DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves.
~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~
Chapter One: Gravedigger's Nightmare
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Lublin, Poland; The late 1400's
Here we are, born to be kings; we're the princes of the universe. Here we belong, fighting to survive in a world with the darkest powers…I am immortal; I have inside me blood of kings. I have no rival; no man can be my equal. Take me to the future of your world…
When the doctor's grandfather clock struck midnight, it hadn't even fazed the boys gathered in his basement-level office, for Shad Ehrler's unremitting chatter had yet to cease and so the others were left to half-heartedly listen to reiterations of his latest victories among the female population. "And then there's Pasha," he said in between sips of mead from the decanter he held. "How long have I been with her now, a month? The dame still expects me to be as charming as I was way back when…but there's only one destination I'm hoping she'll take me to...and let me tell you, it aint no romantic dinner!" He let out a hearty laugh and downed the rest of his alcoholic beverage, giving the others time to digest the words.
"She'll be on her knees begging the day I decide to leave her." When he received not a single response from his comrades, he diverted his attention to the lone cigarette on the table by which he sat, musing over whether he should indulge in a smoke or not.
Across from the room stood his twin brother, quiet and withdrawn, with hands joined behind his back as he beheld all the gadgets, books, and other appealing entities the doctor stashed in the room when the office's storage came to be much too chaotic. A porcelain music box painted in shades of rose and crème caught his studying eyes and he reached out to touch the object, an urge to take it for his own rising within him. Thievery was never an easy habit to renounce.
"Skam," he heard his brother call out, "don't even think about it. The minute the doc suspects one of us of backstabbing him, he'll send us all out on the streets again."
Skam grinned at the elder in response, his yellow crooked teeth degrading the apology with a certain air of deceit. A moment passed, and the grin dropped while the boy continued rummaging through the piles of would-be treasures before him. In a corner just to his right sat a boy who never did quite say much in his lifetime, reclined onto an aristocratic chair, though its moth-eaten upholstery might lead one to question its worth. Picco's clothes were a number of sizes larger than they should have been, making his stature appear smaller than it actually was. His dark hair was currently plastered against his forehead after having endured a heavy rainstorm hours earlier, but nothing could replace his look of content as he nursed the baby bird nestled in his hands like a pitying mother taking in the outcast for tending.
"Shhh, shhh," he whispered to the feeble creature that slept in between his palms. "Everything's going to be all right. Don't you worry, okay?" Picco stroked the bird's feathers with a finger and smiled as he thought upon the day when the animal would be able to fly on its own with its brethren. He wasn't aware of Shad's snickering, or the fact that his friends thought him a pathetic excuse for a young man because of his proclivity to foster wounded creatures back to health, but it wouldn't matter for his mannerisms had been as so for much too long and it'd be quite a task to transform them merely to please society.
Seven minutes pass midnight, the knock sounded at the door. A decrepit old man who looked to be no more than a sack of brittle bones poked his head through the doorway, white hair a deranged mess, and peered down his spectacles at the boys gathered in the basement. He crinkled his nose once while summing up their potential for yet another dig and had obviously come to the conclusion that they'd have to do, seeing as he had no other volunteers willing to take on the damned sport, for he nodded at them and with a wave of his hand said, "it's time."
The seated boys rose from their chairs simultaneously, Skam turning around from the shelves that had held his curiosity for so long, and the trio followed the employer out the door into the hallway that would lead them street-bound. "Remember," the doctor went on in his raspy voice, "if you get caught, you say nothing, you hear me? Run if you can, but if the authorities are quicker than you supposed, betray me and I'll hunt you down until you rot! You hear me, boys?" They, of course, nodded in appliance with the rules and gathered the knapsacks he had prepared for them.
"Excellent. Now, the wheelbarrow and shovels are already in the alley. Shad, the map to the burial site is in your bag." He led them to yet another door and before opening it, gave them a fierce look. "Remember boys…one word about who sent you out…" He finished the statement by bringing a finger across his throat and then shoved them out into the streets, slamming the door shut behind them.
"Well now," responded Shad after a short while, "that was mighty interesting, wouldn't you say?"
The tread to Lublin Cemetery was not as laborious as it was tiring. The boys traversed cobblestone streets when they could, but the squeaking of their wheelbarrow and its resounding racket scared them away to search out softer grounds; in particular, the woodlands that had yet to be broken down for civilization. It was usually Skam who pushed the cart of digging tools, for Shad was consumed with drinking some ale he had pilfered from a drunken man asleep on the walks while Picco was more concerned with making sure the winged friend in his hands was having a comfortable sleep.
