Characters' names are necessarily changed. It'll all make sense, so kindly don't bite my head off!
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Those belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.
Actual Summary: This is the night for all things foul, To free their faces from the cowl, And drink in dusk, and death, and dying, Against the sunrise of souls crying.
Working Summary: A forbidding shadow cast, in the dusk of Halloween. Gluttonous! is your repast, to which gaunt flesh sticks - obscene!
[ I know the title makes no sense, but it was the only thing that even came close to fitting... j~j ]
Title: Spartan Banquet
Word Count: 10,541
Page Count: 16
Anime: Hetalia
Pairing(s): Spain/Romano, Germany/Italy, Prussia/Canada, Hungary/Austria, France/England, tiny America/England, Belarus/Russia, Russia/America, Poland/Lithuania
Warning: Disturbing imagery, Violence/Gore, Death, Language, BL
Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)
Date: Sunday, October 31, 2010
Miscellaneous notes: I really wanted to do an awesome horror-mystery fic incorporating all of the characters and their costumes for Halloween 2010. …That was when there were only three costumed countries. Now there are eleven. As a result, I'm scrapping most of my original idea (it was getting to be too much of a headache) and doing little 3rd-person-limited POVs where pertinent, with all of the writings circling around a larger story.
Jiang Shi, a.k.a. 'Chinese zombie'. Seriously the coolest monster, ever. Just watch the first five minutes of this (To watch the whole thing you have to download the Veoh Web Player [which isn't really that big a deal], but the first five minutes gets the point across.): h t t p : / / w w w . d r a m a c r a z y . n e t / h o n g - k o n g - m o v i e / m r . - v a m p i r e - w a t c h /
FYI, "Lisle" is pronounced "Lyle". And I know Russia wouldn't call Ukraine 'Nee-san' nor Korea call China 'Aniki' (they'd likely use words from their own languages, not Japanese), but they're in the original version, so I kept them because they're fun. :3
[Oh, crap, I forgot about Lichtenstein and Belgium's costumes. Ah, well, too late now…]
Characters involved: North Italy (Raphael), South Italy (Armano), Spain (Tulio), Prussia (Ebert), Germany (Heinrich), Canada (Vivien), Poland (Stasio), Hanatamago (Blumeier), Finland (Kalle), Sweden (Nels), America (Jack), Hungary (Teca), Austria (Linde), Greece, Turkey, China (Shing), Korea, Taiwan, England (Lesley), France (Jean-Claude), Russia (Viktor), Ukraine (Olena), Belarus (Tatiana), Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania (Mykolas), Japan (Koji)
Second Warning: This is a Halloween fic. It's supposed to be creepy and disturbing. Just giving you all a heads up. I'll do my utter best to make it satisfactorily horrifying~ x3
[ Sorry for any typos I missed, I was really racing just to get this done before the day ended. x.o;~ Hopefully I'll catch them later… ]
: : : : : : :
It was the middle of the night. Raphael stared up at the moon through the window, his brother sleeping in the bed beside his. It was so pretty. He blinked, his heart starting to race. The moon seemed to grow and grow, making his eyes widen and dilate. Raphael shifted a hand down to scratch at his arm, only tearing his eyes from the glowing moon when his fingers met shaggy hair that hadn't been there a minute before. Slowly, he sat up, watching as his fingers curled at the knuckles—so fascinated by it, that he didn't even think to call out. He heard rustling and turned his head, vision slowly being bleached of color, the image of his brother running a hand through his hair blurring slightly, before it settled.
"Oi, fratello, did you have a bad dream? You're breathing hard—" Blood. He smelled blood. Close blood, sweet blood. A prey's heart, now racing— Its eyes widened, and it screamed just as he lunged. "Tulio!"
His prey rolled to the side and off the bed, and he ended up shredding only the mattress beneath his claws. He snarled, yellowed teeth glinting off the moonlight and his prey's terrified gaze locked with his for a moment before then it was running towards the door, screaming. He heard thumps and footsteps outside in the hall, but paid them no mind, coiling and lunging for his prey's unprotected back. He landed on him, hard, claws sinking in and head bowing to his neck—and it was then that the door opened. Light streamed in, and he flattened his ears, snarling up at it and the terror-stricken green-eyed brunet in the doorway.
"Dios Mio! Armano!" His prey trembled beneath him, whimpering pathetically and he grew annoyed with the sound, crunching his teeth over its neck as it garbled out a last few attempted words—all as the man in the doorway watched. There were more men behind him, suddenly—one with red eyes and white hair and a glint of silver. A bullet grazed his shoulder and he tensed up—it burned, made the area it touched hiss and sizzle. He growled, baring his teeth and bristling at the pain, wild eyes catching on a pair of blue ones as a blond-haired man shoved the stunned brunet away, mouth moving and the creature paused, sniffing the air.
"R-Raphael—" He recognized this scent. It was a good scent. Not as good as the one beneath him, but… His ears perked up as the blond spoke, and he lifted his snout, blinking. The man seemed to try and smile, extending a hand towards him—his instincts kicked in again, then, overriding the humanity left in his soul with a furious swirl of gold in his eyes and what-had-once-been-Raphael snapped forward, sharp teeth sinking into the offered hand. The blond gave a yell of surprise and the red-eyed albino let out another shot, forcing him to release and crouch down over his kill. He snarled before sinking his long fangs into his lifeless victim's neck, flexing his back leg muscles as he ran back across the room to the window, thick fur protecting him as he barreled through the glass, another bullet nicking the sill as he crashed through. But then he was free, and hastily took to the cover of the woods with his kill, pausing in his escape only briefly as he heard a howl fill the air from somewhere behind him in the house he'd just left.
: : :
It had happened too fast, too suddenly, for any of them to do anything. It was the dead of night, and although he had known of Raphael's condition, they had always been careful not to let anything come of it. But Armano—Raphael's brother, from South Italy—had demanded he sleep with his brother as he was visiting, not trusting Ebert or his younger brother, Heinrich. Tulio—Armano's lover, originally from Spain—cheerfully agreed, and it was obvious neither of them knew of Raphael's condition.
Ebert regretted that decision as soon as he saw the wolf-form of Raphael bent over his brother's bleeding corpse, thick teeth yellow in the light from the hall. Tulio was frozen in shock in front of him, so he cursed and drew out his two guns, firing a warning shot that grazed Raphael's furry shoulder and made him snarl.
"What are you doing, Bruder? That's Raphael!" He spat at Heinrich as the other German pushed him out of the way, glaring at him and gesturing with his gun.
"Like hell! Did you see what he did, West? He—" Heinrich shook his head with a tight frown, though, looking back at the wolf crouched over its kill, muzzle stained in blood.
