#metzli: fashion show | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muertarte · 1 year ago

Text

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: Chuy (written by Hera!) @muertarte

SUMMARY: Metzli finally agrees to meet with Chuy in hopes of settling everything. Things take a turn for the worse when he reveals a painful truth.

WARNINGS: Emotional abuse

The attack on Eleanor was the last straw, biding for time no longer an option. Staying glued to the seat of strategy was proving fruitless anyway. They’d reached out and waited until there was finally a response. Metzli hurried and all but ran, rely on hope to keep their body moving toward the destination the message had given them, despite how they’d slowed their stride the closer they got. Surely it had to be Chuy who’d sent it, Metzli was sure of it, but that did little to quell the fear that weighed on the vampire.

How strange, really. They’d never really known fear while in the clan. Being a perfect soldier meant they had little to fear in regards to their life. They were expendable, another soldier ready to continue where they fell, though Metzli never did. With a swallow, the cemetery came into view, other vampires lurking around the perimeter.

The numbers alone should’ve given them pause, but that wasn’t what caused the noose around their neck to tighten. Seeing two guards at the entrance of the crypt gripped Metzli in totality, the knowledge that their old friend–the new leader–was just yards away. How much had Chuy changed? What had they done to make him so angry that he’d go so far as to travel to Maine and hurt Metzli’s friends? They had to find out.

They continued forward, walking stoically past every so-called guard. Must’ve all known who they were and why they were there, Metzli supposed. Otherwise, that would further prove just how badly managed the clan was now. It was a little too easy to take down the ones that Metzli had managed to run into, but that was a thought for later.

Taking a quiet but deep breath, they trudged forward, allowing the darkness to swallow them until the light of a single torch began to lay in front of them. Brows furrowed with confusion. Metzli looked right, then left, and were on the brink of turning around until everything went black with thunder booming through their head.

There had been no good reason to let Metzli live and thrive for this long. Sentiment, perhaps? A reward for overthrowing the man who would be king, who had been content to let Chuy rot in the shadows cast by Eloy’s overbearing rule? Figuring that a broken, one armed fledgling wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things? Whatever the reason, it had long since been time to end it. Chuy had been wrong in thinking that Metzli’s continued existence would not cause problems and he hated being wrong. Almost as much as he loathed the whispers of a revolt, hushed conversations about whether or not the mindless soldier could prove to be a better leader than him.

Him, who had rescued them all from Eloy’s oppression, who kept their clan large and powerful? And they would prefer the quiet artist to lead them, the one that could not even lead themselves? Chuy knew that he was the right leader, the only leader for this clan, but leaving things up to chance had never proven successful. Showing them the Metzli he knew would persuade them all, prove once and for all what the elder knew deep in his cold, still heart.

A feeling of everything falling into place settled over him as an aggravatingly familiar shape was dragged into the dimly lit room, their body dropped on the stone tiles. Chuy sighed in an almost fond way, standing from the makeshift seat some might call a throne, fashioned from the crumbled stones in abundance here. Metzli looked like their own person, with a hairstyle and clothes they undoubtedly picked out themselves. He didn’t like that. With a sniff at their stump of an arm, Chuy gave a wave of his hand, the order to make sure the fledgling didn’t do anything they might regret. They were strong, that much was true, and he needed to make sure they wouldn’t interrupt what was to come.

Black dusted the edge of their vision, dim light barely discernible for several moments. Metzli groaned, frown deepening at the way their head began to pound. The pain emanated from one particular spot at the base where their skull and spine met. So the attack came from behind, and the torch was used as a distraction. Not a bad plan, all things considered. Metzli would’ve normally been on alert, but thanks to how lax the security was and how easy it was to take down what vampires were thrown at them, they dropped their guard. Idiot.

“Where am I? Where…?” Metzli shuddered at the sight of Chuy sitting coyly at a makeshift throne. His energy was different before. Still the same, moody demeanor with a tinge of loathing practically radiating from him. “Chuy? So it is—argh!” A fledgling socked Metzli in the face, berating them for not calling their long-time friend Master Jesus. It seemed idiotic, but fine, they’d comply. They just needed answers.

“Master Jesus…” They began with a sigh, speaking in their native tongue. “What are you doing? Why do all this? What did I do to make you so angry with me?” Metzli rolled their shoulders and flexed their fingers, doing their best to get comfortable against the firm grips around their entire body. It was kind of nice to see Chuy taking some actual measures for once. Everything had been so messy up until then.

After all this planning, all of the waiting and painstakingly making sure each piece fit where it needed to ensure success, the simple act of waiting for Metzli to come to was unbearable. There were hushed whispers, looks exchanged as each clan member took in their old camerada, or for some as they got their first look at the esteemed Metzli. Finally, there was a stir and Chuy raised a hand, bringing dead silence to the dark room. Soon, he would have the power to silence every whisper, every doubt.

A hint of a smile played on his lips when punishment was doled out on his behalf and what a joy it was to not get unfairly punished right alongside Metzli. For their mistakes, for their wrongdoings. His fledgling started again and as the innocent questions rolled off their tongue, Chuy stood and slowly advanced closer. “Oh, cariño,” he sighed, stopping an arm’s length away, eyes boring down on them. “You were a mistake, that is all. Or the mistake, I suppose, was making you think for a moment you were more than a mindless soldier.” He moved away again, arms crossed behind his back as he made sure he had the attention of every clan member present.

“I guess some of the blame lies with me,” he continued, circling the room, feeling Metzli’s presence. “Giving you the idea for a revolt, making you think it was yours, of course it was bound to bring up some… resistance.” Chuy gave the revelation a moment to sink in, not just for Metzli but for everyone present. They had not been the one to plan Eloy’s downfall, not on their own. Everything Metzli had done, everything they were, was his. They needed to know that and so did everyone else.

“But mostly… I suppose I just expected better things from you. Seeing as you are my creation, after all.”

The whispers around the room were difficult to ignore. Some mentioned the wrong person was on the throne, while others hissed for Metzli’s demise to come quickly. Either way, everyone in the room wanted to get the show on the road. At least on that, they could all agree. Even Metzli. The energy Chuy was emitting reminded them of Eloy, and they supposed that was fitting. Chuy had made it clear that he held a great hatred for the way things were run, fully dedicated to the coup when the concept went from idea, to a full blown plan.

If Metzli wasn’t coordinating, he took the reins, more than excited to reach the finish line to freedom. But…be that as it may, it turned out to be an illusion. A facade that Metzli had fallen for so easily. They began to shake, tugging against the hands restraining them as Chuy continued to speak. The more they heard, the more their stomach continued to sink into a never-ending pit. No idea was theirs then, it seemed, but there was something just under Chuy’s tone that set Metzli on edge. Like he was leading up to some big…reveal.

