Realistic or Modern Moonlit Retreats [Closed]

[Syntra]

Hot tears were streaming down Lilian's face by that point, and all she could think in that moment was: Why are you like this?

So stupidly nice.

So stupidly helpful.

So stupidly willing to entertain her stupid shit, as if she wasn't having a slightly more pathetic equivalent of a temper tantrum in their tiny flat. Caviar! Fucking... caviar?!

She didn't actually want it. The caviar wasn't the problem here, just like the crackers weren't. What was the problem was just how breakable they all were, and how you could be there one day and then... not, as if that was remotely fair or acceptable. She wasn't even thirty yet! It was too damn soon for her to have to confront everyone's mortality yet, when her brain had just finished developing and everything.

It was too soon for Eugene to die, as well.

Too soon for any of that bullshit.

And yet, hadn't he lived for longer than expected? Statistics spoke clearly, and they did not speak in their favor. He wasn't the first friend she'd lost; just maybe the first friend she hadn't expected to lose, solely because he'd been around for long enough. He'd been good. And good hunters didn't die!

Except, well. They clearly did. They always did, but claiming that they actually sucked made it a little easier.

Lilian collapsed back on the couch, all but defeated. "No," she admitted, "I don't even like caviar. I just... said it because it sounded like a bad idea." She hated it, both this awkwardness and the tension between them, as well as having no idea what to talk about. Throughout all of this, Cass had been her rock, and... it looked like she still wanted to be that? But Lilian didn't know if she even could.

"I don't want to eat." Which, of course, was fucking stupid. Not eating wouldn't bring him back! Just like eating, or kicking Michael's ass, or, well, anything. Nothing would, which was the entire point. "I don't actually know what I want," the huntress finally said, and it felt like the first true thing that had slipped past her lips that night. "I just... what do you even do when something like that happens? Tell me, Cass."

~***~

Max. A single syllable shouldn't have filled her with this much panic, yet it did, and for a second, Inga wanted nothing more than to scream. Well, okay -- there was one thing she actually wanted more! Which was to go home, invent a time machine, jump into it, and then kick her past self's ass for not insisting stubbornly enough that the suspicious as fuck fucker shouldn't be trusted. For not giving Antonia her damn data, too! Maybe I actually could...?

No.

This was too important to be turned into yet another thought experiment.

"Nothing is okay!" Inga barked into the phone, "Just go get her, Felix." If Antonia was even there anymore, which she kind of doubted. But, to illustrate how grave the situation was: "Some bastard has just tried to kill me and he... hinted at having done something to Antonia as well? On behalf of this Vrishaketu." It had sounded like a done deal, given the wording he'd used. How sure of himself he had seemed, too. "And listen, Felix, Max is shady as well so this is not the mitigating circumstance you think it is!"

Inga herself, of course, wasn't at all being shady, a fact which she proceeded to support with: "I've been tracking him for a while so I'll just... send you the logs once I can extract them from the stupid thing." She would have gone herself, but, two problems: a) the stupid fucking daylight, which was already getting uncomfortably close, b) her stupid fucking body. Love did, indeed, prevail, though it turned out it actually wasn't the ultimate energy drink Inga had hoped it might be! Because adrenaline had the unfortunate tendency to wear off. Already, her vision was getting blurry; her field of vision narrower and narrower; her everything more unbalanced by the second. Not falling off her bike was about all she could manage at the moment, and she wasn't at all sure for how much longer that would even be true.

Fighting? In this state?

Inga was a nutjob, not a dumbass!

And she knew she'd just get in the way. Felix and his pack... would be better. More useful.

That even a can of sardines would have been more useful than her pathetic ass was a sad thought, and one Inga would rather not dissect too much.

"I'll... drop by? Since I kinda had to explode my house, and," a not at all hysteric giggle, "I don't feel like dying of sun exposure." Because that would have been nothing short of embarrassing! After that 'Luke, I am your father'-level twist, and stumbling upon what looked like a massive conspiracy? No. Inga simply refused.

She also thought that, if she was to die, it should be Antonia who got to pull the metaphorical trigger. For... all kinds of reasons. Giannis, yes, but also this fuck-up now, where she hadn't told her something important because she... what, hadn't wanted to argue?

And now they may never talk again at all.

'Fuck' didn't even begin to cover it.

With her smart watch, sending Felix the logs was just a matter of seconds; that they weren't too accurate was another problem entirely, but they did cover the general area and that was distinctly better than nothing. At least there was a target now, instead of them having to shoot blindly! She could try to narrow it down some more? Oh, sure. Once the brain fog dissipated a bit, which... could actually take a while, because that was the moment Inga chose to finally collapse.

Well! At least it wasn't a terrible choice? As far as collapsing went, because she did all but do so on Antonia's front porch.

 

[Lucyfer]

Lilian was acting out, which was completely expected. It was far better than all the nothing of the previous encounter, and so Cassidy was more than willing to take that, and deal with that. No caviar – but she wasn’t letting her get away with not eating. That just wasn’t happening.

“I know you don’t want to eat, but you have to,” Cassidy said, gently insistent, “Someting semi-solid, at least,” there were going to be enough liquids, she had to have something. She’d still let Lilian have a say, before she tried to figure something out. She wouldn’t shove it down her throat, of course, but she would be…well, as insistent as she could be, in her own way.

But what did people do in these situations?

“I don’t know what you do,” that was true, “I even went to Inga for advice,” a sadly bitter laugh followed, but Inga had helped. A little, “And Tristan.” She asked about forgiveness, but in a way, wasn’t it asking about going forward?

“I haven’t…been in this position before. Or your position,” people hadn’t just gotten murdered by a lover before. Or even by a friend. She’d…done very well for herself, really, for avoiding these kinds of tragedies.

So she stepped closer to the couch, and took a seat on her little coffee table. “But I’ve grieved. And mostly that was getting up each day, remembering them, and crying, before washing my face. And then crying again.” What was the point of washing one’s face when you were just going to cry again? Cassidy felt like she’d had the answer, once.

“I didn’t ever…really go to alcohol to numb it, so I don’t know what that’s like for you. And I don’t know how you end up dealing with me, but I’m here to respect that decision, even if it is that you can’t stand the sight of my face any longer. And I’m here to…listen to everything about who Eugene was, and carry his memories, too. Or as someone to cry on. Or hit.” Not die, but…well, if Lilian needed to strike someone, she wasn’t exactly a waif. She could take a few hits.

She sighed, “Mostly, I’m here to sober you up and get food in you, though, so you don’t follow Eugene.”

~***~

Felix would not be there to greet Inga’s collapsing form. Cassandra would be the one to scrape her off the front steps and help her inside, while providing her with what little tidbits Felix had gathered.

The first, was that Antonia hadn’t been at the bar, but people had seen her helped out. That Felix hadn’t torn out the throats of the vampires who hadn’t stopped this was nothing short of a miracle. The other updates came in about the log information, and where the pack had gone, how the tracking was a bit off, but they were searching a place a bit out of town.

The next update was more an update on Amon, because Felix had broken the news to him.

Fury was one way to put it, but it was almost too cold for fury.

“He knows Vrishaketu. He’ll explain this evening.”​

Not that Felix was satisfied with that answer, nor was he satisfied with waiting when he found where Antonia was – an unassuming ranch house in the middle of nowhere, with enough vampiric guards to even make him reconsider in the daylight. Given, it was evening, so the daylight advantage was negligible at best, and the car was a bit too far away. Going back to get it would have made too much noise.

So, he waited.

And of course, gave Amon and Inga the address, uncertain if they’d be showing up together, or separately, before he went back so he could more easily meet them and try to fill them in on the information he had relating to numbers, and all the other important details.

Important details it would turn out, Amon simply didn’t care about when he arrived with Inga. “Just take me to it, Felix.”

So, Felix did his best to summarize on the short walk back of the mix of humans and vampires, the numbers estimate, and where he thought Antonia was in the structure but that was hard to pinpoint. Basement though, he was sure of that, to minimize sunlight threats, and probably to make escape harder. He didn’t really know what state she was in…but he was pretty sure it wasn’t good.

No one came running out screaming, after all.

“For a plan, we were considering…,” Amon didn’t stop walking where Felix did, just out of sight of the house. “Leroy Jenkins. We were thinking Leroy Jenkins.” He sighed and looked at Inga, wondering if she was also going to go about this in the most suicidal of fashions.

Felix had never really seen Amon handle any situation with violence.

Few people did, because the vast majority knew you didn’t make that happen, and if you did? You were dead.

Even so, without evidence, some people considered it was all talk, like all of Amon’s skills. That he was just another delusional old vampire. Even Felix, admittedly, held doubts – but Felix was also used to killing vampires and knew age didn’t stop a stake through the heart.

It was unfortunate for those who had taken up positions outside the house that they fell into that doubting category, although one had the good sense to tense up as she saw the approach – just a walk – before the identity fell on them.

“Amon, what are you doing out here? Lost?”

“Not at all,” he answered, biting one of his wrists, “I’m actually here for you. You can all avoid death if you hand over Antonia Lenart, alive, now.”

That one who questioned if he was lost began to snigger. Others joined him, but a few had the good sense to look worried, before the sniggering one spoke up, “No idea what you’re on about. Lady Lenart isn’t–” Amon flicked his wrist.

Blood fell on two of their faces, and they didn’t really notice the way some of those droplets moved of their own accord, between lips, or up noses. One began to wipe at the blood, while the sniggering one just looked very irate.

“What? Is that infamous Amon fireball? You’re gonna….” he went still, terribly still, but the fact he was lucid was still present in his eyes as they shot worriedly over to some of his companions.

“When your heart is found wanting on the scales, know that I gave you a chance.”

The heart exploded within the guard who had the decency to be worried, giving her a merciful death.

The irate one suffered a far worse fate as Amon bent their body into a hellish canvas of bones while keeping him alive. Blood could squeeze muscle, and apply pressure where he needed it to form the hellish design, but it was really the ribs Amon wanted, and once they punctured the chest, he had his poor puppet break them off to use like stakes against the other fellow guards, who had been reduced to shocked bystander.

That shock wore off with the first one penetrated by the rib-stake, and chaos broke out immediately as Amon’s puppet went to wreak havoc, and Amon created more with his blood, almost lazily dashing it over faces to gain control of bodies, but not minds.

No, that was the worst part of it, really.

Their terror could still be seen very clearly in their eyes.

 

[Syntra]

She... went to Inga? And fucking Tristan?

That did make Lilian chuckle through the tears, because, well, shitty things happening didn't surgically remove your sense of humor. They may have disabled it for a bit, but everything about this was so unexpected that it sort of bypassed the whole 'Eugene is dead' haze. Well... for a while. "Some advisors you got," she commented, "What did they say? No, wait, I'm gonna guess. Tristan told you to buy me a new videogame," of fucking course, "and Inga..." whatever advice Inga had shared, it had to have been very Inga-like. Therefore: "I don't even know. Probably devised some inane memory-manipulation scheme?"

And the worst thing about it was that she would have found a way for it to work! Ethically questionable solutions were her entire shtick!

Well, no.

The actual worst thing was that Lilian herself would have been happy to forget it all, if such a thing was even remotely possible.

Happy to... continue building whatever it was that they had, and that they'd stumbled into so unexpectedly, without Eugene's ghost casting a shadow over everything.

Cass was still Cass, for fuck's sake! But the question was, was she still Lilian? As dramatic as it was, she didn't really feel herself, the same way she had yesterday, or the day before yesterday, or... all the previous days, really. The 'before' and 'after' divide,

And of course that Cassidy had no idea how to fix things. Lilian hadn't expected her to, but there was still this... weird bitterness? A sting of disappointment? Because she'd always known how to improve shitty situations before -- except, apparently, when it actually mattered. Who would have fucking guessed? When push came to shove, it was useless self-help book advice! Small wonder she hadn't told her to try meditation!

That's not fair and you know it.

Some part of Lilian, and it was a big one, knew that those things only really got better with time, but she didn't want that to be true. She wanted to feel better now, not in some unspecified point in future, twenty years away.

Mostly, she wanted for Eugene to live.

Not giving a shit about him anymore felt like the next best thing, especially considering Lilian likely didn't even have those twenty years. Yay for the god's blessing, right?

"I'm not going to hit you," she finally said, because that was the easiest point to address. The one clear-cut thing about this mess. "I don't want to." Would it bring Eugene back? No. Would it make her feel better? Also fucking no, since hitting women who weren't even trying to fight back wasn't Lilian Perry's idea of a good time. Well, if they enjoyed it, then maybe, but... Why are you even thinking about these things?!

Then again, it wasn't like her brain had been fond of making sense lately.