"N-No, he must still be in there—R-Raphael—" That last word was kind, Heinrich's expression softening as he stepped closer to the carnage. Against all odds, Raphael seemed to hear him, lifting his snout to test the air. His ears went up in curiosity as Heinrich extended a hand, and the wolf blinked. Bert didn't dare to hope that, perhaps—
The swirl of gold overtaking the brown was too fast for any of them to step in. Raphael bit him, and Heinrich cried out in pain. On instinct Bert let another bullet fly, making Raphael release the bitten hand and crouch defensively over Armano's lifeless body, then sinking his teeth into its neck—he heard Tulio gasp weakly behind him—and hurtling himself, full-tilt towards the window. Realization kicked in too late, and Bert tried another shot—only to have it uselessly graze the wooden sill as the glass shattered.
The room was silent, then, but for Heinrich's labored breathing. He glanced down to his brother, noticing that his ears were growing long and elfish, his hands hairy. Bert angled the barrel of a gun to press against the back of Heinrich's head. Tulio lunged at him from the side, then, stunned out of his shock and eyes wild as he tried to wrestle one of Bert's two guns from him.
"W-What the—? Tulio, let go, I've got to—" The brunet shook his head, frenzied eyes oddly grim behind the tears streaming down their corners.
"N-Not before I get my revenge for Armano!" His grip loosened, and Tulio snagged one of the firearms. The Spaniard ran across the blood-soaked floor, slipping only a little before he jumped up onto the windowsill. He glanced back at Bert with a sad smile, then leapt down to the ground below—they were only on the first floor, anyway. Bert watched him go, and only turned to his brother when Heinrich tried to gasp something out, blue eyes pleading from behind a face already encased in yellow fur.
"B-Bruder… kill me, before I—" Bert nodded, red eyes growing distant as he placed the barrel of the gun to his younger brother's forehead. Heinrich's normally-stoic eyes shimmered up at him. Soft footsteps echoed from behind. Bert felt a growing sense of trepidation. His brother's eyes were growing less human as he watched. But did he dare to—
"E-Ebert—? W-What is… I heard screaming… is that a dog?" His protective instincts kicked in and Bert shouted over his shoulder at the soft-spoken blond.
"Vivien! Get out of here! It's dangerous!" He heard a growl below him and then looked back, spying the crazed grin of a blood-lusting hell hound. Too late. He'd waited too long, and Heinrich had fully transformed. Bert cursed, and fired a shot at the mutt's feet. It sprang back into the bloodied room, snarling. He turned around and shoved Vivien back down the hall into his room, the hair on the back of his neck springing to attention.
"B-Bert—?"
"Just stay out of the way until I'm gone!" A howl reverberated from behind him, followed by the patter of clawed feet sliding on the wood of the hall—getting closer. Bert slammed the door shut, whirling around. The sound of shots cut through the tense air of the inn.
: : :
Ducking in and out of the woods, weaving through them and eventually learning to keep his howls silent—so as to avoid the man with the white hair and red eyes who was tracking him—the blond wolf perked up at the sound of a voice. He sniffed the air, experimentally. He had lost his tracker hours ago, and was famished. He was slightly worried for the other wolf—he'd been listening for Raphael's calls, but had heard nothing in the hours since he escaped from that cursed hunter and his gun. He licked his lips, fully-yellow eyes glinting in the light as he approached the sounds.
"Like, I totally can't believe you paid so much money for that haunted house! It was a total dud." The Polish-accented voice complained, and Heinrich peered through the bushes in front of him, jaws parting as he salivated in anticipation of his first meal in what felt like ages. A blond-haired man was standing just under the streetlight, one hip jutted out and huffing to himself, ruffling his own hair as he blew out a frustrated sigh into his phone. "It was, like, completely silly of you, fer serious. I mean, jeez, you, like, didn't have to go through all that to make me, yanno, feel all special or—" Heinrich's eyes glinted, and he pounced.
The man let out a shriek as the wolf's weight bore down on him, knocking him to the ground and he scrambled to get up, screaming again as huge jaws came for his face. He tried to roll to the side, but only managed to tilt his head, disgusting dog's breath beating off his cheek in moist huffs. The Pole flailed, kicking his legs onto the wolf's underside to send him flying. He then quickly pushed himself to his feet, still only in a half-crouch as the cream-colored wolf growled at him, piercing his eyes. His breath stilled, and he couldn't move as the canine lunged for his neck, ripping out his vocal cords in a gurgle of blood and tearing flesh. The cell phone, now spattered with blood, clattered helplessly to the ground a good ways away, someone sounding frantic on the other end.
Even after his meal, Heinrich was still ravenously hungry. Blood stained his teeth, matted his golden fur, but he didn't particularly care, as he was still prowling around for dessert and destruction. He spied a small white dog tied up outside of an inn—the same inn, actually, that he'd left, earlier. Heinrich recognized his own as well as the gun-toting hunter's scent all around the door, even though it was hours old by now. Cautiously, he approached, and the little dog's ears went up and he began to yip in Heinrich's direction. The wolf melted back into the shadows as a slender blond man emerged from the building, frowning in the light of the doorway.
"Blumeier, what's gotten into you? There's no one around here…" His accent was Finnish. Heinrich was just licking his chops and coiling his muscles to spring, when a taller, much more frightening man ducked out from under the doorway. He spared a bland glance towards the bristling white ball of fluff that was the puppy, then peering out towards the trees.
"Pr'b''ly h''rd s'm'th'n'." The shorter man sighed, and leaned down to untie the puppy from its post. It immediately strained towards Heinrich's hidden spot, and he crouched lower into the brush, wary of the taller man's height. The smaller blond scolded his puppy, scooping it into his arms with a light huff.
"Well, if you're going to be like that, I'll just have to carry you! Vivien, Jack! Are you coming?" Heinrich bristled to himself as more men appeared—one a slight blond, the other of a bigger frame, looking bored with an orange chainsaw propped over his shoulder.
"Sure, sure. Let's see if we can't find Bert—better have his cell phone on, damn German probably just making all this crap up about 'werewolves' as a prank, and all…" He continued to grumble to himself, American accent as prominent as the Canadian one popping up quietly beside him.
"But it was really very strange, I'd never seen a dog like that—Bert seemed fairly convinced it wasn't a normal one, eh? I think he had one of his silver-bullet guns, too…" Jack scoffed, adjusting the chainsaw on his shoulder a bit as the foursome—and the little white dog, wrapped up in its owner's arms—began to walk on.
"Yeah, well. Bert's always been a big fan of the supernatural, like that. But if there's a rabid dog on the loose I wouldn't want you to wander around unprotected, coz." Vivien rolled his eyes, good-naturedly.
"Well, thanks—but did you have to bring a chainsaw?" Jack huffed.
"Hey, it was the closest lethal thing I had around. 'sides, chainsaws are dangerous!" Vivien mumbled under his breath, soft voice making it so it wasn't exactly heard.
"Especially around you, they are…" Heinrich silently tracked them, not understanding a word of their conversation, his eyes on the Canadian trailing along at the back. He looked the weakest. The big brute was at the front, and next to him was the Finnish man with his dog in his arms. Behind the brute was the slender Canadian, the chainsaw-wielding American behind the Finn. He bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.