Their eyes widened and the room broke into whispers once more. The gravity of the truth made the world swirl, blurring in and out of focus. “What? W-what?” Metzli gagged, nausea developing like a surge through their stomach. “You’re not. You’re…!” It was all clicking into place, memories of Metzli and Chuy’s nights spent together, planning. They had shared dinners, they’d even managed to make Chuy laugh. “You’re lying! You’re lying!” More than once he had said they were family, and having never truly had one before, Metzli latched onto him so without hesitation. And it was all, for what? A sick plan to manipulate them and torture them without their knowing? All while they believed Eloy was the only monster to blame. Turns out though, evil hid well behind the veil of friendship, tricking those desperate enough to believe.

“You did this to me?!” Metzli attempted to rush forward, stopped short. They fell straight onto their face, the vampires holding them following suit and keeping them pressed into the dirty ground. “We are supposed to be family! You said we would free everyone!” They growled, continuing to fight and thrash. Billions of ants crawled beneath their skin, each step in their march burning worse and worse. “Eloy made me! He controlled me! This doesn’t make any sense!”

Their reaction was music to his ears. Disbelief, anger, uncertainty. Every emotion swirling out of Metzli in such an uncoordinated way, proving just why they were unfit to lead. They were too unstable, too broken, and with this simply being the first step to make everyone else see that, Chuy felt rather good about his odds. They attempted to appeal to him, appeal to a humanity that felt so, so far away. Sure, there had been moments where he had let himself just be, not focus on the grand scheme of things, but none of that was more important than this. Than setting things right.

“I did free everyone,” he corrected calmly, voice loud enough to once again quiet some of the whispers. It did little to silence Metzli’s trashing but they could be allowed to make a fool of themselves. With them now on the ground, Chuy stepped closer, feet stopping at the edge of their frantic face. “Eloy was the one that wanted to keep you on a leash, didn’t want anyone to know his favorite soldier was really mine. So I did what he asked, forged you into the perfect weapon. I see where he was coming from, now. You’re useless like this. Frantic, emotional.”

“Stop! Stop!” They didn’t want to hear it anymore. Lies were the worst thing to listen to, they detested the concept, and they loathed people who used such a disgusting tool. Metzli could feel the tears stinging the corners of their eyes as Chuy paid their pleas no mind. He picked them apart, toying with them until the ants began to truly dig into their nerves with no reprieve. They felt powerless to stop it all, reason becoming harder and harder to latch onto. Their mind became an echo of words even they couldn’t decipher, any sense they had dissolving quickly.

All Metzli could use was unbridled panic, almost willing to let their arm break as they pulled it in the wrong direction in an attempt to get away. “I’m not yours! I’m free! Do you hear me?! I’m free!” They all but shrieked, sobs beginning to make their voice hiccup uncontrollably. It was the most emotion Metzli had felt up until then. They would have usually minded displaying such an overreaction, but it could be accepted and allowed. It was further proof of just how free they were. “See?! I can feel everything now! I’m free! So you’re lying! I hate liars!”

Of course they would refuse to believe him, too weak to handle the truth. Always too weak, clinging onto notions like ‘family’. Metzli trashed and he gave the order to pull them to their feet even though they didn’t have the composure to fully stand. “You are mine. Always have been, always will be,” Chuy hissed and switched back to a language not all of the vampires knew, moving in closer than he had before, clawed fingers finding Metzli’s face. It was disgustingly contorted in their grief and anger - this was who he’d been punished alongside all those years, who the people thought could lead them?

Chuy grabbed the single arm that remained, grip tight, and gestured for the others to back off. He could take it from here, could handle the broken husk in front of him. Holding them steady, he leaned in to deliver words meant only for them. “You will not mind in a moment but it’s important that you know this. We were never family. Your existence has been a burden for me every step of the way.” He leaned back again, forcing tear stained eyes to meet his own, burning brightly. Compelling. “You don’t need those emotions. You can’t feel them anymore. You will ruin everything just like you always have.”

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #chuy and metzli #c: chuy #los sombras #big man little dignity #emotional abuse tw

7 notes · View notes

eldritchaccident · 2 years ago

Text

Timing: April 11th Location: The Party Thrifter Feat: @amonstrousdream & @eldritchaccident Warnings: None! It's very cute! Summary: Teddy brings donuts and hot gossip to Leila

If there were more cursed items in her store, Leila was not certain.

Within days, she had to deal with murderous turtlenecks, personality changing gamblers hats, and suitcases that held alternate dimensions within them. On their own, that would be a little much for anyone to deal with. Paired with new friendships and relationships that were still defining themselves? Well, that was just downright stressful.

She was working on a new list of potentially magical items when she heard the doorbell give a cheery little jingle, alerting her that she had company. Leila gave an obligatory glance upward for hardly a moment to voice a “Welcome in,” before ducking back down. Pants from the 70s, no signs of possession, no serious enchantment when worn, simply felt happy and had an overwhelming need to listen to ABBA or Queen. If that was all those pants did, she might keep them for herself for a rainy day. After all, they did fit her quite well…

It wasn’t until after the figure had walked further into the shop that she recognized the shock of pink hair and the easy smile. “Hi Teddy,” Her shoulders relaxed and the painted on grin became more genuine, if a bit tired. Whoever had made it so that mares could not sleep had severely misjudged just how stressful it was to be undead. “Here for your shirts?”

All things considered, Teddy Jones made out like a bandit with that last escapade. No one even got hurt. And Teddy got a new deal out of it. Not a deal-deal but something the Jones family could profit off of nonetheless. If Leila's shop was a beacon for cursed objects, Mephisto's was going to have a whole new section pretty soon. Excellent.

The giddy demon strode down the way, ignoring the way their bones ached with the changing of the weather. Nothing could bring them down. Not then. Teddy was normally a pretty chipper thing, but between the cross store team up and the meddling they were very much about to continue with Leila, it was shaping up to be an amazing week all around. Could even excuse the attempted murderer and subsequent sea monster healing period. It was great.

"Hey there sweets! Shirts, pants, hats, whatever you got!"

—

Teddy Jones was a delight to have in the shop on any day. She couldn’t remember exactly when they had started showing up at The Party Thrifter, but since the store’s opening, Teddy had become a regular and a welcome guest. She pushed herself up from her place on the floor, surrounded by piles of clothing to go properly greet her guest.