(Or at any point in her life.)

Feeling all too defeated in her struggle, Lilian just sighed. "I... guess I wouldn't mind chocolate." There, something that she sort of wanted! Progress! "And talking about him might not be that bad." She had stories, and nobody had ever listened to those, mostly because her entire social circle had been there to witness them. That was... sort of what happened when you stayed with the people who'd grown up with.

That, too, was gone.

"Eugene was actually always the most sensible one, except when it came to zombie apocalypse. Yep, that's right," Lilian chuckled, "The guy believed it was bound to happen eventually, and spent most of his life preparing for it. I don't know if it was a joke," it might have been, "But he reasoned that, if vampires were a thing, this 100% was as well. Fool."

~***~

Inga slept.

She wanted to do anything but sleep, but what she did or didn't want had stopped being relevant the second her body had noped out of functioning normally. And did it have a lot of great reasons for noping out of that! Reasons that she totally would have been able to pull out of her ass, if not for the incessant drifting in and out of consciousness.

The pressure in her head, too.

The pressure in her... heart? Was that it? Not like that was even physically possible, but the lines between what was and wasn't possible were, also, getting blurrier and blurrier by the second. Her fucking sire emerging out of nowhere to kick her ass had also seemed impossible, but--

Faintly, she remembered someone feeding her. Blood was just about the least appetizing thing in the world at that moment, though Inga cooperated, because of course she did. She had to! Especially when Antonia was... well, she didn't actually know what Antonia was right now, but she sort of assumed 'well and truly fucked' would have been the best descriptor there. And not in the fun way! What will I do if something happened to her?

Pfft, 'if.' Yeah, right. That it wasn't a matter of 'if' couldn't be denied even by Inga, the resident mental gymnastics Olympic medalist! 'How bad will it be?' was the real question here, though it also wasn't one she was prepared to ask. Not now, and possibly not ever.

The string of updates on her mobile was a welcome distraction whenever she managed to keep her eyes open for longer than three seconds, so she had that going for her at least. So, Amon knows this Vrishaketu guy? Whether that was a good or a bad thing, Inga couldn't really tell.

What she could tell, though, was that she was getting better! Bless the regeneration factor! Ironic, considering how much grief it had brought her over the years, but it turned out that miraculously healing all your injuries within a single day actually came in handy when you had a not-girlfriend to save. Someone you... cared about? More than about the voices in your head that told you that literally nothing mattered, and death was the only escape?

Cheesy as fuck, though it somehow did make all the difference.

Maybe being cheesy had been the answer all along.

Wait for me, Antonia.

And she did, if only because she couldn't really run. Inga arrived with Amon, not in any coordinated way, but because they'd presumably both made sure to a) get out of the house the second they could, b) violate all the speeding laws in existence, and perhaps even some that hadn't really been thought of yet. But, as for how to proceed: "My plan," Inga gave a very insincere smile, "Is to murder the fuck out of everyone. And if it doesn't work? Just try harder. You gotta work for your dreams, Felix!"

Mercy was a luxury; not something to be granted to those who had hurt her Antonia.

Amon agreed with that, which, good. Not like anyone was going to complain about his approach, and that suited Inga just fine.

Wow, that piece of shit is even more suicidal than me. Good job! Who was? The guard who had the nerve to snark at Amon, and found out very quickly why, exactly, that was a supremely bad idea. That Inga didn't have a fleeting thought of fighting the Sun God in response to the carnage... really proved just how serious the situation was, because she normally would have been all over that. Testing her skills against someone so powerful and following vaguely suicidal whims? That was like, the most tempting two-in-one offer ever! Even better than two pizzas for the price of one!

Especially since Inga couldn't really digest pizza anymore.

But, as it was, she just unsheathed her sword, "Okay, who wants to get killed in a less painful way? This is a limited offer, first come first serve!" The volunteers that signed up... weren't exactly volunteers, and they also didn't sign up, but who cared about that? Definitely not Inga.

Soon, her sword was wet with blood; it wanted more, and more, and more, and she was all too happy to sate that desire. "Where's Antonia?" Inga growled at one of the fuckers, "Answer and I will give you a really good death."

"Do you think this place isn't monitored? The reinforcements--"

"Oh, reinforcements? That's cute." The place was swarming with guards already, so what did it matter if a few more arrived? Boo fucking hoo! Valhalla didn't welcome cowards, ladies and gentlemen! "Direct them my way, because I would love more fodder for my sword. Do you know how hungry it has been?" To demonstrate just that, Inga proceeded to chop the local Cassandra's head off. The sound it made when it fell on the floor was satisfying, though not more than the terrified 'eek' of one of her colleagues.

The murder wasn't why they'd come, though.

Where are you, Antonia? They'd made it inside amidst all that chaos, but the house was bigger than it looked from the outside, and there were still no traces of her... well, anywhere. And that was when a voice boomed from the amplifiers on the walls:

"Alright, you have three seconds to get the fuck out before I off your precious Lady Lenart personally. How about that, Amon?"

 

[Lucyfer]

Cassidy wasn’t getting hit, and Lilian wanted chocolate. Cassidy looked down at her phone to finish up the order, adding chocolate bars, and chocolate cake – because cake felt like it had more substance – and chocolate chip pancakes, because that was breakfast-y, right? Maybe a bit of an overload, but it would get delivered, and Lilian would have options for her chocolate, and it would be better than booze and nothing, damnit!

As she sent the order to the store for someone to deliver, Lilian did start to talk about Eugene – who believed in the zombie apocalypse. Honestly, it didn’t seem that far-fetched in Cassidy’s opinion. Definitely not after meeting a so-called god.

“I mean, I can see it. I know one of the old folk tales in the vampire community is about accidentally creating zombies if a turning is messed up,” Cassidy offered, “I’ve never seen one, but it’s a popular story to make sure people, ah…get it right, I guess.” Really, people dying from a poor turning seemed bad enough, why did zombies have to be involved? “Maybe it could be a thing.”

Not by vampires, but why not other ways?

“How did he think zombies would come about? A virus, or something else?” She was talking about Eugene, and Cassidy…supposed she wanted to listen. Was it hard to learn about the hopes, dreams, and fears of someone she had killed? Absolutely. It gave them so much more life, it made her realize precisely what she’d done.

It made her think of all the people she had killed, who had these odd quirks she’d never know about.

That was just how it was though, wasn’t it?

The night continued in that vein, with the delivery of the chocolate and drinks only briefly interrupting it. Day would come, the lack of alcohol taking its toll, but Cassidy did her best to remain vigilant. The problem was, she couldn’t be vigilant when Lilian went out into the daylight, so she had to trust that everything was fine, and Lilian hadn’t gotten herself into trouble – drunk or sober.

So when night followed, and Lilian still wasn’t back, Cassidy did begin to worry, and that worry naturally led to a phone call. ‘Please just be drunk somewhere, Lils.’ It would be easier than any of the other thousands of problems that followed the two of them, all because of the hunters.

She may not have pinpointed the situation, but she was at least right about the problem – hunters.

~***~

Inga was not the only one offering less-horrific deaths. The werewolves under Felix’s command were also more than happy to grant quick deaths, although it was still fairly brutal, given they were werewolves and brutal may as well have been their middle names. Amon paid it little mind as he made his almost lackadaisical way into the building, glancing around.

Antonia’s scent wasn’t strong, but it was there. It was covered up by something, although he couldn’t place it. It nagged at the back of his mind as something he ought to recognize, but he didn’t have time to focus on that as his vampiric puppets continued to give him access, deeper and deeper into the house.

That focus was interrupted when the intercom of the home went off, with a threat at Lady Lenart.

Amon laughed.

How could he not? Oh, sure, he was worried for Antonia’s life, and knew the threat wasn’t made without intent, but honestly – it was a piss poor threat all the same. As if Antonia’s life wasn’t already forfeit! “My dear,” he spoke up, hoping whatever system was in the house was paying attention, “You will have to prove to me Antonia is even alive to begin with,” though he really hoped Inga would get her shit together and go find Antonia, rather than continue the pointless slaughter.

Pointless slaughter was his business.

“As far as I am concerned, she is already dead, and I am simply avenging her. I have no proof otherwise, and no reason to stop.”

Amon didn’t trust that would be enough to bring them into sight, but he did hope it would stall them for longer than three seconds as they considered their alternatives. “Perhaps you could let the Lady speak.”



Except, of course, they couldn’t.

Well, perhaps they could get a sound out. Antonia was conscious by the loosest definition of the word, but drained entirely – that plan to make it so she couldn’t use her powers when the poison wore off all to effective, or else she would have done much, much more.

Of course, that was true of the entire situation. If she had but an ounce more of strength! Ah, but such a thing was not to be granted her. She barely registered the threat against her life. Rather like Amon said – she quite assumed it was forfeit.

She wouldn’t have wanted Amon to stop the massacre just because it might buy her five more seconds of agonized living.

 

[Syntra]

The chocolate was good. Lilian supposed that there was never a time when chocolate wasn't good, unless you had the misfortune of dealing with one of those artificial-tasting impostors from hell that really had no business being called chocolate in the first place, but... well, maybe it did surprise her a bit that her taste buds still worked.

That she could enjoy something so normal.

That Cassidy was right about her needing to eat, as if she wasn't right about everything all the fucking time. Cass, the chronic mom friend? The eternal 'you-should-wear-something-warmer-than-that' advice supplier? Whatever factory they made these types in, the production process must have been on point because they were never wrong.

(Infuriatingly enough.)

"Please, not you too," Lilian rolled her eyes, "He managed to convince like half the people our age, and if you fall for it, I might have no choice but to put on my conspiracy theorist hat as well." But, no, she didn't know what the cause was supposed to be; just that it was happening, come hell or high water, and they all ought to... what, learn more about sustainable farming? So that they could survive once supermarkets inevitably became 'festering sources of infection,' as Eugene had once claimed.

And so they talked, and talked, and talked some more, until Lilian couldn't talk anymore and fell asleep instead. Sleep was good; sleep was nothing. In comparison with all the everything she had been feeling lately, nothing could actually be a pleasant change of pace!

One that was way too shortlived, if you asked her.

Another morning came, and with it, the all too familiar crushing weight. Would all her days be like that now? Waking up, only to realize all over again that nothing would ever be the same? That a piece of her was missing? Amidst all the unhappy thoughts, the solution suddenly seemed clear: I gotta do something stupid. No, see, it actually made perfect sense! If Lilian did stupid shit, then she would be... too busy doing stupid shit, presumably... and thus also too busy to feel sad. Plus, didn't all the self-help books say that you had to get some kind of closure to be truly at peace? Might as well go all the way in!

It was a good thing that Cassidy and her common sense were asleep, because they likely would have had a few convincing arguments against her next course of action. Arguments such as: "Fuck, Lilian, do you want to die?" And then she would have had to admit that, no, she didn't actually want that, and would have spent another fucking day holed up in their fucking apartment instead, because what else was there to do?

Nothing.

And while sleep-related nothing could be sort of nice, the awake nothing was the exact opposite of that.

Stifling.

Terrifying.

Great breeding grounds for guilt, of which she had too much already. After all, hadn't she agreed to...?

Knowing just how idiotic the idea was still couldn't stop her from taking some basic precautions, though, and so Lilian hid her hair under a beanie, and put on her most inconspicuous clothes. Tristan likely would have called them NPC clothes, and she would have decked him for that, but he wouldn't have been wrong, given the muted colors and muted... everything. The 'nothing interesting to see here' vibes were definitely there!

Even if there actually was a whole lot to see.

But, she had one thing going for her: Not like they'd expect me to show up, right?

Because not even Lilian Perry, the resident traitor, could be this fucking stupid.

Except, checkmate, motherfuckers! She was exactly that stupid!

A quick trip downton was all she needed to gather the precious information -- a funeral was indeed taking place, not for Eugene per se but all the fallen hunters, today, a full hour after sunset. That was... actually the usual time, for some reason that Lilian had never truly bothered to grasp. Live by the night, die by the night? The pretentiousness of that seemed just about right.

The chapel was full, because of course it was. Lilian wasn't nearly brave enough to go sit on one of the pews, so she stayed in the back, hoping to blend in with whatever crowd that was forming there. And it was quite a crowd, alright -- a sea of faces, all serious, all solemn. Had all of them lost someone they'd known? How many were there just because they had to be, and were hoping to return to their precious League of Legends session?

Lilian hated them. Not as much as she hated herself in that moment, but, to be fair, that was a rather high standard to meet.