It came as they parted ways at the end of a street, after walking for about ten minutes. The Canadian turned his back to Heinrich—unknowingly—giving a small wave as the brute and the Finn started to walk away. Jack was waving, too, attention not on his cousin. Heinrich pounced, and the air was cut by a shriek of surprise as they fell to the ground, sharp claws rending Vivien's arms and back through his sweatshirt. Heinrich leaned down to silence his prey, but the buzz of the chainsaw coming to life startled him, and he leapt back with a frightened snarl, baring his teeth, ears flattened to his head at the loud noise. The America was bellowing something at him, holding the chainsaw firmly with both hands and glaring soundly at him. Heinrich slowly backed up a step as Jack advanced on him, still brandishing that horrible noise-maker which was torture to his sensitive hearing. The brute and the smaller blond came rushing back, then, the little white dog yipping off its head once more, growling and bristling, trying to get out of the Finn's arms. Heinrich crouched lower to the ground, eying the rotating teeth as he continued to back away, until Jack stood over Vivien's legs. He swooped the rotating device towards Heinrich, then, and the wolf dodged, snarling low in his throat—scared, but not willing to show it.
A flash of silver came from behind the American's right shoulder, and Heinrich yelped as it penetrated his own, instantly burning and festering. He slumped over, throat closing up in an allergic reaction. He tried to bite at his shoulder, then, trying to tear out the solid silver—or was it mercury?—sizzling into his flesh and making it hard to breathe. The chainsaw clicked off, and in its wake there was a ringing silence. The brute from before walked up to him, stony face just as shadowed and frightening as it'd been the first time he'd seen it. There was a mumbled comment.
"F'nd p''ce 'n d''th." Heinrich barely heard the second gunshot before he was lying on the ground, dead, blood blossoming from his head. As he lost consciousness, his body gradually morphed back to its human one—although naked. The brute—Nels, from Sweden, actually—took off his cloak and let it fan over the dead werewolf. He turned to his Finnish companion (Kalle), who had hurried to Vivien's side—the boy was still alive, and (luckily for them all) hadn't been bitten, only torn up rather badly by the wolf's sharp claws. Jack met Nels' eyes as they rose to him. The American nodded.
"Best head to Doc Linde's, then. Get Viv patched up, and have the mortician take care of the body." Jack went silent, then, staring at the covered corpse, voice falling to a respectful, albeit sad, murmur. "I didn't know it was Heinrich…" Nels nodded solemnly in return, going to pick up the dead man and shoulder him, not minding the blood seeping into his dark clothes. Kalle helped Vivien up, and together they trudged to the clinic, Jack bringing up the rear with his chainsaw propped over his shoulder, once more.
: : :
The poor Korean man hurried in, bawling to her about his older brother's worsening condition. She smiled sweetly, telling him to bring him in as soon as possible, and went to prepare a room. The clinic was really hers and her husband's house, the first floor serving as a hospital and the second as their personal living quarters. They were well-off enough that there was plenty of room for the patients downstairs, and sometimes Linde would play the piano, flooding the house with beautiful, classic music of the great composers. He was in such a mood now, and so Teca hummed happily to herself, the garnet nurse's hat with the black cross in the middle staying neatly atop her long chestnut-brown hair. She smoothed down the form-fitting garnet mini-dress with its black buttons, easily strutting through the halls with every clack of her black heels, garnet socks (with a single white cross adorning her shins) calling attention to her shapely legs.
She entered the room where her most recent patient was lying, giving a soft smile as she brought a needle out of her pocket. Hazy green eyes of the ill Greek on the bed bore up on her, his masked relation sitting tense by the bed. Teca tilted her head to the side, the picture of feminine innocence.
"Hello, I have something for you. It will make you feel better, I promise." Her eyes flicked up to the Turk, and her smile grew a little warmer. "Sir, if you would please leave? I believe Doctor Linde would like to see you upstairs, and this shot will put him to sleep rather quickly—" The Turk hesitated, glancing at his friend—before then nodding, and standing.
"I-I see. Yes." He patted the Greek's hand, and then headed out the door, glancing behind him only once. Teca turned and closed it behind him, locking it quietly and slipping the dummy-needle back into her front pocket. Turning on the charm, she beamed back at her patient, both hands behind her back as she approached.
"Now, Mr. Greek, I have a proposition for you." Her eyes glimmered unkindly, and the Greek's own gaze widened. He shrank back into the bed, gasping for air and frantically pressing the 'nurse call' button. It only resulted in belts springing up from the bed and wrapping around his torso and arms, preventing any escape. Teca tutted, shaking her head and bringing out two needles from her back pockets.
"You really shouldn't try to escape, Mr. Greek." He tried to get up, despite the restraints, but she easily crawled on top of him, straddling his waist. He flushed, but in his weakened-and-bound state there wasn't much he could do. Teca leaned down, heels digging into his sides as she unashamedly showed off her cleavage, each word like a silken lie.
"Now. My husband has been experimenting recently with a new potion." Here she brought forth the needle in her right hand, which held a yellow-brownish, murky substance. She made sure his eyes locked on it before bringing up the second, smirking darkly.
"I do not know what it will do to you. However, this one—" Here Teca waved the needle in her left hand, a little, the liquid inside it almost glowing green.
"—will definitely kill you. Which would you prefer, Mr. Greek? Choose quickly, or I shall simply test Doctor Linde's newest potion on you and we shall see what happens~" Those hazed green eyes flickered back and forth between the two needles. He gulped, then nodded slowly towards the green one. She smiled pleasantly, tucking the other away in her back pocket once more and pushing up one of the patient's sleeves as she squirted out the air in the glowing needle.
"Excellent choice. Have a nice afterlife, Mr. Greek." He watched her with pleading eyes, unable to speak past the oxygen mask and the tube down his throat. She met them straight on, leaning forward and grinning sadistically as she pricked him with the needle, pressing the plunger down and sending the poison straight into his bloodstream. His eyelids fluttered, back bucking upward as his body tried to reject the substance. Teca moaned softly, gyrating her hips against the stiffening ones beneath, high heels digging further into his tensed thighs. The Greek's eyes focused on her, briefly, before rolling into the back of his head. He went limp. Satisfied, Teca climbed off him, tucking the used needle back into her pocket. She pressed a certain four digits on the call pad, causing the belts to retract from around the still-warm corpse. Humming, she walked over and unlocked the door, striding out just in time to see the Korean from earlier rush back in, his ill Chinese brother propped over his back and breathing sketchily. Behind him came a younger girl—likely a sister—big brown eyes worried and an over-long sleeve covering her mouth. Upon seeing Teca, he rushed over, squeaking slightly. She subtly closed the door behind her so he couldn't see the corpse within.
"N-Nurse! Here he is, please, Shing's fever suddenly spiked—" She smiled reassuringly, nodding and turning smartly on her heels on the tiled floor.