“A little bit of everything, got it.” At least they weren’t asking about the chaotic events that transpired the last time they had graced the shop with their presence. At least they weren’t asking about Metzli. Light. Easy. “I meant to mention it the other day, but I really do love the new color.” Leila gave a little jerk of her chin, motioning up towards the top of her friend’s head. “You always look so cool. In my next life, I need to take a page out of your styling book.” If she had to leave Wicked’s Rest and recreate herself again, maybe she’d dye her hair purple. Just the ends, though. Nothing too crazy.

Her gaze fluttered about the shop as if she were trying to locate something before “Ah-”. Leila marched over to a stack of clothing she had been pulling and setting aside, all with the distinct fashion taste of the customer she had grown to know so well. “I saw these, thought you might like to take a look through...”

“Oh! Before I forget, your jelly donuts madame–” Teddy moved closer, rounding the rack of clothing to show off the box of treats they presented as if they were crown jewels. The various donuts were rings of delight. Well. The non-filled ones anyway. Teddy sure was itching to talk about all that had transpired, but they were a good guest and would wait until it was brought up naturally. Always so considerate, that demon.

“Sweets, you’re too good to me. I like to change it up a lot, but the pink is really nice, gotta say it’s in the top three colors I’ve ever worn.” It definitely helped that Teddy didn’t really have to go through the trouble of actually picking, mixing, and applying dye just to get a color that might not be exactly what they imagined. No, they just had to re-build their body from the ground up. Imagining all the bits they’d like to have different this time. Of course, it couldn’t be too different, people might get a little suspicious then. Even in a town like this.

The pile of neatly folded clothes immediately drew Teddy’s eye the second it was brought to their attention. The demon melted into a gleeful dance, quickly finding a stable enough surface to lay the box down so they could start rifling through the selections. “Leila! You’ve outdone yourself.”

A whole dozen donuts sat in the box, sugary and fresh and delicious. She had smelled them when Teddy waltzed through her door, but hadn’t said a word. Smelling a box of donuts from that distance would have been strange to say the least, and while she was fairly certain that they wouldn’t hold a little strangeness against her, Leila wasn’t in the mood to chance it.

“Have I told you lately that you are the absolute best?” The mare chirped as she took the box and practically danced it over to the counter. Lemon meringue donut first. She plucked it up as if it were the most precious thing in the world before taking a bite and letting the sugary rush akin to dreams crash into her. “God, that is good…”

Leila perched herself up on the counter’s edge, kicking her legs with childlike glee as she happily munched away at her donut. “I do try… otherwise, why would you keep coming in? Consider this an apology for yesterday’s chaos.”

“I could always stand to hear it more.” A kind of sing-songy lilt carried the words from the scrounger at Mt. Clothing. Doing their damndest to act like a miner combing through the valuable ore for the diamonds. Only it seemed the entire pile was rare and shiny goods. Rather than just a few. Really took all the work of going to a thrift store out of it, which was excellent. Teddy liked shopping, sure, but this seemed so much more personal. Like a hug from the store itself. Collaborative.

The demon smiled, turning with a swish as they held up a paisley number that looked straight out of the 70’s. Long and kind of a tunic, kind of a dress. That beautiful androgynous style that the hippies co-opted and went wild with. “This one might be my favorite of the bunch. But they are all perfect” Teddy grinned, this one was absolutely going in regular rotation. Maybe with that little belt and– Oh right. C’mon Jones. Pay attention.

“Well I’d come in for the lovely company and your impeccable taste in music.” Teds laid the clothes down (with a great amount of reverence) and waltzed over to the counter. Draping themselves on their elbows and plucking up one of the other donuts to munch on. “Nah but, you are so sweet. It’s no wonder Metz likes you so much.”

She swore she was in donut heaven. The lemony, fluffy thing she was trying not to cram into her face in three large bites. Leila had always had a bit of a sweet tooth, but ever since her change from life to death, desserts had become a survival mechanism. The sweetness of the sugar was the closest thing in terms of mortal food to a dream. When she couldn’t (or wouldn’t) dine on dreamers, she turned to the nearest candy store or bakery.

Leila raised food-dreamy eyes to look at Teddy, who had found the paisley piece she’d snuck into the middle of the pile. A grin blossomed across her face at their joy. “I thought you might like that one. Plus, it compliments your eyes.”

She damn near choked on the last of her donut at their mention of Metzli. If she were alive, her cheeks might have gone scarlet. The mare could only pray they didn’t start shimmering like a diamond. Leila gave their arm a playful whack and shook her head. “They do not like me, Ted.”

Teddy hummed into their choice of pastry, apple, just like they’d said online. Getting a little of the good good goo on their mustache in the process. A snack for later perhaps? Or just something to be noticed by a good friend. Or as close to one as Teddy really had. There were a number of folks in town Teds considered friends, but that wasn’t like capital F ‘Friends’. Something they weren’t sure they’d ever really achieve. But Leila was lovely, and a pleasure to be around. So they’d enjoy it while it lasted.

“Aww, charmer. With or without the glasses?” With a waggle of their brows, the demon leaned in. Peering over the lenses just enough for their eyes would still look big and brown rather than the strange dark inky color with a bright teal pupil at their center they normally were. Occasionally when the mood struck, they did shift enough to actually hide their more sea-worthy bits. Enough to go out in public and dissuade people from thinking that they had something to keep secret.

“Oh yeah? Survey says otherwise.” They were close enough now for a wink and a nudge. “Trust me, I know these kinds of things. Also in addition to Spanish, French, Ancient Latin, Korean, and a bunch of others, I speak the language of loooove.”

“Both. I am the master of pairing people with clothing for all situations, sweetheart.” She chuckled and wiped at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. If she wouldn’t look entirely ridiculous, Leila would have immediately snatched up another donut to bite into. Patience, it is a virtue… she heard her mother’s voice chide in her mind in a long ago echo. “Heads up: You’ve got a lil apple, there…” She motioned with her thumb to their mustache.

The mare rolled her eyes and shook her head. Nope, no, impossible. Teddy may have been a master of several languages, even love, but Leila wasn’t someone who got a romantic happy ending. Or even a little romance. She was a nightmare: she fluttered about from place to place in an attempt to preserve herself, and that was that. Metzli called her ‘friend’. That was enough. Besides- she had seen their post. They didn’t want to ruin a friendship, and there was someone they already liked.

“The Survey of Teddy? Total number of surveyors, one?” Leila sighed a little and bowed her head. “They are my friend, and that’s all…” She pushed away the disappointment that followed that statement. “Besides, there’s already someone they’re fond of.”