"Ah, look fellahs. A full moon." With a burst of energy, Shad pranced about the forest lands before him like a mischievous sprite, his eyes narrowed angrily and his teeth flashing a smile that was anything but friendly. "Remember those tales aunty use to tell us, Skam? About werewolves and devil-spirits that came out at night under the veil of a full moon to haunt the living?" He ran behind a group of trees, poking his head in and out of their brush to give his companions a fright. "They preyed on the unsuspecting, she'd say." His voice fell silent when those words escaped him.
Skam and Picco shared worried looks and hurried towards the area they had last seen the boy. With frantic mindsets, they tore through the leaves about them in search of their friend, praying the incident was all in jest. "BOO!" The loud exclamation made them leap off the ground and tumble over themselves like careless children skidding down a hill. Shad roared in laughter as he came out from his hiding spot. "Oh, god! That was great!" He staggered towards them, the alcohol he was so fond of taking its effects on his coordination. "The look on your faces! Ha!" He slapped a knee and choked on his laughter.
Skam rolled his eyes at the idiocy of his brother and climbed to his feet, dusting the dirt off his clothes and once again took possession of the wheelbarrow. Picco, on the other hand, remained kneeling in the dirt, letting his fingers cradle the shivering body of the baby bird. "Are you all right, little one?" He softly patted its head and cursed Shad under his breath for nearly causing him to harm the animal during his fall.
"C'mon, fellahs. We're almost there!" Singing with tone-deaf perfection, Shad marched off, every now and then stumbling, as the cemetery where the boys' charges awaited them came clearer into view. "Did I tell ya that story I once heard? About the flood that washed over a graveyard? Apparently, some flood did just that…hundreds of people were found dead!" He snickered at his own joke.
"Would you shut up?" Skam hissed at him, fully annoyed by the elder's inability to take matters seriously. "Perhaps you should be looking over the map, doing something constructive?"
Shad groaned at the proposal. "No fun you are, ay?" But seeing the reason behind the suggestion, he did as asked and foraged through his knapsack for the item in question. Much to his convenience, the lunatic of a doctor he worked for had placed the map atop the bundles within. He retrieved it and unfolded its worn paper, spreading it out to its full dimensions with pursed lips. "Hmm…looks like the doc wants us to dig up a…a Mr. Alberto Kielche…Lot #29…only a few yards from here."
Picco sniffled, his damp tresses of hair making him feel a bit ill. With the long sleeve of his tunic, he wiped at his nose and frowned in thought of the labor that lay ahead. He hated his work. Not only was it unusual and arduous…it was also…dark. A body thief, that's what he was. When citizens slept in the comforts of their homes within the shrouds of their naivety, he scurried through graveyards and excavated the dead. Living in times when the superstitions of the Church condemned men of such professions, his duties could very well bring about his own death. But it was all for the good of man's advance in science; doctors city-wide desired to study the functions and inner anatomy of the body, but this was only possible when corpses were in good stock. Advances in science, indeed…and in salary as well.
It didn't take the three companions long until they came unto the grave they were to disturb. Shad kicked at the dirt scattered in front of the concrete tombstone and the grains easily rustled this way and that. "Fresh dirt," he smiled. "All for the better." He placed his decanter of ale on the ground with the utmost delicacy and then seized a shovel from the wheelbarrow. "Well now, fellahs. Let's get to working, ay?"
It was three hours, Shad's pauses to drink and to share one of his many jokes counted, before the metal ends of their shovels hit across the hard surface of a coffin. They laid down their tools, sweat soaking their bodies, and took a moment to rest. If anything, the short break was not for their muscles' sake, but rather to rid their senses of the reeking stench of manure that screamed in their minds. Shad took a sip of his alcohol before screwing the container's cork back on and placing it onto the grass aside him. "All right, now. I'm assuming you're all voting me to do the honors?"
Without waiting for their answers, he yet again resulted to the contents of the wheelbarrow to fetch a tough rope which he tied around his midsection loosely. The other end he tied to a tree's bough, testing the stability with a forceful pull before nodding in approval and heading towards the burial site. "Well, here goes nothing!" He grabbed hold of the rope and carefully lowered himself into the grave, and when his feet finally rested onto the solid exterior of the coffin, he called out to the others for a hammer. Then, armed with the tool, he knocked away on the coffin's lock, knowing it'd easily fall to shards due to its lack of rust.
Back on land, Picco and Skam waited in silence, keeping guard should some member of authority come their way with intentions to enforce his power. Naturally, Picco was too busy ensuring the health of the bird in his hands and so Skam was left to be the mature one, as often was the case. He shoved his hands down the pockets of his trousers and yawned lazily. Dawn would be breaking in only a matter of hours and with it would come the drudgeries of his chimney-sweeping day job. He wiped the exhaustion from his tired eyes. Sometimes, he really abhorred being a peasant.
