CHINA DOLL VIII-- CHINA DOLL
They left their coffee.
The abandoned their omelets.
Sirius even let his toast slide away into the great beyond. He had seen it all before, the accusations, allegations, and reparations. Sirius knew how to run, he had far to much practice in that for comfort; but comfort and fleeing are seldom bedmates. No one in the diner noticed them now, but they damn well would when the police showed up. And they weren't going to wait for that.
----
He left his empathy.
He abandoned his compassion.
Orien let all traces of humanity slide away into the great beyond. He was flying high on his hunter's high, cruising along the darkened streets of Hong Kong. All of humanity stood before him, ripe in their weakness, like rows of grain, while he held the naked scythe, ready to cut them down at will. He was the master of all, and the weak all no longer his oppressor.
And so Orien coasted through the black night, sheathed in black leather, black thoughts flitting across the canvas of his soul.
----
A earsplitting howl caught into his soul and held it fast. Spinning around in a whirlwind of adrenaline, Remus Lupin looked into the face of a demon.
A slick black car pulled up at the curb, so fast it was heralded by a shower of red-hot sparks. Jumping out of the roof, a figure howled as a beam of moonlight illuminated his face.
Orien.
Everything about him was black, his hair, his leather, the look on his face. Everything except for a tiny glint of silver in his left hand. A penknife.
Orien tilted his head to the side, a small sickly smile painted onto his face. He let out all of his breath in a long reptilian hiss.
"Go," Remus whispered to Vix and Sirius, who he knew were somewhere behind him. Without waiting for their reply, he turned to the mad dog he was now faced with.
Orien said nothing, like Whimsy, he didn't have to. He just smiled his sadistic reptilian smile and gestured Remus towards him. Remus rose to the bait, and before he realized where his feet were taking him, Orien was in his face, the smell of leather, cologne, and sweat catching his senses and holding them captive. He felt a sharp pain in his arm and realized Orien was gripping it, twisting it. The agony exploded. A well-aimed kick to the small of the back brought him to his knees, but he didn't yell. He couldn't yell, give Orien that satisfaction. With a wave of sweeping despair, he realized Orien didn't care. Orien let go of his arm and he sprawled across the asphalt, gritting his teeth with pain as he felt half the skin slide off the left side of his face. With a grace well practiced, Orien knelt down and expertly fitted his hands around Remus's neck. Bending down so his mouth was right by Remus's ear, Orien spoke for the first time. "I am your devil, Limey, and you're my china doll." He paused, and in that pause, Remus could feel his sadistic smile. "I'm breaking you." He lay there, so close Remus could feel his heart beat against his own, feel the sweat from Orien's hands trickle down his spine, feel his breath rasping against his face. The tension was incredible, two suspended in indefinite limbo, he knew suddenly, the feeling of a convict about to die, the pain of a mouse in the paws of a cat, a slug in a sea of salt, he was about to die and somehow, someway, had never felt more alive in his life. He felt Orien's tongue against his head, felt the teeth close, screamed in pain as Orien bit away part of his ear-- and howled. He howled with Remus's blood running down his leather, the tiny piece of ear falling from his mouth to the asphalt without a sound.
And then, another howl joined the first. Moony had returned.
Thrashing his head violently, he managed to shake off one of the hands slowly choking him to death. Shooting an arm back he hit Orien square in the chest and was rewarded when the other hand released its stranglehold. He got to his feet, blood from his ear trickling slowly down the side of his head and turned to face his challenger. Orien's teeth were bared in a growl, his bloody lips curling up. Brandishing the penknife, Orien rushed towards him without a sound. Moony caught him on impact, falling to the street with Orien bearing down on top of him, crushing his ribs. Gripping his arm, Moony pushed Orien so they rolled over, the tables turned, the wolf on top. He let out a long howl of pain as Orien pushed the penknife into his shoulder, ignoring the cuts he had made on his own hand in his haste. Their blood mingled indiscriminately flowing to the street in a heinous splash of red. The sight of blood only maddened Moony more. Snapping, he pummeled Orien across the face and was rewarded with a sharp crack. His quarry struggled as Moony punched him again, again, again-- and then the struggling grew weaker... and stopped.