The apple remained, as it would until the matter at hand had been settled. Teddy rolled back into their shoulders, bobbing with the sudden laughter that overtook them. “Stars in the sky– You two are exactly the same.” Once again, shared in that oldest of tongues. Only a Jones could understand the words, but the tone and exasperated smile were enough to convey the meaning. The giggling fit that shook them soon subsided, leaving a friendly gaze with just a hint of loving judgment.

“Lei, hun, I wouldn’t be bringing this up so much if it wasn’t so obvious. It’s you. You are the one they like. They are just too scared to do anything about it ‘cause they think they’re gonna ruin something somehow. You guys gotta communicate, babe.” Teddy took a finger full of jam and booped Leila on the nose. The bright red mark as clear to Ted as the emotions both the (probably) undead dears ‘tried’ to keep hidden.

“Both of you are so worried about making the first move. You like them don’t you? And I know they like you. Verbal confirmation. Scout’s honor.” Okay so the demon had never been a scout, but Leila didn’t need to know that. “I could set something upppp if you don’t wanna???”

Teddy shook with laughter in a language unknown to her. She felt a bit silly, though she knew their laughter held no malice in it. Just a tiny hint of judgement tinged with friendly love. While it was obvious to Teddy that Metzli was supposedly in love with her, it wasn’t obvious to Leila. She sighed heavily and head drop back to stare at the ceiling.

“Impossible,” she muttered under her breath. Because it was. It simply was. “They only want a friend.” She said, a sad certainty settling over her. “Why in the world would they be inter-“ Teddy booped her nose, promptly shutting her up. The smell of strawberry jam was utterly intoxicating.

Did she like them? As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Leila was slowly coming to the conclusion that Teddy was right. She did like Metzli. At least, probably more than a friend should. “Right, they like me as a friend, Ted.” They had to have misconstrued… right? “What if they go out with me and then don’t like me, and I lose a friend?”

Sometimes, to put some good out in the world you had to work at it. Sow the seeds so you could reap the reward when the harvest came. Other times you had to chip away at a mountain of self doubt and almost willful blindness to something that was clear as the waters in the Bahamas. If Teddy didn't like Leila so much, if Metzli hadn't been to fun to poke around with, maybe they would have lost interest by now. But at this point it was starting to feel like a personal sleight that neither was taking the hint.

"Leila." Teddy straightened up, placed a hand on either of the woman's shoulders and looked her dead in the eyes. "I would not lie to you." To many others, sure, but not her. "So listen to me when I say, Metzli had the exact same worry. Cares about you in the exact same way." Their expression softened, a tinge of concern and the weight of experience giving their smile a more wistful tone. "Even if it's scary, I think it's worth it to try. You are both adults, and I know you aren't the type to leave someone in the dirt just because you aren't compatible like that. You won't lose a friend, I promise."

With a twist and a hop, Teddy joined Leila up on the counter. Grabbing another two donuts and handing one off to her as they took a small nibble out of their own. Marmalade, delicious. "Life is too short to get caught up on the what ifs. Sure, you could play it safe. But don't you think it would eat at you never to know? You deserve that kind of sweetness, Sweets." The demon offered a playful nudge, almost almost admitting they knew something about Leila's lifespan. How it might be longer than normal because of a certain condition. It wasn't too hard to guess that the strange wanderer wasn't exactly human either. It didn't matter if you were immortal, life was still too short. "Plus you two would look just so cute holding hands and kissing. They're like twelve feet taller than you! Metzli would have to swoop you up in their arms, it'd be like a fairytale!" One where the monsters had a chance at love too.

She was very distracted by the strawberry jam that was still on the tip of her nose. Leila quickly swiped it off with her finger and stuck the jam-nose-evidence in her mouth. It was a good distraction from the thoughts that were now barraging her mind due to Teddy’s observations… But a short-lived distraction. Teddy’s hands were on her shoulders and they were looking her dead in the eye as they all but promised all they had said was true. There was a sudden weight in her chest, her heart rising into her throat. They were right. It was scary. A better word was probably terrifying. Absolutely utterly terrifying. The irony was not lost on her that she was a thing made of terror. But being cared for by someone she cared about was so utterly foreign, that Leila feared that despite Teddy’s words, it might not really be true.

The mare’s shoulders drooped a little, the weight of her newfound knowledge pulling her in on herself. And then, just like magic, a donut was hovering in front of her nose like a promise that everything would be alright. A little sweetness in her life. Her. She almost folded and told Teddy why that didn’t make sense. That life was entirely too long for her. That she was a destroyer of sweet dreams. But none of that mattered… what more, Leila knew that none of it mattered to Metzli. Look at the brights, Leila…

A crooked little half smile crept onto her face as she took the donut out of Teddy’s hand. Blackberry. Another favorite. She savored that bite she took, and she swore that for just a moment, it made her feel a flicker of hope. Like maybe telling Metzli what she felt wasn’t such a bad thing. Leila laughed as Teddy continued on, talking about how cute they would look and other things that didn’t seem to matter as much as the truth that Teddy had shared with her. Another bite of blackberry jelly. She would tell Metzli. Soon. When she’d figured out how to say it. And she’d say a prayer to the moon that they might actually feel the same way.

#wickedswriting #amonstrousdream #eldritchaccident #short and sweet

11 notes · View notes

fermataheart · 3 years ago

Photo

A BUFFY SITUATION | silas & cass

TIMING: current. LOCATION: flaming mo’s. PARTIES: @fermataheart & @stolensiren SUMMARY: cass & silas meet up for a dance-off, but end up getting way more than they bargained for in true white crest fashion. CONTENT WARNINGS: brief mention of past drug use.

The music was pulsing in that low, pounding kind of way that made you feel it with every beat of your heart. Cass moved with it as she moved through the crowds, hands in her pockets to keep them from instinctively slipping into anyone else’s no matter how easy it would’ve been. She wasn’t here to lift wallets tonight. She was here to dance.

Specifically, she was here to show up the dancing man. Her eyes scanned the crowd, stalling when they reached a man who was just a little taller than most of the people in it. Long hair? Check. Goth vibes? Check. This had to be the dude. Cass ducked through the crowd, stopping next to him. “I heard you do a mean robot,” she greeted with a grin. “You gonna show me, or what?”

—

As it had become uncommon for Silas to be found out and about without Milo at his side, stepping into the familiar club without the vampire in tow almost felt like returning to his roots. After arriving in White Crest a little under a year ago, the musician had spent many an evening getting to know the nightlife scene, which was surprisingly vibrant given the fact that it was a smallish rural port town. Not as rural as he’d assumed, it turned out, filled to the brim with non-humans like himself, and even openly catering to them. The denial that ran through most of the population was so deeply ingrained that it somehow made the whole thing sustainable, and Silas wasn’t about to complain.