That's when he heard the light rustling of leaves behind him. He shot Picco a look to see whether the boy had heard the sound as well, but his expression was the same as before and Skam was led to believe he had imagined the noise. Shrugging it off, he turned back to the grave and looked down its depths where his brother was busily pursuing his task of cracking open the casket. The sound returned a minute later. This time, Skam knew he had heard it for sure. He turned towards its source and squinted his eyes, searching.
"Picco…" He tapped the boy's shoulder. "Didn't you…didn't you catch that?"
Picco looked at him questioningly, and then smiled. "I think you've been listening to one too many ghost stories, Skam."
"No, I'm serious." He took a step closer to the shrubbery behind them, his heart beating rapidly within his breast like a caged beast fighting to break free. Something was out there; his instincts never deceived him. The fear boiled through him, nearly making him motionless. "Look!" He pointed to a movement in the bushes with a trembling hand. Picco watched on with perked interest…up until a grey rabbit hopped into sight, only to speed away making the same noises Skam had been frightened over. Picco downright laughed; the other boy wished he could share in the mirth as well, but he had been rather shaken by the mishap.
"At least I can count on your sanity most of the time," said Picco once boredom had settled into routine. "But I must say, that was even better than Shad's little scare. Wait 'til I tell the boys back home of our encounter with the man-eating bunny!" His laugh was a childish one, but offered a spirited tune the environment very much needed.
"I hardly think a bunny is as terrifying as one may imagine."
The pair of boys spun around when the words had reached their ears. Their eyes darted across the scenery before them, but couldn't detect the owner of the voice…and worse off, his whereabouts. Standing back to back, they each snatched a shovel from the wheelbarrow-Picco gently placing his pet into a coat pocket-and stood in a guarded stance, ready to fight off any offenses. Shad, completely oblivious to the trouble, continued hammering away on the coffin underground.
"Aww, now what kind of way is that to greet someone?" a second voice inquired with feigned hurt.
"Show yourself!" called out Skam, conveying confidence when there was none to be found within him.
The second voice snickered. "Oh? Was that a demand? And who are you, to be demanding immortals about?"
Picco blinked. "Immor…?"
"I tire of this game. What fun is invisibility if you don't get to laugh when they shriek in realization?" A cool breeze swept through the area like the snapping tail of a whirlwind and suddenly, two young men stood side by side onto the dirt that had just been vacant seconds earlier. "Ah, now this indeed is far more appealing." The one who spoke was slender in build, somewhat tall but a bit deficient as far as physique went. However, what he lacked in physical dominance, he made up for in a striking aura that warned one beforehand he wasn't one to be reckoned with. His hair fell in sandy-blonde locks brushed neatly out of his face to a length past his ears and his thin, pale lips were drawn into a proud smirk, as if he were enjoying a joke none other had heard. His eyes were his most prominent feature; depthless orbs of sapphire blue that could enchant one with their spell-binding gaze. Right now, they rested onto Skam's quaking figure.
"Mmm, I don't usually bother for lower-class blood, but your smell drugs me…" He licked his lips and then jerked his head to the side in a sharp movement to crack the stiff bones that resided within. The pop of the vertebrae sent a chill down Skam's spine and his grip on the shovel loosened as he felt the need to expel his stomach's contents.
"W-who are you?" the boy managed to ask.
The second mysterious stranger laughed at the inquiry. "Who are we? Don't you know? Haven't you paid any attention to your brother's ghastly tales?" When he was met with their blank stares, he only felt the want to laugh some more. He combed stray strands of honey-shaded hair out his eyes, revealing a pair of grey irises that seemed like pieces of stardust stolen from the heavens. His face was of firm structure, a strong jaw line that ended in a round chin and a sharp nose that strangely enough didn't demand to be the center of attention. He was taller than his comrade, and more built, the evidence of which was seen in the way he stood, tall and proud…like a warrior receiving a hard-earned token of appreciation.
Pressing out the wrinkles in the black tunic he sported, he flashed them a nefarious grin; two abnormally long canine teeth peaked out from under his upper lip and the two boys huddled together back to back gasped in astonishment. "The name's Sullivan," he said. "But I go by Jack Kelly these days. The name's far more catchier, wouldn't you agree?"
Skam found the strength to lift his shovel an inch or so in hopes of appearing daunting to some extent. "Y-you're soul is damned!" he stammered out.
"Well aren't you a clever one," the shorter of the two strangers drawled in a cool voice that, though soft, was carried through the air in an echoing utterance. His cyan eyes darkened to show he wasn't in the mood for playing and his lips pursed, as if he were blatantly challenging them to defy his power. But just as quickly as the maelstrom had settled onto him, it dispersed, like morning dew evaporating at the sight of the sun's first rays. His attention fell onto the open grave less than ten feet away, a smell teasing the senses that overpowered him in mere seconds. "The third one…"
Jack Kelly followed his comrade's gaze to the burial site presently undergoing an excavation and immediately understood the shift in mindsets. He faced the boys. "And this would be the masterful Spot Conlon. Pay no heed to his temper. After all, we haven't fed in hours…" Then smiling at Skam, "…and your brother's blood has caught his hunger."