"Come this way, please. This room is currently occupied." She heard his heavy breaths as he followed her, and the soft footfalls of the girl. Teca led them to a room, and instructed the Korean to lay out his brother on the bed. She stepped over, placing a hand on his forehead and frowning as it was very hot. She glanced over, raising a brow at the doe-eyed, worried stare of the girl. The Korean brother noticed her look and followed it, smiling slightly and putting an arm around her.
"Oh, this is our new sister, adopted from Taiwan. She doesn't speak any English yet, though." Ah. Teca nodded, smiling towards her warmly. The girl smiled shyly back and looked off towards her ill brother, yet again. Ah, that's right. Brow knitting together, Teca put her hand in her back pocket for the unused needle. Well, with a temperature this high, the boy was done for, anyway… She brought it out, squirting it to get the air out. The Korean boy piped up. "W-W-Wait, what are you doing? I-I'm not so good with needles… I-I think I need something to calm me down—" Teca almost rolled her eyes, but bit down on the reaction, smiling patiently over her shoulder towards him.
"It's only to help lower his fever. You can leave the room if you'd—" She blinked as he was out in less than a second, then cast a dry look to the sister he'd left behind. "—like." The girl uncertainly glanced down, bashfully playing the toes of her Mary Janes against one another. Teca shook her head, returning to the task at hand. She hiked up the ill man's sleeve, watching as he moaned deliriously, eyes shut as he tossed his sweaty head to the other side of the pillow. Feeling a smidge of pity for him, the nurse wiped at the intended point of entrance gently with an alcohol swab, before plunging the needle in and depressing the plunger, sending the yellow-brown muck into his system. Once finished, she pulled back, pressing a pad of gauze over the rising bead of blood over the entrance point. The patient shuddered and gasped, as though he couldn't breathe. Teca watched on with quiet interest, curious to see how her hubby's latest experiment would affect this man.
He began to thrash, breaths tearing from his throat and eyes wide as they stared, unseeing, at the ceiling overhead. His chest feverishly inhaled, as though he couldn't get enough oxygen, and he began clawing at his chest as though trying to tear something out. Teca backed quietly away towards the door, the little Taiwanese girl's eyes locked, terrified, on her suffering brother. With a soundless click, the nurse had locked the door behind her, eyes narrowing as her devil senses caught something happening in the air around the ill man. What had Linde created, this time… ? She knew soon enough, as the Chinese man gave a rattling last breath, collapsing onto the hospital bed. Leaving the door yet locked behind her, Teca strode slowly forward, dropping her fingers to his wrist, feeling for a pulse.
Nothing.
How disappointing and anticlimactic.
She hid her frown, turning towards the little Taiwanese girl with sad eyes, instead. The little girl's gaze widened, and she gasped just as Teca felt something wrap around her wrist. She stilled, glancing behind her. The Chinese man was slowly rising into a sitting position, fingernails growing long and white and sharp, tongue lolling out of his mouth, causing saliva to drip down his chin. His eyes were still brown as he looked up, but clouded and sightless. His hair was slowly turning grey where it touched his scalp. …Ah. Teca relaxed, allowing him to draw her closer and give her a sniff. There was a furrowed brow to that, and he clenched her wrist, rasping under his breath.
"You are not of the living." She straightened, subconsciously lifting her free hand up to the tiny black horns on her head (on either side of her garnet nurse's cap), her devil's tail swishing behind her, nervously. No, of course the mortals couldn't see them. Not hers, nor Linde's, nor Ebert's. Still, it was a little worrying for a newly-deceased to be able to tell, so easily—especially since he was actually blind, in his new incarnation.
"No. And neither are you, Jiang Shi." The little Taiwanese girl gasped again, in her corner of the room—a mistake, as her now-deceased brother's head shot up, blind eyes snapping in her direction. He hissed, licking his lips and slowly climbing off the bed, arms stretching out in front of him as he hopped in small bursts.
"But she is… Oh, I'm so hungry—" The girl gave out a wailing sound of terror, barreling for the door and clawing at it when it didn't open. Teca watched with mild interest as the Jiang Shi—the Chinese term for 'zombie'—bore down upon her, encasing her in his arms and smiling sightlessly at her deathly pale face. He petted her hair, soothingly.
"Nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo, mèimèi. Can you hold still for big brother like a good girl?" He cut off a scream by grabbing her neck, then thrust his hand into her chest. Blood stained the pink outfit she'd been wearing, streaming down her front as well as onto his sleeve. Her shaking hands, covered by the long sleeves, rose to try and push feebly at that arm. Teca could tell by the angle that he'd grabbed her heart, it fluttering and beating in his hand like a frightened bird. Then he squeezed. She choked, and at the same time he ripped out her voicebox. From there he continued to hold her up against the door—for about a minute—until she slowly went unconscious for the last time in her life, hands falling away from his arm. Teca tilted her head as the Jiang Shi opened his mouth, squinting her eyes a little to see the Taiwanese girl's life essence float away from her aura and into his body.
She clucked her tongue, shaking her head and approaching him as the stream from the increasingly-lifeless girl to the zombie grew less consistent.
"Did you really have to do all that? Now there's blood all over my nice, sterile floor…" He stared blankly at her, and something clicked. She smiled. "Oh? You can't talk anymore after your first meal, is that it?" Teca could have sworn he was glaring at her. She chuckled, waving a hand. "Well, your Korean brother is outside somewhere, and all I ask is that you refrain from killing anyone else while in this clinic." Her voice and eyes were amused. "We do have a reputation to uphold, after all." He nodded, and she kicked the corpse slumped behind the door off to the side, unlocking and opening it, smiling sweetly at him. The brother, standing outside (the sound-proofed room) gawked at them. He'd never seen his older brother so quiet! But he was looking so much better…
"A-Aniki! You're standing up! You're awake! …Hey, where's mèimèi? I only left for a sec—" Ah, so he hadn't been standing outside all this time. How convenient. Teca smiled charmingly at him.
"She fainted, upon seeing the needle. She's resting, now, don't worry. But your brother is quite ready to go home." At his confused look, Teca nodded. "I gave him the shot, as well as an oral medicine. He won't be able to talk for a little while." The Jiang Shi cast her a subtle look of gratitude, and the nurse's smile grew an edge of sweet malice to it. Of course she wouldn't hinder her countrymen in their dark pursuits. She led them to the door, waving them out, pleasantly. "Have a nice day~!"
"Hey, Aniki, why're you hopping like that? And why don't you put your arms down?"
As Teca closed the door, she checked the watch on her wrist. Linde should have finished with the Turk, by now, and she had two other corpses to bury. Humming to herself, hips (and black devil's tail) swishing idly side-to-side in the tight garnet mini-dress she wore, she walked down the tiled hallway. Teca went to the closet to take out her trusty shovel, having only a moment of soft regret.
It was such a shame Ebert—while a devil like herself and Linde—had taken to playing for the other side. Honestly! Hunting creatures like them? While it no doubt would seem 'noble' to mortals, it was quite frowned upon by Lucifer himself. Really, now, they were only trying to get by.