All that said, Mo’s was fairly mundane, at least in a supernatural sense. Still, it was a place that Silas felt immediately comfortable, and being able to bounce between a bar and club separated only by a door was a welcome respite for the times his introverted nature had him feeling overwhelmed.

Grinning when the woman sidled up beside him, he couldn’t help but laugh at the way she playfully goaded him, nodding in agreement. “Sure, cher, so long as y’prove t’me that you’re such a dancin’ queen.” Downing what remained in his lowball glass, the zombie put on quite the display for her, and truthfully, it wasn’t that bad. The least convincing part was probably the way he couldn’t stop snickering at himself with each jerky movement.

“Allons, your turn!”

—

Her suspicions that she’d found the mysterious dancing man were confirmed when the guy didn’t look at her like she was nuts as she approached him, and Cass grinned at his display. Honestly, he’d kind of undersold his dancing talents. He was pretty decent, even if he was doing the robot and laughing all the while. Cass couldn’t help but laugh right along with him.

It felt light, the whole situation. After everything lately, with the tree and with Metzli’s disappearance and with the hard, heavy, endless concern that lived in her chest and ate her alive, standing in a club and watching a near-stranger do the robot between giggles felt light and easy and good. She’d needed this, she thought. She’d needed something simple. And maybe he had, too. If he’d been in this town for very long at all, Cass found it hard to believe he hadn’t seen rough times lately, found it hard to believe he hadn’t been struggling just as much as she had. The woods came alive and tried to eat everyone just a few weeks ago, and that was hardly the first wild and dangerous thing that White Crest had to offer.

When he turned to her, she flashed a grin and nodded. Deciding it was only fair if they do their dance off in the same style of dance, Cass broke into her own version of the robot. It was a decent play on the style, though hardly a traditional robot dance. And it was pretty good, if she did say so herself. Without much else to do over the years, she’d spent plenty of time practicing dance moves by herself in crappy bedrooms and alleyways.

Finishing the dance with a theatrical, over-the-top spin, Cass pointed a pair of fingerguns at the man. “And that’s how you do the robot.”

—

If he could have read her thoughts, Silas would have been agreeing wholeheartedly—while his own life had been relatively anguish-free for a short while, the people around him certainly found plenty of ways to make themselves and their friends miserable, and he was glad for the escape. Besides, seeing how things often went around here, he could only assume that the reprieve wouldn’t last much longer. If nothing else, White Crest certainly took the phrase ‘all good things must come to an end’ pretty seriously.

Clapping one hand against his wrist as his fingers tightened around the empty glass, the musician gave her a low bow of respect. “Ça c'est bon! Y’gonna put a little gris gris on me with moves like ‘at.” Whatever he’d said, it seemed positive given the grin on his face. “Knew you was boutta come in here n’ show me up. Shoulda bet, could be up a couple bucks right now,” the zombie joked before looking down at his empty glass. “I gotta refill. You want somethin’?”

—

Cass had no idea what he was saying, but it sounded positive enough to bring a bright grin to her face and she nodded her head. “Well, see, I’m too nice to take advantage like that. I knew I’d show you up, too. I couldn’t come out here and take your money. That’d be theft.” Which was, of course, how she made her actual money anyway, but she wouldn’t say that aloud.

Glancing to the bar, Cass nodded. She’d bypassed it entirely when she’d entered in favor of finding him, but places like this were always more fun when you were at least tipsy. And pretty much everyone here was absolutely plastered. There were at least a few people stumbling with every step, and she could have sworn she saw a guy passed out under one of the tables. “I want something pink,” she decided, forcing a serious expression onto her face. “Doesn’t matter what it is, so long as the color’s right. No pressure or anything.”

—

“Pink, pink… ah yeah, they got a cocktail for that. Think it’s even called the flamingo.. little prosecco, pink lemonade, n’ somethin’ else. Damn good. You got it!” Motioning for her to follow, Silas led the way over to the bar, snaking between the folks at the edge of the crowd while making sure the woman was still behind him. Ah, shit, introductions, right. Where were his manners? “M’Silas, by the by,” he leaned in and said once they’d reached the bartop. One of the several bartenders caught his eye and he waved them over, getting a refill on his whisky and ordering her cocktail.

It was while they were waiting for their drinks to be served that Silas set his gaze on one dancer in particular—dude was flailing around in a way that screamed he’d over-indulged, and it made the zombie smirk. It was difficult for him to get drunk as it was, took a lot more these days (hence the straight alcohol rather than anything mixed), and sometimes he missed being able to get that sloppy. Pointing the guy out to Cass, the two shared a mirthful laugh. That is, until they both watched him stumble his way off the dancefloor toward a shadowy part of the room that led to a side exit door that was standing ajar. When the man reached the door, he was suddenly jerked sideways and out of sight. Silas perked up, brows furrowing. “The fuck?” He threw a worried glance at Cass, wondering if she’d seen it, too. Maybe he’d just fallen over, but it’d looked way too fast for that.

—

“Sounds perfect,” Cass grinned, trailing behind him to the bar. It was easy for her to duck through the crowd at her size, easy to slip between people, and she wondered, absently, if it was harder for him. Maybe being tall had some disadvantages. Glancing up as he introduced himself, Cass’s smile turned a little sheepish. Right. It’d be nice if they, like, exchanged names here instead of just dancing at each other. “Cass,” she replied, holding out her hand for him to shake. “I guess this means I don’t have to keep calling you Dancing Man in my head anymore… but I might still want to.”

For a little while, Cass just watched the crowd. Big groups of people like this were a con artist’s dream. Everyone was so focused on having fun that they forgot to watch their pockets, forgot to keep their guard up. There’d been nights, back when she was desperately trying to scrounge up enough cash to get off the streets, where she’d come to a club like this one and work the crowd like putty, walk out with enough cash to put her forward a step or two. Silas pointed out one man in particular, and Cass snorted at the sight of him. He was beyond wasted, and when he headed towards the side exit, Cass was pretty sure it was to puke. But… something happened. He got to that door and it was like watching a puppet’s strings yanked to the side. It certainly wasn’t the kind of stumble that happened naturally, even with how intoxicated he’d clearly been. “Oh, shit,” Cass breathed, grabbing Silas’s arm suddenly. “That’s — somebody just grabbed that dude.” And then she was moving, the bar abandoned as she dragged Silas behind her towards the door.

