Pieces of Me
Chapter Six:
Things Fall Apart
Man quakes from the fabrications he creates. Yet, it is not the vile thoughts that he fears, it is the ease with which he thinks them.
AN: Thank you all for reading the last chapter and special thanks to those of you who added this story and selected it as one of your favorites. Another special thanks goes to EvilPurpleCookiePenkeyMonguin and Regin for reviewing. A thousand times thank you to you all, especially to those of you who actually read these author's notes. I love writing Pieces of Me and I am truly thrilled that there are lovely readers such as yourselves who enjoy reading it.
For the past couple of chapters, and by couple I mean all, I have neglected to add a disclaimer in my author's note. Thus, I believe it is due time for me to incorporate it because I am a broke college kid who does not wish to de sued.
Disclaimer: I do not own True Blood, the delectable series created by Allan Ball that is based on Charline Harris's Southern Vampire Mystery novels. So please do not sue me for you will be terribly disappointed considering I only have eight dollars in my bank account. However, I do own Danny and any other original characters and plot ideas. With that said, please do not steal them from me because they are all that I have, along with the eight dollars.
As always, I apologize for the wait and my excuse still stands as being a procrastinating college student who gets distracted fairly easy by shiny objects. Once again I have merged two chapters together in order to appease all of you patient readers. Please enjoy!
"I told you not to trust Hugo," I castigated Sookie as she sat cross legged in a cell, glowering with derision transfixing the azure in her eyes to a vivid verdant at the space she assumed I was occupying. An odious sensation stirred from his charisma that transpired at first glance in the hotel lobby. It was a foreboding niggling of the conscious that repudiated the null; a feral mauve for it was the hue of arrogance. He was impressionable, acquiescent just as the rest yet he will never be what he depicts himself as, never attaining what is in his heart for his mind believed to be superior and thus clouded the rest. He will remain a shadow of his true self, something made to twist to his vice, something the enlightened will pity and the crestfallen will ridicule. He was the conspirator and now my qualms were confirmed as they both sat incarcerated because of his blatant trust issues and superiority complex.
Hugo apprehensively paced the confinements of his cells, stepping rigidly for their iron spoke callously of him as he tested this new limited confinement. He was not jubilant by what filled his line of vision. The frigid disposition of iron froze his very heart with notions of seclusion and severance. It was apparent that he did not foresee this predicament to surface and ruin his Friday evening's plans.
"Nobody likes a smart-aleck, Danny," Sookie retorted in an adolescent manner that rendered her wistful for the old days. She busied herself by permitting her fingers to trace the hem of her dress, silently counting the stitching in order to keep her nerves at bay by something constant, something the chaos in this world could ever reach and make perish. Soon the act grew too aired and cyclical for her so she settled for rummaging about her imprisonment, inspecting her surroundings with every sense she possessed.
"Great," Hugo carped to himself as his fingers compulsorily compelled the knot of his tie to loosen, consenting him to breathe the air he feared was evading him. A touch of claustrophobia besmirched him, a lone swirl of indigo amongst a sea of fretful emerald that appeared oddly forlorn. "I'm locked in a cell in a church's basement with a lunatic who talks to her imaginary friend." His diction dithered, wavering upon certain syllables due to his trepidation. He was close to losing everything he once deemed valuable and these iron bars compelled him to apprehend this calamitous veracity. He saw his narrative depicted upon each one, broken fragments that reminded him of just how far he has fallen. He loathed them with an ire that blazed a gaudy crimson as it scorched my own throat, pursuing its next casualty as it slithered with blood swathed hands across the floor.
"For the hundredth time, Hugo, she's a ghost," Sookie avowed with lexis incapable of fully expressing her level of vexation. Not exultant by its insufficient representation, it continued to subsist through other means as she began to callously toss about the objects in her sight. "And we wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for you," she felt the inclination to castigate as her mind held firm on its grasp of ethics with a twinge of brown noising.
I have beheld many of his kind, the unbelievers. Their comprehension is limited only to their sight, for reality to them is only what you perceive it to be. "Do not waste your breath Sookie. He is the type who has to see in order to believe."
"If there really is a ghost," the term was arrant with incredulity from his malevolent lips, "then she should have been able to let us out by now," Hugo endeavored to rationalize the world that was set before him, a world he was currently incapable of comprehending. If only he would realize that the world did not always act upon such rationale.
"It doesn't work like that, dumbass." It was the first swear I uttered in the presence of others and even as it tumbled from my lips, it felt anomalous and strangely out of place. However, I did not acquire the will to lament it. I truly meant it for my discontentment was reaching unfathomable levels. The man possessed a way of vexing me so that I am sure Eric would be fervent to add to his arsenal of beleaguering provocation.