: : :
An irate British man strode after his on-again-off-again lover on the second story of his well-to-do house, crushing the expensive Oriental rug beneath his feet as he stomped to the top of the stairs, snagging the Frenchman's wrist just as he was about to descend them, and spinning the man to face him.
"Jean-Claude! You will listen to me, this time!" Lesley glared, mighty brow furrowing in intimidation and displeasure. Bored blue eyes gazed back at him with a token tug.
"Mon petit Lisle, surely you must know by now that I am not a one-lover man?" Lesley grit his teeth, looking away angrily. The Frenchman hummed, counting off his past lovers on his one free hand, lazily. Lesley grit his teeth, categorizing them in his mind as they were named. "Mademoiselle Charbonnet," The girl from Seychelles. "Mademoiselle Esmé," The woman from Monaco. "Why, even Monsieur Cecyl," The man from Picardy. "—and, although it was indeed quite a few months ago, Monsieur Vivien, before Ebert had claimed him as his own." Jean-Claude smirked slowly at him, raising his free hand to trace along the Englishman's jaw-line. "Do not tell me you are jealous~?" Lesley glared at him, leaning out of the touch with a huff and looking off.
"D-Don't tell me things I already know, Jean-Claude! But none of them were meant for you, isn't that right?" To this, the Frenchman sighed, a melancholy tint taking over his expression as he put a hand to his chest, dramatically.
"Alas, you may be right, there—my dalliances with them seemed to come to such unfortunate ends. Although…" Sharp blue eyes narrowed at Lesley, then. He shifted, uncomfortably. Jean-Claude's voice dropped, lower. "I never seemed to have such horrendous endings of relationships until I became involved with you, mon cher." Lesley bristled, ripping his hand back and turning towards the banister, back stiff.
"O-Of course I had nothing to do with that! Charbonnet's drowning while off on that cruise had nothing to do with me, you're well aware of the fact I was here in town that entire week! Esmé's unfortunate accident while out riding her horse happened back in France, I'll remind you, and you're well aware that I can't afford to just fly out on a whim, like that! Cecyl's heart attack was just a stroke of bad luck, and you're obviously aware of the fact I can't help how high another man's blood pressure is—" Arms wound around his waist from behind, cutting off the tirade, a soft chuckle in his ear as those sly fingers danced up his sides.
"Ah, ah, mon chaton, I did not accuse you of their deaths, oui~?" Those slender arms pulled him flush against the Frenchman's waist, and Lesley pinked as a stubble-bedecked chin brushed gently against his neck, whispers satiny with warmth. "But for you to go on in such a manner… Are you hiding something from me, hmm~?" The Brit caught his breath, stiffening. N-No. Jean-Claude couldn't have figured that out—not yet, he'd been so careful! He cursed to himself, head bowing forward as the Frenchman hummed behind him, pressing idle kisses to the back of his neck. Lesley trembled.
"G-Guilty conscience? D-Don't be ridiculous —" The Englishman gasped as a dark chuckle was muffled against his neck, one of the arms around his front gliding up to his throat, gently pressing the palm against his voice-box. The voice behind him was dangerous and clever, and it made his blood shake and boil in his veins. His eyelids dropped.
"Ah, but I did not suggest that, either—you really have been hiding something from me, hmn~?" Lesley took a deep breath, slowly turning around in the embrace. He lifted both his hands, palming each of Jean-Claude's cheeks and staring at him, seriously. He paid no mind to the thrum of warm arousal coursing through him—this, here. This had to come first.
"Jean-Claude. Would you… commit to me?" The dark look evaporated from the Frenchman's eyes, and he gave Lesley a curious look.
"Quoi?" The Brit fidgeted under that look, feeling more color rush to his normally-pale cheeks. He stuttered a little, firmly gazing off at the polished wood railing of his banister.
"T-That is… Jean-Claude. Would you agree to be mine and only mine? …F-Forever?" It took all of Lesley's strength to look up, blinking tentatively up at the quiet Frenchman. There was an odd expression on the other man's face, and it made him feel awkward and silly for saying such a thing. And, indeed, it was only a moment before the tinkling sound of French laughter floated over the staircase, and Jean-Claude grasped one of those flaming cheeks in his hand, leaning in to kiss the other, blue eyes smiling at him.
"Oh, mon petit chaton, you are simply precious, at times." Lesley blinked up at him before bristling, and swatting his hand away with an offended shout.
"Y-You! I'm being serious, dammit! Listen to me, you frog!" But Jean-Claude was too busy rubbing a fingertip at the corner of an eye (as though to remove a tear of mirth), still chuckling softly and then shaking his head.
"Non, non, mon cher, you are not serious." He raised a hand, as though to cut off any more exclamations from the Brit, expression turning oddly solemn and wistful. "You are not serious, Lisle, because you do not truly want to be bound to anyone. How could I assume I would be any different? Non, it is best you forget this silly thought of yours altogether, so we can merely enjoy—"
"B-But, no! Jean-Claude!" Lesley clawed for his sleeve, trying to drag him back, but the Frenchman quietly yanked his hand back, glaring at him and beginning to raise his voice.
"Do not lie to me, Anglais rosbif! I will not be another toy for you to play with—oh, yes, I know all about you and Jacque, the Américain!" Lesley blinked widely at him, tears threatening the corners of his eyes. Jean-Claude waved a cruel finger in his face, expression falling to a sneer. "I know all about it, and know well enough that I could never be enough for you. So let us abandon this subject, s'il te plâit?" The Frenchman's voice dropped, then, growing bitter as he turned back to the stairs, shoulders sagging as he took the first descending step. "Neither of us are going to get anything if you insist on playing out this charade." Lesley felt white hot anger at being refused boil up within him, and he lunged forward, shoving Jean-Claude from behind—no real ill intent, just to shove him—eyes tightly shut as a few spare droplets escaped to run down his cheeks.
"Jack didn't mean anything, you idiotic dolt! I'm serious, this time! D-Don't think I—" The Brit froze, mid-sentence, as he heard the unnatural thump-thumpity-thump of something heavy rolling down a flight of stairs. Lesley's heart flew to his throat, and he opened his eyes, staring down in horror at Jean-Claude's crumpled body lying, still, at the bottom of the stairs. He raised a hand to his mouth in shock, before then he was hurtling down the stairs after him, stuttering apologies and gingerly feeling for a pulse—not liking the way Jean-Claude's neck was bent at all. Upon feeling only a faint flutter, he gasped, and quickly—without really thinking—pulled down the high collar on the bruising throat, sinking his fangs in at an awkward angle, desperately dragging some blood from him in order to impart his own magic into the limp form. The taste hit him like a wall, and he choked from the sheer ecstasy of it—he'd never allowed himself to taste Jean-Claude. No, not like this. Lesley had been careful, so careful, not to let himself get addicted to what he knew would be a once-in-a-lifetime banquet. And above all that, he had held back because he did not want what he felt for Jean-Claude to be only a manifestation of that deadly bloodlust.