—

At first, Silas assumed the hand clutching his arm was a fear reflex, which honestly he couldn’t blame her for. But then she was pulling, and his eyes widened in response. “Whoa, what—Cass!” he hissed, trotting along behind her as she tugged him through the crowd. The music was so loud it was impossible to know if she’d even acknowledged his protest, and his head began to spin as the bright lights pulsed around them, adding a strange sense of surrealism to the fact that they were potentially chasing after something… inhuman.

In a place like White Crest, it was more ‘probable’ than ‘potential’.

“We can’t just go out there,” the zombie worried once they’d made it through the throng and quickly approached the door, eyeing it nervously. “I don’t wanna be dinner for whatever it was that took that fella!” Still, in spite of his verbal objections, he didn’t actually attempt to pull away from her. He just wanted her to know that he was not happy about this decision. Once they made it out the door, a worrisome sight met their eyes. There was something tall and lanky pinning the drunk man to the wall, mouth at his throat. Silas gulped, aware that it obviously wasn’t a regular vampire like Milo or Metzli, but… he didn’t know what the fuck it was.

—

Cass wasn’t one to sit by and do nothing when someone needed her help. It was a big part of who she was, a big aspect of her personality. It was why she spent most nights running around White Crest in a superhero costume with half her face covered up, why she’d hurled herself into the world of the supernatural long before she’d realized she was a part of it. Sure, she could have yelled for help or called the police or let someone else handle it, but doing that would mean risking that whoever stepped in to help might step in too late. The difference between winning and losing, between living and dying, it could come down to a second in White Crest. Cass knew that.

So, she ignored Silas’s protests. She dragged him along behind her because if she was going to do this, she should at least have someone there to call for help if things went wrong. “We’re not gonna be dinner,” she promised, though she knew it was hardly the kind of thing she could uphold. “Relax, okay? We’re just gonna make sure he’s all right.” Shoving the door open, she stepped out into the alley behind it and pulled Silas with her. Immediately, her eyes settled on the sight of the man from before, pinned against the wall by… something. It didn’t look much like the vampires Cass had seen, who mostly appeared human, but it was definitely drinking the drunk man’s blood.

“We gotta get that thing off him,” she hissed, turning to look at Silas with wide eyes. “It’s gonna kill him.” She glanced around the alley, stopping when she spotted a loose rock on the ground. Picking it up, she tossed it at the creature as hard as she could. It hit the thing on the head, bouncing off and hitting the ground. There was a loud pop as the creature pulled away from the drunk man and turned towards Cass and Silas instead, looking… displeased at the interruption. “Shit,” Cass said, “that worked.” Just… maybe not entirely in their favor.

—

When Cass turned to him, Silas’ brows shot up in a silent ‘well what do you want me to do about it?!’ sort of way, eyes widening as he watched her pick up the rock and hurl it at the thing. “Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, taking a step back. The creature snarled silently at them, bloody teeth bared as it turned to face them, letting the drunkard slowly slip to the ground. At least he was alive… for now. The thing took a few steps forward and then wobbled, like it was.. unsteady? Reaching a hand out, Silas gripped Cass’ shoulder and pulled her farther back to where he was. “Somethin’s wrong with it,” he stage-whispered, eyeballing the distance between it and the opposite wall. “Maybe we can juke it, grab the guy, n’ get the fuck outta here.”

A solid plan, if not for the additional drunk person now stumbling out the exit to do what they’d assumed the first had been trying to��throw up all over the pavement, hair pulled back from her face. The… thing, whatever it was, seemed attracted by this (ew) and stopped its slow pursuit, instead whipping around to face the new snack. The woman’s eyes went wide and she screamed so loud Silas wished his hearing had been among the senses he’d practically lost after dying the first time.

—

The creature — it had to be some kind of a vampire, right? Cass knew there were all different kinds — stumbled as it pulled away from the man, movement uncoordinated and unsteady. It was almost as if… “Is it drunk?” Cass hissed, turning towards Silas in hopes that he might know more than she did. Unfortunately, he looked just as perplexed, but he did offer a solution. They could probably grab the drunk guy and get him away, but if they wanted to stop anyone else from getting caught up in this, they’d need to…

…stop more people from coming out the exit. The thought had barely entered Cassidy’s mind before the door opened again, a woman stumbling out into the alley to puke all over the sidewalk. Cass made a face, though her expression quickly morphed from disgust to horror when the vampire launched itself at the woman instead. “Oh, gross,” she groaned. “Fuck. We’re gonna have to — dude. We gotta fight that thing! What, um, do you — I mean, you’re not, like, totally freaking out here, so I’m assuming you know that White Crest has a whole, uh, Buffy situation going on, right?”

—

Fight it? She wanted to fight it?! “Wha—I—” The question was extremely fair, but it just caught Silas off guard. Sometimes he forgot that the weird shit in town was, in fact, weird to a lot of people. “Yeah, I’m aware,” Silas breathed, his eyes still fixed on the bloodsucker as it feasted on the drunk woman’s throat. “You can’t seriously expect me to fight that thing, I’m not… like… trained!” Fuck, he really needed to get someone to teach him how to defend himself, didn’t he?

The vampire creature dropped the woman to the ground, seemingly satisfied with its meal. It turned to them again and its eyes flashed with anger—ah. Hadn’t forgotten the rock then, had it? With a sloppy sort of screech, it suddenly sprinted toward them. Even though his fear usually overrode everything else, Silas managed to have the wits to quickly shove Cass out of the way and take a step back, knowing that whatever this thing did wouldn’t hurt him as much as it would hurt her, and it’d heal pretty damn fast. Plus it almost certainly wouldn’t like whatever blood still sat dormant in his veins.

The collision sent him flying backward, landing hard on his back. He felt a rib snap and groaned, shielding his face with his arms as the creature snapped and hissed and tore at his sleeves, its fangs smearing with his black blood.

—

It was something of a relief to hear that he was aware of the whole ‘supernatural underworld’ aspect of White Crest, if only because it would save Cass some time. She still barely understood the supernatural herself, and she certainly didn’t understand it well enough to explain it to someone else. “You don’t have to fight it. But I’m gonna fight it, and it’d be really cool if you didn’t, like, ditch me while I do.”

Before she could continue with anything more, the vampire looked up, and — okay, yeah, it was pissed. Cass was fresh out of rocks, but even if she weren’t, it didn’t seem like the best idea. The rock hadn’t gotten them very far last time. Frantically, she glanced around the alley, searching for anything laying around that might help them out. Her eyes had just landed on a broken chair next to the door when, suddenly, she was being shoved to the side. It took her all of a second to understand what was happening. Silas pushed her out of the way to keep the vampire from jumping her… and took the tooth-shaped bullet himself.