Revelation widened Sookie's eyes as the not-regretted word directed her deliberation back upon me. "Danny!" her flabbergasted temperament vocalized, clearly staggered by my sudden use of such dynamic and potent language. She was prominent for preparing coarse swears when time permitted, yet she never seemed to endorse such loutish language when it fell from other's lips, especially my own once she was informed of my age.
"What? He cannot exactly hear me now can he?" I justified my actions with an undeniable form of rationality that left her struggling to form a confutation. "I cannot get you out, but I know someone who can. I just hope he has not killed himself yet." I murmured the end for it was such an acerbic addendum and I did not wish to distress Sookie any more than she already has inflected upon herself.
There he was once more, rendered blasé with legs apathetically crossed as if time had not exalt him with its company for it feared such a thing as old as he. For a tentative moment I contemplated if he was personally acquainted with time, cronies that both chortled with heads cast back as they circumvented the commands of death and decay. He welcomed me with a bemused countenance that implied my awaited presence in glances of silence.
"Hello, again. Pleased to see that you still exist for the time being." With nerves straining my tone, words became sheathed in superfluous elation that drifted peculiarly throughout the room. As they twisted and turned ineptly amongst the solemn, I was left to regret their callow and discomfited discord that struck our dialogue gauche.
Godric remained silent for he had no name to commune with considering he did not place worth on such a trifling filament of consonants and syllables. His silence implicated that my docile dialogue of our tête-à-tête would have to sustain the weight of two.
The lull permitted me to perceive that not a semblance of sentiment lingered within the contours that fashioned his façade. Neither a twinge of a grin nor the molder of a grimace graced his lips as he appeared to be once again reticent in my company, a sententious dearth of affect that I was growing somnolent of for it appeared nothing riled such a rejoinder in him that coerced the despotism of his façade to emancipate the vigor he once procured. Yet he remained persistently phlegmatic, an iota of the sublimity he once conveyed.
Unable to fathom the enigma that is his mind, for he chose to express it in means that I was incapable of translating, I postulated that a prompt tactic was more apt for such a juncture. Time appeared to be of the essence after all.
My tone fostered an air of austerity as a means of compensation for the inept silence that rolled forth upon the room, pressing itself into the corners for some fortuitous fool to blunder upon. "I truly am sorry to disturb you once more but I require your assistance. A friend," my tongue muddled over the word, its contents being foreign upon my lips, "of mine is in trouble and I am virtually useless." I reciprocated in a matter of alacrity, aspiring for the circumstance to be of some other promulgation.
An abidingly inert blink fell upon his eyes as he engraved this juncture in his memory, the moment the dead beseeched benignity from him, someone who was in the arid ambit of fatality itself. Just as indolently as they closed, they lackadaisically opened once more to the novel and perturbing scene before him. "I am afraid that I must be of no use," He replied with cavalier words that were bereft of time. "If I free her and she returns to the others, then they will come and I will be prevented from meeting the dawn."
That was when I noticed it, the attenuate concave nature the flesh that carved his cheeks took and how his skin had considerably blanched in relation to others. He was ravenous and judging by its austerity taking form upon his façade, it was evident that it was intentional and its duration had endured longer than the span of several months. He has abjured himself the very crux of his life for weeks end. Rancorously I entertained the ideation that my endeavors would be abortive for he had centuries to amass this one introspection and wield it into action. My compendiary congregations alone were not enough to preponderate centuries of rumination and self-repugnance.
"I am not going to be able to talk you out of this," I conjectured as my gaze faltered upon the concave configuration that was him. My mind was finally reaching for its long awaited grasp on verity, yet it refused to forego the delusional emanation of optimism it has been clinging to for years past. It merely fashioned it into a form of rationality that my speech succumbed to. "Fine, but others do not deserve to die for your selfishness. Sookie is innocent and should be set free." Despite the allure of amity eluding the two of us, Sookie was still a meritorious person who did not deserve such a deplorable demise.
Then it came.
It came roaring, beseeching all who would listen as it tore through our consciousness, besmirched by a tenuous scream that wielded the clout to cease our dialogue even at such a distance. I knew it fell from Sookie's lips and it was the attenuating nature of her cry that startled and awoke consternation within myself for I feared that the distance that separated us may be too much. It soon lurked within the room, pervading amok as if desiring the attention. It lapsed upon my flesh, importunately imploring for benevolence as it enticed my neurons. It tasted of the abnormal novelty of blueberries, a deceivingly saccharine scent that only tasted repugnantly acerbic upon the tongue as it aroused an unknown foreboding and acrimony within me. I wished to be rid of it, to never taste its invidious taste of empty promises and bitter days past upon the tip of my tongue yet it remained, importuning and eliciting me of a past I may never comprehend.
