A/N: I noticed I said I was going to do a moving chapter about China Moon
the last time. Unfortunately, my fingers have denied everyone that till the
next chapter.bleurgh, again.
Chapter Two: Respective Monologues
En let the cold water cradle her body, feeling its near sensuous touch creep stealthily along her skin. Her temper slowly dispelled itself: En had been around long enough to have learnt that bursting into flame with other vampires never did guarantee a long existence in the Night World.
So at present En was going to ignore what Rafael had said, and stuff it to the back of her mind.
Closing her eyes, En felt her muscles relax, succumbing to the numbing sensation of the water. A knot of tension at the back of her neck started uncoiling, and En could sense the fresh blood of the boy she had fed on course through her own blood like a revitalising new lease of life.
She was still hungry...some vampire blood could do her some good, she decided. Adding on to the fact that the agency was out to recruit more trainees... especially since the older assassins like herself and Rafael were either in semi-retirement or were involved in other branches of the Night World; in hers and Rafael's case, they were both in Night World Council.
It was not surprising that older assassins, despite their finesse and experience in the line, never had much interest in continuing, save for jobs which would require more skill and daring than that which could be found within the ranks of ordinary assassins. Everyone else seemed to think that the assassins loved doing what they did (after all, what job could be more preferable than one which naturally worked according to your own predatory instincts?); but En knew, and the other seniors knew, that after a while even the satisfaction one got from a killing became monotonous and uneventful. The thrill became commonplace, the adrenaline rush was missing, only the calculated, perfectly executed actions were anything left to take pride in. Because the golden days of the old assassin sect of the Night World were almost over: the new bloods could never live up to their legacy, not even now during the chase to collect the Wild Powers.
En found the whole prophecy a laugh; but then for a long time now, everything and anything and everyone and anyone had been a laugh to her - it was only a matter of whether it was a bitter laugh or a real laugh, if one could get the gist of that; sometimes En just laughed and laughed when all she wanted to do was cry.
But she could not remember the last time she had cried; or perhaps she did but didn't want to remember.
Anyway it seemed as if there was nothing left to do besides put on a mask every morning, living up to a reputation she had not asked to have.
En sighed, unconsciously as her mind drifted inevitably back to what Rafael had said again. Gareth.
An old wound, somewhere within the deep reaches of her heart, bleeding quietly all this time, had started to ache again, by the sole reminder of his name.
She knew he was still alive. She could feel it; sense it, even if she could not prove it.
Gareth, Gareth, Gareth.
When she slept she still felt Gareth's comforting arms wrapped around her body. When she kissed Rafael she still felt Gareth's gentle lips, Gareth's breath soft on her skin as his mouth slid down her neck. When she fed she still heard Gareth's chiding tone as he had instructed her on how to better her skills. She could still taste Gareth's blood, thick and powerful and completely fulfilling.
En had always thought she could leave everything to the disposal of a purposely convenient memory, but her senses denied her leave from Gareth.
A soft sob, almost virginal in essence, broke from her larynx, uncalled for.
Then En suddenly stood up, reaching for a towel and wiping herself dry with a vengeance; harshly and painfully as if trying to purge herself of whatever sentiments she had. Her face, which she knew, almost guiltily for no particular reason, had been pasted with a sad, sombre expression; so now she pasted another expression on her face - the usual of hard and expressionless.
She faced herself in the mirror, her naked body flushed by the rough sloughing of the towel. She stared down the fast-tearing grey eyes. She stared down the white throat, which was red and quivering from the effort it took to hold the consecutive sobs back.
A light tremor, almost a shiver, ran through her body, destroying the control.
And then En Redfern broke down and cried.
~
Jake Farraday pulled at his fawn-grey button-down shirt, smoothing down his black suede pants, as he waited at the living room of the Farraday mansion.
Their family was rich. Their family was fragmented. Their family barely existed, save for the familial festivities of Christmas and Thanksgiving.
Jake remembered the last time he had seen his mother was two years ago. Lee Farraday worked in Japan, as goodness knows what. Nobody ever told Jake. Jake supposed everyone else thought it did not matter whether Jake knew or not.
Jake's older sister, Jade, was attending college in Harvard. Majoring, again, in goodness knows what. As Jake was redundant in this family of classic overachievers, therefore it was not anyone's particular responsibility to tell Jake.