"Stay back, you demons!" In an abrupt fit of rage, the younger sibling bolted forward and swung his shovel at the vampires, but the one called Spot reached out and grabbed the weapon at its midsection-barely executing any effort-and snatched it from the boy's possession, throwing it to the ground as if its existence insulted his worth. Then, still with the same monotonous expression, he clamped his hand around Skam's throat and let out a snarl, bearing his own wolf-like fangs. "You'd do well to know your place, mortal."
"Find your next fledgling?" Jack crossed his arms over his chest, trying so desperately to keep the sport lighthearted. Then again, sucking blood from the human species perhaps wasn't so minor a matter as he would have wished. He laughed at the idea and watched Spot teach the boy a lesson until he saw a pair of eyes peek out from the grave. "Ah, Conlon. Your precious quarry seems to have discovered our presence. Shall I?"
Spot instantly shoved Skam away and smirked. "No, allow me." His hair now fallen in his face, he stalked towards the grave with malicious intents. From afar, he could already see the young gravedigger trembling like a babe frightened by winter storms and the sight of such pumped up his adrenaline like distant drums signaling the coming of war. "Hallo, child," he called out to Shad just before jumping into the open grave. All that was heard afterwards were the chilling screams of a soul fighting for life.
Picco's mouth remained ajar as he continued to listen. He couldn't believe this was happening; it wasn't supposed to have occurred like this. Vampires weren't even supposed to exist! Feeling nauseous, he dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around his stomach while the world spun at haphazard speeds around him. Meanwhile, Skam cried out to his brother and twice attempted to rescue the elder from the assault, but the efforts were in vain for Jack Kelly proved to be of a more swifter species and the boy knew he could scarcely be considered competition.
"This is sacrilege!" Skam tried, knowing not what would come from his declarations. He knew his voice was wavering as well after Spot's cruel treatment, but the pain in his throat wouldn't subside and he wasn't about to wait around before it did. "You stand on holy ground, you can't…this is wrong! The church may have y-your head for this, you blasted demon!"
"Truly impressive, boy. But do I honestly appear to give a damn?" He leaned forward on his toes and then launched forward to tackle his victim down onto the foul dirt, but of a sudden, there tore through the lands a force so graceful in its celerity that it intercepted the attack just when all aspirations for life had almost been lost and landed Jack against a slab of stone with a brutal crack. Skam had to blink twice before registering the event, for the one to which he owed appreciation had blazed by at electrifying speeds, almost like a beacon of light piercing the dark canvas of night.
The confusion presented him with the perfect opportunity to run off and never look back, but his brother was yet at Spot's mercy and he was never one to abandon those he loved. He reached for the shovel the vampire had cast aside but stopped short when a peculiar happening caught his eye. Jack was dueling with another young man, one of superior strength who held his ground with admirable grace. Appearing to be in his early twenties, a strain of mortality was evident in his features…but there was something more about him, something that made him equal with his foes. Skam was unable to pinpoint the intricacies of such, for even when his mind had nearly grasped the concept, a pathetic shriek filled the air.
His eyes darted to the grave his brother had been occupying and soon enough, Spot came crawling out in one great bound, his chin drenched in the hot, sticky paste of Shad's mortal elixir. The vampire raked his fingers through the soil about him and took in the whole experience; it was ecstasy. But Skam noticed the euphoria shatter when Spot's eyes fell onto the one with whom Jack was fighting. The boy wondered why this was, and so he too began observing the feud.
The new stranger was of a height just shorter than Spot's and bore a striking resemblance to the vampire, as if they were kin. His rough-textured hair fell to his ears in golden locks, his facial features chiseled with a certain Elven sharpness. As Spot, that which caught one's attention most were the young man's eyes, his a dazzling shade of emerald green that gleamed in the moonlight like caravan treasures. At the moment, his clash with Jack consisted only of punches, but it quickly evolved into fencing, the sweet clang of metal ringing between them.
Having brought Jack at bay, the stranger dashed off towards Picco and Skam, seizing them both by the front of their tunics and slamming them against the branches of a sapling. "Tell of this happening to anyone," he said sternly, "and I will slit your throats like a butcher carves a pig. Is that understood?" The boys could do nothing more than nod, yet when the young man had released them only to see Skam linger about in uncertainty, he groaned in annoyance and pushed him off on his way. "Your brother's dead, boy. Go, before death finds you as well." The pair didn't need a second urging; they fled the place as if on cue.