My eyes began to moistened, incommodious tears beginning to form and threatening to fall as the tribulation clumped within my throat, rendering it the sole thing I was capable of thinking about as it stole my breath from my very lungs. It fluently filled my mind, weighing upon the middle until it cracked under its clamorous presence, seeping escaped notions across the span of my consciousness with worried words and whispers of insanity. I do not know why I wept and perhaps that is what daunted me the most as it left me wondering why I abhorred such an aroma to the point of tears. I have never felt this sensation before and I never wish to again.
"Please Godric," my plea was no more audible then a whisper as I contended with the torrid constitution of melancholy for my will to speak. I took a superfluous breath, collecting my thoughts in an attempt to recompose myself yet my façade began to crack as I felt the tears beginning to accommodate my cheeks, falling gingerly upon the flesh in the manner of compunctious kisses that only invited more of its nature. Godric's gaze fell upon them, allured by such a sight as if their presence disconcerted him, reminding him of what he once forgotten. He no longer listened to me for my words were preponderated by the tenuous words the tears crafted before they fell, embodying the sound of a child's whisper for it was the only language the sorrowful knows. "Please help her. She deserves to live."
A mere curt nod beckoned his assent before being transfixed into an evanescent flash of distorted flesh and an array of nimble movements the eyes laggardly pursued. The lock was effortlessly broken and the door, despite being gingerly pushed aside, swung fervently open as if ecstatic it was being used once more. Then Godric was gone.
My gaze traveled to the floor, resting upon the tile where the tears deemed their adobe yet none appeared. The tears of the departed apparently do not subsist in the realm of the breathers. They may never discern what occurred as it faded in the attenuating manner of a memory, leaving me to query if it truly existed once upon a time or if it was a fabrication of my wicked imagination. I could not prevent my mind from wondering that if I too would fade away like them, nothing to be remembered by but the subdued echo of where I once stood.
Soon, I too departed for I never intended to linger in such a presence of perplexity and self pity. With each step I took my mind numbed until only speculations of Sookie's tirelessly remained, tentatively carrying me there upon the sight of her deliverance.
Sookie's fingers passed along the buttons of her sun dress, reconnecting the fabric as the trepidation she once held clumped within her throat, suppressing her ability to breath yet she did not appear to notice such trivial things. Her disheveled disposition coerced my mind to ponder over predicaments that were less tactful than originally assumed. Sookie remained in the cage for she was apprehensive of what now filled her line of vision.
Godric's hands framed a rugged man's visage as it was more than enough to lift him in such a berating manner despite the man's rather robust stature. "Godric," the man pleaded with intoxicated life brimming within his irises that revealed empty promises of a life altered if only he were granted what he craved for. "It's me," he sustained with his final breath of air, conserving the rest out of dismay of this truly being the end. He claimed no wife or child as his yet he clung to life as if there subsists a rationale or intention for his survival. An imploration lingered upon his lips, quivering with each passing second his life rested with the indefinite.
For perhaps the first time the lines that adorned Godric's visage contorted into something decipherable, something other than apathy. Abhorrence lined his countenance and arched his nose upon the sight of the tremulous man who no longer behaved like one. It was a rather repugnant aroma of antipathy that trounced the trepidation and confined it within a corner where it caved upon its craven nature.
My lips parted to liberate the protest that surged upon my tongue yet they were too slow, proving as trivial as their intensions as the final sound of Gabe was made, a final choke of an imprecation. All that left my lips was an exhaled breath, a mere memory of what could have been. I witnessed his body fall once more back to the ground for the earth to claim for it was no longer a man but a corpse. A trace of vigor lingered within the man's eyes, a supple tawny that stood as an ember against the murky shadows of the indefinite, yet it was soon chased away by the dismal essence of death. It was curious how promptly it can occur, I noted while we stood breathlessly observing the remains as we confronted a fear left to our imagination.
What was it like? A whimper in the fading light or perhaps a strident thunder that ceased the universe? What was it like to be turned into a fraction of yourself? I could not recall and perchance it was best that way as my gaze remained upon the space where a man once stood. Given my state I should be contented with such a final notion yet I feared it for I knew none could elude its grasp, not even me.
Murder. The term played obstinately in my mind, twisting into new angles for assessment. Yet it never sunk in quite like this before. This is what it was like, the abhorrent aroma of musky earth rendered foreboding as we wondered who it was for. Was this too how I died? By the fate of someone else's hands?