"Going to kill me, Limey?"
The words brought it all rushing back, the words-- language a far away echo of humanity he had long since left behind. That haphazard smile laced itself across the face of his devil. Remus lay there, suspended between savagery and civility, staring at the pool of their blood running down to the gutter in tiny rivulets. He saw Orien's face, say the blood flowing from his nose, say the angle at which his arm was twisted. Somehow, he managed to get up, and stagger a few paces. Then bending down he threw up, threw up shamelessly and indefinitely until his mind realized he couldn't move, but it was as if he couldn't see anything, his mind was covered in a haze of madness and blood. He lay there, beyond any certainty until a strong pair of hands pulled him up.
----
Remus was a bloody heaving mess, his chest rising and falling with breaths more mechanical than life sustaining. Sirius ran, half-dragging, half-carrying him, Vix at his side. Orien lay winded on the ground and made no attempt to stop them. Luckily, for Sirius had no idea of how much longer they could have continued, 218 Ho Chi Mien was close at hand. Vix threw open the door as he shuffled in, staggering from under Remus's bulk. They side stepped a man passed out of the cement stairs and finally made it over to Apartment 2A.
Sirius heard the door slam shut and the dead bolt slide into place as he eased Remus down on the floor. His friend lay in a stage of semi-consciousness, his face twisted into an expression of intense agony. Biting his lip to keep from crying out, Remus titled his head urgently towards the penknife still protruding from his blood stained shoulder. Sirius moved his hand to pull it out, but a hand held him still. "Don't," said Vix, her face still shocked and revolted though she was trying to do he best to hide it. "It's holding the blood in, if you take it out, he'll loose even more."
Sirius nodded, but at his assent, Remus grew even paler. "It's silver," he managed to croak out before his words dissolved into a moan of pain. In one fluid motion, Sirius had the knife out. But with it came a torrent of blood. Sirius threw the knife across the room and almost considered casting a spell to staunch the bleeding, until he realized Vix was standing right over his shoulder.
"Why did you do that?" Vix spat in downright amazement.
Sirius was past the point of caring, "It's silver."
Vix looked as if she wanted to say more but she simply shook her head. "We're going to have to call for help."
"No," said Sirius firmly. Calling for help was the worst thing Vix could do now, after just being displayed on the news as a murder suspect. And beyond all that, he couldn't let one of the Muggle hospitals get a hold of a sample of Remus's blood.
"What do you mean, no?" Vix exploded. "He could die!"
"I'm alright," said Remus hoarsely, trying in vain to sit up. The exertion caused his would to bleed faster.
"Stop tying to be noble, you idiot!" Sirius yelled, pushing him back down.
Vix laughed harshly, "That's going to do a whole lot of help!"
Sirius felt the anger course through him, flare to a peak, fizzle, and die. Vix had never see his eyes look so empty, so haunted. "I'm sorry," he whispered, turning for the briefest second to the window, where the moon reflected, repercussioned, and repeated itself all over the sea. Vix's snap brought nothing more than a wistful smile to his face, the smile a reflection on a life that could have been his, fourteen years ago.
"It's alright," Vix's silky tones bringing him out of his reverie, or in actuality deepening it, every word, every movement, every breath reminiscent of her.
"How old are you?" Sirius said abruptly, suddenly seeing how painfully young, how fragile she looked in the gentle gauze of moonlight.
"Your friend is bleeding on the floor," she replied, without dropping her gaze. It was times like these that made him so acutely aware of how inaccurate the term "Muggle" was.
Without dropping her gaze, Vix knelt down beside Remus, who instantly gave a low growl. Sirius glanced down sharply and the cause of the problem hit him square in the face. "Take your necklace off, Vix," he said, watching as the silver chain dangled precariously in front of his friend.
Giving him a curious look, Vix tucked the chain into her uniform and bent down to examine Remus. The ragged ear, maze of bruises, and bloody shoulder blazed out at her so painfully she almost felt like they were her own wounds. "He needs help, Padfoot."