Jake's father was a director of a pharmaceutical company. Jake only found out about that when he saw his father's name in the papers in fifth grade. Before that, Brian Farraday was merely the Dad who sits in a nice Jaguar whilst a random family chauffeur (they had two or three) drives in the front seat.
Jake had grown up in an empty house full of everything whilst at the same time lacking in everything else. Even when Jade had not been in college she had been intellectually advanced enough to be sent to a prestigious boarding school in Switzerland ever since she was nine and could speak more than five different languages. So Jake's constant companions were the silent, reliable staff - Lyons the butler, Mrs. Smith the cook, Jolin the housekeeper and Yong and Lawrence and Whatshisname the chauffeurs - all of whom had addressed him as 'Master Jacob' for as long as Jake could remember.
And of course, though his mother would send expensive clothes every month, and Jake's medical and educational fees were always duly paid, nobody ever said a word about pocket money, or money for college, or money for a car.
Jake supposed they forgot, or couldn't be bothered to care.
So a year ago, when Jake, the famously reclusive introvert, had met Owen, his polar opposite, Jake had been secretly flattered by Owen's attention. Even if it went against Jake's normal sexual tendencies to have such a reaction. Even if Jake was spooked out by Owen most of the time. Though of course Jake was not insane enough to actually openly show any attraction the way Owen did.
Even if Jake suspected Owen always knew otherwise.
Owen had always cornered Jake; Jake could easily recall the countless of times Owen had 'accidentally' kissed Jake, his lips passing Jake's swiftly and lightly, almost as if they hadn't touched his. But they had, and each time Jake went home feeling more confused and more disgusted than the last.
And then Owen had bit him.
Jake couldn't quite remember how it had happened; only that he had been dead drunk from the wildest party he had ever been to and Owen had somehow dragged him out of it. In fact Jake couldn't even remember the actual process - all he could really recall was a sharp pain in the side of his neck at one minute, then a whole whirl of messed up sequences later, Owen had somehow managed to hold him up long enough to take a sip of Owen's blood, which Owen had supposedly offered him from his cut wrist (Jake supposed Owen must have cut it himself), and all Jake could remember was that it tasted weird. Good. Tantalising. Jake wasn't entirely sure.
And then Jake had passed out completely, and woke up the next afternoon with his memory absolutely blank in Owen's bedroom, sprawled across Owen's bed. Jake had found Owen asleep himself on a cot in the corner of the room, so he was comforted to a certain extent that Owen hadn't done anything explicit. Owen, being Owen, had neither denied nor affirmed Jake's queries; he had simply given Jake his signature seductive smirk. Jake, being Jake and fully heterosexual, decided that it was best not to develop any further thoughts based on that smirk.
But when Jake had returned home that night suffering from a massive hangover, his mind had began to slowly piece back the happenings of the night before, however sketchy. And Jake began having suspicions - whacked- out suspicions, he had thought at that time - regarding Owen.
Owen, again, being Owen, when finally confronted a full week later by a hesitant Jake, very nonchalantly told Jake the entire truth, and consequently bit him. Again. After which he fed the extremely dazed Jake his blood.
Jake didn't know why he hadn't done something, or hadn't told anyone about Owen. Owen certainly had not worried about reminding him to keep his trap shut.
Then again, that was Owen.
So one day, two months after Jake was first bitten, Jake had died whilst crossing the road at three in the morning (He had been leaving yet another party). It was hit-and-run; until now Jake never knew who had caused his mortal death. All Jake knew for sure was that Owen had brought him back, and Owen's cousin, Blair Thistlerose, who had happened to be there and who was a few years older and more experienced, had used some fortunate telepathy to get all three of them out of a tight knot, which had basically involved a rather sticky situation with two policemen who had been chasing after the speeding drivers in the first place.
Jake supposed that one thing good about being a vampire was that Owen no longer quite had that spellbinding, freezing effect on him anymore, and the two of them were on more stable ground in terms of that all-important thing called friendship. In fact Jake could perhaps even go so far as to say that he and Owen were best friends.
Somewhat.