Godric snapped his neck dexterously, with only a mere motion his life was taken from him never to be returned again. The alluring sense of pleasure emitting from Godric in implementing yet another execution, transforming a man's life into another tick mark that tainted his soul, cascaded down my spine where it dispersed in a calming notion that only left me concerned for what was to come and what would have been. His lips curled back in the form of a snarl, permitting his nature to extend his fangs. However, they never emerged. The realization of the actions he had committed caused him to relapse back into the grey and acerbic state of remorse and self-loathing, enticed by evidence offering itself as a prompt of the claim he set to his nature. With penitent eyes, he casted himself back into the faction of fiends. He remained a thing left to be feared and despised, something too close to the inferno for salvation. Conceivably this was the curse of the vampire, being reborn with a hole in your heart and another in your morals. This is what it was like to be an abomination.
A hard swallow preceding even harder breathing was the solitary counter heard by a startled Sookie, now questioning the role of her savior. It did little to vanquish the fear stained atmosphere within the area.
"None of you should have come here." His tone acquired a subtle edge where he contemplated jumping, ending it all once and for all. His brows fell in compunction, reprehensible that others must witness his true nature by his actions and not his meager words alone.
A dispute hung upon my tongue yet it was never wielded for an abrupt presence broke all of our indecisive dialogue. Spellbound, Eric hesitated in the doorway, rendered humbled and complaisant in the presence of his maker. Godric's name played breathlessly upon his lips as he bowed before the boy, slowly sinking to his knees as if it resting upon the back of a reverie that willed him to the floor.
Unable to contain the apprehension that filled her troubled mind, Sookie merely rested the palms of her hands upon her arms in order to prevent herself from quivering. An endeavor that proved futile as the fright rendered her body unruly. Its taste I attempted to ignore for it reminded me of things I wished not to dwell upon.
Desiring a change in atmosphere for its restlessly dancing shades of violet and ocher were overwhelming to witness, I dared myself to speak. "You're late," I chided tenderly for the previous scenes took away my resolve to chastise the blatantly arrogant temperament that is Eric. I do not think my snide comment even registered to his ears for all of his senses were being dedicated to his maker. An offer of devotion encased in wisps of honey that fell upon the tongue in saccharine drops as he basked in Godric's presence. They tickled the fingertips as each one passed.
Godric's gaze averted from mine to his child where it fell upon him with all of the scrutiny in the world. He looked upon him as a parent would a delinquent child, lines drawing and extending his once apathetic façade into the long looks of condemnation. "You were a fool for sending them after me." Despite such callous words, they were crafted from the supple tone of affection.
Eric began to shape a rebuttal, justifying his ruthless actions marked by desperation, yet Godric merely interrupted him with a censorious gaze and even more disapproving words. Despite his scrutiny for his progeny, a subdued smile curled the corners of his lips in amusement as he noted his child's enduring fidelity that strengthened as the days grew and passed. Despite the revitalizing sensation of adoration and loyalty between the two that twisted and turned in the tempting way of play, I felt my core begin to tense as a reaction to the sight for I have never met another other than myself who has interrupted Eric and proceeded to exist long enough to converse of it.
"We need to leave before the Fellowship has time to respond to your intrusion." I made no attempt to soften my gaze that was currently placed venomously upon one irrational Viking. It appears that certain "plans" could be terminated only when he saw fit which regrettably gave the plunderer an air of authority that left the rest of us abiding too. It rolled forth in overwhelming waves of amber that fell with the sound of thunder. Each wave left a pungent taste upon my tongue that was only reinstated by the next.
Eric spared the grace of his scornful remarks yet their dearth left nothing to acknowledge my admonition. He merely disregarded the things that he could not alter, a defense mechanism he developed before the world was round. "How long has it been since you fed?" He inquired, his gaze refusing to wavier upon anyone else's presence, rendering us into distractions in the company of his maker.
"I require very little blood anymore," Godric promptly stated with pursed lips, the scrutiny claiming what once belonged within his placid cobalt eyes. He was disconcerted by his child's words, exasperated that at such a time of treachery his mind could only rest upon the trivial notion of blood, the very thing that created such a quandary.
Before another word was capable of being uttered, the shrilling sounds of sirens could be heard, waxing and waning like the moon. Each cry left an echo for the dismay to be sheltered. "They know you are here," I interpreted their moans, familiarizing myself with their cry of a crisis that consisted of such a caliber.
"Save the human." Godric adjured as his gaze fell about the room, fluttering as if marked impatient by the interrupting sounds of the siren. "Go on," he prompted with amber spun words of clout upon noting his child's reluctantly. The contours of his visage weighed heavily upon his iris skin, pulling it down to a submissive scowl .
