Puppet Funeral

Summary: He never loved her like she wants him to and he never will. Still, she buries everything she is. Six-chaptered fic.

Warning: HURT. Totally blame this on Snowlia and her amazing story "Can't touch this". I love Rese/Cass, but after reading her story, I couldn't help but wonder what might happen if… Oh, let's just get the warning straight: Crack right ahead, though minor compared to the amount of hurt.

Set: Story-unrelated

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

Snowlia betaed this, too. Since she was the one who had to fight through my run-on sentences, horrid German punctuation, weird translations and every other thing imaginable, the story is somewhat dedicated to her.


Act I – Exposition

Exposition, English: exposition. The exposition sets the background for a story. Protagonists, basic conflict and settings are introduced.

"What did you tell her?"

Terrance's eyes bore into Cassidy's like two burning coals. He was almost as tall as Cassidy but when he was angry he seemed to tower over him no matter their insignificant difference in height. Normally, his penetrating gaze would have had Cassidy shifting uncomfortably. But not today. Terrance was angry with him because Cassidy had talked to Teresa?

Teresa had wanted him to tell her the truth.

"It's none of your business," the redhead answered curtly and turned away. Terrance didn't follow him as he walked from the room. He could feel his eyes in his back as he watched him leave but he didn't follow him. Terrance had known her even longer than Cassidy had and always had been protective of her. On good days, Cassidy admitted it was good someone was watching over her. On days like this, he would have liked to use his authority to order Terrance to stay out of things which obviously weren't his business. Or to kick him. Hard.

Entering the great hall, the heat and noise of hundred of Hunters washed over him mercilessly. He pushed past three students around his age and greeted them with a short nod, then almost ran into a lady with a strict face and long, silver hair which she had pulled back into a long braid.

"Careful, young Hunter! You're one of Daemon's, aren't you?"

Not in the mood for small-talk – not in the mood for talk at all – he pulled together his last remnants of politeness.

"Yes."

"How has it been so far?"

"Pretty good. For all of us."

"Not that surprising, huh. Your Clave made it into the finale, hasn't it? What's her name again?"

Ah. Here we go.

"Teresa. Yeah, she won the semi-finals."

"She's good, even though a bit impatient. Good luck to her!"

A short grin and she disappeared. Cass clenched his teeth and continued his way towards his non-existent destination. How on earth had this happened? He had no idea. Anger burned up again inside him, anger – and then guilt. And anger, again, because there was nothing he should feel guilty about and yet – it was his fault, only and entirely his fault. He was the one who was… With an enormous amount of willpower he forced his mind away from this thread of thought and tried to focus on his surroundings. He had a destination, he realized. His feet had carried him directly to the place he needed to be.

The platform wasn't high, maybe twenty centimeters above the ground. The cold, grey stone was the same as the floor of the hall Cassidy was standing on. A low barrier, held by four posts and consisting of a thick rope, divided the arena from the hall in which it was situated. It was one of many similar rings in this hall, but it was undoubtedly the largest one. Here, the finale of this year's Scoring took place.

The hall was huge.

And it was full of Hunters – small and tall, younger and older, though not old, men and women alike, teachers and students, Council Elders, Clave leaders, partners and loners. Everyone was talking, discussing results, styles and fights, cheering on the last participants and calling out for friends and acquaintances. The noise was slowly grating its way into Cass's skull. His left arm hurt. The trials had already taken place and he, like his Clave siblings, had fought four matches. No surprise was in the fact that they had all won their fights – they were Daemon's students, after all. Like every other Clave they had nominated a representative for the finals. This year they had selected Teresa. She was a good choice: energetic, strong and incredibly arduous. But she was hotheaded and impulsive too. They had hoped she'd be careful on her own notice and she had been throughout the semi-finals. Except for one time, when she hadn't kept her guard and had taken a serious blow to the ribs. She had fought well and taken them directly into the finale. But now, he wasn't so sure she'd stay calm and collected anymore… Not after what had happened a few moments ago.

"Mikhail of Gregori's Clave wins and will be participating for place three!"

The voice of the referee cut through the loud rumbling of voices as the last trial fight came to an end after a remarkably long time. Normally, Hunter fights didn't last more than five minutes. They were gifted with speed, strength and intelligence alike. The ones that didn't make it through the trials were almost sure to die on a mission or routine patrol early. The ones that made it into the finals, selected from the ones who had won their preliminary matches and had been chosen by their Clave, were sure to earn attention and glory. In other words, the Scoring was a huge selection event in which good Hunters were picked and weak ones cast aside. Cassidy hated them with every fiber of his being. Unfortunately, as a Hunter, he had no choice but to participate.