Cass surged forward, faltering a little as she caught sight of the blood on the vampire’s fangs. Black. So, when Silas said he was ‘aware’ of what White Crest was…

In any case, it meant he probably couldn’t be killed by the vampire, so Cass ran to the chair, stomping her foot on it to break off one of the wooden legs. She really hoped that this vampire played by the same rules as the normal kind. “Hey!” She waved her hands, trying to catch its attention. “Yo, Batman! Look what I’ve got!” She held up the wooden chair leg, broken into a sharp point at the end. “Sure would be a shame if this went into your heart, huh?”

—

So she knew about stakes. To be fair, fucking everyone knew about stakes, but not everyone knew that they were actually effective for killing vampires and not just a crock of shit conjured up by popular media. Really, it could still go either way with this girl, but seeing as how she’d been the one to ask if Silas was privy to the inhuman underbelly of the town, something told him Cass’ information was based on actual knowledge.

He just hoped that didn’t mean she was a slayer, too. If she was, he was really going to have to reassess his friend-making abilities and figure out why he only seemed to attract people who wanted to kill him.

Grimacing at the sight of his forearms all mangled and dark, Silas was relieved when Cass’ taunts encouraged the beast to let him go. That relief was short-lived when he considered the fact that the thing would be going after her now, and he had no idea if she was… heal-y in the same way that he was. Grunting and scrambling to his feet, he threw her a frantic stare before starting to make a wide circle around the pair to go and try to break off his own chair leg, so at least he wouldn’t be defenseless for the next round.

—

The vampire did seem to think it would be a shame if the chair leg found its way into its heart, the taunt doing wonders for drawing it away from Silas. Cass was pretty relieved about that, even if it meant the creature was now sprinting towards her. There was every possibility that she didn’t think this through very well because while undead creatures with black blood might not stand to lose much through a creepy vampire-like thing biting at their neck, Cass couldn’t say with much confidence that sirens could boast the same. She really had to get back to that book Marley had given her.

“Ooooh-kaaay,” she said, quickly darting to the side as the vampire launched itself at her. She barely managed to miss being nabbed, feeling the wind from its movements in her hair. “Look, buddy, we can talk this out! It doesn’t have to be a —”

The vampire pounced again, and Cass was less ready for it this time. She went down, connecting with the concrete in a way that stole all the air from her lungs. Her hand tightened on the chair leg, and she quickly brought it up… only to miss the chest and stick the thing through the vampire’s shoulder as it came down on her. “Shit, shit, shit!”

—

Naturally, everything turned to shit. Silas thought he really ought to be used to it by now, but he still sucked in a horrified breath as he watched the vampire tackle his dancing partner to the ground, and was once again reminded of the uncomfortable stillness in his chest where his pounding heart should have been. “Cass!” he hollered, kicking violently at the chair as he tried to manifest his own weapon from its broken frame, eventually resorting to picking it up and slamming it against the brick wall. Finally the sturdy leg broke free and the zombie scuttled over to the pair as fast as he could, seeing Cass’ ‘stake’ protruding from the creature’s shoulder.

He wasn’t confident he had the strength to get a hunk of wood through the thing’s rib cage from the back (or the front) to pierce the heart, but there was one easy entry point he was aware of, a happy byproduct of researching how to help Milo get high with a particular drug that mimicked the sensation of being alive. Under the ribs, up toward the head and slightly to his right. Of course that meant that he had to get it off of Cass and on its own back, which he doubted was going to be easy.

With nothing much else going for him save his own invulnerability, Silas leapt on the vampire’s back and wrapped his arms around its neck, realizing with a touch of amusement that this was definitely not the way he’d expected this night to go. The creature hissed again as Silas wrenched them both backward as hard as he could, wrapping his legs around its hips to try and pin it… well, on top of him, at this point. One arm loosened its grip so he could poke the sharp tip of the broken chair leg in the spot he wanted, but there was no way he was driving it deep enough from this angle, especially not with this thing violently thrashing and trying to get away. “Here! Take it and stab it here, push straight up!” he called to Cass, angling the stake so she’d follow the correct path. The vampire yowled, twisted its head and clamped down on Silas’ neck with its massive fangs while the weight of its body slowly crushed him. Thank God he didn’t actually have to breathe, or this would suck a lot more. Still didn’t feel great, though.

—

There were hands holding her down, teeth snapping at her neck. Cass shoved and kicked and squirmed, but this thing was a lot stronger than she was, a lot angrier. Were she closer to something resembling her right mind, she might have tried to compel it, might have used the only power that had always worked for her to talk it into getting off her, into going away, but her heart was pounding so hard that she couldn’t hear herself think, couldn’t focus on anything other than the growling and the snapping and the weight on her chest. She clamped her eyes shut, trying to figure out how to get the upper hand here, hands tugging at the stake still protruding from the wrong spot on the vampire’s torso.

And then, just as quickly as the weight had appeared on top of her, it was gone. It didn’t take Cass long to figure out why. Her eyes snapped open to find Silas hanging off the vampire’s back, his legs wrapped around it like he was getting a piggyback ride. It was such a sight that she might have laughed if not for the whole ‘mortal danger’ of it all.

Scrambling back up, she launched herself forward and grabbed the ‘stake’ just before the vampire began to crush down on Silas, eyes wide. The angle was right, the placement all set up. All Cass had to do was push it forward with all the strength she had in her. She held her breath as she did it, exerting every ounce of energy into the motion and, thanks to Silas’s angling of the position, the wooden chair leg found a home in the vampire’s chest. The world seemed to pause for a moment before the thing burst, exploding into dust all over both Silas and Cass. Cass exhaled as the dust settled, plopping down into a sitting position beside Silas. “That,” she said, “was so fucking cool.”

—

Sprawled on the cobblestone, Silas stared up at the sky in what appeared to be shock. As the dust settled around them and Cass took a seat beside him, his dark eyes slowly crawled over to look at her. Cool? That was cool? Holding a hand over the part of his throat that had been nicely shredded, the zombie blinked a few times before surprising himself by letting out a soft laugh.

“Yeah, it was pretty cool,” he agreed, realizing that being so fucking scared all the time hadn’t done him any kind of service, and he was alright, wasn’t he? He grunted and pushed himself up into a sitting position, dusting away the ashes from his torso with the hand that wasn’t pressed to his neck.

“Um… you’re not a slayer, right?”

