, stained windows - dim and alluring. But Lowell would not be swayed tonight by the temptations of the Bowery, though he could not say he never had before - every man had his weakness, after all, and his eyes lingered in the direction of Sade’s before he picked up his step. Lowell had always prided himself on being stronger than his vices, for which his family had fallen prey - he would not be the same, and he would not end up dead like them.

His presence in the Bowery drew more attention than he would have liked, but Lowell knew that nothing in the quarter would go unnoticed. Someone, somewhere, was always watching - eyes followed all passers-through, and everything was reported back to the metaphorical beating heart of the Bowery: the Duchess. Lowell knew her blood slaves were reporting his movements to her at this moment, webs of information that she used as puppet strings to control the Bowery and everyone in it.

Nothing happened without her knowing, and much less happened without her permission.

Only fools ignored the other powers in charge in their quest for complete dominance. Lowell was no such fool. He understand that in order to get what he wanted, there were times when sacrifices and compromises must be made - when he had to bow his head to another major player and hope they bowed in return.

The Duchess had manners - built over centuries of being alive, she was one of the only people that had ever gotten under Lowell’s skin and could play him in a way that landed him humiliated and vulnerable. It was why he delayed meeting her as often as possible; why he came only now, when he needed to.

Her manor was, as always, darkly-lit with torches of fire rather than muggle electricity, which many wizards had adopted. Lowell’s eyes adjusted to the light quickly as he walked inside, meeting soft music that immediately culled the outside world away. A blood slave - pale, thin, drawn - closed the door behind Lowell with a click, and he was entombed.

It was warm, and Lowell began walking, taking the hallways by memory from the times when he’d been here before.

The Duchess’ manor house was beautiful and old-fashioned, but less in a gaudy way than in a legitimate and decadent fashion. There were objects collected from all over the world - cultures that Lowell would’ve loved to have studied as a boy, and trinkets that he is sure would’ve swallowed him whole. The Duchess was a collector, of sorts - her manor held some of those things. Books and objects and carvings and paintings of all sorts were neatly arranged along the walls and display cabinets; weapons, jewellery, and in one glass case, a hand.

It made Lowell think of Prida’s hand from that morning, and he turned away.

“Mistress will see you in her chamber,” came a voice from the doorway, and Lowell turned to see the blood slave from the door staring at him, dead-eyed.

Lowell said nothing to this man, who was, in most respects, no longer a man; he had given himself over to the Duchess’ power in exchange for a drop or two of her blood. It had been his choice - yet another vice that had claimed another life.

He followed the slave through the room and down the hall, the music still a gentle swell in the background - not loud enough to discern exactly what was playing, but enough to be reminded of something from a long time ago that you couldn’t quite grasp at the memory of. It made Lowell think of many things; things that prickled at his spine, of a lifetime ago before things had become what they were.

He shook the thoughts immediately. This was why he hated coming here. Vampires had an unsettling power over people - it was no coincidence that they called her the Bathory of the Bowery.

The Duchess’ chambers were warm and dimly lit, and from where Lowell stood, staring up the length of the room to where she sat, he could see a dozen or so blood slaves around her. Some were lying prostrate on the stone, either in worship or a state of pleading, Lowell couldn’t be sure. Others, possibly higher in her favour at the moment, sat closer to her, around her feet and scattered like puppies. One lucky blood slave was kneeling in front of her, the slave’s long red hair falling over her back as she offered up her wrist.

“Care for a drink?” came the velvet-smooth voice of the Duchess as Lowell entered, not looking up from where she was working on draining the slave’s wrist into a wine goblet.

When she was satisfied with the amount, she looked at the slave, who immediately bowed her head. The Duchess’ painted lips curved up in a smile, and she leaned down. Lowell watched, intrigued, as the Duchess licked over the wound in the slave’s arm gently - and the wound closed, slowly, as though magic knitted the skin back together.

“No, thank you,” Lowell replied once this intimate moment between master and slave was over, his eyes lingering on the girl as she cradled her wrist to her chest, as though it were a precious gift, before leaving.

“Are you sure?” pressed the Duchess, fondly watching the naked slave leave before her dark eyes lifted to Lowell. “I thought a drink was something you people couldn’t refuse.”

Lowell let the taunt glance off him. “I came to speak to you about business,” he said, seeing no reason to delay, though he gave a wary glance to the blood slaves still spread around the Duchess like toys.

She gave a dry roll of her eyes and took a sip from the goblet. When the goblet lowered, he couldn’t tell if it were blood on her lips or the colour of her lipstick. “It’s always business with you, Lowell, darling. That’s the problem: you take no time to find joy in the little things.”

“I’m afraid I have not much cause for joy today.”

The Duchess raised her eyebrows behind the goblet she drank from, and their eyes met. He held her gaze, and nor did she waver.

“Leave us,” she said once she’d swallowed the mouthful of blood, and the slaves around her hastened to follow the command, each of them thin and pale, all bone and hollow eyes, lank hair trailing after them as they left the chamber. “Are you going to make me ask what this is about, or shall I begin guessing?”