"Brothers and sisters," a voice in the front boomed, and all the background ceased. Duh! Whenever Leonard spoke, people listened. After all, it wasn't that often that a member of the Seven gave speeches... and it happened even less often at funerals. Why the fuck was he there? "We've gathered here to remember those who had brought the greatest sacrifice to our cause. Their valor will not be..."

That was, of course, the moment Lilian's mobile beeped.

Fuck!

A few hunters looked as if they wanted to murder her at spot, and Lilian could hardly blame them for that. Not answering was her first instinct, but... well, Cass was probably dying of worry, and she didn't need to feel guilty for more things. So, with an apologetic look, the huntress stumbled outside and accepted the call:

"Hi! No worries, I'm fine!" No, that didn't sound strained at all, "I just... can't really speak right now. Will talk to you when I get home, okay?"

~***~

Inga, indeed, was in the process of getting her shit together. Sure, she got a little engrossed in all the murders, but wasn't that to be expected? When you were a recovering smoker in a room full of people enjoying their lunch time cigarette, you just had to ask for one as well! And this was the same, more or less, if you squinted a bit and accepted nonsensical analogies that weren't valid at all.

The point was, those people had made her upset. They deserved to die. They really did, possibly more than anyone else that Inga had murdered just because!

But then some fucker mentioned Antonia, and she realized, with this startling clarity, what she should be doing. Oh, right. Nobody had said explicitly that that was the plan, but given that Inga was the stealthy person in the group? It made sense for her to take advantage of the mayhem, rather than cause more of it.

Nobody really noticed it when she turned into a shadow. It just wasn't the most noticeable thing with everything else that was going on, and if someone did realize that one of their foes was suddenly missing? They likely weren't going to complain too much. That was the main feature of idiots; thinking their problems disappeared just because they couldn't see them.

Okay, focus! Inga, too, could sense Antonia's presence, even if the scent was a little weaker than it should be. Did it mean she was...?

No. No thinking about that.

If she only found her corpse, she'd kill everyone in the building and then herself, but as long as the scenario only existed in the mythical land of 'if,' Inga was fine. Nothing traumatizing about the prospect at all!

Following logic more than her senses, Inga headed downwards. Several locked doors stood in her way, but she squeezed through the keyholes easily, and, sure enough -- the scent got stronger.

Along with the scent, voices came into the picture. Not one of them belonged to Antonia, which immediately made their owners a target in Inga's eyes. How dared they exist in her general presence without rushing to save her?!

"Secret hideout my ass," one of them complained, "They found it within three seconds, Jacob. Three seconds! I know Isolde is senile, but this is far too much. I never should have taken this goddamn job."

Isolde? Another piece of the puzzle, and one that made far more sense than whatever Vrishaketu was. Good to know!

"I know," his compatriot agreed, "And now there's fucking Amon wrecking our shit. What will we do if he finds this place? Pray to the sun?"

"I'd say that Amon," Inga smiled, before materializing out of nowhere, "Is the least of your issues."

"What!" That was about all they managed to say before she pierced the heart of one, and decapitated another. There was this dull 'thud' sound as their bodies fell on the floor, though Inga didn't really hear that anymore.

Not when--

"Antonia?" Inga asked, her voice quiet, after teleporting to the other side of the door. She'd have to carry her outside her prison the same way, mostly because the guards hadn't had the decency to provide the key like the obedient little NPCs they were, but that was fine. Anything was, as long as she... wasn't as dead as she looked. Oh, gods. No. No, no, no... "Antonia, can you talk?"

Meanwhile, it wasn't a stretch to say that Amon's conversation partner did not like his answer. Still, he had to acknowledge there was a logic to it, "I'm afraid that she's not in the mood to do that." Yeah, mood. That was one way to call it. "But I suppose I could show you?" After all, there were cameras in the cell, and no harm would come from letting Amon see the truth. Not like he'd recognize where it was from that alone!

So, with one click, he projected the footage of the cell on the nearby wall... only to realize Lenart wasn't actually alone in there. "Uh, what the fuck?"

 

[Lucyfer]

Who would dare to have a mobile at a funeral for so many of their fallen comrades? Michael Serafis was already furious with how things were going, and that fury wanted to snap as soon as he heard the mobile. It was perhaps the reason he had also chosen not to speak that day, where ordinarily he was all about these speeches and reviving fallen morale.

His morale was low.

He had made mistakes. Too many mistakes, and they weighed on his mind as he realized he had indeed given too much information to the enemy. ‘No, not I, Gabrielle.’ Gabrielle who was now blessedly dead, but it did not correct her mistakes of letting the vampires have the source of their strength just once.

And then they had found the God!

So who would dare?

The answer, of course, was obvious: Lilian.

Michael considered getting up and calling her out then and there. He considered interrupting the entire funeral to turn it into an execution. It might have improved morale – unless! Unless, of course, she escaped, as she was prone to doing. That would sink morale, and Michael held those two thoughts in his head, and chose not to risk what little scraps they had left.

That did not mean her presence would be ignored, and he wouldn’t try something, but not publicly.

He saw Deana rise from further back, to go after Lilian who had exited the church, and he turned his attention back to Leonard with a burning gaze. Michael was in the front. He couldn’t rise so easily to leave. He needed Leonard to make an opening that would be easy to slip through.



Meanwhile, Deana slipped out without causing much of a fuss, sniffling and wiping at her eyes more in mock gestures of exaggerated sorrow to explain why she needed to be excused from the room. Not that she wasn’t sad – her eyes were indeed red with the loss of so many hunters, but the tears had stopped flowing, her nose without anymore mucus.

Fluid was just…gone.

She was left with that terrible hollow.

And so when she got out, it was that terrible hollow that won out when she greeted Lilian with a snapped, “Haven’t you done enough?” voice strained, angry, and pained, as she looked at Lilian, and knew Eugene was in there, dead. Knew how close Lilian and Eugene had been. Knew it was why Lilian was there.

“Do you want Maria to lose another friend tonight?”

~***~

There was a familiar voice in the room, one that wasn’t one of the familiarly threatening voices that came to visit Antonia in order to subdue her further. Necessary, of course, with the way her powers flared. Now, of course, they did not flare. She didn’t even lift her head at the sound of the voice. There was the impossibility of it, but also the likelihood she was simply hallucinating. ‘If it was a hallucination, it would be Gia….’ Not that she ignored that stray hope that tried to add a sliver of silver lining to her hopeless state.

Despite not turning her head, words found a way to fall out of her lips, “Inga…amatorculi mei….” Latin was always the default, despite all the years that passed, and required less of a filter for that. Not that she would remember speaking, though she tried to flutter her eyes open to see if there was more to this hallucination than sound.

It seemed there was.

Inga was there, looking quite as Antonia had called her – her poor, sorry little lover.



Well, perhaps not little, but the idea still held. She might have even give that pathetic, afraid look, a half-grin if she could have. Given that she couldn’t, Inga likely had every reason to look so. Whether or not Antonia would chide her for such worry remained to be seen when, and if, health returned.



Her eyes didn’t stay open for long. They shut again, though Antonia was still aware enough to hear and sense what was going on around her. Reacting was another matter.



Amon, however, was very much in the mood to react, and react he did when the image of Antonia came up, with Inga present. It was all he really needed, and he laughed again at that. “Oh, brilliant.” He hissed out the word, “I don’t need to hold back anymore.” And indeed, there was a second shift in his choice of combat.

The blood flowed from him recklessly, as if it was without end, though the truth was he pulled it back as soon as its use was over.

No longer was it merely used to infiltrate bodies, though one might have considered it enough. It hardened into weapons for his use, and shattered to liquid with a thought. He whipped it around necks and beheaded vampires, or poured it through ears and wrecked them from the inside, but no longer did it seem to be just harmless drops that could fall by chance upon a vampire – no, now the control and mastery was clear.

He could levitate it and move it at will, so long as it was his.

And he had no trouble partaking in the ancient sin of drinking the blood of the fallen to restock on his way through the house to clear the way out for Inga. He never drank so deep as to touch heart’s blood, that ancient taboo written into his veins before it was called taboo, but that was perhaps the only surprise of his otherwise bloody and reckless path he cut after seeing Antonia in good hands.

Felix, meanwhile, pulled back to get the cars, sending most of his pack back as well. They weren’t really needed anymore; Amon had this wrapped up.

 

[Syntra]

I should go home.

The thought came a nanosecond before fucking Deana emerged out of nowhere, most likely to ruin her day. Lilian almost wanted to give a shout out to herself because, wow! Prophetic! Except it did exactly nothing to improve her current situation, which could only be described as ‘fuck, shit, fuck.’

What had she expected?

Maybe this.

Maybe… well, not this.

The huntress couldn’t say that she hadn’t come here for the deserved ass-kicking, though if she had, it was… probably one of the subconscious not-quite-decisions that you both did and didn’t make. But no point in psychoanalyzing herself, right? “Hi, Deana,” Lilian sighed, in part because she didn’t really know what to say, but also because it would be good for Cass to know what was going on. No, she hadn’t turned off the mobile; it was in her pocket now, and while the sound would be pretty shit, Cassidy should be able to hear the important bits.

The ’I’m fucked’ part of it was explicit, if nothing else. For some reason, that seemed to be the prominent theme of her life.

“Bold of you to think she still considers me a friend,” Lilian continued. “But no, that’s not why I’m here.” You know why I am, too. Not even Deana could possibly twist her presence into some ‘haha, I’m here to laugh at you’-tier nonsense, though she also knew that that wasn’t really the point. The last time they’d met, she had… shown her mercy, as cruel as it had felt.

She’d also made it pretty fucking explicit that that would be the last time Lilian would receive it. After that, the game was on. Was it now, though?

“I just came to say goodbye. None of us wanted this.”

Yeah, except that they had still agreed to the plan that had led to it! Wasn’t it like… like ordering a burger, and then being all too surprised that a cow had to die for it? Shitty metaphors aside, Lilian could see the connection quite clearly.

Her own share of blame as well, not that different from what Cassidy had done. Sure, Cassidy’s hand had held the blade – but what about her own hand? Hadn’t she clashed with her fellow hunters as well? That they hadn’t been named Eugene really wasn’t the mitigating circumstance she would have wanted it to be.

“And I did just that. Can I go, or…?”

~***~

Amatorlicu? What ‘mei’ was wasn’t really a mystery; between mínn, mi, meine, moje and all the other equivalents Inga had heard throughout her lifetime, it seemed that European languages just weren’t too creative with their possessives. Sure, it also could have been something else, but context suggested it was… some kind of title? A term of address? And ‘my’ would fit with that. My what, though? Probably not anything too nice, given what they were and weren’t to one another, but she was too busy being happy over the fact that Antonia spoke at all to let that sour her mood. Ah, thank the gods!

So immense was her relief that, for a second, Inga didn’t think. ‘Consequences’ was a term that only existed in some very theoretical, very alternate reality when she closed the distance between them and pressed a small kiss on her forehead. “Don’t you dare, alright? A promise is a two-way street, Antonia. If I am to give you the world, then you need to be there for it.” Yes, she had to! And she would, because the curse that Inga had spent centuries hating would bring her back. It didn’t matter how dead she looked now, how weak and frail and helpless; in the end, things would be fine. The start of this chapter didn’t fucking matter when they had the conclusion to look forward to! The inevitable happy ending!

That was the thought Inga clung to when she lifted Antonia, and put her over her shoulder. No, not the most comfortable position ever; not the most romantic one, either. It wouldn’t score a lot of points in pretty much any department, except for the one that mattered the most – ie., letting her keep one arm free.

That it was her sword arm likely didn’t need to be specified.

“I know you said not to practice with you,” back at that Veturia banquet, a million years ago, “But I’ll have to. Hold on.” It wasn’t that Antonia actually could hold, or do anything but follow the suit when Inga turned into a shadow, but letting her know what would come was the nice thing to do. The common sense thing, too. The feeling wasn’t that weird to her anymore, though it was still far from normal. How did it feel to everyone else, then? About a hundred times more disruptive was Inga’s best guess, and anything that might help her keep her dinner where it belonged ought to be welcome.

As expected, the additional weight hit like a ton of bricks. Come on, just a little bit further! And, sure enough, it didn’t take long for them to emerge right in the middle of Amon’s carnage. Blood was everywhere; some of it landed on her cheek, and she wiped at it before running through one of the unlucky fuckers that got too close for liking. “See, Antonia?” her voice was gentle, in direct opposition to the act of violence, “Everyone’s here. Getting home’s gonna be real easy!” Whether that was really said for Antonia’s sake was something Inga couldn’t tell, though she also cared very little for those sorts of analyses as she carried her outside. Of course, Felix’s car was the next stop.