"Ah, mon cher, I did not know you were a vampire…" The voice echoed oddly, and, jarred from his musings, Lesley immediately looked down, confused to only see Jean-Claude's face as unresponsive and pale as before. He hastily wiped a bit of blood off his chin, then looked around, catching a bit of light at the edge of his vision. The Brit glanced toward it, blinking in stunned shock as the white, floating face of a ghost met him—his eyes dropped to his attire, brows furrowing.
"…where did you get that?" The ghost of Jean-Claude chuckled, waving his lantern about (he treated it like a fashion accessory…) and gracefully adjusting the white semi-translucent veil atop his head, grinning mildly at him.
"Mm. One must always be fashionable, mon petit." The Brit blinked, and Jean-Claude raised a brow to freshly scrutinize Lesley's attire—a bright blue vest over a black-and-white-vertically-striped collared shirt, white trousers and a matching blue cloak (the front of which flared out over his shoulders, and the back of which fanned out around the back of his thighs). "Or, in your case, one must do the best they can." Lesley blinked again, then scowled. The French ghost smirked.
"Well, be that as it may, I doubt you have much choice now, right?" He sneered up at the ghost, to that effect. "If you want to live, you have to be my partner for eternity." Jean-Claude glanced upward, as though thinking this over. Lesley continued to smirk at him. Well, at least until the French ghost beamed brightly back at him, plainly giving his answer.
"Non, I think I enjoy being a ghost. For one, I get to see this lovely aura around you I missed when I was human…" He mused, fully entertained as the British vampire's face got redder and redder with anger. "And here I thought all vampires were reserved and terrifying—" He muttered under his breath as Lesley exploded.
"D-Don't—! You—! W-Well, fine, see if I care if you come back to life at all! I'll take you over to Linde's and Teca will easily put you six feet under, if that's what you want! Is that what you want, Jean-Claude? You hate me so much that even death is better than—is better than…" He broke down into tears, hands coming up to cover his face as he turned away, bending over the prostrate, broken body still lying over his lap. Jean-Claude felt a tiny thorn of remorse prick at him, and frowned a little, squatting down and lifting a hand to pat Lesley on the back, comfortingly—his hand went right through, so he pulled it back, staring down at it solemnly. It wasn't that he hated Lesley, far from it… but he couldn't just let the Brit have his way without having the proper respect for him, could he? Jean-Claude sighed, shaking his head. When he at last spoke, Lesley's sobs had lessened, a little.
"Lisle." The Englishman's shoulders hunched up, and Jean-Claude smiled, sadly. He couldn't comfort Lesley like this, he wasn't gifted with words as he was… "Désolé, I did not mean to make you cry. Let us go and see Monsieur Linde and Mademoiselle Teca, and see if they can do anything…" Lesley turned around to gaze at him, but Jean-Claude had already looked away.
"D-Does this mean… that you…"
"It does not mean yes, it does not mean no, mon chaton. It is quite the decision to make. You must give me time to think." The Englishman frowned, but as Jean-Claude did not glance back at him, he eventually sighed, pushing himself to a stand and flicking his fingers. Black bats of every shape and size were summoned to the room from the ink flicked from his fingertips, and he didn't look back at Jean-Claude as the other turned to watch him, curiously.
"We will get there faster if we take your body through flight." He muttered under his breath, blushing a bit, and the Frenchman smiled, leaning to peck a chilly kiss on his cheek.
"Merci, Lisle." They stepped outside, and took off into the night.
: : :
His back burned. Kalle had done the best he could to make him comfortable, helping Vivien along as he limped and whimpered. He could feel his American cousin's eyes on the back of his head, worried. He glanced back, trying a smile but only managing a wince when the move stretched the broken skin the wrong way. Jack's eyes widened, and he nervously leaned forward, chainsaw still propped over his back.
"H-Hey, coz, don't push yourself! We're almost at the Doc's, I promise." There was that warm, anxious grin again and Vivien nodded, looking straight ahead with a wince, once more. When they at last got to the clinic, it was silent inside, but lit. Nels shifted the uncomfortable dead weight of Heinrich's corpse on his shoulder. Jack made a quick decision, just bellowing up the stairs.
"Heya, Doc! Viv's got some bad cuts, could you come down and see?" It was odd that Teca wasn't there to greet them, but then again it was late at night, with no other nurses on duty, apparently—
"Must you be so loud, Jack? There are patients here, you know…" The prim-and-proper voice of the Austrian doctor floated down the stairs as he descended, a frown creasing his forehead and white robe billowing around him with each step. The American grinned, waving the hand not keeping the chainsaw up over his shoulders.
"Well, Teca's not around, how else am I 'apposed to get some service around here~?" He waggled his brows, suggestively. Linde frowned at him, then let his eyes drift over Nels to fall on Vivien, expression growing concerned at his haggard appearance.
"Oh, dear, that does look bad. Please, sit down, I'll bring some bandages down here for you." He nodded at Nels. "You can take the body to the back. Teca should be there dealing with a few others." With that, Linde disappeared into the first floor's long tiled hall, framed by polished wooden walls. Kalle helped him sit, and gingerly aided in peeling off his ruined sweatshirt. Vivien gasped at the pain, knuckled whitening over the edge of the chair he sat on. Jack stood off to the side, nervously fiddling with the handle of his chainsaw. His Canadian cousin glared at him.
"Y-You can put that down, now, Jack, we're safe here." The American blinked, then looked bashful for a moment as he nodded, setting it to the side.
"Ah, yeah—right. Sorry, Viv."
In a few minutes Linde returned, and set to methodically cleaning out the nasty cuts on the Canadian's back. Jack fiddled around nervously, at last giving in and calling Ebert on his cell phone—this time, at last getting through. Bert demanded to know what had happened to Heinrich, and the American solemnly told him. Vivien could hear the silence on the other end of the line. Jack confirmed that, yes, Heinrich was dead and would not be coming back as a wolf. Vivien heard a sigh. Jack nodded just around the corner, the next response too quiet for Vivien to hear, then shut his phone and smiled tiredly at them all. Nels and Kalle blinked up at him, as well.
"Bert's coming to keep an eye on Viv, just to make sure he's safe." The American cast an awkward smile towards his cousin. "He's close-by, he'll be here in a few. You guys can go home." Nels nodded, and Kalle returned the exhausted smile, standing slowly. Blumeier squirmed in his arms, the tiny white dog blinking blearily up at them all before squeaking out an adorable yawn.
"Well, I suppose we'll head back, then. Take care, Vivien." The Canadian managed a smile towards them, nodding towards Nels as—the cuts now clean—Linde began to bandage his back in silence. There were an uneasy silence in the few minutes after they left, but then harsh footsteps and Jack turned, relieved, to see Bert in the doorway. The German's face was grim as he glanced from Linde to Vivien, completely bypassing Jack. Was it Vivien's imagination, or was that a glare? Whatever it was, Linde met it with nothing but serenity, sitting back and smiling slightly at Jack.