"You've lost your touch with the innocent." It was Spot who made the statement, his lips drawn in a belittling smirk.
Jack begged to differ. "You jabbing me, Conlon? The kid's heroism is unmistakable." Rising to his feet, he combed fallen strands of his hair back and placed a beret atop his head, adjusting it until it suited him. Then he sheathed his sword and frowned. "It disgusts me. Undoubtedly an effect of his halfblood pedigree I'd venture to say."
Spot nodded in agreement. "Tell me about it. Mongrels like him are a disgrace to our kind." He wiped away the scarlet evidence of murder from his chin and licked his lips to absorb the last droplets of blood that remained. "So, Runner…long time no see, hmm?"
Runner cocked his head to one side, never once loosening the grip on his sword's handle. "This is my territory," he said through clenched teeth. "You've no right to maraud about these lands like rotten miscr-"
"Ha! I pose him a simple question and he finds the need to lecture me on petty matters!"
Runner glared at him. "The boy was right. This indeed was sacrilege, and I won't hesitate to report the violation to the elders. They'd be more than happy to rid the world of another beast like you." The power by which he uttered each word reverberated in the aura that conjoined the three immortals. He was sincere in his proclamations and wouldn't falter to see them become a reality.
"Oh, spare us the melodrama," Jack sighed with a roll of his eyes. He cracked his knuckles and turned away from the challenge, knowing full well a better time would come. He had been strutting away only a yard or two when a void opened up before him and consumed his form; the outlines of his frame shimmered once and then disappeared.
Spot never took his eyes off the younger immortal. "Runner, your strength could've been used for greater purposes. Why do you insist on shedding tears for the unworthy mortal? Why, when together we can continue the legacy of our namesake?"
"Because I've no place with Evil anymore," the other answered him in simple dictation.
"Do as you please, cousin, but know this. The next time you stand in my way, only one of us will remain. I hope you understand that one will be me." With one last stone-cold stare, he left his final impressions and then allowed his form to undulate until it disintegrated into nothingness.
Runner was left behind to contemplate the events of the night, and to bury death's newest casualty.
~*~*~*~*~
Gypsy sat upon a ceiling beam of the sanctuary's vaulted interior, watching over the fellowship below her like an angel guarding its brood. She tossed her dagger up and down, never once offering a glance towards the weapon to ensure the safety of her physical attributes, not caring that one miscalculation could end her with a nasty laceration across her palm. The dagger's form somersaulted into the air in three revolutions and then came crashing down to plunge into the flesh of an unworthy victim, but the girl snatched its gem-embedded handle indifferently before any harm could be done and continued the process yet again.
Her dark eyes were as apathetic as her expression while she watched her comrades and individually analyzed each one with a fierce judgmental attitude. It wasn't that she was known for her condemnatory or hypercritical tendencies, but she wasn't one to deny honesty if she thought one needed a lesson or two. Sheathing her dagger for the time being, she began observing.
Runner Conlon was first. Gypsy cocked her head to one side like a curious child and watched her leader as he stood before an altar with head bowed in respect and in meditation. Though often she disagreed with his anti-aggressive method of pursuing equality in the immortal society for halfbloods, she more often than not respected him. He was wise and had the benefit of having seen both extremes of vampiric descent. She shrugged and switched her attention to the others.
Bumlets and Itey, both of Latin lineage, were busying themselves in teaching Shot and Rebel the fine art of some Spanish dance that involved precise movements and rhythm. The Latin boys were distant cousins who had been raised to become one with the rich culture, and they embraced it wholeheartedly when given the chance. Having each other helped in preserving the traditions as well, for together, the passed-down stories and family secrets adhered as closely as possible to the truth so long as memory was persistent. And vampires, even halfbloods, usually possessed good memory.
Bumlets was the elder and, in most people's opinion, the more handsome of the two. Whereas Itey's hair was a mass of curly locks flaunting off their childlike qualities, Bumlets had beautiful raven-black hair of a respectable volume and texture. He was also more built than his relative, and had a strong round face that suggested he had come from high social rankings. Though Itey was not lacking in attractiveness, he had still to mature in appearance. He was tall and skinny, but that friendly smile of his which usually showed off a good number of teeth was enough to make up for his shortcomings.
In any case, their attempts to enlighten the girls before them were proving to be a failing effort, especially when Mayfly, decked out in a traditional Flamenco dress of red and black shades retired from her duties and instead began prancing about the sanctuary yelling dance steps with simulated impatience. "One…two…three, four, five! One…two…three, four, five!"
Gypsy rolled her eyes and muttered curses under her breath in her native tongue. It was no wonder the purebloods never took them seriously. With foolhardy jesters like the ones below with whom she was forced to accept making up their company, she was surprised the other vampires in the city hadn't done away with them yet. The thought of her dagger projected into her mind and she was momentarily filled with the idea of undertaking the bloody task herself.