“I… don’t think she’s hurt?” Inga made a face, “Not in the traditional sense of that word.” Something had clearly been done to her, though; something that hadn’t made her bleed, but instead had sapped her strength away. Turned her into a husk. That’s worse. At least you could see a wound, dammit! And wounds closed. Wounds closed because they had little choice in the matter, while this… what did this do? What did any unknown in an equation do?

Unknown, unknowable bullshit.

That was the entire point.

“Amon,” she turned to the Sun God, something suspiciously similar to panic in her voice, “Can you fix whatever’s wrong with her?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Deana was not happy with Lilian’s presence, even if she did understand it. Eugene had died. Other hunters, too. Perhaps there were others in those numbers who meant something to Lilian, but that wasn’t the point. Lilian had killed some of them. More than one, likely! She’d certainly injured a few, and now she had the audacity to show up here to say goodbye?

“You said goodbye clearly when you showed up with the vampires that attacked the bar.” Deana wasn’t sorry for the ice in her tone, or the way it felt like she was crunching it with every word, both wishing she had a weapon, and glad she didn’t.

No one could blame her for not stopping Lilian, right?

Except, of course, they could blame her for not shouting out to all of them, to let them know Lilian was there, and they needed to do something about her now. ‘No one else recognized her.’ Certainly, if they did, they would be out there now, or would have made a fuss as well, right? Deana struggled to answer Lilian as to whether or not she could go.

“No…no, you can’t,” but her words were still soft, her steps slow, as she turned back towards the church doors to open them, and do something about this. She might not be able to do anything herself, but if she did nothing, then she was condemning more hunters to die at the hands of Lilian.

It didn’t matter how much Lilian meant to her.

There were others that meant a lot to her, as well – and Lilian would kill them. She had to be stopped.



On the other side of the phone, Cassidy was indeed aware of how this situation had turned. She hadn’t been able to get a word out after Lilian answered, before there was that terrible interruption, and now she could see this was going to get bad. “Lilian? Lilian where are you?” already, she was scrambling to get up and out of the apartment, not aware that Lilian had removed the phone from her ear so she could talk to Deana.

~***~

There were promised insisted upon by Inga, that Antonia was vaguely aware of. The meaning was enough, really. The gesture of a kiss, familiar enough to register for what it was, even with shut eyes. A chaste thing. A protective thing. What mother didn’t know a forehead kiss? What wife? Antonia could not address it, nor could she deny it for all it meant. Not that she was conscious enough to deny or accept; such things as thoughts faded as soon as Inga used her powers. Darkness stole over everything as Inga exited into the light of the massacre Amon had created.

And would continue to create, leaving absolutely none alive before he returned to the car Felix had pulled up, walking. Any semblance of haste was absent; a king didn’t run, a god? Less so.

Everything flowed according to their whims.

At least, that was how they had to present things, and how he had to hold himself with Inga breaking in front of him over Antonia’s state, as Felix put the pedal down and peeled out of the area. Amon had taken the passenger seat, leaving Inga and Antonia to the back. Sure, there was enough room, but why crowd it?

Antonia’s blood didn’t fill the car.

Whatever was done to her, it was a subtle thing. A terrible thing, for all that, but all the same, Amon thought he could fix it as he let his blood slide from his veins and between Antonia’s lips to fill its way through the mess that was her own veins.

There was a poison. That, Amon could fix, although he felt the strong resistance to it and grunted in dissatisfaction at it, before snorting – almost laughing – at the fact he recognized it. “This is a familiar poison,” Amon noted, “no less difficult for being familiar, it was one used a long, long time ago. It bonds tightly with vampire blood; Vrishaketu called it halahala,” so it made sense, then, that he was involved. Not that others hadn’t used it, but Vrishaketu had all but made it a calling card. “It’s not lethal, but it is…difficult.”

Most drugs just washed out of their veins after some time. “I can remove it, but it will take time to bind it to my blood,” and then he simply wouldn’t take that blood back into his body. “I’m not sure if that’s all that’s wrong.” The poison’s effects would linger a bit. Weakness was not easily forgotten from this, whereas she might have recovered from even the sun’s rays after a bit of rest and blood.

“Are you going to explain who Vrishaketu is?” Felix asked.

Amon chuckled, “Oh yes,” he said, “he’s a dead man,” that was obvious, but Amon elaborated, “in the future tense, as well as the past. He was killed ages ago after starting a rebellion, given up by his own childe…Tristan.” Who Amon was going to have arrested very, very soon, if not executed, “He was, perhaps, the first vampire executed by the first council. He is also the very reason we make deals with hunters such a priority,” it had existed in the past, but it was never to the current degree until Vrishaketu got involved. “He wanted vampires to rule the world and not have to hide in the dark. Admirable, I suppose, but stupid. I think his power drove him mad.”

“What was it?”

“Astral projection. He could go out in sunlight as a shadow of himself, but of course, no one could see him. I didn’t consider it could have gone to projecting himself into other bodies,” because that was what it had to be…and Tristan had inherited it. Did it go so far with Tristan as well? Amon had never heard of such a thing, but then, childes usually didn’t inherit the power of such old vampires.

Amon’s power never passed on.

Even as he spoke, he was still working on undoing the poison, binding it to himself, as Felix drove at reckless speeds.

“He was one of the few enemies all of us agreed on, even Isolde.” At least…back in the day.

 

[Syntra]

“I didn’t…” Didn’t what? Mean it? The stupidest excuse under the fucking sun! Because nobody just so happened to waltz into a hunters’ bar with a bunch of vampires in tow. Lilian hadn’t, either. Everything about what she had done had been very deliberate… aside from, perhaps, all the deaths.

Yeah, a pretty big aside.

It wasn’t that Lilian didn’t understand why Deana was mad, because she, too, was. Mad at herself; at Cassidy; at this entire fucking situation, where you lost simply by agreeing to play. There had been no clean way out, and it seemed that there wasn’t one here, either. Did she have to spill more blood tonight? Kill more friends? “Look, I… won’t give you any excuses. I didn’t fucking want to do any of that, but I had to.”

Hadn’t it been Deana, with all her stupid-ass ideals, who had taught her to stand by what was right? To never give up, no matter how hard things seemed? It just… so happened that Lilian had come to believe that worshiping a Lovecraftian entity that turned them into fucking monsters wasn’t, in fact, one of the things she’d describe as ‘right.’

And the whole vampire thing? Shades of grey, not the sea of black like they’d hammered into her head.

“I am sorry, though. Not about what I’d done, but about… all the people.” All the hunters who hadn’t, and couldn’t have, known, not at all dissimilar to Lilian herself. How many would have jumped the ship, had they remotely could? Would Eugene have believed her? Maybe, had she had found the time to talk to him, but there had been too much of… everything. All the action; Vegas; Cassidy. The earth-shattering revelations, and not so earth-shattering ones. How could one fucking woman hold it all together?

The obvious answer was that she couldn’t.

But maybe Deana understood, just a little bit, because her refusal to let her go… didn’t really seem all that binding? Yeah, that’s my cue to run.

Lilian didn’t wait for Deana to change her mind and did, indeed, turn around to do just that. Swiftly, she reached into her pocket: “Cass?” No, the huntress hadn’t heard the question, but sharing her location seemed like the obvious thing to do, and so: “I’m near the chapel downtown, but don’t you dare to go there, okay? I’m… I’m going home already.” A serious contender for the euphemism of the year! At least judging by just how out of breath Lilian seemed.

~***~

Poison? But poison never fucking worked! Not one of Inga’s poison-related experiments had ever yielded any results, if you didn’t count the standard ‘you really thought, bitch.’ Ever efficient, the vampire metabolism had dealt with them all. The most she had gotten out of it? A headache, which admittedly had been pretty epic as far as migraines went, but still about as dangerous as a mosquito bite.

And, no – this wasn’t on the level of a mosquito bite. Far from it.

Antonia was all but lying in her seat, her head in Inga’s lap. She would have loved the position in pretty much any other case, because, yeah, score! Very nice, very intimate! But there wasn’t anything nice about seeing her so fucking helpless, with her lips being this terrible, unhealthy shade of blue. Motionless, like a corpse.

She’s not one yet, though. She’s not, and Amon can fix this.

Could he, though?

Could he?

If not, then Inga… didn’t actually know what she’d do, but she did know, and with great certainty, that there would be a lot of people that wouldn’t enjoy it at all.

She wouldn’t enjoy it, either.

Murder wasn’t any fun without Antonia cheering her on, but what was even the point in trying to have fun anymore?

Without her, there was no point to anything. Just this… vast, bleak darkness, with no lights in sight. A return to an aimless existence, wandering from place to place, never stopping for long enough for anything to matter.

“Halahala,” she repeated the word, as if saying it aloud could help her understand its properties. Clearly, it was foreign in nature; none of it rang any bells, but if Inga had to guess, she’d say it could have come from Asia, or perhaps Africa. Asia seemed more likely, though? Based purely on ‘Vrishaketu’ being another clue. Maybe that’s why I didn’t produce any results. Europe did have its fair share of poisonous substances, but they weren’t really that vicious. Herb-Paris was the superstar when it came to deadliness, and wasn’t that kind of sad? All the other continents had fun, free-of-charge insta-death buttons growing just about everywhere, while they had to make do with that and some shitty mushrooms!

Not even their spiders were venomous enough to cause any real trouble.

It wasn’t all that shocking that her research had been a bust, just like it wasn’t shocking that other people, with access to better resources, had had more luck. You couldn’t make something out of nothing.

“Can you save some of that blood for me?” Inga asked. Her voice was shaking, but she made no attempt to hide it. The tears in her eyes were already damning enough, and besides – if there ever was a time in her life when she deserved her nervous breakdown, it sure as fuck was now. Who even cared about pointless shit like reputation? “Once you bind the poison to it. I want to… take a look at how it works. Maybe I’ll figure something out.” Once she found a way to furnish a third fucking laboratory, because she’d somehow managed to destroy another one in the span of, what? A few weeks? A new world record, Inga was sure!

She might have laughed, if she remotely remembered how.

And to think this was her fault.

Well, fine, maybe not entirely – not objectively speaking. She really had had no idea what she’d been looking at with that weird blood, and there was no guarantee that Antonia would have been any wiser. How many people would think that an ancient, long-dead enemy could come back from Helheim to kick their ass again? Who would take shit like astral projection into account?

Nobody. Nobody but the resident nutjob, who really should have known better than to keep her suspicions to herself. She was Inga Singedottir, and always fucking right! When had she turned into such a goddamn coward? How had she traded those few weeks of deceptive calm for… what? Antonia’s life?

She’d trusted her. She’d trusted her enough to let her handle so many things, and Inga couldn’t even repay the favor by trusting her back. On some level, she just… hadn’t thought Antonia would ever take it seriously. Which, yes, maybe she wouldn’t have! It had been a nutjob line of thinking!

But maybe she would have, and then they wouldn’t have been sitting there at all.

“I’m such an idiot,” she muttered, caressing her hair, “I knew there was something wrong with him but I had no real evidence.” Nothing too convincing, anyway. “And Tristan. I can’t believe that…” What, that he was involved? Just because he was always friendly enough, at least to Inga? That didn’t have to mean anything.

It often didn’t.

“The tracker is still online,” Inga said after a moment, “We can probably find the fucker.” As long as he didn’t hop bodies, which he ostensibly had no reason to do now. “And, just so you know, he’s definitely working with Isolde. I… overheard one of the guards complaining about her security being shit.”

~***~

Earlier that night

Isolde, who indeed was working with Vrishaketu, was currently having the time of her life. Ah, how easy it had been in the end! How come it hadn’t occurred to her earlier? In exchange for just one insignificant servant, she finally got to enjoy the ultimate prize. Are you looking forward to all the fun times we’ll have together, Antonia?

Probably not, if only because the Roman was notoriously stuck up. Something to keep in mind, Isolde supposed – but also something to disregard, since it wasn’t like her word carried any weight there. In a way, that was the entire point! Perhaps she will come to understand me, though. That, too, was an option; Isolde knew all too well just how lonely it could be, being a powerful woman and this exceptional to boot. Who knew? Perhaps this was the start of a new, exciting friendship!

Or not, and that would be just as exciting.

When Vrishaketu showed up, Isolde greeted him with a warm smile – that, and a poor, bound little servant, delivered by her closest bodyguards. The girl struggled despite the bonds, and wasn’t that just silly? If she simply accepted her fate, everything would be that much easier for her. That much… kinder. “Calm down,” Isolde recommended to her, with all her usual tact, “You are going to play a far bigger role in the fate of this city than a human has any right to. Isn’t that a cause for celebration?”

It didn’t seem that she agreed, though the gag in her mouth didn’t exactly allow her to voice any of that. Pfft! Silly humans.