"Since you'll be leaving now, would you like a drink for the road? I have just the thing…" Linde disappeared from view for a moment, and Bert quietly stepped over to Vivien's side, talking softly with him, asking what happened, if he was all right, and so forth. Linde returned soon enough with an unopened bottle of cream soda, handing it over and patting Jack on the back. "Go on, go on, Viktor must be worried sick, by now." Jack scoffed, picking up his chainsaw and slinging it over his shoulder again, waving behind him with the hand holding the bottle of pinkish liquid.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Thanks, Doc, for taking care of Viv."
After Jack left, the oddest smile curled over Linde's face, for which Bert gave him a dirty look. Linde raised his brows, meeting his gaze meaningfully over Vivien's head as though to say 'What? I behaved myself for the time they were here, you cannot blame me for wishing to bring amusement to this drab town…'
If Vivien had known of that silent exchange, he might've been worried for his cousin—who, outside, popped the top off his soda and started guzzling it the moment he was in the street.
: : :
Viktor sat in his study, lazily swirling the last bit of tea left in the kettle, a pair of bear ears propped cutely atop his hair and a leather collar loose around his neck, over his scarf. It had been a long time since Jack had left him home alone at night. A very, very long time. What could Jack be doing?
"Nee, Olena-neesan~ Where do you think Jack is? He's so very late, I'm beginning to worry…" A choked cough met his inquiry, and the Russian lolled his head back with a pretty smile at the beaten and bloodied form hanging from the wall. Her clothes were new and pretty, though—always the best for his big sister. He raised his voice a little, cheer quite evident—as were the untaken pills resting on the kitchen counter, downstairs, next to a full glass of water.
"Neeee-san~? What do you think?" How long had it been since Jack rushed out, all in a hurry to go see his cousin? Viktor swiveled his attention over to the opposite wall, where the form of his younger sister lay, dark and worshipful eyes beseeching him to come closer. He smiled at her, not fearful of that look in her eyes so long as she was chained to the wall and kept far, far away from him.
"Tatania? Do you think Jack ran into trouble? I hope he's perfectly all right…" Viktor chuckled to himself, gazing upward at the dark ceiling lit only by the flickering glow from the fireplace. He did not spare a glance to the slumped-over form of a small, nude, blond-haired Latvian boy in the 'Interrogation Chair', his long-dried blood frozen in running stains due to the spikes on the leg, feet, arm and back rests that had pierced his flesh. Nor did Viktor glance toward the naked male form of his Estonian servant caught in the 'Street-Sweeper's Daughter's embrace, just below Olena's suspended and bloodied body hung on the wall. The Estonian twitched every now and then, his abdomen and rectum painfully compressed for hours, now.
Viktor did so love this room. The center was nobly furnished, warmed by the light of the fire as well as the wood, but a little ways off the Persian rugs gave way to cold slate and his pet torture devices in the cold and drafty corners. Heavy curtains could be rolled forward to hide those parts of the room, however, and most of the time they were drawn, presenting this little room as his and Jack's sanctuary from the world. But when Jack was not at home, and Mykolas, their Lithuanian servant, could not manage to force Viktor to take his prescriptions… Well, he was allowed a little fun now and then, wasn't he?
The Russian heard a scream from downstairs and blinked, glancing towards it and rising. It sounded like Mykolas. Only Mykolas screamed in such a way—as though he would weep his soul out. The little Latvian's tears were quicker and shallower (born from anxiety more than actual pain), and the Estonian's were rare, indeed, he was such a stoic man. Olena cried freely, but it wrenched his heart to hear it—part of the reason he enjoyed tormenting her in idle moments like these. It was always so exquisite to see her weep and beg for mercy, he had no words for it. And Tatiana—ah, she was the most interesting, sometimes. She adored him, and did anything he asked without question—even if it be chaining herself to the shackles in the corner and tossing the key far out of her own reach. Viktor rose in curiosity, though, his scarf's ends billowing gently behind him as he headed to the door. His hand on the knob, he paused, and turned to pull a cord. The heavy curtains slid back along their tracks, the weights drawing them closed. He smiled softly to himself, then exited the room with a soft 'click'.
: : :
"M-M-Mister Jack, what's wrong with you?" Mykolas shrieked, dodging out of the way of the buzz of the chainsaw as the American laughed at him, eyes aglow and frenzied behind their glasses.
"Nothin's wrong, Myk! Cutty just wants ta give ya a hug, don'cha Cutty~?" He crooned at the chainsaw, lifting it over his head with ease and grinning madly down at him, lips stretched wide and throwing unnatural shadows over his face. The Lithuanian's mind raced in panic, eyes wide with horror as the chainsaw came down on him, spraying blood and slicing through his cranium, overflowing grey mass spilling onto the expensive carpeting as he slumped over, dead and twitching. Jack giggled to himself, carelessly swinging the still-running chainsaw around the room, casually destroying everything around him from chairs and tables to curtains and walls. He hummed to himself, skipping leisurely towards the kitchen for a snack. That drink Linde had given him sure made him thirsty!
He set aside his chainsaw for the moment, spying a glass of water on the counter and raced over to gulp it down. Jack didn't notice quiet, heavy footsteps behind him until two arms laced around his chest from behind, a voice sultry in his ear.
"Lapochka, welcome home. Oh, my, your saw has gotten all dirty… how did that happen?" The lilting, innocent tones of his longtime boyfriend made Jack sigh in content, lolling his head back and grinning lazily up through blood-speckled glasses to the glowing violet orbs behind him.
"Myk was bein' no fun, he didn't hug Cutty the right way~" Viktor blinked at him for a moment, before smiling softly, leaning down for a kiss.
"Oh, didn't he? That's a shame, I always liked Mykolas…" He hummed, seeming not at all bothered by the Lithuanian's demise. "We'll have to find another head servant. But, Jack, tonight you seem—different?" The handsome American beamed up at him, the effect only slightly ruined by the madness in his gaze—eyes too wide, pupils too dilated for him to be all there.
"I feel different, Viktor~ What, did ya wanna do somethin'~?" The Russian smiled down at him, almost predatory, holding him close and whispering dark promises into his ear.
"There is something I have never shown you about our room, upstairs, and I think tonight would be a lovely night to conclude it. We already have guests—ones I'm sure 'Cutty' would love to 'hug'…" Jack laughed at him and Viktor's heart swelled at the utter joy in the sound. The American turned around to give him a quick kiss, then detoured to grab his chainsaw and turn back around, grinning rakishly at him.
"Lead on, Russki."
Hours later would find Jack screaming in a place devoid of all life, on his knees in the middle of the blood-spattered room, chunks of flesh and guts and brain matter strewn around him as his hands tried to tear out his hair and he bellowed his sorrow to the heavens. For on the floor beside him lay Viktor, a sunny smile plastered on his pale face, looking perfectly content despite the fact there was a gaping hole where his heart should be. The muscle itself was already cold and still, lying in a congealing puddle of blood soaking into the Persian carpet.