"Whimsy," Remus croaked hoarsely. "He got us into this…" he trailed off lost in a dream-state of pain.
Vix stared piercingly at Sirius, as if daring him to agree. Despite his better instincts, Sirius had to relent. He was no use without a wand, and Remus was in no condition to heal himself. "I'll get him."
Vix's dark eyes suddenly registered a look of betrayal and she dropped her head, seemingly intrigued with Remus's injuries. Sirius took a step towards the door, and then turned back to Vix, "Don't touch his blood."
She jerked her head up and met his worried stare with raw ferocity, "What is going on?"
An impulse hit Sirius, and a small smile graced his haunted face, "My name is Sirius Black."
Vix stared back at him and for the briefest of instants, the haunted look was reflected in her own eyes, "I'm nineteen."
----
It was midnight and Whimsy was still at his desk. Sirius didn't ask why, he didn't care. The carpet gave a soft snore as he apperated in the immaculate white room. Whimsy didn't look remotely disconcerted as he sipped a glass of tomato juice. "Yes?"
"You're coming with me," Sirius growled, stepping threateningly towards the desk.
Whimsy licked the tomato juice off of his lips, "And why should I?"
For once, Sirius was glad of his reputation, "I'm Sirius Black."
"Which is precisely why any rational person wouldn't follow," Whimsy said patronizingly.
"Damn you!" Sirius yelled.
Whimsy raised an eyebrow, "Extraordinarily persuasive, Mr. Black."
"Remus is going to die," Sirius bellowed, knocking half of the carefully framed photographs off of Whimsy's desk with one swipe of his hand. Their occupants immediately let out a cry of distress, and one woman started yelling bloody murder.
"Remus?" Whimsy took a deep breath, the most subtle of smiles tracing its way across his face. "Remus… why didn't you say so?"
----
"I'm a monster."
Vix looked in surprise to Remus, lying in a heap at her feet. His breathing was shallow, forced and his eyes vacant. "Of course you're not," she said out of habit, but the image of a broken Orien ran across her mind's eye. What the hell am I doing…
He gave a racking cough, "You're nineteen, you shouldn't be here…"
How the hell would he know? Vix bit back the barbed retort, "How old are you?"
"Thirty-five," he said weakly. "I could be your father."
"Promiscuous sixteen year old," she sighed, staring up towards the window. He didn't look thirty-five, his light brown hair was already streaked with the beginnings of gray, but it was his eyes, those intense gray eyes that seemed so much older.
He laughed… weakly. "Not quite, Sirius maybe."
Vix recognized the name, "You mean Padfoot?"
"Yes," he nodded, "Padfoot." A breather and then Remus started again, "Did… I… kill him?"
Vix tore her eyes away from the window and back to her ward. "No. He hurt you more than you hurt him." And I've hurt him more still…
"My devil."
"What?"
"He called himself my devil," Remus breathed.
Vix tried to laugh dismissivly, but it wouldn't come. "Orien's a sick bastard," she replied instead.
He turned his intense gray eyes to her own, "So am I. So am I."
"No you're not," she replied, shaking her head.
"How?" he said, his face as impassive as Orien's own.
"You saved Isaac," she replied. And me… "You just lost control."
"I nearly killed him," the Brit closed his eyes. "I would have killed him."
"He would have killed you," Vix said, knowing the truth in her words and hating every ounce of it.
"I could kill you now," he said, his face a blank page.
"But you won't," she replied softly.
Remus looked up at her once again, "How do you know?"
"I trust my intuition," she said, leaning closer. "It's never been wrong."
He gave a long suffering smile. "Many have called me a mistake."
"And I'm not," she replied, lightly touching his light brown hair. "It tells me that you're alright, even if you do like Silence of the Lambs."
"One day the wolf will lay down with the sheep," he said absently.
"I think it was a lion," Vix replied, shaking her head slowly. "But us sheep gotta stick together, hmmm?"
"Baaaa," Remus said weakly. "At least that's what Sirius would say."
Vix looked down, "And what would you say?"
He stared straight up into her coffee-brown eyes, "Yes."