Good thing that their opinion didn’t matter.

“Vrishaketu, my friend,” she turned to him, “You’ve done a wonderful job. And, as you can see – I am a woman of my word as well! This is Angelina, Lady Valencia’s personal handmaid. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make her useful?” If not, then Vrishaketu was a fool and only really had himself to blame. Not that Isolde thought he wasn’t a fool, but he was, at the very least, useful in his foolishness. Too useful to… hmm, just let him go just like that. Right?

“I can find more people for you,” Isolde said, without bothering to beat around the bush, “More pets belonging to… interesting figures. I have my ways, Vrishaketu. And since this has been such a success – why don’t you help me shatter what remains of the Optimates?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Deana should have screamed the name into the Church when she stepped in again. Eyes turned to her, but Lilian had moved away, and the door didn’t open that much to let her in. She didn’t shut it all the way, either – and she had the good sense to move along one side of the church as the speech continued uninterrupted, to go to where Michael sat, and whisper news he already knew, “Lilian’s outside.”

Although Michael hadn’t been given any good cue from Leonard, he took this and got up, ignored the looks, murmurs, and other signs of distress as he moved out of the church and outside.

He should have run.

He should have done several other things, because by the time he got outside, Lilian was far out of sight. Tracking her now would be difficult, if not impossible, as he shut the door of the church behind himself and considered doing just that.

Instead, he took a seat on the steps of the church and buried his face in his hands, cursing his own inability to act when he’d known there had been a problem.

Blissfully unaware of the other problems mounting for the future as he bit the inside of his cheek so hard, it began to bleed onto his tongue.

~***~

Yeah, as if that was going to keep Cassidy inside. “Are you crazy?” Obviously, Cassidy was. “I’ll meet you halfway.” Maybe, she wasn’t sure how quickly she could get there, if they’d even take the same path – they might not! That didn’t matter! Cassidy knew what ‘chapel downtown’ meant, knew the hunters were there from the name, and new Lilian could be in trouble.

She wasn’t going to face that trouble alone, damnit!

So, out the door Cassidy went, hanging up to bring up the GPS on her phone to get towards the chapel downtown, walking as quickly as she could without being too, well, obvious about it. Which was hard to do, and people still looked at her as she hurried by and bumped into a few in her haste, calling out apologies each time until finally, finally, she saw the familiar brunette head of her Lilian Perry.

“Lili—” she sprinted the rest of the distance as she saw her, “Are you—” oh what a stupid question! She bit it off before it grew, although the way it finished was obvious. How to change the trajectory? How to acknowledge that stupid instinct to ask if she was okay, when the answer was painfully fucking obvious?

Lilian wasn’t okay, and she’d gone and done something stupid.

But she wasn’t bleeding, so she hadn’t been attacked.

Cassidy sighed.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t tell me…whatever it is you went to do. Are we…are you safe right now?” Was she being followed? Did they need to get somewhere to be safe?

~***~

Unlike Vrishaketu, Amon’s answer was a flat: “No,” when asked to have the blood, although he knew that Inga only wanted it for the poison. Considering his entire power came from his blood, and was all about his blood, however, he wasn’t about to go letting Inga test it. Perhaps he didn’t have to worry about her – she was infatuated with Antonia, after all – but that didn’t actually matter.

Things changed. Amon knew that.

“You will have to find some way to acquire it from Vrishaketu or his flunkies.” Perhaps Tristan had some but that was unlikely. Tristan was a loose end that needed dealt with, and Amon would see to it tomorrow. After he was certain of Antonia’s stability. Hopefully, Tristan wouldn’t become aware. Tracking him down would be such a pain, if so.

‘Then again….’ He was likely to become aware as soon as word got out of Antonia going missing.

And Isolde.

Isolde, who had once agreed that Vrishaketu was too dangerous to let live. Well! Things did change, didn’t they?

Amon shut his eyes and couldn’t help the terrible chuckle that came from him, slow, deep, before it burst into laughter that caused Felix to eye him warily, no doubt wondering if he ought to stop the car before they reached their destination. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to bring this into open warfare. She wouldn’t survive it…but that’s exactly what Vrishaketu would want, too.” Perhaps, even, what he hoped for. If Amon blew his fuse, the amount of cover-up that would have to go into things would be…immense.

And even then, Amon would be forfeiting his life in the same way Vrishaketu had, by revealing his nature to all. It might be worth it, if it also took down Isolde. Amon clenched a fist in his hand, and tried not to put it through the window. The last thing he needed was Antonia waking up to lecture him about her cars.

“I’ll have him tomorrow if the tracking is still good,” he doubted it, “I’ll have Tristan in chains, as well, and we’ll get to the bottom of this.” Had Tristan known back then that Vrishaketu would live? If not, how had Vrishaketu ever forgiven him?

There were too many questions.

For now, the only ones that mattered were about Antonia’s health as they pulled up to his home, and he would quickly move in to lead Inga to a space to lay Antonia while preparing blood for Antonia and himself.

Tomorrow would be another day.

~***~

Vrishaketu was pleased with the warm welcome, but more pleased with the reward awaiting him. It was a personal handmaiden to Valencia, and not one of her own blood. He knew instinctively that such a thing would be a bad decision. Somehow, Valencia would know if one of her own was tainted by his presence. He couldn’t have that. A human, however, who would only slowly begin to change, would be enough for him to use to his advantage, to get close enough to Valencia, and take her over.

Then her army would be his.

He reached for the poor human.

‘I wonder if the power will extend to Tristan.’

Tristan would hate it, of course. Yet, he might understand the use of it, in time. Not that he’d have much choice if it did work out that way.

What Isolde was asking for, and offering, were intriguing. He had no love for the Optimates, no more than he had for any other group that wasn’t his own. He arched a brow at the offer. ‘What more could I want?’ Plenty, but so far as bodies, Valencia was a prize, and he couldn’t just flit from one to the other. He’d tried it before, it didn’t work. He was allowed one puppet, with no going backwards.

Valencia would give him several puppets all at once, though.

But Valencia could die, and he would need to move quickly. That was always the bane.

“I do not doubt your ability to connect me upwards, although few among us stand so high as the likes of Valencia,” she was an elder, after all, “I wonder, could you continue to offer me such heights of I continued working with you, or will you want them for yourself? I don’t care for the likes of Antonia, interesting powers though she has, but the likes of Amon or Lixin….” It was rather convenient they were so near each other.

Convenient that so many, were so near each other.

Mostly though, he’d just rather get into a male body.

He didn’t identify as a female in any regards and having their parts was always…disorienting.

“You don’t have designs for those sorts yourself, do you?” If not, he could see how this could be very useful. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d subdue Amon, wasn’t even sure he’d risk that one. Souls and blood were two different things; he didn’t know which would win out, and curious as he was, he wasn’t suicidal. If his soul was crushed, there was no coming back.





Unbeknownst to Vrishaketu, a very angry spirit yanked himself out of the room to wake up to a “download complete” screen for his newest video game.

Tristan slammed the laptop cover down, almost breaking it in the process. ‘Fuck you.’ He’d put ONE stipulation on helping him and Leif, and the son of a bitch couldn’t even do that little thing! One stupid little request!

Tristan didn’t want to admit it hurt.

He didn’t have to, of course. There was no one to see, and no one to hear, as he screamed his frustration to the universe and slid off his bed to start pacing, and packing, and unpacking, and pacing.

 

[Syntra]

Am I the stupidest bitch in this entire fucking galaxy? Maybe! The competition was pretty fierce out there, but, as Lilian Perry made her grand exit, she was forced to admit that her latest stunt definitely did allow her to qualify for the semi-finals at the very least. Or perhaps even the finals? Eh, why not! Dreaming big was the one (1) thing cruel reality hadn't robbed her of yet, and clinging to it... wasn't the worst thing in the world. "Kind of?" No denying that, "But listen, Cass, just... Don't. Stay where you are, okay? Someone's gotta be sane in this relationship and since it clearly isn't going to be me, you have to pick up the slack." Was it fair? No. Was it going to amount to anything? Also no! But Lilian just had to say it, just like she had had to go and... uh, ruin everything even further with her stupid wish to say goodbye to a fucking corpse?

Perhaps there was something to be said for the advantages of self-restraint, but Lilian Perry wasn't in the mood right now.

(To be fair, she never quite seemed to be. Now was an even worse time than usual, though!)

Cassidy didn't listen, because of course she didn't. Lilian should have known, and also had known; seeing the familiar silhouette running towards her was perhaps the least surprising twist of the evening, moreso even than things - predictably enough - going to shit once again. Not swooping in to save her just... wasn't a Cassidy thing to do?

For that, she was too fucking sweet. Too fucking nice, in that stupidly self-destructive way that somehow both made Lilian want to roll her eyes and also protect her from... well, herself. From all the assholes who would use it against her. I still wanna do that, she realized. Despite everything. Okay! That was... something? Something important, no doubt, though this still wasn't a good time for gut-wrenching introspection. Not when there was a very real risk of their literal guts being spilled all over the pavement, dammit!

"I went to Eugene's funeral," the huntress admitted, because what else could she offer if not the truth? Lies wouldn't help. "Look, I never claimed I was smart." That was Inga's domain, and, sadly enough, Lilian couldn't help but recognize that not even she was a big enough nutjob to unironically crash her biggest enemies' get-together for reasons as flimsy as... well, the ones that she, herself, had had. What did that say about her? "You can chew me out for that when we get home. And, no! I don't know if we're being followed! Maybe?"

'Do I look like I have literally any part of this under control?' would have been the better question here, but Lilian also didn't want to rain on whatever that remained of Cassidy's parade.

"C'mon, let's... let's just run." Probably the first sensible thing she'd said tonight, right? And good thing for her, because it was about fucking time.

Lilian half-expected for Michael himself to emerge from behind every corner they passed, but no; either he was too busy being an asshole elsewhere, or his tracking methods proved to be as shitty as his belief system. Again, good for her? God knew that she needed some kind of a break, here.

The sight of their apartment was sweet, though sweeter still was the sound of the key in their lock. The sound of safety; of things being... well, not exactly okay, but something close to it. And wasn't that all that mattered?

If there was one thing Lilian had learned during this debacle, it was that she ought to take things a step at a time.

"Sorry about that," she sighed in Cass's general direction, suddenly a little afraid to face her, "I... won't pretend I had a good reason but I just had to. You know how you know that you shouldn't pick at a scab, but you also can't help yourself?" A stupid fucking comparison, but since Lilian had already decided to be stupid tonight, going along with it just seemed fitting. "It... felt similar."

~***~

Oh, he's mine already. Vrishaketu hadn't said that, and Isolde was also reasonably sure that he wouldn't. What kind of poker player showed their opponent their hand, after all? But, the thing was, he didn't have to do that. Just like you could count cards in poker, you could... sort of sense when someone was intrigued. When they couldn't really refuse, because what you offered was just so much more than they could reasonably hope for. You've grown bored of it, haven't you? Of being irrelevant. Of hiding in the shadows and waiting for that magical opportunity to present itself on silver platter, only for it to always slip between his fingers.

Duh. Of course!

They called her mad, all those short-sighted fools and sniveling idiots, but Isolde knew better. Opportunities didn't just come to you. You had to make them; you had to seize them, the slippery things that they were.

Sure, waiting for the stars to align just right did have its advantages -- so long as that was what you did.

Most didn't actually do that. Most just wasted their precious time twiddling their thumbs, and, for all his talks of greatness, Vrishaketu had also spent centuries accomplishing fuck all.

You haven't learned a thing, my friend. Would she give him Lixin? Perhaps, if he caught her in the right mood. Lixin, too, was a fool, and Isolde supposed that Vrishaketu getting to pilot his body would be a net positive for the sad, pathetic clan of Bayons. It might work out just fine for her as well, given the man's... precarious position. Amon, though? Amon was hers. The one that had gotten away. The one that Isolde should have killed years ago, but hadn't. How did Vrishaketu think she would give up Amon, for a nobody like him?

Fat fucking chance.

But still, still she bared her teeth in a smile, because Isolde hadn't actually forgotten how to play nice when she wanted something. That was a common misconception, caused mostly by the pesky fact that others usually had little to offer. Vrishaketu was... useful, though. A convenient puppet, even if he thought himself to be the puppet master. "You're in luck, because I don't." A lie, though one that slipped her lips easily, and thus also one that sounded good. Natural. "All that I care about is that they are gone. Gone, or turned into my allies."

