Just something I thought about when reading WWBC. Trent arrives as Rachel blows up her kitchen How things may have gone. Please r&r. Be gentle. It's my first time! Trench
A banshee? Trent thought to himself angrily, after all, it was easier to be angry than concerned for the little red-headed witch. Really, Rachel? Could you have done anything stupider? The elf grumbled to himself as he stepped out of his black BMW and onto the curb outside of the little church. The night was chilly and his breath steamed out in front of him in the darkness. He pulled the long coat around him, though it made little difference as elves never really noticed the temperatures. It was more a learned response than anything else. With a soft grunt, he shoved the door shut, a loud slam sounding and he ran his fingers through his baby-fine blonde hair. The flowers he'd sent had received no reply from her, though he knew not to expect anything. His spy in the hospital said that she'd tossed the flowers out. While he didn't admit it to anyone else, the knowledge had hurt, bruising his pride just enough to make him curious. Then, when he'd learned of her escape, that curiosity turned to pride. She was never one to take things lying down. A smile shifted his lips at the memory of her staring accusingly up at him, green eyes flashing and red hair frizzing out around her.
The sudden explosion and pop in the air signalled him that all was not well inside the church and muttering a few choice words, he launched himself at the door while all the lights flickered out inside. All he could see was the sickly flickering of gold-black flames from the kitchen. What did you do this time, Rachel? He didn't notice the chair in the sanctuary until after he stumbled and fell into an ungraceful heap just behind it. Secretly, he was glad that it was dark and by the sound of the fire extinguisher, all were busy inside the kitchen.
"Damn it, Ivy, do something," Trent heard the bug nearly shriek from the kitchen as he rolled and stumbled to his feet. "Pick her up. I can't help her. I'm too damned small." You got that right, bug, Trent mused as he moved silently into the kitchen entry way. The fridge was charred black with its door hanging open by a single bolt and Ivy stood with her back to him and the burnt hunk of metal. Jenks, the pixy, hovered over a nearly limp body on the floor. Rachel. She lay in the middle of a circle of salt, her fire hair fanning out around her head, her eyes closed and pain etched in every small feature on her face. Those thick, pouty lips were tight and thin as she struggled to breathe.
"I can't," the living vampire almost whispered, shifting her weight from one booted foot to the other. "Look at me, Jenks. I can't touch her."
There was a shifting as Rachel's crumbled form started to sit up. Trent stood in awe as he watched her, noticing her utter lack of aura with heart stopping accuracy. She'd tried to make a circle with no aura. She'd tapped a line with no filter. Damn, that had to hurt... Trent remained unseen in the doorway as the little drama unfolded. Rachel's green eyes were only for the destroyed fridge and Jenks glared heatedly at the living vampire.
Then, the feisty little witch did something Trent didn't expect. She began to fold in on herself, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she lowered her face to her arms.
"Ivy," the pixy said almost desperately. "Pick her up. I'm too small. I can't help her. She needs to be touched or she's going to think she's alone." Trent's green eyes staid on the little witch as she held herself on the floor of her messy kitchen. He could see her frame begin to shiver, though he knew she was trying to stop it. The pixy was right. She needed to be held desperately. Something inside the elf shifted, softened and warmed, then broke just a little.
"I can't!" the vampire shouted, her small body shaking with frustration and something else. "Look at me! If I touch her..." The floating four-inch man glared at her, his wings a blur of motion and red, angry dust flying off him in waves. For the second time in less than five minutes, Trent agreed with the little bug. Tamwood was just making excuses not to comfort, to give when she'd been given so much. A flash of anger temporarily blinded him as he watched for just a little longer.
Wet, green eyes looked up from under the mass of red curls. The look of defeat was enough to make Trent's throat close painfully. She was alone. His teeth clenched at the unfamiliar wrenching in the area of his heart and his brow furrowed. If someone like her is alone in this world, what hope is there for me? It was a selfish thought, but one that danced through his brain, regardless.
"I can't touch you," the Ivy whispered. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. I can't..." Suddenly, the vamp turned and dashed out of the room, shoving Trent against the wall. Looking at him like he'd just sprouted a third head, she glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen. A single tear trickled down her pale cheek and she turned to glare at him again before turning and fleeing.
Coward, he thought bitterly. He then righted himself quickly, shifting his shoulders before turning and walking into the kitchen. The pixy made a startled gasp as he finally noticed the elf but Trent ignored him. He didn't have time for bugs. Instead, he focused on the broken witch sitting in an up-right fetal position on the dirty floor. His loafers made for crunchy, noisy steps as he moved around her. She didn't look up. Not even when he took the coat from his shoulders and wrapped it securely around her still form, then bent down and scooped her tiny, almost weightless body into his strong arms and held her close to him.
"What do you want, Kalamack?" the pixy almost spat. Again, Trent ignored him and stood with Rachel in his arms. He turned his back on the little man and began walking out of the kitchen. "Wait! Where are you going? So help me, elf-boy! You hurt her and you're going to pay!" The rest of the tirade was cut short as Trent strode out the door.
