Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Author's Notes: And here we see Tristan, whom some of you might remember from the previous version of Part 4. (In case you missed the note, Part 4 underwent some changes - Stefan did not encounter Tristan, but Leon - whom you will also see in this update.) On an aside, I've changed the format so that italics are denoted _thus_ instead of *so*.
~ Nine ~
"Tristan D'Angelo, you insufferable, utter _idiot_!"
The front door slammed with enough force to cause a minor rain of dust from the ceiling of the house. Tristan rolled his eyes as the speaker marched into the living area furiously.
"You wooden _blockhead_! You boneless, bloodsucking _nitwit_!"
He turned away from the case holding his weapons. "What is it this time?" he asked exasperatedly before actually catching a good look at her. "_What the–_ " he half-shouted.
"Some scumbags tried to jump me," the petite girl cut in petulantly before he could say things she wouldn't approve of. She folded arms that bore recent scratches that were rapidly healing. Her black hair, with its feathery-layered locks and random dark pink streaks, fell about her shoulders and face, disheveled. Her clothes were torn and begrimed. And one small foot tapped on the carpet dangerously.
The silence stretched as she glared at him and he waited for her to say something.
"What?" he protested. "This is all your fault–" she said accusingly.
"Excuse me, but how is your getting attacked because you dress like a –" her shriek of outrage drowned him out "– my fault again?"
She stamped her foot in frustration. "You moron. You don't _get_ it; if you had _met_ me at five like you were _suppose_ to, I wouldn't have been walking through that side of town alone at this hour, now would I?"
"And you couldn't take those lowlifes out because..." interjected an unexpected voice. Aodhan Makoe tilted his head back over the arm of the chair to look at them, legs draped over the other arm. Tristan thought he actually looked amused.
"Hello? There were five of them?" she said, undaunted. But then, Samar was rarely intimidated, even by the usually cold and reserved Makoe.
One dark eyebrow moved. "So?"
After that, Samar ignored Tristan, turning her abuse to this new tormenter. Which, Tristan realized, was what Makoe had intended with the little interjection.
Tristan was vaguely impressed; he didn't think _he_ would dare say the things Samar was uttering to the dark-haired vampire. He was not terribly worried about her safety; she had proven able to take care of herself in the past twenty years or so since they had been changed. But vampire or no, she was still his baby sister and he felt some responsibility for her.
When she stormed off to her room, he finished what he had been doing to give her a chance to calm down, then followed her. Tapping on the door, he found her staring at herself in the mirror, face propped up in her fists.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." She didn't sound okay and he said so.
"Oh, go _away_, Tristan." He opened his mouth to retort but something caught his eye. He nodded and did as she told him.
A couple of minutes later, Leon wandered into Samar's room. "Hey," he said placidly. She eyed him warily in the mirror, but he only sat on the carpet and leaned against the bed comfortably.
Unwillingly, her mouth twitched. 'Why stand when you can sit, why sit when you can lie down?' was his philosophy in life, although he drew the line at clambering onto her bed. He was three hundred and some years old and still had strange sense of propriety.
He tipped his head back, much as Aodhan had done with the chair and closed his eyes. They were slightly protuberant and when open, were usually half-lidded, giving him a sleepy expression. His gaunt, cadaverous appearance was saved from being macabre by a phlegmatic air that hung about him.
"Did I ever tell you about the time I sat in the box seat above the orchestra in a concert hall? I tapped the railing and all the musicians came to attention, thinking it was the conductor prompting them. I ducked out of sight before they figured out who the culprit was, of course. Took them a month to realize it happened whenever I occupied that box," he said without opening his eyes.
After that, he told her anecdote after anecdote until he finally got her to laugh. Only then did he open his eyes and smile at her. "All better?"
Her expression twisted wryly. She shrugged.
"No lasting harm done?" She nodded a little more readily.
"Good." He got to his feet and stretched.
"Tristan owes me a new outfit," she muttered sourly.
He bent a quelling look at her. "I'll pass the message on," he said, but he gave her another smile before leaving.
In the living room, the other two were obviously waiting for him. They looked like the antithesis of each other; Tristan was only passingly handsome but radiated energy like an eager, friendly puppy. His long body moved with a sort of boneless gracelessness. Makoe's classic features showed no emotion and a waiting menace emanated from his compact form.
It was an odd arrangement, theirs; three men and a teenage girl. But it worked somehow and they had a good life together.
"Well?" the taller vampire asked.
"You owe her a new outfit." The answer drew an exasperated eye-roll. Leon lost his humorous expression. "I don't have to tell you how dangerous times are now, Tristan. Not even vampires are safe anymore."
"I take care of her," the young vampire growled.
"See that you do," Leon said coolly. "And now, we have business. What's the plan?"
Tristan's resentful expression melted into a large, almost friendly grin, made disturbing by the maniacal gleam in his eyes. Aodhan Makoe's freezing gray eyes regarded each with trademark dangerous stillness.
"We're assembling at Emery's."
Nigel Emery. Powerful enough to swat any of them like a fly, cruel, superior; he was the vampire's vampire. No one knew how old he was or where he'd come from but there was talk. Some said he had abilities that were unheard of. There was even speculation that he was one of the Old Ones. "And then we're going to the Baron place to take out the Enemy as well as a grand handful of hunters."
"How are we going to get in? The hunters are human and they live there, presumably," Leon asked.
"I'm leaving that to Emery. Maybe he'll just influence a bunch of weak-willed hunters to welcome us in."
Leon wasn't so sure; the hunters involved in this would not be novices. But he kept his opinion to himself.