Isolde stood from her throne, "I, too, have my plans." Not even untrue! "And they happen to align with yours, Vrishaketu." 'Align' may have been too strong of a word word, but they also didn't clash. For all she cared, Vrishaketu could dream his dreams of world domination; she would keep doing her own thing, and thrive better for all the chaos. Wasn't Antonia a convincing enough proof of that? "Don't stand in my way, help me out from time to time, and you may have whoever you want. What do you say?"

 

[Lucyfer]

Nothing about Lilian’s answer was surprising to Cassidy. Of course she went to a funeral for Eugene! Of course she even knew where and when it was! How, Cassidy couldn’t be sure, but supposed there were likely enough funerals in Lilian’s life that there was enough protocol for her to figure that kind of thing out. Cassidy couldn’t help but look disappointed through her sympathy, but she kept that behind her lips as they had a bigger priority – getting the fuck out of there.

They didn’t seem to be followed. Cassidy resisted the urge to shift into anything that might be better at noticing that, and just felt the relief when the door locked behind them in her apartment, and Lilian apologized.

Cassidy sighed. “I understand it. I do,” that didn’t make it less stupid, because yeah, like Lilian said – picking at a scab was bad! That was how one could get a scar, or worse, an infection. At least there wouldn’t be a repeat of this? ‘Unless another of her friends dies.’ Which wasn’t…impossible.

Cassidy was smart enough not to say that ‘good news’ part. That’d be wishing another one to life.

She leaned back against the door a moment, putting a hand to her forehead. “What’s done is done, but the next time you get that scab feeling and want to go waltzing into Michael’s territory, maybe tell someone? We probably can’t stop you, but we can make it less likely you get yourself seriously hurt, maybe. Or try to help you find…alternatives that might satisfy the urge,” fuck if she knew what that was. A private ceremony? Buying some flowers and taking them to a place Eugene liked?

“I don’t know if you hunters get…urns, or gravesites, but if you need to go visit, we can figure something out together to help you…see him again.” In that way, that was not really seeing them, but feeling like they were there. That important intention of living in a place they had once been, or the place where their remains were.

“Just please, if you can’t tell me, tell someone else. I know there aren’t too many people, but Inga’s not terrible, and Antonia might at least loan you a werewolf.” Antonia probably didn’t have time for it herself, and didn’t care enough. “We need more friends,” she realized with a chuckle, “Tristan would just…charge you in some way,” and that wasn’t really a friend. Maybe Cassidy really did need to start settling here a bit and getting to know the locals better.

She pushed away from the door, certain now nothing was going to come bursting through – and realizing as she did it she had been worried about that.

She didn’t want to move.

She couldn’t really afford to move.

The truth of needing more friends was poignant enough for both of them, and the night went on without incident, until the morning. The morning where Maxwell was seen on TV, in front of the burning building she and Lilian had raided, turning to ashes for everyone to see.

‘Oh. Oh no.’

She sent a text to Tristan, because he was supposed to get this shit off the air as far as she knew. His return message was…well, scattered, to say the least. It seemed he was not having a good day from what little Cassidy could read between the lines, and it all came to a head that evening when he sent a text.

Hey, I need you to meet me at Amon’s ASAP.
​

“Hey, Lilian?” Cassidy called, “I think I need to go see Tristan,” she’d turn the phone to Lilian to show her, still uncertain about what the hell was going on with him, and the Max situation. She’d gotten nothing about that.

~***~

Amon and Lixin, easily offered on a silver platter. It really was too easy, but then, the offering always was. The delivery was another matter entirely, and one Isolde would have to make good on, when the time came. Odds were, it wouldn’t be soon. Well, not soon by human standards, but perhaps soon by vampiric standards. Isolde’s rush to get Antonia would cause some chaos to spread through the Optimates, and with any luck, the Bayons. They were, technically speaking, allies. The pains of one impacted the other.

Vrishaketu would take it for what it was, now. Words, with intent. If the intent was not delivered on, when the actions performed, well, both he and Isolde knew where that led.

He’d allow himself the hope it wouldn’t have to, anytime soon. Eventually, of course. He’d have to appease Tristan. For now, it was no concern, and Tristan need not know where he was getting things from when it was likely to be a ways away.

“The terms are amenable. So long as we stay out of each other’s way, I have no problems picking up an extra task or two when it will help my own cause,” Vrishaketu answered. “For now, Lady Isolde, I think I will go dispose of some trash,” he chuckled, “this form has done me well but it’s time is long spent,” and he had a wonderful new body to try out, and time to enjoy the small pleasures of being human, for that short time it lasted while his soul tainted the new body with its influence. “I bid you farewell. The next time you see me, I shall be Lady Valencia.”

He would let her know when the change was made. It would only be proper, so she knew she was no longer dealing with that greedy bitch any longer.

It was honestly a wonder how Valencia lived so long – but when you had an army of blood enthralled childes, Vrishaketu supposed it was easier to do stupid shit and get away with it.

It was also a wonder that Vrishaketu got out of there with his new little pet before the news of Antonia reached Isolde and her entire mood soured – but that was, of course, her problem. He had delivered Antonia, she just hadn’t made the cage strong enough. By then, he had returned to town, glanced through enough of his new host’s information to figure he could be convincing for a day or two, reached out to the hunters to let them know he was heading off on a quick solo mission for Antonia, and then found his way to the headquarters of this Michael Serafis’s group as dawn was a whisper in the air.

He had enough explosives in the car he left parked down the street, the poor little handmaiden well and truly unconscious, before he made his way out with those lovely little items and set them up throughout the entirety of the building, dealing brutally with anyone who crossed his path.

He didn’t care to hide what he was. That wasn’t the idea here.

The idea was to start the chaos, and he did so by lighting up the building that lovely morning, which rocked downtown as people were starting to arrive to go to work. Several stopped to stare. Quite a few more went running away to avoid debris.

Vrishaketu jumped from the roof and landed on the sunlit sidewalk, the little sparkles coming off the mica within the sidewalk glinting beautifully in the mix of firelight and sunlight – wherever smoke didn’t obscure the rays.

And he, too, smoked.

The pain was agony, which made it easier to play into that brutal role of a vampire by baring his fangs and stumbling through the haze of pain as he began to wither away in full sight of oh so many smartphones, before decaying to ash.

Moments later, that handmaiden woke up.

Well, she didn’t, but her body did, with a gasp and a jerk, Vrishaketu raised new hands to his head and groaned at the pain, before getting himself together and stumbling out of the car, to run far away from it and return to his new home sweet home – Valencia’s hotel.

~***~

Somewhere in one of the moments of consciousness, Antonia heard something about Max dying, but the details were hazy. She wasn’t sure if she overheard it from others, or if it was even true, or just a vain hope.

Amon saw the news unfold on television after he was sent an alert, and he watched, again, and again, as Max let himself burst into flame in the sunlight with growing anger, aware that it was not his end, and their single lead to tracking Vrishaketu was gone. Well – besides Tristan, of course.

Vrishaketu was too distracted by his current mission to take Valencia to notice that Valencia had granted Amon permission to take Tristan from her hotel by threat of force if necessary. Valencia, who wasn’t aware Vrishaketu was back, but more than willing to believe this had Tristan all over it, even if she didn’t know how or why. Mostly, because Tristan was supposed to keep this stuff off the air, and never mind if that took more than a day, it needed to be done immediately!

Tristan came as willingly as one could go when confronted by one of Amon’s childes, and a couple of Antonia’s hunters who decided some answers were needed, piling into a car with his laptop, and a thousand and one half-truths racing through his mind as they pulled up to Amon’s manor. ‘This isn’t good.’ He knew that, even if he didn’t know precisely how bad it was. This wasn’t just a ‘you’re not doing your job fast enough’ moment, they didn’t react this badly to that shit.

Besides, where was Antonia? She was usually bankrolling for sile—oh right. ‘Yeaaah, kinda forgot that, didn’t you?’ Okay, that might make Amon more erratic. Antonia was 90% of his self control, and vice versa.

Tristan stepped into the manor with his laptop under an arm and was led to one of the lounges where Amon was waiting, leaning against a desk, not a cat in sight.

No cats was never a good sign.

“That will be all,” Amon addressed those who brought Tristan, waving them off. His childe gave a rather stoic bow, before turning on heel and marching off like a good little soldier. The hunters followed.

“Good evening, Tristan.”

Okay yeah, his tone was also a huge red flag, but Tristan just scrunched his nose at it, “Yeah yeah – why am I here, I’ve been trying to get that shit off the air and run countermeasures all day. Also, conspiracy theorists aren’t cheap, you know.”

“Vrishaketu.”

Tristan’s nose unscrunched. He let out a pained sigh as the name was dropped like a mic – and then without even hearing or sensing Amon move, had his jaw suddenly grasped and head tilted painfully up – almost lifted off his feet as he was brought to bear, his usual façade dropping in the face of that violation of his space.

How he managed not to drop the laptop was nothing short of a miracle.

“I see you’re not surprised.”

 

[Syntra]

Lilian actually felt a lot of things, but the one feeling she was able to identify with 100% certainty? Shame. Shame, sorrow, and a lot of regret! Yeah, she had expected Cassidy and her common sense to ruin things even further, but what she hadn't expected was this... what was it? Kindergarten teacher-tier lecture? A speech not too different from 'yellow snow shouldn't be eaten, kids' and 'don't talk to strangers offering you candy.'

And the worst thing about it?

It was justified. Even Cassidy slapping the fuck out of her would have been justified, but... she didn't do that. Instead, she offered more love and understanding, and all those things that seemed to come to her as easily as breathing did to Lilian. "Look, it... wasn't about you," the huntress said, "Not really. And I also wasn't thinking too clearly, I just had to go and do something. I'm not proud of it."

The not-proud feeling only intensified when Cassidy suggested that she go to fucking Inga next time, but... well, maybe it wasn't such a terrible piece of advice? All things considered. "Inga does look like she knows a thing or two about fuck ups," Lilian admitted, "So I might. But mostly, I think I'm going to tell you." Urns, though. Urns, and gravesites. Perhaps that could work? Not quickly, and not easily, but being present at his funeral had also done very little for the whole 'moving on' thing.

Mostly, it had just made her feel like an idiot. An even bigger idiot than usual, which for sure was saying something!

"Fuck, this is hard," Lilian chuckled, "I don't even know what to say." Then there were also the things that she couldn't say; things like her being glad that Cassidy was still by her side, throughout... all of that. Meeting Deana had put everything into a fresh perspective, even if processing it would take a while. But! Small steps, right?

"We do need more friends, though. Inga really doesn't look half-bad, if you ignore all the obvious red flags. And Antonia doesn't seem to want friends, though I also don't think she'd tell us to fuck off outright," not when they were working together.

The rest of the evening dissolved into chatter, and, if Lilian chose to ignore a few key details, she could easily pretend that things were still normal. Nice. Just her, her beloved girlfriend, and--

Shit. Beloved?

Yeah, not the time to be thinking about that!

And it seemed that there wouldn't be the right time to think about her confusing mess of a love life any time soon, because vampires exploding in daylight on national television kind of took precedence. Especially if they were vampires that they fucking knew!

Lilian leaned closer to the TV, "Wait, wait, wait, was that... Max?" Probably a strange thing to get hung up on give the colossal fucking fiasco that this was, but she also couldn't help herself. "Shit! Please, tell me that Tristan has one of those Men In Black-ass memory eraser devices?"

Whether Tristan had them or not remained a mystery, but maybe talking about the guy could summon him, Beetlejuice style? Because Cass did receive a message.

"This sounds fishy," Lilian frowned, and proceeded to throw on a jacket, "I'm going with you."

~***~

Isolde said goodbye to Vrishaketu, caring little for whatever stunt he planned to pull. Why should that concern her? The man had his games, and she had hers. 'Judge not lest ye be judged' was a good mantra for just about anyone, vampiric overlords included. A little more of that, and they could all get along just fine!

Okay, no, she did judge. She actually judged pretty hard, but Vrishaketu was at least sensible enough to stay out of her way, which was more than all the fools could say about themselves.

I wonder, is my sweet Antonia ready~?

And perhaps she was, but not in the way Isolde had expected.

"...I regret to say this," Isolde spoke up, poison dripping from each word, "But I think I may have misheard. My ears just aren't what they used to be. Can you repeat that once again?"

Internally, the messenger had probably given up on his life long ago. Isolde could see that quite clearly; both the dead look in his eyes, and the inappropriate lack of tension in his shoulders. He was even slouching a bit, as if he was talking to a fucking friend! "By all means," the man smiled, "Lady Lenart is gone. All of the guards are dead, too."

Gone. Gone! How could he just say it so casually, as if he was talking about his favorite brand of T-shirts being out of stock? As if her heart wasn't breaking? She had wanted one thing, and fate couldn't even provide that! How utterly disappointing.