The doorbell rang, its shrill noise piercing through the utter silence of the room. Jake jumped up, grabbing his wallet from the mantelpiece, already knowing who it was.
~
Chapter Two: Respective Monologues
En let the cold water cradle her body, feeling its near sensuous touch creep stealthily along her skin. Her temper slowly dispelled itself: En had been around long enough to have learnt that bursting into flame with other vampires never did guarantee a long existence in the Night World.
So at present En was going to ignore what Rafael had said, and stuff it to the back of her mind.
Closing her eyes, En felt her muscles relax, succumbing to the numbing sensation of the water. A knot of tension at the back of her neck started uncoiling, and En could sense the fresh blood of the boy she had fed on course through her own blood like a revitalising new lease of life.
She was still hungry...some vampire blood could do her some good, she decided. Adding on to the fact that the agency was out to recruit more trainees... especially since the older assassins like herself and Rafael were either in semi-retirement or were involved in other branches of the Night World; in hers and Rafael's case, they were both in Night World Council.
It was not surprising that older assassins, despite their finesse and experience in the line, never had much interest in continuing, save for jobs which would require more skill and daring than that which could be found within the ranks of ordinary assassins. Everyone else seemed to think that the assassins loved doing what they did (after all, what job could be more preferable than one which naturally worked according to your own predatory instincts?); but En knew, and the other seniors knew, that after a while even the satisfaction one got from a killing became monotonous and uneventful. The thrill became commonplace, the adrenaline rush was missing, only the calculated, perfectly executed actions were anything left to take pride in. Because the golden days of the old assassin sect of the Night World were almost over: the new bloods could never live up to their legacy, not even now during the chase to collect the Wild Powers.
En found the whole prophecy a laugh; but then for a long time now, everything and anything and everyone and anyone had been a laugh to her - it was only a matter of whether it was a bitter laugh or a real laugh, if one could get the gist of that; sometimes En just laughed and laughed when all she wanted to do was cry.
But she could not remember the last time she had cried; or perhaps she did but didn't want to remember.
Anyway it seemed as if there was nothing left to do besides put on a mask every morning, living up to a reputation she had not asked to have.
En sighed, unconsciously as her mind drifted inevitably back to what Rafael had said again. Gareth.
An old wound, somewhere within the deep reaches of her heart, bleeding quietly all this time, had started to ache again, by the sole reminder of his name.
She knew he was still alive. She could feel it; sense it, even if she could not prove it.
Gareth, Gareth, Gareth.
When she slept she still felt Gareth's comforting arms wrapped around her body. When she kissed Rafael she still felt Gareth's gentle lips, Gareth's breath soft on her skin as his mouth slid down her neck. When she fed she still heard Gareth's chiding tone as he had instructed her on how to better her skills. She could still taste Gareth's blood, thick and powerful and completely fulfilling.
En had always thought she could leave everything to the disposal of a purposely convenient memory, but her senses denied her leave from Gareth.
A soft sob, almost virginal in essence, broke from her larynx, uncalled for.
Then En suddenly stood up, reaching for a towel and wiping herself dry with a vengeance; harshly and painfully as if trying to purge herself of whatever sentiments she had. Her face, which she knew, almost guiltily for no particular reason, had been pasted with a sad, sombre expression; so now she pasted another expression on her face - the usual of hard and expressionless.
She faced herself in the mirror, her naked body flushed by the rough sloughing of the towel. She stared down the fast-tearing grey eyes. She stared down the white throat, which was red and quivering from the effort it took to hold the consecutive sobs back.
A light tremor, almost a shiver, ran through her body, destroying the control.
And then En Redfern broke down and cried.
~
Jake Farraday pulled at his fawn-grey button-down shirt, smoothing down his black suede pants, as he waited at the living room of the Farraday mansion.
Their family was rich. Their family was fragmented. Their family barely existed, save for the familial festivities of Christmas and Thanksgiving.
Jake remembered the last time he had seen his mother was two years ago. Lee Farraday worked in Japan, as goodness knows what. Nobody ever told Jake. Jake supposed everyone else thought it did not matter whether Jake knew or not.
Jake's older sister, Jade, was attending college in Harvard. Majoring, again, in goodness knows what. As Jake was redundant in this family of classic overachievers, therefore it was not anyone's particular responsibility to tell Jake.