Turning on the spot, he cast a look over the people around him but wasn't able to see much. He was standing next to the arena, so close to the rope barrier he could have touched whoever stood on the other side of it. The arena was empty but soon two Hunters would face each other in the ring, ready to fight and determined to win. There was no place for compassion in the Scorings, no room for soft-heartedness and kindness. Scoring fights were swift and brutal, hard and merciless. It was the way Hunters had to be in order to survive. Illusions were obsolete in their society. Although he had had illusions, too… For a while, he had thought it would work out. For precious months he had believed everything was okay. But it wasn't. And the feeling which had replaced the shattered illusions left him cold and hollow. Clenching his fists, he searched for the figure in the crowd he dreaded seeing – and wanted to see, at the same time. Instead of dark hair and a lean figure, he saw a stout man with white, short hair approach the arena and climb the ring. As the audience caught on what was happening, the sounds in the great hall fell quiet until the huge room was filled with heavy silence.

The referee lifted his right hand.

Detachedly, Teresa watched the Hunter climb the three stairs to the arena in which she would stand in a few minutes. His grey hair almost seemed white. He wasn't old but experience and wariness had deeply carved themselves into his features. His eyes were still wide and alert and his movements spoke of swiftness and strength. The aura of a Hunter surrounded him like a veil. Lifting his hand, he began to speak.

"Welcome to the finale of the annually Scorings. All of you have now proven yourself in the trials and semi-finals and have won and lost. Those who have won have every right to be proud. But remember that pride doesn't shield you in a fight. Continue training; continue fighting so you will be able to protect those who need our protection. Don't give in to conceit. And you, who have lost, don't despair. Train, learn, hunt, so you become better Hunters and might return next year."

Normally, she would have snorted.

In a fight, there only was a winner and a loser. There was no way everybody could win in the Scoring, which meant even defeated could be able Hunters. But the winners were the better Hunters, and nothing could change the fact. But today, her thoughts were elsewhere. She could still hear his words – see his face – as he told her the words they had both known had to be said. And it still had hurt to hear them, even though she had seen them coming. She just hadn't wanted to believe in them. They couldn't be true, couldn't be reality, it just couldn't be! The Hunter's society was small and one of the greatest worries of the Council was their survival. Hunters had the same duty to keep their society alive as they had to protect mankind. Thus, the most valuable asset in their lives was their children. For this reason, bonds between hunting partners were most common. Even Clave siblings had been known to bond. The length or depth of a relationship wasn't really important, she had learned, but rather the outcome. It was unusual for partners to form a bond because there really was something like… She hesitated to use the word love. It made everything so much more complicated. And she could see why, too. If there was no love, one could form a relationship for the sole purpose of the survival of their race. There would be no obligation, no commitment or trouble. Friendship or simple respect was enough. Hunters cared for all children together, so the concept of mother and father were obsolete. But as soon as something like feelings came into the game, trouble was programmed. And here she was, Teresa of Daemon's Clave, in the very same trouble she always had avoided before. Because she had fa–

She tasted blood in her mouth as she bit on the inside of her cheek. She shouldn't think like that, shouldn't even think of it at all. She had known and yet she had refused to see. She had closed her eyes. And then she had forced him to say it, had forced Cass to utter the words that changed everything, and this was what she deserved.

The referee's voice was curt and clear.

"We will now begin the finale. The winners of the semi-finals – please step forward."

Your call.

Rese stepped forward and the crowd shifted to let her pass. She didn't see anyone, the people blurred together in a mixture of colors, smells and sounds. The audience was a crowd of faceless figures, creating a thundering noise without any meaning, lips moving without forming words. Her blood was a continuous, rushing noise in her ears that drowned out everything else. Her pulse was steady, though. She was too numb to feel anything besides her own cold body moving towards the arena.

She climbed the three stairs and found herself in the ring, the faceless crowd staring up at her. On the other side, her opponent came into view: a tall, lanky man with short hair in a pale, almost white gold tone. She saw colorless, washed-out grey eyes and something that might be an enigmatic grin. Taking in everything about him in automatically she still felt like she was somewhere else. Like she wasn't here.

This wasn't real.

"Teresa of Daemon's Clave will fight Tobias of Frederik's Clave. The winner is the one who stands last when the opponent has been knocked out or doesn't get up after thirty seconds. Merely physical attacks are allowed. The use of Umbra Spiritus or other gifts and abilities as well as all kinds of weapons are prohibited and will result in immediate disqualification. Leaving the ring will result in disqualification. The final fight has no time limit. You will start on my notice."