Eric's reply was soft and laced with an uncharacteristic sense of warmth that emerged curved and coral as it melted the winter within his eyes. "I am not leaving your side until you are-"
"I can take care of myself." An intolerant snarl harden his diction as each syllable flowed in a foreign pronunciation that parted with waves of antagonism and disdain, a glimpse of a past best forgotten. It pulled upon his brows, compelling them down with the plummet of bliss. A delectable fury was brooding within him that tasted of spiced cinnamon that warmed the senses as it danced upon my tongue, refusing to be swallowed. The years he possessed crafted it into an aged spice that appeared overwhelming as it leisurely subsided, resting as an ember as it poised to blaze once more. I shivered in its presence as my lids fell heavily upon my eyes and my head turned away, straitening my back in a rigid posture as each neuron abruptly awakened, rendering me incapable of experiencing much more.
"Leave through the sanctuary," I managed to murmur through gated lips, struggling to compose myself once more. "Its multiple exists will take them longer to block." I supplied, the severity of the situation finally striking a cord of sense within me. I found myself hoping that time would be kind to us this once.
"Spill no blood on your way out." The phrase appeared forced into existence by Godric's lips, as if he disputed the nature of his tongue to craft them. The bloodlust had subsided and the morals remained, appearing earnest despite the compensating need for such false fabrications.
Once they had left, their steps made frenzy and rash by the intoxicating savor of freedom, my gaze fell upon the carcass that once belonged to Sookie's almost rapist. I desired to look away, anywhere but at the man that reminded me of the monster that lurked just beneath the surface of the boy apathetically standing in front of me. I had never been this close to death before. I feared it in a way that could not grace others for it reminded me of my own mortality that I desired and how effortlessly it could be taken away once I attained it. And yet, it was alluring as if asking me to play, whispering tales of an afterlife where despair may never cross. I felt terror, the repugnant tang of substandard blueberries. I deemed it my own for I feared such a thing that could entice me so and cause me to surrender my optimism, the sole thing that I had left. I attempted to conceal my alarm with my gaze cast to the floor yet I fear that my precautions have failed me this time.
"Do you fear me now little one?" Eyes raised to meet mine in pursuit of the humanity he had forsaken so long ago. With remorse abating the cobalt that painted his irises, the answer he was seeking was already found. The query was only to confirm what he already deemed to be true.
Unable to fashion the fable that I desperately clung to, the truth emerged in pursuit of the light.
"Yes." It came out breathless, coercing its way to the surface for its moment of autonomy in the florescent lighting. It was the only counter I was capable of responding with, the truth. "I didn't believe. I didn't want to believe but you killed them. You murdered all of those children and you took pleasure in doing so. Why?" It felt like such an inane query as the air of rationality and veracity ripped through it, yet it had to be fashioned for the sake of my sanity.
"Because they were there," he replied with the brutality of a pessimist. "Because I am damned and that will be all that I can ever be." His gaze did not falter as the consequence of his actions vanquished the compassion within his eyes leaving a sanctuary of the corroded onyx to plunder.
"But you saved Sookie." My mind was grasping at mere loose ends, praying for one to hold firm in order to place my trust upon.
"By killing another?" He inquired with the scoff of the damned, pausing to permit the weight his words carried to strike me down. "I have killed for nearly two thousand years, my conscious hardly distinguished a difference between one more."
"No, that can't be true. You desire a change. I can feel it." I spoke the truth for its tender tug at the consciousness felt balmy and alluring, yet it refused to linger for it could not make a feast from these crumbs. The terror lingered, bringing the menace of tears that must follow as my mind wondered upon the curious notion of how one boy could be such a contradiction.
"I have spent a century waiting to evolve." He blinked slowly, lids falling profoundly upon his form of a somber certainty before continuing, "I have been waiting for something that will never come."
The riling resentment of being incapable of changing what lay just without my grasp turned within me, blazing with animated eyes of derision as it bent a crooked finger to beckon what tact held back. "Don't give me that bullshit!" Despite his façade not yielding to the sensation he felt within himself, he was startled by my impulsive change in diction and syntax. This was perhaps the first in my existence that I have spoken so ill and without the proper grace of mannered intellect. The fury only bolstered as it riled within me, the caliber that endangered my very existence for its strength would surly carry me away with it. Its presence beckoned the acumen I have kept for two years. "We like to believe that the world is constant but if it is one thing that I have leaned it is that nothing stays the same, not even us. So don't you dare blame your nature or the world for something you are incapable of completing because of your fear or reluctance. If you truly knew anything then you would know the only way to obtain your dreams is to wake up and find them yourself. You cannot waste your life waiting for them to find you."
Zeal seeped from my heated gaze, abrupt words that spoke in the rhythmic beats of jazz. It shaped a vile symphony with his stringed refutation that protested with the lingering echo of a bow striking against the heart of a violin.
Perhaps this was the first time he had listened to me and truly heard my words for it left a query brimming upon his lips that tasted of what was once forgotten. It broke free from his mind and fell upon his lips as an alteration in dialogue. "Why are you trying to aid me? I do not require it and your passion leads me to believe that it is not solely for my benefit." The cynicism was not noted in his tone yet it was tasted, consisting of a burnt ginger tang that withered in the presence of day.