Jake's father was a director of a pharmaceutical company. Jake only found out about that when he saw his father's name in the papers in fifth grade. Before that, Brian Farraday was merely the Dad who sits in a nice Jaguar whilst a random family chauffeur (they had two or three) drives in the front seat.
Jake had grown up in an empty house full of everything whilst at the same time lacking in everything else. Even when Jade had not been in college she had been intellectually advanced enough to be sent to a prestigious boarding school in Switzerland ever since she was nine and could speak more than five different languages. So Jake's constant companions were the silent, reliable staff - Lyons the butler, Mrs. Smith the cook, Jolin the housekeeper and Yong and Lawrence and Whatshisname the chauffeurs - all of whom had addressed him as 'Master Jacob' for as long as Jake could remember.
And of course, though his mother would send expensive clothes every month, and Jake's medical and educational fees were always duly paid, nobody ever said a word about pocket money, or money for college, or money for a car.
Jake supposed they forgot, or couldn't be bothered to care.
So a year ago, when Jake, the famously reclusive introvert, had met Owen, his polar opposite, Jake had been secretly flattered by Owen's attention. Even if it went against Jake's normal sexual tendencies to have such a reaction. Even if Jake was spooked out by Owen most of the time. Though of course Jake was not insane enough to actually openly show any attraction the way Owen did.
Even if Jake suspected Owen always knew otherwise.
Owen had always cornered Jake; Jake could easily recall the countless of times Owen had 'accidentally' kissed Jake, his lips passing Jake's swiftly and lightly, almost as if they hadn't touched his. But they had, and each time Jake went home feeling more confused and more disgusted than the last.
And then Owen had bit him.
Jake couldn't quite remember how it had happened; only that he had been dead drunk from the wildest party he had ever been to and Owen had somehow dragged him out of it. In fact Jake couldn't even remember the actual process - all he could really recall was a sharp pain in the side of his neck at one minute, then a whole whirl of messed up sequences later, Owen had somehow managed to hold him up long enough to take a sip of Owen's blood, which Owen had supposedly offered him from his cut wrist (Jake supposed Owen must have cut it himself), and all Jake could remember was that it tasted weird. Good. Tantalising. Jake wasn't entirely sure.
And then Jake had passed out completely, and woke up the next afternoon with his memory absolutely blank in Owen's bedroom, sprawled across Owen's bed. Jake had found Owen asleep himself on a cot in the corner of the room, so he was comforted to a certain extent that Owen hadn't done anything explicit. Owen, being Owen, had neither denied nor affirmed Jake's queries; he had simply given Jake his signature seductive smirk. Jake, being Jake and fully heterosexual, decided that it was best not to develop any further thoughts based on that smirk.
But when Jake had returned home that night suffering from a massive hangover, his mind had began to slowly piece back the happenings of the night before, however sketchy. And Jake began having suspicions - whacked- out suspicions, he had thought at that time - regarding Owen.
Owen, again, being Owen, when finally confronted a full week later by a hesitant Jake, very nonchalantly told Jake the entire truth, and consequently bit him. Again. After which he fed the extremely dazed Jake his blood.
Jake didn't know why he hadn't done something, or hadn't told anyone about Owen. Owen certainly had not worried about reminding him to keep his trap shut.
Then again, that was Owen.
So one day, two months after Jake was first bitten, Jake had died whilst crossing the road at three in the morning (He had been leaving yet another party). It was hit-and-run; until now Jake never knew who had caused his mortal death. All Jake knew for sure was that Owen had brought him back, and Owen's cousin, Blair Thistlerose, who had happened to be there and who was a few years older and more experienced, had used some fortunate telepathy to get all three of them out of a tight knot, which had basically involved a rather sticky situation with two policemen who had been chasing after the speeding drivers in the first place.
Jake supposed that one thing good about being a vampire was that Owen no longer quite had that spellbinding, freezing effect on him anymore, and the two of them were on more stable ground in terms of that all-important thing called friendship. In fact Jake could perhaps even go so far as to say that he and Owen were best friends.
Somewhat.
The doorbell rang, its shrill noise piercing through the utter silence of the room. Jake jumped up, grabbing his wallet from the mantelpiece, already knowing who it was.
~