"Let's go," Makoe said, speaking for the first time. They each hefted a case of weapons and left quietly.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Author's Notes: And here we see Tristan, whom some of you might remember from the previous version of Part 4. (In case you missed the note, Part 4 underwent some changes - Stefan did not encounter Tristan, but Leon - whom you will also see in this update.) On an aside, I've changed the format so that italics are denoted _thus_ instead of *so*.
~ Nine ~
"Tristan D'Angelo, you insufferable, utter _idiot_!"
The front door slammed with enough force to cause a minor rain of dust from the ceiling of the house. Tristan rolled his eyes as the speaker marched into the living area furiously.
"You wooden _blockhead_! You boneless, bloodsucking _nitwit_!"
He turned away from the case holding his weapons. "What is it this time?" he asked exasperatedly before actually catching a good look at her. "_What the–_ " he half-shouted.
"Some scumbags tried to jump me," the petite girl cut in petulantly before he could say things she wouldn't approve of. She folded arms that bore recent scratches that were rapidly healing. Her black hair, with its feathery-layered locks and random dark pink streaks, fell about her shoulders and face, disheveled. Her clothes were torn and begrimed. And one small foot tapped on the carpet dangerously.
The silence stretched as she glared at him and he waited for her to say something.
"What?" he protested. "This is all your fault–" she said accusingly.
"Excuse me, but how is your getting attacked because you dress like a –" her shriek of outrage drowned him out "– my fault again?"
She stamped her foot in frustration. "You moron. You don't _get_ it; if you had _met_ me at five like you were _suppose_ to, I wouldn't have been walking through that side of town alone at this hour, now would I?"
"And you couldn't take those lowlifes out because..." interjected an unexpected voice. Aodhan Makoe tilted his head back over the arm of the chair to look at them, legs draped over the other arm. Tristan thought he actually looked amused.
"Hello? There were five of them?" she said, undaunted. But then, Samar was rarely intimidated, even by the usually cold and reserved Makoe.
One dark eyebrow moved. "So?"
After that, Samar ignored Tristan, turning her abuse to this new tormenter. Which, Tristan realized, was what Makoe had intended with the little interjection.
Tristan was vaguely impressed; he didn't think _he_ would dare say the things Samar was uttering to the dark-haired vampire. He was not terribly worried about her safety; she had proven able to take care of herself in the past twenty years or so since they had been changed. But vampire or no, she was still his baby sister and he felt some responsibility for her.
When she stormed off to her room, he finished what he had been doing to give her a chance to calm down, then followed her. Tapping on the door, he found her staring at herself in the mirror, face propped up in her fists.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." She didn't sound okay and he said so.
"Oh, go _away_, Tristan." He opened his mouth to retort but something caught his eye. He nodded and did as she told him.
A couple of minutes later, Leon wandered into Samar's room. "Hey," he said placidly. She eyed him warily in the mirror, but he only sat on the carpet and leaned against the bed comfortably.
Unwillingly, her mouth twitched. 'Why stand when you can sit, why sit when you can lie down?' was his philosophy in life, although he drew the line at clambering onto her bed. He was three hundred and some years old and still had strange sense of propriety.
He tipped his head back, much as Aodhan had done with the chair and closed his eyes. They were slightly protuberant and when open, were usually half-lidded, giving him a sleepy expression. His gaunt, cadaverous appearance was saved from being macabre by a phlegmatic air that hung about him.
"Did I ever tell you about the time I sat in the box seat above the orchestra in a concert hall? I tapped the railing and all the musicians came to attention, thinking it was the conductor prompting them. I ducked out of sight before they figured out who the culprit was, of course. Took them a month to realize it happened whenever I occupied that box," he said without opening his eyes.
After that, he told her anecdote after anecdote until he finally got her to laugh. Only then did he open his eyes and smile at her. "All better?"
Her expression twisted wryly. She shrugged.
"No lasting harm done?" She nodded a little more readily.
"Good." He got to his feet and stretched.
"Tristan owes me a new outfit," she muttered sourly.
He bent a quelling look at her. "I'll pass the message on," he said, but he gave her another smile before leaving.
In the living room, the other two were obviously waiting for him. They looked like the antithesis of each other; Tristan was only passingly handsome but radiated energy like an eager, friendly puppy. His long body moved with a sort of boneless gracelessness. Makoe's classic features showed no emotion and a waiting menace emanated from his compact form.
It was an odd arrangement, theirs; three men and a teenage girl. But it worked somehow and they had a good life together.
"Well?" the taller vampire asked.
"You owe her a new outfit." The answer drew an exasperated eye-roll. Leon lost his humorous expression. "I don't have to tell you how dangerous times are now, Tristan. Not even vampires are safe anymore."
"I take care of her," the young vampire growled.
"See that you do," Leon said coolly. "And now, we have business. What's the plan?"
Tristan's resentful expression melted into a large, almost friendly grin, made disturbing by the maniacal gleam in his eyes. Aodhan Makoe's freezing gray eyes regarded each with trademark dangerous stillness.
"We're assembling at Emery's."
Nigel Emery. Powerful enough to swat any of them like a fly, cruel, superior; he was the vampire's vampire. No one knew how old he was or where he'd come from but there was talk. Some said he had abilities that were unheard of. There was even speculation that he was one of the Old Ones. "And then we're going to the Baron place to take out the Enemy as well as a grand handful of hunters."
"How are we going to get in? The hunters are human and they live there, presumably," Leon asked.
"I'm leaving that to Emery. Maybe he'll just influence a bunch of weak-willed hunters to welcome us in."
Leon wasn't so sure; the hunters involved in this would not be novices. But he kept his opinion to himself.
"Let's go," Makoe said, speaking for the first time. They each hefted a case of weapons and left quietly.