"And how, pray tell," Isolde began, somehow keeping it together, "Did that happen? Did she not enjoy our hospitality?"

"Oh, Lenart might have. She wasn't complaining! It seems that her friends had some... objections, though."

It took but one click to activate the monitor on her wall, and Isolde could watch, in high definition, two things at once: a) Amon's bloody carnage, and b) the woman who she now knew to be Inga Singedottir, lifting Antonia from her bed after... what, kissing her?

The messenger was apparently an Olympic champion in Not Knowing What Was Good For Him, because he proceeded to laugh. "Oh damn, that's actually super moving! Had I known about that, I would have brought a handkerchief for su--"

Splash!

Isolde did have to admit that the sound of his heart being torn out of his chest was quite pleasant, but that was just the beginning. The first payment. To make up for the injustice, she would have many hearts -- and Inga Singedottir's would be the first one!

~***~

That night, Inga didn't go home. Her home not being a thing anymore might have played a tiny role in it, but it was also true that no force in the known universe could make her leave Antonia's side at that point. Perhaps Amon understood that, because he didn't even try. Perhaps he just... didn't care enough, and that was just as fine in her book.

Anything to be there when she opened her eyes, right?

When, not if. When, as if it was a foregone fucking conclusion, and not a desperate prayer on her lips.

When had been the last time she'd prayed for real, anyway? Inga couldn't remember. Her gods were too hands-off; the icy plains of her home too far; she, herself, too proud to beg. That asking for something was the one way not to get it was also a lesson she'd grasped early on, and so she had... kind of forgotten how to do that? Yeah. Yeah, that was why the words wouldn't come!

Not because she knew it was fucking pointless, and trying would all but confirm it.

I'm so sorry, Antonia. I really am.

Perhaps she could still hear her, though? Humans were sometimes sensitive to sounds even while unconscious, and whatever humans could do, they could do better. The golden rule. The silence also invited unwanted thoughts, and so Inga did what she did best: engaged in stupidity to keep the emptiness at bay.

She held Antonia's hand. She sang, in a quiet, surprisingly clear voice, all the songs that she could remember and some that she didn't. Not like her mind couldn't fill in the blanks, right? But, most importantly -- she talked.

First, there were the legends. A seemingly endless stream of them; the one about Sigurd, about Odin and his quest for wisdom, about Freyr and Gerd, and the love that had conquered everything until it hadn't. "He died in the end," Inga chuckled, "Just about everyone in that story did. But, you know, it was still a good death. He did manage to save his lady love through that sacrifice."

Unlike her.

How was she still alive and kicking, and Antonia barely holding on? Wasn't protecting her her one fucking job?

The silence stretched on, because that was what it did. Inga was running out of legends, too; there were only so many of them, and entropy was catching up. You just couldn't beat nothing with something. How, when that something would always turn into nothing in the end? That was what Ragnarok was about. The real thing, not the metaphorical one. More than about going out with a bang, it was about... knowing that nothing really mattered, because meaning itself was something you, yourself, constructed in your head to deal with the futility of it all.

But trying was still the entire point. What else was even there?

So, Inga did try, and the legends morphed into something much more personal. "Have I told you about that one time I tried to cure the bubonic plague?" Of course she hadn't! She had told her very little, all things considered. "This is not going to shock you, because yes, it was about a woman. I loved her," of course, "And she... knew I existed. Vaguely. I don't even think she disliked me?" One of her more satisfying relationships for sure! "It wasn't enough. It never is. She got married, and had children, because that's the proper trajectory."

He had also been better for her than Inga ever would have been. A nice, normal guy! No weird baggage going on at all!

And, if Antonia ever got better, someone like that would sweep her off her feet one day, too. Maybe not anyone too nice or normal, but a guy for sure, and she'd be there to grin, give them a thumbs up and wish them good luck.

Wasn't that what friends did?

(And it would still hurt less than seeing her like this. Than knowing she was to blame, too.)

"I got to be one of her boys' godmother -- she was actually real happy about that." Why wouldn't she? It had been practical. Convenient. She'd been the only healer in that village, and Inga also assumed that was the reason so many people there had been willing to overlook the obvious, glaring ways in which she simply wasn't normal.

They'd been neither blind nor stupid.

"Then she got sick," a shrug, "All of them did. I tried to help, but I didn't have the equipment I needed back then, and there was... next to no time." Humans just died too quickly. One moment, they were fine; the other, life was leaving their eyes. Such a fragile, ephemeral thing! "I held her hand till the end," just like she was holding Antonia's now, "And watched her go."

It always seemed to end like this. If she didn't leave them, they left her -- a cycle as certain as the sun rising in the morning. How was it still surprising?

Inga just wished she'd been the one to leave this time. Maybe, without her there, Antonia would have been fine? That only made sense! With the catastrophe magnet gone, there simply would have been fewer catastrophes. Statistics didn't lie.

"I'm sorry," she giggled through the tears, "That wasn't a fun story. The plot sucked, too." Good thing that Antonia wouldn't remember any of it! But, in case she did, Inga probably ought to tell something more heartwarming? For an easier recovery! It was harder to dredge up those memories, because, like the hope hidden in Pandora's box, they rested near the very bottom. They were insignificant, stupid things, but, again: what else was there?

"When I was a human," she heard herself say, "My mother used to..."

"Inga?"

The interruption was as unwelcome as it was needed, and Inga flinched. It was a nobody, of course; one of Amon's little servants, eager to satisfy every whim of his. It turned out that even nobodies could bring some pretty important messages, though: "Tristan's here. I... thought you might want to see him."

"Oh?"

And since she very much did, Inga sauntered right into Amon's office.

"My oh my, if it isn't just the man I was hoping to meet! What god do I have to thank for the honor?" Amon's tone might have been a red flag, but Inga was one big red flag herself. The not-at-all unhinged smile? Check. The mad glint in her eyes? Check. The barely concealed bloodlust? Check, check and fucking check! The way her hand fell on her sword wasn't really subtle, either. "Tristan, my friend! How are you faring tonight?"

Likely not too well, and it would take a turn for the worse if Inga had anything at all to say about it.

Somehow, she thought she would.

"Now that you're here, you can help me decide something! I've just been wondering -- is there literally any reason why I shouldn't feed you your own entrails?"

Of course, that was the moment Lilian chose to speak up. "Um. Excuse me, y'all, but what the fuck is going on here?"

 

[Lucyfer]

‘What the fuck did I do to you?’ Tristan did wonder when Inga came in, acting as if she had some sort of personal vendetta. Well, there was the Antonia thing, which involved sending Leif. Did Leif say anything? Probably, although he never really struck Tristan as the sort for villainous monologues when he was actually on the job. He was a kiss ass though, so Tristan could still see it.

Thankfully, right behind Inga, came Lilian and Cassidy. Two for one! Amon lifted his head enough to look at them, and that let Tristan pull his chin free so he could add distance.

He was behind Cassidy very quickly.

Cassidy gave him a bewildered look, then Amon, and Inga.

“If you think this pup is your salvation, you are terribly mistaken.” Amon pointed out.

Cassidy frowned, “Tristan, if you think I’m fighting Amon because of the debts–”

“No, no, no,” Tristan shook his head, “Dude, trust me, I know those debts aren't worth suicide." He clarified, "You’re here to mediate, and that clears the debts.” Tristan hesitated, but added, “and to stand in front of me.”

Amon chuckled, but there was no real joy in the sound, “So you knew quite well you were being called here for your actions.”

“I’m not an idiot, and I could have run instead,” Tristan pointed out, “so put that in your head – there’s a reason I’m here and not with Vrishaketu, and it’s my reason, my choice.”

Amon kept his scowl in place.

“Okay, um. If I’m going to mediate, I’m going to need some information,” Cassidy hesitated, feeling the immense hostility in the room from both Inga and Amon. The one who was missing was pretty obvious, and her being missing could explain…well, everything, actually. “Who is Vrishaketu? And not to sound, um, judgmental, but isn’t Antonia better suited for negotiations…hostile or otherwise?”

“She is,” Amon agreed pleasantly, “unfortunately, Vrishaketu put her out of commission and she is still recovering. Vrishaketu is Tristan’s sire, who was supposedly dead several centuries ago for trying to take over the world. He was wearing the guise of Maxwell the hunter, as that seems to be a thing he can do. The fun, new things, we are learning today.”

Cassidy looked momentarily baffled, then looked back at Tristan. “I thought you were kidding about that!”

“That’s on you,” he shrugged, “I told you I tried to take over the world before. I prefer taking over Skyrim and whatever the fucking world of Elden Ring is called nowadays.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Cassidy sighed, bringing her head down into her hand as she tried to think through the clusterfuck of information just dropped on her about a vampire who could, what, jump from body to body on a whim? And Tristan actually trying to take over the world once? Not to mention, how was Antonia still out of commission? Vampires didn’t…stay down long.

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. So you’re angry at Tristan because he…knew his sire was alive all this time?” Cassidy asked.

“He knew he was alive,” Amon agreed, “which means he knows more about what Vrishaketu has been up to, which could mean he had a hand in what happened to Antonia, as well as what happened to Inga,” Amon said smoothly, “It also means he happens to be working with Isolde.”

“The fuck I am.” Tristan spat, “Over my literal dead body will I work with that psychopathic bitch.”

“Vrishaketu is–”

“Yeah, I know! That’s why I’m here and not on the run. I gave him one fucking stipulation and he yeeted it in my face, so no, no, fuck that guy.” Tristan folded his arms over his chest, his laptop pressing against his chest beneath his arms, as well.

Cassidy waited a beat. “Okay. What happened to Inga?” She needed clarity on that, although it seemed…pretty clear Tristan was no fan of Isolde and there was a rift forming. There were still a lot of unanswered questions in this situation, after all.

 

[Syntra]

Uh, hello? I thought we were all friends here? Well, apparently not! Because the murderous vibes Lilian was getting from Inga were more than enough to activate her fight-or-flight response, and, amazingly enough, she... kind of wanted to flee? That hadn't actually happened in ages!

Oh, she must be big mad.

Amon likely was, too. The two of them seemed to be engaged in a fierce competition of 'who is the scariest motherfucker out there?' and Lilian honestly couldn't tell who was leading right now. Inga the Unhinged, or Amon the... Amon? Both were bad enough on their own; together, they seemed like the harbingers of a small apocalypse. Apocalypse that Tristan no doubt had caused! "What the hell did you get us dragged into, Tristan?" she pointed an accusatory finger. "I fucking swear, if this is about videogames, I am going to lose it for real. I am about to hit my limit as is, and--"

"Lils-Lils, frændi mínn," Inga gave her a sweet smile, "I do kind of happen to like you but shut up for once, will ya?"

"..."

Yeah. Yeah, that didn't actually seem like the worst idea in the world, considering that she understood fuck all about any of this. Antonia, out of commission? World domination? Max being someone called Vrishaketu all along, and also apparently a comic book-tier villain? Lilian could already feel the impeding headache, and, in her heart of hearts, she found herself asking a single question: Why couldn't be this about Elden Ring instead?

Be careful what you wish for, ladies and gentlemen!

She was this close to grabbing Cassidy and fucking off, but a) it didn't actually look like she was open to good ol' strategic retreat, and b) the other vampires didn't seem ready to start the WWIII just yet. So, maybe they could solve this via talking? Yay?

Or not.

Definitely not, if Inga's expression was anything to go by. "Makes sense," she smiled the fakest smile Lilian had ever seen, "Glad to know you're such an upstanding guy, Tristan! The true pinnacle of morality in these dark, trying times. Practically a hero. Is that why you did everything in your power to warn us once you learned of Isolde's involvement? Oh, wait -- silly me. That didn't fucking happen!"

Inga was the last person in the world to judge a brother for jumping the ship when it turned out the captain was an asshole, but she also hadn't been born yesterday. Like, hello? He'd clearly planned to lie. Even knowing what he did, he had marched in here with that signature smirk of his and played innocent!

"Let me offer a hypothesis of my own, hm? I think you're here because you're a Nithing, and you banked on us being much stupider than we actually are." Yes, a Nithing! Not a bastard or an asshole or weak shit like that; English just didn't have powerful enough words. Inga supposed that 'oathbreaker' would be pretty close, but the connotations also weren't right?

They never were. That was the frustrating problem of trying to express herself in a language that not only wasn't her own, but would never truly be.

English was just German for stupid people!

And as for what had happened to her: "Oh, nothing much," Inga waved her hand, the composure entirely fake, "That Vrishaketu guy just sent an assassin after me, but he was braindead enough to let himself get exploded. Too bad; so sad. Almost shed a tear for him. But! Can you guess what he told me about you, Tristan?"