Her opponent almost looked sorry.

Rese forced herself to direct her attention on him: he looked quick and agile and probably had enormous strength hidden behind his rather lanky stature, otherwise he would never have made it into the finale. His grey eyes were already taking her in carefully, accessing her strength, advantages and disadvantages. He looked like someone who would smile kindly and kill in the next second, without regrets, without mercy. And yet – maybe he did feel sorry afterwards. Maybe he did feel like crying after a kill, maybe he did feel like trashing his bedroom because this world was a cruel and hateful one. And maybe…

Maybe she was imagining things.

She tried to clear her head. She was in the finale – she had to concentrate, had to win. But why? What did it matter? What else was she good for than for fighting and killing? She couldn't even make one person love her.

Why didn't winning matter to her anymore?

Involuntarily, her eyes started wandering across the crowd of faceless people, slowly at first, then faster, more desperately. Her fists were balled at her sides but she didn't notice. She didn't hear the referee ask her opponent whether he was ready nor did she hear his voice when he asked her. Her brain though, on autopilot, made her head nod once and curtly. And still, her eyes were searching. One face gave way to the next but the one she wanted to see wasn't there – and then, her gaze fell on Ten and Nadya.

The girls were standing at the far side of the hall, on a low balcony for the audience. They had a good view of the entire hall and their eyes were fixed on her directly. Her Hunter's eyes made them out in the middle of the crowd and held their gaze for a few seconds. She hadn't been searching for them. But Nadya smiled at her encouragingly, and Ten – Ten glanced at her with an expression that could only be called pity.

On the balcony that ran around the hall once, Ten leaned against the railing and sighed. Nadya threw her a questioning look.

"Why do I have the feeling Rese doesn't really want to fight anymore?"

"Because she doesn't," Ten answered unhappily.

"It hasn't anything to do with the fact that I saw her and Cass a little time before, by any chance? Saying they didn't look happy might be an understatement. Did they break up a second time? I thought Cass was already seeing someone else."

Ten closed her eyes.

"Does everybody know?"

Nadya shrugged.

"I've suspected as much for a while, but I was pretty sure when Cass came back late last week."

"Yeah, he practically reeked."

"It is his business."

"It's not…"

"Normal? Tell me, when did the concepts of normalcy last apply to us?"

"He's a Hunter! He can't…He can't…"

"Say it. Come on, I dare you."

"He can't date a vampire!"

"Yeah, well. Are you upset because he's dating a vampire or because he's dating a male vampire?"

"Begin."

In her life Rese had learned many things. Most of them applied to everyday life as well as to combat situations.

Nobody expects a woman to attack immediately.

In Hunter society, men and women were treated alike. Which meant no man would hold back in a fight just because she was a woman. For the same reason, she was at slight disadvantage: she didn't have the mass and weight a male Hunter could use to nail down opponents. She didn't have their raw strength either, so she had to use different strategies to win. As much as her people believed women and men to be equal, she knew there were few Hunters who expected her to attack directly. She just had to use the element of surprise and she usually had a good chance of winning. But…

She launched herself into a backwards salto, landing on her feet a few meters away from her former position and immediately dropping into a crouch. Balancing her weight on her hands and her left foot, she swung around her right leg in a roundhouse kick and almost managed to sweep her opponent's feet from underneath him. The man, who had already been in motion when she first reacted, used a simple parade to block her kick and darted after her with incredible speed.

Yeah, right, she had used her strategy twice today already and it seemed he had informed himself on her favorite moves. He had used her hesitation, had attacked first and had almost landed a blow to her abdomen. If she hadn't moved so quickly he would have thrown her across the ring.

But he didn't let her catch her breath. When she catapulted herself up from the ground he was waiting for her, combining a kick and a direct punch to her face. Lifting her arms in a defensive gesture she blocked both and moved out of his direct reach. Her opponent's face was a mask of concentration, his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line. He obviously wanted to win and he didn't care how much or how little resistance she was planning on giving him. He would simply make sure his victory was total. His colorless eyes were cold and a scar began at the base of his temples and ran up into his hair. Strange. Why did she notice things like this now? Normally, she couldn't even remember what her opponents had looked like after she had fought them, much less while she was still fighting. She blocked the next punch and tried a three-punch-combination. She was blocked and, again, fell back.

She didn't care.

A/N: So this is the extra portion of hurt I promised before!^^ A bit late but better late than never. That was the good news. The bad news are that I'll be gone from the face of the earth internet-wise for one month to come and probably won't be able to update this until April... At least chapter 1 doesn't end with a huge cliffhangar so it should be passable. I apologize beforehand! So... What do you think?