Ah, but Runner would surely have my heart for such betrayal… If there was anything their leader had taught them, it was unity. One strain of negativity in a body of followers could bring ruin at the first sign of crisis. And so, although Gypsy would have rather not been involved with particular individuals from her kin, she'd find the strength to deal. In one way or another.
She dismissed the chaos of the five companions and let her gaze settle onto a lone figure seated onto a pew yards away from their vociferous racket. Hades. Now there's an enigma, Gypsy thought with a smirk. She had always liked the girl, perhaps because they so closely resembled each other not only in appearance, but in character as well. Both drew their comments from a witty sarcasm that tested the patience of their peers and both walked about with an air of mysteriousness that daunted one with its violent traits. Just as well, they leaned more towards solitude when it came to companionship. No doubt they would cooperate when asked, but independence beckoned them like a deity pleading for believers, and they took to it with open arms.
Having reached the end of her analyses, Gypsy frowned in confusion. Weren't there supposed to be…? Her lips formed a straight line as she remembered. How could I forget? It's the damned reason we're all waiting here, wasting time that could be better spent elsewhere. Dear, precious Kitten had yet to grace those already gathered with her presence. Gypsy scowled and wondered upon how the girl had ever been considered for so distinguished a position as was the ranks of the Committee. Blasted whore, the halfblood sneered. I haven't a clue what Runner ever saw in her…
As if directly seeking to answer the query, the doors to the sanctuary were swung open as a young woman garbed in cloak and dress strutted through the entranceway and made her way down the center aisle to where the rest of her company sat. She held her head high, proud of who and what she was, and swung her curvaceous figure like the harlots of the night, her lips upturned into a flirtatious smirk. She walked with urbane smoothness, almost in a way that seemed no more than a graceful glide across the floor, and one could right away tell with little contemplation that she would excel in cunning manipulation when her looks came into play.
Gypsy jumped down from her perch, landing onto the polished grounds with ease, and stood in the girl's path with a patronizing glower. The two couldn't have been any more different from each other. Gypsy was half a foot taller; pale-skinned and lanky, but ferocious at heart when the time called for it, perfectly contrasting Kitten's short stature, tanned complexion, and playful demeanor. Perhaps the only thing they held in common was the length and color of their hair, dark wavy tresses that fell almost to waist length and framed their faces like veils of mourning.
"Pray tell, Kit," the taller said, blue eyes blazing with sheer derision. "What drunkard was under your skirts this time around?"
Kitten never once let her smirk drop. "You offer men one thing and they start serving you like lapdogs. Why shouldn't I take advantage of that fact?" She pulled back the hood of her cloak and tried to sidestep Gypsy, but the other wouldn't allow it. "What's the matter, Gip? You wouldn't be jealous, would you?"
"Jealous of a whore! Ha! Believe me, child, I wouldn't dare debase myself to such levels."
"At night I go gallivanting with aristocrats and drink the blood of the rich. I'm offered money, power, lust. What would you have me do? Suck the blood of the guttersnipes as you do? Subject myself to the filth of the lower classes with your disgusting willingness?"
In a bout of anger, Gypsy made a move to slap the girl but her hand was caught in midair from behind and she spun around in both surprise and annoyance to see Runner glaring at her, his fingers tightening around her wrist. "This incessant bickering will get us nowhere," he snapped at her. And then looking to Kitten, "you both acting like unreliable children is only working to delay us. We're months away from the decadal Conference and haven't even begun to think about the matters we want to present to Aerenthal."
"And whose fault is that?" Gypsy retorted, snatching her hand from his grasp. She hadn't meant to verbally lash out at him as so, but the moment had passed and she was too proud for apologies.
"Oh, are we finally getting started?" From the pulpit she had just been occupying, delivering a mock sermon to invoke laughter from her friends, Mayfly grabbed the ends of her Flamenco dress and hurried towards her leader, her Spanish heels clopping onto the tiles like horseshoes. "I've got a number of things I'd like to tell Aerenthal. For one thing, what's the deal with the purebloods thinking they can invade our territory whenever it suits them? Last week I had a run-in with Snitch and Combat; luckily, they were in good moods and didn't clobber me as painfully as they usually do."
Runner turned to look at her and furrowed his forehead while he beheld her appearance. Mayfly never ceased to amaze him. Apparently, in efforts to coordinate in entirety with the Spanish outfit she donned, she had gone to the extremes of even adding red highlights to her usually dark hair. He couldn't tell what formulas had successfully left the crimson bands, but he assumed she had been dealt herbs and dyes from one of her Healer friends. Shaking his head, he replied to her concern.