: : :
And all of this, Koji saw. White kitsune ears poking ridiculously out from his ebony hair, he landed neatly on a spare clean patch of carpet, transforming his animate lantern into a sharp sword with a quick 'shik'. The grieving American glanced up at him, tears still streaming down his face. With a quiet glance, Koji shifted, neatly stabbing the American through the gut so he toppled over, and then swiftly cutting off his head. Jack's head rolled off a ways, coming to a stop beside Viktor's still heart. The fogging blue eyes seemed to thank him, before they lost their shine and surrendered their soul to the world. Koji looked up, nodding slightly as the five other souls floating up there smiled at him, gently. Jack's soul quickly shot up, looking around frantically—and Viktor's floated over to him, encasing him in insubstantial but strong arms, murmuring forgiveness and love and Jack turned into him, burying his face against the ghost's even-in-death bloodstained chest. Koji quietly departed, knowing they would find their way.
The Japanese fox's next job was to take Mykolas' keening soul from the first floor where he had died and ferry it over to where the Polish man, Stasio, had been attacked earlier that evening. The spirits embraced, clutching to each other's shoulders, and again Koji felt as though he were intruding and silently departed, his task finished.
His third was to check in on the situation at the Chinese man's home. Upon arriving, he found a blood spatter in the hall, along with the corpse of a young boy from Hong Kong. Such a shame. Koji shook his head, moving on even as he felt the lingering spirit follow after him. He spied more dead, as he went on—a Vietnamese woman, a Thai man, and a smaller Tibetan child. He heard whimpering, and glanced upstairs, quickly using his kitsune abilities to phase through. Here he found the Korean boy huddled in a corner, watching in horror as his younger Korean brother was sucked of his life force, and tossed away like a rag doll. Shing began to advance on him, and the boy cried out in terror. Koji quickly placed himself between the Korean and the Jiang Shi, producing a talisman of yellow paper and leaping up, affixing it to Shing's forehead. The zombie instantly stopped moving, eyes falling shut as he fell asleep. Koji glanced back at the horror-stricken face of the boy behind him, and bowed his head in sorrow for being too late for the others. He lifted his hoshi-no-tama, and sucked the Chinese Jiang Shi into it, for temporary safe-keeping.
The Japanese fox then moved on, slowly tying up the loose ends brought on by a strange string of horrific coincidences. Such as the soul of the Spanish man, who had died avenging Armano's death at the hands of his werewolf brother, Raphael. Their souls were sitting together, quietly, over the cursed Italian boy. His brother seemed to see Koji, and look right through him—as though saying 'he did not deserve this, he was too innocent, too good, but it is what it is, now'. Tulio held him closer, as a result, burying his nose into the Italian's dark hair. There was no use trying to locate Raphael and Heinrich's souls. They were cursed, and at the moment of their deaths had been sucked to hell. Koji could only hope that they would find one another—and thus, some comfort—in their eternal home down below.
His last stop was in regard to the French ghost and the British vampire. Jean-Claude looked up at him as though startled at his appearance, and Lesley began to bristle. Speaking not a word of English, he only quietly waited for their decision. Jean-Claude glanced at Lesley, but the Brit only looked away. The French ghost smiled a little, casting a glance towards Koji and offering a silent shake of his head. The kitsune nodded, quickly gathering his energy and bounding back up into the heavens, catching only a slight glimpse of the confused look on the vampire's face before it was covered as the ghost gently kissed him an assent.
: : : : : : :
The crowd gathered around him was silent as England closed his newest book. America's eyes were wide and scared, so he smirked softly to himself despite the fact an awkward silence had permeated the room. Russia looked thoughtful.
"Well, Angleterre, that was…"
"Quite the ghost story." China chimed in, face deadpan. Arthur huffed at him, sticking up his nose.
"You're just jealous you can't write as well as I can!" Canada silently rolled his eyes, shaking his head softly and nudging Alfred's shoulder as the two got into an argument.
"Hey, Al, you all right?" America practically jumped out of his seat, chuckling nervously to himself and looking down at his costume, plucking at it, anxiously.
"A-Aha, y-yeah… m-maybe we shouldn't have told England w-what we were all going t-to wear to his Halloween party, e-eh?" Canada smiled a soft apology, nodding a bit and taking little notice as Francis tackled Arthur, the Brit's face beet-red for all the bedroom eyes and innuendos (about the 'France and England characters having a happy ending, non~?') being shot at him with all that 'French charm'.
"Y-Yeah, I g-guess, eh? I mean, he really did try to work almost everyone's costume in…" Matthew's gaze trailed around the room, falling on the Bear-Russia, Vampire-England, Ghost-France, Chainsaw-America, Zombie-China, Kitsune-Japan, Devil-Doctor-Austria, Devil-Nurse-Hungary, the Werewolf-North Italy and Werewolf-Germany, as well as the Devil-Hunter-Prussia… He blushed a bit as Gilbert glanced over at him, wiggling his fingers a little and Gilbird chirped atop Prussia's hoodie at the motion, so Matthew had to laugh.
"But, you know…" Canada blinked back at his brother as Alfred carefully removed the hockey mask from where it was clipped to the hair on the side of his head. He watched as the American stared at it, quietly, before grinning somewhat weakly up at him. "I-I don't think next year, I'm gonna be Jason…" Matthew blinked again, before smiling softly and lifting a hand to pat Alfred's shoulder.
"Back to Superman, right?" America huffed, narrowing his eyes playfully at his brother and sticking out his chest, pointing a thumb directly at it.
"What? No way, that's totally 1940s. I'm thinkin'… IronMan!" Matthew just rolled his eyes, quietly accepting the fact that tonight—despite it being a sleepover—his 'older and stronger' brother would be curled up tightly next to him, eyes flickering beneath their lids in dreams of terror at rampaging werewolves, many bloody and graphic deaths (more than England had actually come up with, no doubt—Alfred's unchecked imagination was a dangerous thing, indeed), mad doctors and wicked nurses who would just as soon kill as heal.
Oh, what a wonderful holiday. Not to mention the fact that Papa would likely be molesting Dad all night, due to the 'romantic undertones' Arthur had (he was sure, completely [for he'd never give Francis that opening consciously]) accidentally worked into the story. Well, at least England had managed to scare the bejesus out of America, for yet another year—if how close his southern neighbor was sitting to him was any indication. At least Arthur wouldn't be moping around like he had, that one time Japan had recruited Russia to help America win their annual 'let's-see-who-can-scare-the-hell-out-of-who-the-most' contest.
Happy Halloween 2010, Canada thought to himself with no small amount of dry humor, taking a small sip of his cider.
: : :
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, end! Ugh, I worked on this fic from 9:00 PM on Oct. 30th to 2:00 PM on Oct. 31st.
( I know it's not that great, but I'm going on little sleep at this point and just wanted to get this out, soooo~ x.x )
Review, if you can, please? Have a great holiday, regardless, and thanks so much for reading! :3 -Fox