The resentment once contained within me subsided into a fraction of itself that was still left to gnaw at the back of mind as the white noise it once was. The fissure it once occupied was now left for self-realization to emerge, a new found weapon that caused devastation. "I have an uncanny need to prove people wrong. I suppose in a sense that makes me selfish too." I replied with a ghost of my former tone, wishing for it to be all there was. At least all that was meant to be noted.
Godric remained silent, time turning his posture to stone as he awaited an explanation for he surly believed one to be appropriate.
I sighed for I did not know of any other means to express my quarrel. I could simply mention that I was hired to complete such a service yet I knew my "passion" would not permit such a counter to pose as believable. By clinging to such artificial pretenses and facades, I was aiding no one. It was time, once again, to speak of a truth that longed for the light but was best kept within the shadows.
With antagonism no longer present to contort my speech, I spoke rationally once more after a subtle sigh escaped my lips. "Because if you are right and there is truly nothing left to live for, then what am I suppose to do? Pass on willing? Fade into a memory, if there even exists a person to hold such a burden? I cannot except that sentence like you can." I took a superfluous breath before clarifying for the boy's silence permitted me to continue my story, presenting him with something he has never heard of before. Its difficulty to divulge only reminded me of the delusions of grandeur I clung to. "For nearly two years I have been dead and this entire time the only thought I had was fixing my situation by any means necessary. I want to be alive again. I want to feel the ground under me and have a reason to use a door. God, I want to eat again and actually be able to savor the taste of food. I think I would even try sardines!" A dry chortle escaped my lips that such a concept crafted. I desired for him to comprehend such a thing as absolute as bereavement and that it is not the means to a resolution that some deem it as. I aspired for my knowledge to be enlightened within him, unleashing the rationality that he had kept caged within himself for such an unruly period of time. So I continued to elucidate, whishing for at least one word to be headed. "And yet, despite how wonderful all these things are, how purely amazing life is, you want to end it. You, who has lived longer than anyone, wants to die. I cannot comprehend it."
"It appears that my actions have unsettled you and for that I apologize," the corners of his lips curled into the offer of a smile, a minute, lingering trace of bliss that was being clouded by such pungent compunction. Yet it only brought about the return of my resentment for how could he offer such benevolent words in a dispute such as this. "Yet you must understand," he continued and his tone fell upon the somber existence of an unchangeable past, "that it is because of the extent of my life that I have chosen my actions. Two thousand years worth of sin is enough. It is time for my judgment to come."
"What a terrible view of life you have." The words fell silently as they made their presence known by such a minute fashion. Yet, they descended from a state of mind that no longer offered me autonomy and thus they fell without restraint. "I wish you could see yourself through their eyes. Maybe then you would not subject yourself to this idiocy." My gaze fell upon his, scrutinizing him as he did me. "Even then I fear that it may not be enough." My arms crossed defensively against my chest in a censorious posture that I typically reserved for Eric's tirades, yet I felt it appropriate to use in this certain circumstance. He remained as stone, offering no figure of a sentiment as an insight into his ancient intellect.
The vigorous steps of a militia impending could be heard above us, the reverberation of rubber slapping against stone in a conjuring way that spoke of defending territory. They would not rest. They were the lambs that had become the hunters and they would persecute their prey for their sins. The more histrionic the sacrifice the more appeasing their death would be. War had commenced and none shall flee its unruly grasp.
"You must leave," The phrase was cut from ice, forming a pair with his gaze as it became fixed upon me once more. It quickly softened, dulling the cerulean winter they once contained upon the constraint of his nature. The lines and contours that once shaped his obstinate visage now lengthened to where they met at the slant of his chin, transfixing the once somber expression into one of a subtle alacrity. Even as it subsided, parts of it lingered upon his features speaking of their awaited return. It was evident that the sounds of warfare that reverberated above us were not the sole reason he desired my departure for he was growing faintly weary of our conversation. Given his stature, a justification was not something he familiarized himself with and thus thought it peculiar when such a thing was called of him.
I refused to grant him what he desired for my inquiries were still left without answers to make them whole. My gaze fell upon his once more, searching for a means to a final end. One that will attest my point and convert his obstinate inclination into one that will be malleable and capable of bending to my will. Yet none could be found for he sat adamantly and indifferently in a similar fashion that I found him in. He would abscond this time yet he would not be so compliant in time to come.
Altering tactics, the corners of his lips curled in a tenuous smile that offered consolation. "Do not spend your time worrying about me, little one. I can take care of myself." His tone abated, encompassing the faint warmth of a smile that did not reach his eyes for they remained the dismal cinereal of death.