"They aren't the only ones either. Spot and Jack were at Lublin Cemetery not too long ago. I've a feeling it wasn't a coincidence. They're plotting something; their auras reek of it." By then, the other four in the little fellowship had joined the circle and now all stood and waited for their leader to reach a conclusion. "Well, we know one thing for sure. They're either wanting us to ally with them to exterminate the mortals, or they want us dead as well. And it's usually the latter notion.
"I say we fight back," offered Shot, her arms crossed as she was clearly upset. She despised the very word 'pureblood', a blemish she believed only contaminated languages across the globe. On top of that, purebloods tended to support the fallacy that their hybrid counterparts only damaged their racial purity and diluted the superior vampiric qualities that had evolved over the centuries.
The girl snorted; it wasn't as if she had asked to be what she was. Halfbloods were vampiric by descent, lineage, and ancestry. Tracing back their pedigree would lead them unto forefathers who were of demonic roots. Forgings of the underworld fused with the race of mankind. Purebloods on the other hand could either be spawns of such heredity as well (in essence, born vampires) or could happen onto the heredity (changed into a vampire sometime in their prior mortal life).
"A war is the last thing we need," Runner said. His voice was soft, almost reminiscent. He remembered those days laden with bloodbaths and genocide; they still ruled the realms of his nightmares. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to rid himself of the memories, but he knew they'd never fade away.
Gypsy groaned in exasperation. If there's anything she loathed, it was waiting. Waiting for a no-show, waiting for a decision, simply waiting for something to happen! She couldn't take lurking in the shadows any longer. It was about time the halfbloods did something about their situation. "Do as you please, the lot of you, but the day of the Conference I intend to give Aerenthal a very heated outcry against the other immortals. We're the laughing stock of the whole damned confederacy! They treat us like worthless urchins, like peasants even!"
"I have yet to be treated as such," Kitten argued. "Perhaps you give them reason to shame you."
"As you give them reason to embrace adultery?"
Runner came in between the two, clearly irritated by their nonsense. "I'm much too close to aiming a crossbow's arrow at both your hearts." He uttered the words with no regret, the gleam in his emerald eyes showing them it had not been in jest. "When October's full moon brightens the skies, I expect to see each of you at the Conference. Let word get out to all halfbloods in our district, and don't even bother showing your faces if you haven't a worthy argument to present before the council." Saying no more, he turned in an elegant movement and then started off to leave them.
"Where are you going?" Rebel called out to him, asking the question no one dared pose.
"I tire of your immaturity," he answered, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he addressed them all. "I pray that in the forthcoming months, you all will see the graveness of the matter that lies in our hands. If not, we've already failed."
~*~*~*~*~
"Long live the kind Lord Combat!"
At the sound of the words, the musicians in the gallery began playing a fanfare while an army of servants rushed into the dining courts to serve a delectable array of salted meats and aphrodisiacs. Darrien 'Combat' Bailey sat with the more notable individuals of his manor at a table situated atop a foot-high platform to show he was above mediocrity, watching with pale eyes the events that unfolded before him. His young cupbearers hurried to and fro about the area, jumping whenever someone signaled they were thirsty, and a harpist was presently giving the atmosphere a soothing melodic vibrancy. The nobles appeared to be impressed with the fine cooking of the meals and the entertainment by the minstrels and jesters, though it seemed prepared for children, was overall fairly good.
Combat waited as his trench was laid before him, the aroma of pork dazing him, and then reached forward to retrieve a knife and spoon from the boat-shaped nef at the table's center. Though he didn't fancy his plates being made of stale bread, it saved on his expenses and meant he could pocket that much more money when the tax collector came meandering his way for the king. He cut off a piece of the pork and brought it to his nose for a quick sniff. How can the mortals consume this grime? But as to not draw suspicion, he stuck the food in his mouth, chewed with much difficulty, and swallowed.
At least he had the better part of the village wrapped around his finger. Tomorrow, he'd go hunting alongside some members of the nobility with merlin hawks and bloodhounds and would hope the winged lures he had had especially made for the sport could finally be used for some recapturing. And then the day after, he was set to meet a blossoming young woman with whom he was considering marriage. She was still in her mid teens, but he'd do plenty to make her grow up ahead of her time. A wicked laugh sounded in his mind at the mere thought of it.
He was in the middle of placing another chunk of meat into his mouth when one of his esquires shuffled to the table's front and whispered in an urgent plead that the butcher was having a problem. Combat rolled his eyes at the complaint, but excused himself from the table nonetheless after dabbing at his mouth with a cloth, and followed the boy out the courts, through the richly-decorated halls of the manor, and into the somewhat small kitchen which currently smelled of spices and stew. But the esquire didn't stop; rather, he continued walking until he stood at the open doorway of a back entrance.