The idea that she didn’t already know what this was about didn’t seem possible.

“And I didn’t want to do you the dishonour by assuming you were that poorly informed,” Lowell returned, his face impassive and belying the emotion he felt about Prida.

Her lips quirked. “Smart man,” she said, nails catching the light where they held the goblet. “I assume this is about your hired help.”

“She was more than help, and I would appreciate if you didn’t speak of her so callously,” Lowell said, voice heated. “As far as my team and I are aware, she was murdered.”

The Duchess looked at Lowell, daring him to say it. “Yes, so I heard.”

“By vampires,” Lowell continued. “Tortured, even.”

“The lives of humans are so very fragile,” sighed the Duchess, mockery evident.

Lowell took a step closer - he hated feeling on the back foot around her; if it had been anyone else, he would’ve found a way around her and her power. Undercut her, manipulated her, blackmailed her, threatened her - anything that gave him a bit more leverage. Lowell had gotten good at that over the years, digging and clawing his way in secret to circumvent the people around him. But the Duchess? There was no going around her, because she was everywhere, and she wasn’t just one person.

She was an army.

“Our lives are not a joke,” Lowell said, voice cutting. “And for someone whose own future depends upon that of my own, I would expect that you’d take more care.”

The Duchess sobered. “You truly are no fun today,” she drawled, as though tired of his presence. “Very well, let us talk business. I know nothing of the murder of your human.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lowell countered immediately. “You know everything the vampires do.”

Her smile was thin. “You give me much more credit than I deserve, Lowell,” she said. After taking a sip from the goblet and swallowing, she continued. “Not all vampires recognise a leader. Some are angry.”

“With my leadership.”

“In part,” she allowed. “But you are one man, serving for ten years. What many of us have endured is centuries-long confinement. For some, torture. Enslavement. You’ve just tightened the leash.”

“Speak plainly,” Lowell said. “Who did this?”

“No one under my control, but as I told you when we struck our bargain, not all vampires are under my control, Lowell darling. I have a majority, at least when it comes down to it, but there are some beyond even my reach.”

The Duchess didn’t seem happy about admitting it, and Lowell took that as a sign that she was telling the truth.

“And where might I find those beyond your reach?” Lowell pressed. “Names, locations, I’ll take whatever you have.”

Her smile, when it appeared, was wicked and sharp, curving at the corners like the thorn on a rose. She had power, and she was more than capable of wielding it; you didn’t get into a position like hers without it. And though Lowell knew he could more than hold his own against her - you didn’t become Minister without being able to pull strings yourself - he felt fragile and new, a newborn babe at the mercy of a predator.

“That sounds like you’re asking for something,” she said coyly. “What will you give me?”

“What do you want?”

She knew she had him in the palm of her hand, but Lowell held firm, neither shrinking nor cowering.

“Blood,” she said, raising her chin. “Our dens and bars are running short, and my own personal supply is low -- lower than I am comfortable with.”

Lowell frowned. “You have your slaves.”

“Despite what you think of me, I am not a cruel master,” she laughed. “I won’t bleed them dry.”

There were strings Lowell could pull - it would be difficult, but he could do it.

“You’ll have the same amount as the last order,” he said.

“Double it or I’ll leave you to chase your tail.”

It felt like a fist was closing around Lowell’s lungs, a struggle with what he wanted and his own morals. To give in would set a precedent; to resist would destroy his sanity. The bottom line was that Lowell could not get answers from any other source than the Duchess; the cost might rise, but he would have to pay it.

“Double and no higher,” Lowell relented. “Tell me what you know.”

“With pleasure.”

And when she spoke, weaving the story of rogue vampires conspiring together, planning attacks and pointedly targeting people and places, Lowell understood that this war was going to be a lot harder than he thought. Now battling a war on two fronts - werewolves and vampires - he would be stretched thin as it already is. He would need more people, and a better strategy. He would need time to think.

“Thank you,” Lowell said, once he’d gotten a few names that he could go on. “You’ll have the supply by week’s end.”

His mind was full and already beginning to compartmentalise, and Lowell needed to leave. His study called to him, a roaring fire that would warm his knees while his mind turned over everything he’d been told, making plan after plan, going through each possibility. Strategy was his strong suit, and Lowell needed space to do what he was best at.

Turning to leave, Lowell had almost left the room when she called him back, a name on her tongue that made his spine straighten.

“I saw Lysander the other day.”

Lowell’s feet froze, and his heart thumped twice, three times, before he turned. “Oh?”

She was the picture of delighted, eyes lively and gleaming with humour. “He is well,” she said, picking up her goblet. “He, at least, stayed for a drink.”

He wouldn’t let this sway him, and he dropped his eyes from the Duchess’ and left, walking past the blood slaves who rushed into the room he’d just vacated, as though unable to breathe a moment longer without their master.

Lowell would not think of Lysander; today was not about him. It was about Prida, and finding those responsible for her death. He would have justice for her death, and if it took the form of the most brutal punishment possible, then Lowell would not apologise.