Disclaimer and other unnecessary things:  I own neither Jager, Dominique nor 'anyone' that shares a name with a character of AAR, nor do I own this world in which my writings take place.  That said, I believe I am permitted to continue.  Please do not hesitate to review for I would greatly appreciate feedback.  This is my first 'story' here.  I only ask that no one steal any of the characters that I hesitantly call my own without permission, though perhaps there is only one of these in this story and she is nameless.  I hope, at the very least, that this is enjoyed. 

~Kyre

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~

~When Both Are Gone~

It was a foggy, overcast morning in October, and all were surprised when the sun peaked over the horizon of gentle hills.  Who knew why it even bothered on a day that threatened rain.  It had been a long night for many, including the woman who was just returning home.  She was bruised and bloody, but thank God, her hatred was still intact, for whatever would the world do without the simple, malignant loathing that lived in the heart of said woman, one Dominique Vida.  As she was a meticulous woman, in that nothing escaped her attention, Ms. Vida noticed the white sheet of paper on her porch immediately.  It seemed harmless enough, almost careless, as if it has arrived there by mistake, delivered by the chaotic wind.  Dominique looked about her suspiciously, but found the world much as she left it a moment ago. 

Silent and Still. 

Satisfied that the deliverer was gone, she bent over to pick the paper up.  She straitened and took it inside, shutting, locking, and bolting the door behind her.  There was no fire blazing in the hearth.  Adianna was still in Las Angeles, tracking Kaleo as she had been this past week.

The house was cold.

Dominique sat herself upon a kitchen stool and grabbed a large, red apple as she began to read.  The apple was crisp and clean, satisfying the hunger she felt after killing.  The paper was not as crisp, it was slightly curved, as if put through an old typewriter, as it had been. 

On the page was a simple poem; two neat columns, in harsh black ink on blindingly white paper.  She read:

~I watch their war

With silent eyes

And from my place

Voice soundless cries

And deaf, their ears

Ignore my calls

For time has built

Them steady walls

From on the ground

I make my pleas

But they don't see

Me on my knees

The bloom and thorn

They battle on

What of the stem

When both are gone?

Light, the blossom

She condescends

For Righteousness

But to what ends?

The bloodied, Dark

Laced with deceit

Still fights the day

But don't they meet?

And when their fight

Has lasted years

The world is soaked

Both blood and tears

When warriors

Of each lie dead

Both 'Black' and 'White'

In earthly bed

What of the dusk

And of the dawn?

What of the gray

When both are gone?

Left with pieces

A shattered land

Where fear and pain

Come hand-in-hand

Please rethink your

Resolution

As you write our

Execution

You hold us all

Upon your palms

For all our lives,

Let go your qualms!

When Night and Day

Are  fight engrossed

It's dusk and dawn

Who feel it most

When Black and White

They misbehave

It's gray that's sent

Unto the grave~

Her face tightened, as if the apple had turned suddenly sour.  With both disgust and contempt upon her features, Dominique crumpled the paper viciously and threw it into the empty fireplace.  She stood, and leaving the apple half eaten on the counter, headed up to bed.

Funny how her sleep habits had changed over the years past.

The sun was slowly setting that evening, the same day, as it has often done.  It had written over the gray clouds in scarlet and crimson, a show of great calligraphy. 

It was then that Jager chose to step out of Las Noches.  His eyes narrowed as the lasts spears of light attempted to penetrate them.  Those black pits of his countenance adjusted quickly, and soon the world was clear to him. 

He blinked.

The street was filled with paper.  No, that was an exaggeration.  There was a small trail of these slightly curved white sheets that followed the road.  Some had blown farther, into the few shops and against curtained or boarded windows.  One landed unceremoniously upon his left foot.  He picked it up and scanned it, read it, then read it again.  This didn't take long.  After hundreds of years, he read quite fast.  He let the paper drop as a look of amusement crossed his face.  His eyes were alight with it, and he laughed softly to himself.  He set off in pursuit, following the trail left for him.

It was not long before he discovered their source.  Around a few corners and down a few blocks he found her, a stack of bent papers in her left hand.  She would walk a few steps, then release one of the sheets over her shoulder with her right hand.  She did not stop moving, but her pace was unhurried. 

She was just a child in Jager's eyes, not yet two decades old.  He stopped to watch her for a moment.  As he stood in silent amusement, two shadows approached the stranger.  They were fledglings both, and weak at that.

"Quite a mess you've made, little girl," said the first in hissing tones.  He took down the hood of the ash colored jacket she was wearing to get a better look at her, or perhaps to make her neck more accessible.  He revealed some strait, long, light brown hair in doing so.  She paid them no mind, simply continued passing the papers over her shoulder, walking steadily.  The second fledgling grabbed her left arm, halting her progress.

"What shall we do with this disturber of the peace?"  He asked his companion, his expression smug.  She still was not fazed.  She switched the papers to her other hand, and they continued to fall past her shoulder; many to be caught in the breeze and blown further down the street.  Irritated at the child's lack of response, the second vampire used her arm to fling her into the side of the nearest building. 

She was quick then, moving her arms to protect her head from the impact.  There was a sickening crack as she hit the brick wall, and the smell of blood lightly filled the air.  The two tormenters laughed as she slid down the building, clearly in pain but absolutely silent.

Jager moved then, quietly drawing closer to the three.  The younger of his kind must have felt his approach, the power of his aura, for they quickly flickered out like candle flames, surrendering their prey to the stronger hunter.  They would not have gone far, perhaps they were watching.  He didn't much care.

 He was standing in front of her then, watching her slumped form.  She was mayhap 17, and completely forgettable.  She was neither beautiful, nor ugly; neither skinny, nor obese, her hair was an ordinary shade of brown, and her eyes, he could see them now, for she was staring up at him tiredly, were a washed out mix of blue, green, and gray.  Her aura was weak and completely human. 

Jager had yet to feed that night and his flesh was the same color as the bone jutting out of her arm.

But he had control.

"You are a fool," he commented lightly, amusement still apparent in his expression.

She blinked at him, then sat up straighter before she struggled to stand.  Jager offered no assistance.

"I never claimed otherwise," she said, voice hoarse.

Jager wondered if the damaged sound was from too much speech or the lack of such.  He supposed he could assume the later.  He considered her, head tilted as bird would, or a cat for that matter.  She was on her feet now, breathing hard, arm bleeding, and the blood covered her remaining sheets.  Her eyes were tired, almost old.  They took him in warily, but without terror. 

He turned his back to her.

"They'll be back soon," he advised as he walked away from her.  Jager was halfway down the block before he disappeared.

The girl staggered away from the wall, away from New Mayhem.

With her good arm she tossed the remaining papers away from her.  They fluttered, bloodstained, in the wind as she melted into the night.

"When Night and Day

Are  fight engrossed

It's dusk and dawn

Who feel it most

When Black and White

They misbehave

It's gray that's sent

Unto the grave

What of the dusk

And of the dawn?

What of the gray

When both are gone?"