"That is what got us into this predicament, "I felt compelled to remind him, burdening myself with such a pessimistic role that clouded the once light hearted optimism I felt. "And do not refer to me as little one," I declared hastily, imitating his enunciation as my tongue stumbled over the name bestowed upon me, failing at mimicking its foreign pronunciation.
My pitiable attempt at humor returned the subdued smile to his lips as the faint lilac of amusement encompassed his words. "Forgive me, but I never asked for your name." Now I was deemed imperative by the two thousand year old vampire incapable of extending forgiveness to himself.
"It's Danny. At least I think that it is." I supplied as an afterthought of a murmur, permitting a moment's worth of contemplation to ponder if it too was a fabrication of my wicked imagination.
"You have my word, Danny," the name sounded peculiar to my ears as it fell from his lips, no longer my own for it was transformed into something the stars themselves envied. A curt dip of the head as a nod signaled his acknowledgment of the words I provided yet not the conception of their semantics that typically proceeds. However, there stood a lone smile that claimed his lips as its own and curled its corners by its tenuous nature of reflection. He was beginning to comprehend the edges of my rationality yet I feared that it was too late. He was too far gone. Prudence was clouded by the delusions he has lived in for centuries past.
And yet, I was thwarted. I carried the shred of hope that my words alone possessed the fervor to alter his perception of reality. Provide him with the clarity we all seem to posses yet he discards. I had hoped that I would be graced with such a title yet it appears that I am not entitled to such a thing of enlightenment. I fear that no one would be fit to carry that burden.
A lingering look upon his returned vacant demeanor did little to ease my troubled mind yet I continued to move forward, compelling myself to not look at the past that waited just behind my shoulder. I held in a gratuitous breath as I lost myself to the solid mass of a concrete wall, collecting myself just past the barrier it produced. Releasing my breath, I collected my thoughts as my gaze lingered upon the wall, knowing he was just past it.
I left him there to be detained by his judgment and the memories of countless lives past, the vice of them shall never wipe clean from his hands. I left him just as he did to them. The parallelism forced me to entertain the notion of us perhaps sharing more than what was initially led to believe. With every step that brought me farther from him, for distance shall always be measured by his presence for he was time, my hesitance faded in order for the relentless curiosity to consume the void of a sanctuary it left.
I noted the sigh that escaped my lips yet I was unsure to deem it content or exasperation for both seemed to exist. As well as the fear. Oh yes, the terror of being something other than your desires. It will always remain as I conjecture if I too will begin to think like him, devoid of elation. Sinicism will be all that remains after the time has passed, a caveat I never heeded until now. I firmly closed my eyes as I entertained delusions of me possessing the vigor of a sizable form of resolve. Perhaps it was only a delusion, yet it tamed the trepidation and as of now, that is all that I can ask for.
Each contemplating step, pressed thin with the apprehensive notions the future brings, brought me closer to the reverend's office. I merely scoffed at the lock upon the door, not needing to be troubled by such a blatant cry of mistrust. I became like air once more as I passed through the door. Hesitance diluting with every step, the revelation of a secret bewitched my interest.
Warm shades of russet and a rich verdant intertwined to form the Reverend's office. An enthralling chocolate stretched across the walls, scattering around pictures and other odds and ends that adorned the walls until it rested upon the rear wall. In this far off corner rested the oak carved desk that struck the alleged hand of God. It was accompanied by gaping folders containing half read documents complete with coffee rimmed stains that were scattered across its holy surface, accumulating to its manner of imperative commerce. Several books depicted emblems of crosses and hands raised to entreaty that acted as a reminder of the integrity in the world he once clung to. A callous fabrication of righteousness that became deluded over the years due to his blinding faith.
Yet, one must not openly question the man who has faith. One can only silently disprove.
Upon further inquiry the papers seemed to contain tactics of a preparation for Armageddon and one could only assume which side Steve was claiming to belong to. The text depicted images of rifles completed with silver bullets, stakes fashioned into crosses, and silver arrows dipped in holly water by the Pope himself. Proclamations of war accompanied the pictures along with hand written letters from other church officials across the region. It appears the restless Reverend has been quite the active hand of God and his followers stretched beyond his modest establishment here. The brutality of the matter only increased upon finding a date circled upon his calendar. A broad ring the tint of blood that will be spilled housed the date June 21st of next year. The Summer Solstice. The longest day of the year.
Numbed by the distress as the contents of my mind moved restlessly with a newfound sense of urgency, the dismal realization of an underestimation forced the air from my lungs in a disgruntled sigh. A man driven to madness could scheme the brilliant means to an end that others refused to acknowledge. Newlin was not only preparing for Armageddon, he was planning it.
From one horror to another, the pendulum swung, never bothering to rest upon such a trifling fabrication of serenity.