Combat passed through the entrance and then grinned at the sight before him. The burly man who had been hired as the butcher stood outside in the lands reserved for the nobles' livestock, holding a young man tightly around the arm with one hand and a machete with the other. "You steal from our lord, you die! Dirty vermin! You no think we find out? We see everything." He spit in the boy's face and shoved him to the ground.
"Now, now, Master Cauchon," Combat said, laying a gentle hand onto the butcher's shoulder. "Allow me to handle this, hmm?" The hefty man rambled off in some primitive language as he pushed his way back into the kitchen, swearing he'd have the head of the next person who stole from him. Combat laughed at the ordeal and then faced his fallen subject with a sarcastic look. "I truly am touched, Slick. This is what, the third time this week you've managed to get caught in the middle of pilfering? Dear boy, do you know what it means to be inconspicuous? Perhaps you should try the art sometime."
Slick slowly climbed to his feet, never taking his eyes off the man before him. Ever since he was a young child, he had never trusted Lord Combat. The noble was a sadistic repertoire of cruel jokes and actions that most the time ended in fatality. "I'll try whatever means there are to feed my family."
"Oh how very heroic," the elder replied in mockery. "I feel a string of tears coming…"
"You should! Day in and day out we slave away for your confounded manor. We tread the grapes, oversee the harvest, raise the animals that you slaughter for your own fine meals. And what do we get in return? Huts with thatched roofs and straw-covered floors! Dark bread, cheese, and ale for breakfast and a water-based stew for dinner! My five little brothers and sisters have to huddle around a hearth at night just to get one bit of warmth while they sleep! And when the harvest isn't enough, what would you have us do? Starve?"
Combat sighed at the dramatization and wondered why he was even allowing the boy to speak to him in such a defying manner. He let his eyes study Slick's coarse tunic, leggings, and muddied feet and crinkled his nose in repulsion. He absolutely abhorred the lower classes; they were always so filthy and flea-infested. "You're right," he said at last. "I shouldn't have you living here in this blasted hellhole…" He stroked his chin in thought.
"Y-you shouldn't?" Slick brushed his dirt-colored hair out his face and stared at the lord in confusion. Had the noble just agreed with him? No, that was impossible. And yet…obviously it wasn't. He squinted his eyes in skepticism and took a step forward, unsure of whether he had heard correctly. "What…what do you mean?"
"I mean, dear boy, that I must've been mad to make you a slave of nobles! You deserve more than that!" Grinning excitedly, Combat turned around, poked his head through the kitchen's back doorway, and called out for two of his most trusted knights. The men came out seconds later at his service, standing at attention for their lord's orders. "Would you two be so kind as to escort Master Slick out the village to…I don't know, some god-forsaken city far from here where I won't be haunted by his face. Sell him off as a slave, but demote him to a lower ranking than the one he currently holds. Oh, and refuse him the permission to bid farewell to his family."
Slick looked horrified. "You can't do this!" he yelled out at the man, backing away for a chance at escape, but the knights seized each of his arms and began dragging him away to fulfill their charge. "NO! Let me go, let me go! You can't do this to me! You haven't the right to do this!" He struggled to the best of his ability but his fighting proved to be in vain. It was useless. Hot tears stung his eyes and he screamed out for the aid of his fellow villagers, thrashing wildly until one of the knights stumbled from the resistance, leaving the other to deal with Slick alone.
"Calm yourself, Slick," the boy heard Combat say from behind. He spun around in the knight's hold and froze at those sinister serpent eyes his lord possessed. Combat patted the boy's cheek and, cocking his head to one side, let his lips curve into a lopsided smirk. "Allow me to let you in on a little secret. If you thought I was a monster before, you haven't seen anything yet…" He bared his fangs in one quick motion fast enough to escape the knight's attention and then stepped back with a hearty laugh.
"Holy mother of God!" Slick had given up his battle upon beholding the revelation. His eyes were wide and unbelieving, his mouth trying to find a reply. "You're a…y-you're a blasted vamp-" But before he could finish the statement, a stone fist pounded into his face and knocked him out, delivering him into darkness.
~*~*~*~*~
Until next time…
@-}---
WoW! That was a long chapter! At least it seemed as so to me! *Rubs the exhaustion from her eyes* Man oh man, I think that's the longest chapter I've ever written! Anyways, THANKS for all the reviews! I think I'll do shout-outs every five chapters or something, so for now, just a quick thanks to: Seraph2, Bec, Lookout, Cure, Tooey, BabyXtreme, Dreamer110, CiCi, asp, Lyf, Onyx, Almighty Trixie, Falco Conlon, goldstranger, hades, Chipper, Ember, Raven, Cerridwen4, Sapphy, Sita-chan.
You all rock my socks! And be sure to check out the Eternal Avenger site! ^_^