It didn't quite go as planned.
Or, well, to some extent it did, seeing as he succeeded in freeing himself from her grip.
"Ouch, not this hand, not this hand! I just have it bandaged!" Vanitas yelped in exaggerated pain from having his arm twisted to the wrong way. He stole a glance at Jeanne, who didn't seem troubled by his pleas. As he resisted, she used more of her strength and Vanitas could feel blood seeping from his wounds.
"Answer the question." Her unwavering eyes never leaving Vanitas', she slammed him against the door. She lived up to her reputation, Vanitas would give her that.
"The same reason why you're here, I suppose." Not wanting to injure himself any further, he simply dodged her question without making extra remarks. It was proved to be the correct move as she released him.
"I know you lot." She tugged at his necklace where a silver cross hung from. "You're no ordinary human."
"Just as you're no ordinary vampire, Jeanne." Speaking her name had finally done the trick. She stepped back, allowing Vanitas to regain his posture. "There's no reason for us to start a fight right here. Let's finish our own tasks and appreciate the Parisian sunrise, shall we?"
To be honest, he wasn't sure if she'd comply. Even without her gauntlet, Vanitas was no match for her. She could have slaughtered him in cold blood if she wanted, without anyone knowing since he was supposed to be 'resting in bed'. Imagine his relief when Jeanne returned to what she was doing before the intrusion, completely ignoring his presence.
Vanitas stayed close to the door for a quick escape, observing the state of the room. Starting with conclusions, there was absolutely no tell-tale sign screaming serial murderer. If anything, it was home to a couple in love. Photos were framed, mugs and slippers in pairs, double bed in the master bedroom, no one would be able to tell the horrors their owners inflicted on the city. Positive there was no hidden traps, he commenced his investigation.
While Vanitas was going through the roll out drawers, Jeanne was rummaging through the shelf, probably searching for a diary. They worked in silence, cautious of their surroundings but tolerating each other. After checking the contents of the third drawer, Vanitas confirmed he wouldn't find anything useful. Everything was too organised, as if someone was deliberately presenting a normal room for two. If he was to discover something in this room, it wouldn't be sitting in oblivious places.
Where would he hide his secrets? Where would she hide her fears? The woman had begged him to stop, meaning she had talked to him regarding his behaviour. It was unclear if the curse-bearer was conscious of his actions, so it might be beneficial to start with his lover. Jeanne was left empty-handed with the bookshelves and changed to checking the walls and the floor but it was unlikely the woman would go to such trouble to hide something.
An idea came to him and sent Vanitas running for the closet. He inspected her handbags first, then her dresses, then her cosmetics. Not knowing what to look for and if it even existed, he didn't have his hopes up, he was simply testing one theory after another.
It was when he began pulling underthings from the closet that Jeanne spoke up, eyes wide with disbelief and maybe disdain.
"What are you-"
She never got to finish her sentence as Vanitas hit the jackpot, an aluminium box buried under lingerie. How innocent.
And just like that, she abandoned her stay-away-from-the-human principle, rushing to find out what was in the box.
Articles torn from newspapers, all dated from a month ago when the vampire incidents started. Extracts from books, researches for her partner's symptoms. She was also trying to piece things together, to find an explanation for his sudden craze for blood.
She never found out, instead ended up doing all his dirty work.
Vanitas flattened the crumpled letter sitting at the bottom, revealing a single sentence written in bold letters.
Help. It is coming for me next.
It was something straight out of a horror movie, the only difference being they were living in it.
He was about to ask Jeanne about the creepy note when three things happened at once.
A loud bang echoed from the window, Jeanne's head snapping at that direction.
Pain erupted from his upper arm, his skin pierced by something sharp.
Jeanne shoved him to the ground.
Vanitas reached for his weapons almost immediately, but a battle was already unfolding before his eyes. Air currents were roaring in the supposedly indoor space, rustling her long, silky hair. Glass fragments from the broken window rained down harmlessly, unable to break through Jeanne's wind shield. Her eyes, determined and scarlet again from manipulating the world formula, glowed in the dark.
Vanitas' heart skipped a beat just from looking at her.
"Huh? Who is this, who is this? You are not Charles!" Sang a mechanical voice, in the form of a pitch-black swirling mist. It regarded Vanitas with its hollow eyes, laughing wildly. As Jeanne's storm died down, it reshaped and shifted, inching closer to the duo.
"I could ask the same to you." Jeanne wiped the blood from her face, her voice ice cold.
"Me?" Pleased by Jeanne's reaction, its voice raised to an even higher pitch. "Our name… is Charlatan!