The answer, of course, was nothing -- the bastard hadn't bothered to mention Tristan at all. Wouldn't it be fun to see his reaction to that, though? Fun, and possibly... enlightening.

 

[Lucyfer]

Inga was indeed, the big mad, and not at all subtle about it as she dug in about Tristan being some sort of Nithing. It might have hurt, if he had any fucking idea what it meant. French didn’t lend itself to his understanding, though, and so he just arched a brow as he assumed it was the equivalent of coward, given the context of him coming in lying, which, he wouldn’t deny that. He was not there to bare his sins.

He also wasn’t stupid enough to play into bait like that.

His brow dropped, and he smarted back, “Yeah, I was totally there watching the fight Inga, I memorized all the epic speeches you both gave to each other,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes, “give me a break, I spy on people, but not everyone at every second of every day and I’ve been busy watching Vrishaketu, which is how I know he betrayed me. This isn’t exactly old information I’m sitting on, I was trying to figure how to break it, and then this Max shit happened, and it’s all been a fucking mess, okay?”

Which, was true! This wasn’t new information to him, and he had a lot to do and figure out. That he didn’t have enough time to do all of that wasn’t really surprising. “He didn’t really give me a warning he was going to go blow himself up in front of the hunter’s HQ, you know.”

“And even if he had, you wouldn’t have helped erase it.” Amon said.

“Um. Why wouldn’t he?” Cassidy asked.

“Taking over the world meant making the humans aware of us, because I don’t know about you, but living in the shadows is fucking exhausting, and I’m tired of it,” Tristan sighed, “but yeah, maybe if I was still planning to help him, I would be taking my time with it, but I’m not, and also his method was fucking stupid.”

“Then prove it,” Amon opened his hand towards Tristan.

“See? This is what I meant about forgiveness and sacrifice,” he said to Cassidy, “Not that I’m being forgiven by anyone – anyways. You want info, I want a full pardon of everything before coming here.”

“And what is everything?”

“A confession like that would take years, Amon,” Tristan stated, “I’ve known Vrishaketu was alive since like…5 years after we all thought he was dead, and yes, I was very lucky he didn’t straight up murder me then, considering….” Tristan sighed. “And I shouldn’t have helped him out then, but he was my fucking sire Amon, and he just came back from the dead. It was…a lot. It’s always…a lot with him.”

And he still loved Vrishaketu. Treacherous bastard or not.

“Blanket pardon, and I give you his host, his next host, the names and images of all his current allies, Isolde’s information – all her homes, all her little cannibal fun time prisons, and I’ll delete my stockpile of footage I was going to use one day when it was time to reveal vampires are real. I’ll also delete everything I have on Antonia and Inga’s fun time murder sprees.”

Cassidy really needed better friends.

Tristan also seemed to be offering…a lot. Which meant he was likely guilty of a lot – which was probable if the time table was substantial, which it sounded like it was. Tristan didn’t come off of anything easily, after all, but then again, he had Inga and Amon wanting to rip his throat out. ‘And what’s to stop them from lying?’ Her, she supposed.

Her and her sense of justice. Even if she didn’t actually stop them, she would still…what, stop helping? Tell others? She had no power. Tristan was counting on honor or something, and Cassidy wondered how far that was actually going to get him here.

Still, they were talking, and there was currently no need for her to try and settle tempers again, so she held her tongue.

 

[Syntra]

Dammit. Had Inga expected this to be easy? No, but she wanted it to be!

She also wanted to grab Tristan by the throat and squeeze until his eyes fucking popped, but the rational part of her wasn't so far gone just yet. Sure, it may have been putting on a Hawaii shirt and getting ready for a long, deserved vacation; it also may have been rooting for the return of Inga the Insane, because that was clearly what this world needed. More nutjobs, and more explosions! More senseless violence!

And, if it was just about her? Inga would have given in. Someone clearly needed to be taught a lesson about the consequences of their own actions, and she would have been more than happy to serve as the gods' instrument in that noble task. That it happened to align with her need to wipe that smirk off his stupid face was just a small, pleasant bonus!

The universe had been kicking her ass enough, and it was clearly time to hit back. Right?

Except that it wasn't just about her. Tristan offered a lot by just about anyone's definition, and she knew Antonia would have been all over that sweet, sweet intel.

Antonia, who she ought to prioritize.

In all things!

"They're not fun time murder sprees to me, Tristan," Inga said in the end, because that was obviously the thing that needed to be clarified right now. She wouldn't deny it with evidence all but thrown in her face, but: "They're a quest for redemption, and a gift to my dearest Antonia. Very serious business, in case you couldn't tell!"

Lilian just... blinked. "That is the part you take issue with?"

"Yes," Inga nodded, "But, I assure you, what I'm doing is basically a public service because they're all irredeemable pieces of shit, anyway."

"...Okay." Not the best of reactions, but what the fuck did you even do when your almost-friend admitted to being a serial murderer? Called the police? Yeah, definitely! In all the blessedly normal scenarios, in which you, yourself, also weren't a serial murderer of some kind.

Lilian fucking wished that was her life, though she also wasn't delusional enough to not be able admit that it just wasn't.

A damn shame! Not being self-aware would have made a number of things significantly easier.

"A blanket pardon is a lot to ask," Inga continued, "You want us to buy something, but you aren't really naming the price. Hardly fair, don't you think?" Nothing about this was. A Nithing's word was only as good as himself -- so, not at all! Who could guarantee that he would actually delete all that shit? What of the copies, and the copies of copies?

Once created, data lived on. In the digital world, death was rarely permanent! But - and this was important - Tristan wasn't the only one who could play these fun, fun games.

Far from it.

"I might still be willing to pay it, though. With some... stipulations of my own." That was when Inga looked up, and gave Tristan a smile that decidedly wasn't nice, "You want forgiveness over your past, no questions asked? Fine with me! In return, I demand your future. If any of it ever gets out, or if anything shady happens that can even tangentially be connected back to you, then you are guilty in my eyes. Also no questions asked!" The smile widened, "You know what I can do, don't you? Since you've been watching so closely? So hear this, Tristan -- I promise, before all of my gods, that I will find you and kill you should you give me the reason. No matter what it takes."

Inga, and dramatic? Pfft, never! She just liked speaking with gravity, which was totally different and not at all emotional.

"And," she added, "I also can't speak for Amon." Or Antonia. Antonia hadn't actually promised anything! Fun little loopholes like that were better not mentioned, though.

"Oh, and one more thing. Got any info about something called halahala?"

That, too, was worth a try.

 

[Lucyfer]

Tristan very much knew how these situations worked. Perhaps it was why he became obsessed with information gathering, and technology, or perhaps he’d always been so inclined. It was hard to tell. In the past, with his power, he could never gather proof. He knew things, but what did it fucking matter? Nothing. Now, of course, he knew things, and he knew where to begin to place cameras and other measures to start to have proof.

The little murder spree made it easy to know to watch Veturia, and any Veturia who became Isolde’s figurehead, especially. He didn’t have much, so far as numbers went, but he had the data, and he would delete it. It was his skill, after all – collecting, and removing. It was why he was, in fact, able to get away with so much. He could blackmail most of vampiric society into the ground, and that he didn’t, was because he was waiting.

Not for this but moments like this, or others when it was more advantageous to have that card to play.

Inga’s request made him scoff. Tangential evidence was bullshit, anyone could call anything tangential. Thankfully, she’d asked for more in making stipulations, too. “Yeah, I know halahala. I know the ingredients, and I know how to make it. I don’t know an antidote. Vrishaketu tried a few things after his death, but it, uh, just killed him more.” He had probably tried a few things before his death, too, and it just never worked out. “I can throw that into the bargain if you want to toss out that tangential evidence bullshit and at least make it real evidence. How to make it, a sample, and even some of the things that Vrishaketu tried to cure it so you have that background.”

It was really nothing to him to offer it, but he supposed it was a lot to them. Especially Inga, who did work in this stuff, and had been looking at the God’s Blessing, as well as Max’s blood, among other things.

She might figure out the cure. “Is that what happened to Antonia?”

“Yes,” Amon answered. No point hiding it now, right?

“Halahala is a poison?” Cassidy asked, just for clarification. Context clues pointed to it, but it was also possible there was some deception going on there.

“Yeah,” Tristan agreed, “nasty shit that actually works on vampires, there aren’t many out there.”

“I didn’t even know there was one….”

“They don’t see daylight often.”

Cassidy wasn’t sure if Tristan meant it in any joking way, but she still gave him an annoyed look for his phrasing, all the same.

“I’m willing to accept the terms,” Amon said icily. He wasn’t overjoyed with it, nor was he surprised. This was exactly what Tristan did, after all. No one ever liked what Tristan did, no matter how much it played into something they desperately wanted, like all that intel on Isolde and Vrishaketu’s face – and followers. Likely, some were from back in the day, but there would be new ones.

Unfortunately.

Seeing someone die and rise from the dead had a way of making people believers.

“If Inga does, as well.” She’d agreed initially. How badly she wanted that halahala was now the question.

 

[Syntra]

Bingo! Okay, not yet -- though it could be. Knowing what halahala was made of wouldn't magically spawn the recipe for the antidote, but it would point her in that direction for sure. Give her something to work with. Something real; something tangible. No more blind guessing, ladies and gentlemen! Now they were entering the territory of theories and evidence, which was infinitely better than... well, pretty much everything else. How could she refuse?

The simple answer was that she couldn't.

The more complicated answer was that she could, with some careful enough phrasing.

The promise had been made; the gods had heard, and they had accepted. They always did, the silent guardians of oaths that they were. Whatever she said to Tristan next didn't matter that much anymore.

"Sounds good to me," Inga settled on in the end, which... didn't technically have to be all that binding if you paid literally any attention to the words. Yeah, it did sound good! A cute little idea, Tristan! Responsibility Dodging 101, honed to fucking perfection. Truly a sight to behold, at least if you wanted to study nithingsverk in practice and maybe take some notes.

Too bad she was already working with a very different premise.

Could you hear the sound of her heart breaking? No? Well, perhaps that was because it fucking wasn't. If he thought that it was going to be this easy to fuck with her Antonia, then he was sorely mistaken. And, yeah, maybe it was unfair of her to blame him like that -- maybe he really had nothing to do with what had happened to her!

He was still the closest thing to a culprit she had, though.

That, and a ticking time-bomb.

Who could trust a man who had betrayed his own allies not once, but twice? More times than that, if you counted Vrishaketu? Inga may have been a nutjob, but she wasn't fucking stupid.

Somehow, that was the distinction everyone continued to miss.

"Send me the list of ingredients ASAP, then. Pretty please and thank you!"

That... went much better than expected? Lilian thought, as she watched Amon and Inga go from murder mode to chilly - and not so chilly, in Inga's case - politeness, all within a fucking nanosecond. Amazing! Perhaps that was what you did when you had centuries worth of experience with anger management?

They also may have been just weird, though. Always an option, especially with those two!

"I, uh, hope Antonia gets better soon," Lilian said, mostly because the silence was becoming more than a little awkward.

The look Inga gave her in response was unreadable, but at least it didn't seem too hostile? Just maybe a little hurt, if you accepted that the woman had the capacity for such feelings in the first place. She... most likely did, as Lilian was beginning to see. Her ability to camouflage it was off the fucking charts, but you didn't get this mad for someone you didn't care about, and from there, it was just a small step to sorrow. "She will," was Inga's curt response, "I'll take care of that."

Names were dropped, as well as other details, though none of them said much to Lilian. Judging by some of the 'oh shit' expressions, though? Valencia had to be someone real important! Why isn't there one of those Who's Who books, but for vampires? Lilian could really use one, though she also supposed that not being known was kind of their entire shtick.

Sooner rather than later, it was time to say goodbye. Inga ran off even before the meeting was over; whether it was to google some of the ingredients for that halahala poison or to check up on Antonia, Lilian couldn't tell. But, the night wasn't endless, and so she and Cass also had to go!

"What a fucking mess," the huntress sighed, "But I suppose it was an easy way to clear that debt. We lucked out, dude." We, not just her. Always we, despite the recent... happenings. Lilian didn't really know how to say that things were fine, and she wasn't sure that they actually were, but that they would be seemed inevitable at that point. It really had been an accident. "And the sire drama, I can't. Why does it always seem to be so complicated for you guys? Even you and Silvon..." Whoops! Sensitive topic, much? But given that it had been breached: "I actually wanted to ask about that earlier, but so many things happened, and then it was never a good time."

Kind of a theme in her life! Never a good time for anything, and then people died.

"Are you two really good? It... didn't seem that way."