I fled the room with the same newfound exigency my contemplation possessed, steps being transfixed into discomfited strides to the tempo of the drums of war reverberating from the walls, chipping the paint as it passed. Passing images of carnage and the annihilation of a race forced each step down in the fashion of a sprint. My search ended abruptly upon the sight of a woman's eyes widening upon my presence.
"Where do you think you are going?" The words raged from her lips, entwined with an authoritarian tone that spoke ill will of her domestic demeanor. She appeared to be an amiable woman, being a mother of three with golden tresses and envious lucid cerulean eyes who baked brownies for the congregation every Wednesday. The soft floral pattern of her sun dress only appeared to reinforce her docile nature. The palms of her hands rested upon the soft cherry cardigan that hugged her hips in a hastened knot, a stance she reserved for reprimanding her children as she awaited a response.
My own words caught within my throat upon the realization of being recognized by someone capable of producing a heartbeat. A form of hope I am not sure I have ever experience for it felt oddly new yet extraordinarily exhilarating arched the curve of my lips in a long awaited smile. Euphoria eased my troubled mentality, making light of what was once dark as it put to rest the qualms that haunted each step I took. The woman's brows rose charily in rejoinder to what she classified as abnormal behavior.
I failed to answer her for I was in the presence of my own queries. "You can see me?"
The woman's brows furrowed as lips pressed into a firm line of contemplation. The workings of a slow mind were insufferable to witness for one who has sought a moment such as this for years. "I can't hear you and I don't care what you are trying to tell me." A thick southern accent rolled forth from her tongue, coercing her diction to sharpen even more. A shattered form of a smirk seized her lips, permitting a dash of derange to widen her eyes in such a dreadfully foreboding way that jeopardized my safety. "You're one of them aren't you? Steve will be pleased to have another fang banging whore to add to his collection. Be prepared you Satan lover, you're about to fry!" The idiocy of a blinding faith stretched her inflections an octave higher than necessary as the vile resentment clung to her in shades of crimson that blazed in the fabrication of a biblical fire.
The optimism within me dispersed immediately, leaving only the chasm it once occupied as a reminder. The melancholy rationality offered resurfaced, tainting the walls with shades of a dismal grey that would never wash away. "Figures," I sighed upon realizing fait's perverse game. "The one person capable of seeing me wants me dead."
The woman, drunk with a blinding rage that was once derived from fear, eagerly advanced. Each step was balanced upon her toes as she prepared to sprint towards the acclaimed sinner before her. For a wavering moment my gaze merely rested upon the woman before me. My feet were unmoving as my consciousness attempted to draw meaning from such a peculiar turn of events, as if movement was not permitted until logic was sought. That was the terms by which I defined the edges of my world. The woman before me truly wanted me dead all due to the commands of a single man. It appears reason was not to be found from such an event but it did little to tame the melancholy that terrorized my heart.
Before her steps collected into a sprint, I felt the particles within me pull apart, separating only to gather once more behind the sanctuary the wall provided. It was such a peculiar sensation, the tickling sensation of losing consciousness entwined with the abrupt awakening from a dream.
"Holly fuck!" the coarse curse was heard, quite audibly too I might include, from behind the wall. No less from the woman whose perspective was now forced into a change. Such harsh words were followed by a string of prayers offered as repentance for such a vile mannered slip of the tongue.
Her blatant profanities fell upon deaf ears, for the focus of the evening was currently captivated by the impression of a slaughter. I would not have time to dwell upon this new heartbreak for before me stood an army fashioned from the church's congregation whom were all adorned with silver chains, swinging portentously from their grasps. The flavor of allegiance immersed the air, a lingering zest of salt that rolled froth like a relentless and unyielding spring. Everyone's gaze was cast upon the main entrance which housed the bloodlust of Stan and his fellow followers within its frame.
"We'll kill you first," Stan spoke with a chortle pressed upon his lips, pleased to be receiving his Western movie ending of a showdown. "Same way we did your father," fell from his lips in a low murmur as his perverse smirk brandished his fangs. A glimmer that enthralled the rigged onyx of his irises proposed a declaration of war.
Such an animate proclamation compelled us all to contemplate a sole conception. It quivered between our communal consciousnesses, pressing itself into the forefront of all of our minds until it spoke to us adroitly with worried words; this will not end well.
AN: As always, thank you all my lovely readers for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and that it satisfied your Godric cravings. I apologize if it was not up to par with the rest of the chapters but I have been editing this for about a week now until I decided I could no longer look at it. Hopefully this lethargic streak will not continue. Anyways, reviews, adds, and favorites are always appreciated but not required. If you are feeling chatty and desire to converse with another True Blood fan, then please don't hesitate to message me! Have a wonderful fan fiction filled day!