—

For a moment, Silas was quiet and Cass was worried that she’d said something wrong. It probably wasn’t great manners to talk about how cool something was immediately after the other person who’d witnessed it had a vampire try to chew their throat off, but Silas was fine, wasn’t he? She’d seen his blood, all black and… goopy. Physically, the vampire couldn’t have hurt him too badly. But… maybe there was some emotional damage from the whole experience.

She opened her mouth, ready to stumble through an apology, but then Silas spoke, agreeing with her assessment, and she relaxed. “Are you okay?” She motioned hesitantly to his hand pressed against his throat, smile apologetic. At his question, she made a face, suppressing a shudder. “No. Definitely not. Those guys are scary. And mean.” And the mere mention of them still made her heart pound, the memory of the ranger who was still out there with a probable vendetta against her enough to make her nauseous. “I, um…” She paused for a moment, a little hesitant. She didn’t often admit to what she was, but… It seemed a little unfair that Silas hadn’t gotten much of a choice in her having at least some idea as to what he was. And he had saved her ass a little. “I’m a siren.”

—

The damage to his arms was already mostly healed (the same couldn’t be said for the shirt, of course), and as he tentatively released the grip on his neck, beneath the smear of black blood, the flesh there was already stitching itself back together. “Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine,” Silas assured her, wiping his hand on his pant leg. The wound felt weirdly hot, but it wasn’t unbearable. When she confirmed that she wasn’t a slayer, the zombie allowed himself to relax. “They are, aren’t they?” he chuckled, Emilio’s sour attitude springing to mind.

“A—” He didn’t know what that was, honestly. “Siren? Like… like the ones in pirate movies? You sing?” Eyes widened as he realized that was probably a rude thing to say, and he lifted a couple fingers to his lips. “Fuck, sorry. Uh. Don’t know much about those, I don’t think. I’m.. a zombie, but that was probably pretty obvious,” he offered, chuckling nervously.

—

At least Silas seemed to be healing quickly. For all that Cass knew about the undead, some of their skills were still a little lost to her. Just because she knew a little bit more about them than she knew about most supernatural creatures in town didn’t mean she knew a lot. She was still very much a beginner in this world. “Good,” she breathed a sigh of relief. Grimacing, she nodded. “I kind of try to avoid them.” Especially given the fact that pretty much every supernatural person she knew had at least one poor experience with them, on top of her own ordeal.

Laughing, Cass shrugged. “I think it’s a little different than the pirate movies,” she admitted. “But, it’s, uh… Kind of new to me. I mean, I’ve always been one, I guess, but I didn’t know I was one until, um… Recently.” She grinned. “Well, I’ve been known to really kill it at karaoke. I just always thought it was more ‘natural talent’ and less ‘accidentally compelling the audience.’ But I guess that’s life, huh?” A zombie. The only other zombie she had experience with had been Macleod, and that had been… a good deal less pleasant than this. “I figured you were either a zombie or a vampire, ‘cause of…” She trailed off, motioning to the black blood staining his fingers. “But to be honest, I don’t really know much about how to tell the difference just by looking. I don’t know much about zombies, either, though.”

—

Grinning, Silas was glad to see she’d taken his faux pas in stride. He was pretty good at making those, so it was nice when people didn’t get offended. The fact that she hadn’t known she was different was surprising, but considering how little he knew about sirens, he couldn’t really make a passing judgment on it. “Hey, maybe it’s a little bit of column A and column B?” he offered with a laugh. Glancing at his hand when she gestured toward it, he nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. Mm, well…” He paused to haul himself to his feet and hold a hand out to help Cass up, “My boyfriend probably smells better than I do, and he can’t come out with me durin’ the day… plus when he’s hungry, his eyes turn a fun shade of red. I just get fuckin’ stupid.”

Looking around them, the stirring moans of the two drunk folks behind them caught his attention. “Oh, shit. Right. We should probably get those folks to the hospital.”

—

“I mean, I guess technically you could call the compulsion a natural talent,” she joked. “It is all natural. And technically genetic.” In the past, of course, she’d referred to it as a superpower. Sometimes she still did, still clung to that definition even knowing it was untrue. It was easier for Cass to call herself a superhero than it was to admit that she was something other than human, but… she was getting better. With the help of other people who weren’t quite human, people like Silas himself, she was getting better. “Yeah, I’m pretty good friends with a vampire… and I’ve fought one or two, because, uh, you know. White Crest.” She wasn’t sure if the average White Crest citizen fought vampires quite as often as a wannabe superhero roaming the streets in a mask and cape, but… Well, she was willing to venture the guess.

Taking Silas’s hand, Cass hoisted herself to her feet and glanced down on the ground to the groaning drunks, wincing slightly. “Whoops. Yeah, they’re probably gonna need some orange juice. And, like, the strongest hangover cure ever.” She turned back to Silas, humming softly. “You wanna grab him, and I’ll take her?”

—

She’d fought other vampires, he’d eaten another zombie… no one was really safe from doing some fucked up stuff, not in a place like this. You did what you had to do to survive. At least that’s what he’d been told. Silas didn’t particularly like it, but the universe cared not for his moral quandaries, his hangups, his weaknesses. As Vonnegut would say… so it goes.

“I’ve argued about ownership of fingers with a fae on the internet, so yeah, I definitely get the ‘because White Crest’ sentiment,” the zombie answered with a smirk. As they took in the sorry sight of the less fortunate victims of the… whatever kind of vampire that had been, Silas shook his head. Stupid, senseless violence, everywhere he went. Everywhere anyone went, probably. This place was nuts. Part of him wanted to just pack up his shit and leave, but now there was more than one thing keeping him here, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit glad. Besides, where the hell else would he go?

Nodding, Silas moved alongside Cass to gather the humans up and get them somewhere safe where they could recover. “Hey, uh… sorry we had to meet like this. Maybe we can try again sometime, and hopefully something terrible won’t happen?”

—

Cass laughed, half relief and half amusement. Of course he’d argued with a fae about the ownership of fingers on the internet. Of course. White Crest was, if nothing else, a one of a kind place. And despite all the weirdness of it… Cass had met some pretty great people here. Silas, she figured, was easy to include in that number. Not a lot of people would take on a scary vampire-creature targeting drunks outside a bar for a near stranger, after all.

Helping the woman to her feet and letting herself take most of her weight, Cass shot Silas a small smile. “Not your fault,” she assured him. “But… you’re so not getting out of that dance off. Next time, I’ll wipe the floor with you. Promise.”

#. para ;#. para ; a buffy situation #wickedswriting #drug tw

5 notes · View notes