BVQA: First off, you people are amazing, you know that? The reviews got me through finals week, which is impressive considering that I am extremely stupid when it comes to school and testing. . . things. Aaanyway. . . I can actually do a review reply section! It's freaking me the heck out!
Tearthgrrl: Thanks for sticking with this! No worries on me dropping the story, I'm too stubborn for that. So long as someone's reading it I'll keep on going. Also, thanks for saying the character's are in character because that's one of the biggest things I worry about.
Guest: Nice to see you again! Thought for sure you'd left. . . so thanks for reviewing!
NyanVamp: I'm honored to be your first review. *curtsies* Don't worry, you were plenty helpful!
Panakeias: Thank you for the encouragement! It really made me feel a lot better about reviews and. . . stuff!
One final note: Thank Chicky for the second half of this chapter being worth reading. It, um. . . you know what, I'm going to blame lack of sleep for the way it first turned out. But because Chicky's awesome she pulled a Thor and informed me that "This sucks. *smashes mug on the floor* Another!"
She is a beautiful person. I owe her one (billion). So be sure to thank her for editing this multiple times, okay? Whoo. . . that note kinda jut dragged on and on. . . what are you waiting for, people? Stop listening to me ramble and go read!
Chapter 5
Top Hats, Chokers, And Carriages
There was a veritable sea of black clothes in the lobby. Anyone opening the front door to the mall would immediately find themselves drowning, crushed by the sheer volume of teenagers that had converged on a single point. There were excited squeals, more befitting of a twelve-year-old at a pop concert than the young adults they were really coming from, that got louder the closer one managed to elbow their way towards the center of the mob. The going was rough, though, because every few feet there was a spiked bracelet or suspiciously pointy Egyptian amulet to jab right on back.
For the first time since the mall had become a twenty-four-hour establishment, Hot Topic had been emptied.
"Oh my goth, he's adorable!"
"He's mine. I'll fight everybody in this room if I have to!"
"Oooh, he's blushing! That's so cute!"
Ragamuffin was being jostled from all sides, slammed from one stranger to the next. Even more disturbingly, girls kept attempting to pinch his cheeks, ruffle his hair, or– and he'd blushed especially deeply when the last one occurred– attempt to touch his butt. He'd spun on his heel to try to catch the perpetrator, only to find an endless parade of complete strangers running before his eyes- and, more often than not, slightly below his eyes as they made comments about his musculature. Ragamuffin suddenly found himself sorely missing the days when girls and boys were not allowed in the same room without a personal escort, and any interaction between the two was watched over by an old strict governess with a wooden switch.
"Um. . . please, I want to. . . excuse me, miss, can I–"
Verbal communication seemed to have no effect on these strange female. . . things. The only speech they seemed to understand revolved around any number of his various physical traits and the perfection thereof. It seemed incredibly likely that these females intended to bask in his presence all night if they could, which was seriously going to cut into his "I'll be right back" promise.
Girls.
One particularly vicious shove landed him right up against a tall brunette, his mouth pressed to her throat right over the veins that were pulsing with excitement and adrenaline and–
He was yanked away just before he could bite down, but the damage was done. He wasn't just hearing the girl's heartbeats anymore, he was feeling them deep in his bones, in his fangs, and it was starting to physically ache to resist sinking his teeth into the feast spread out in front of him.
A hand closed over his. Ragamuffin went to yank his arm away, ready to snap at whichever girl was invading his personal space this time, only to find himself looking instead into the eyes of a boy not much older than himself.
A boy with blue eyes almost as pale as Lenore's.
A nasty comment died in Ragamuffin's throat and the boy smiled at him with both pity and genuine warmth.
"I see you are in need of some assistance, fellow nightwalker. Allow me to facilitate your escape," the boy giggled, tapping the side of his mouth, and just as Ragamuffin caught a flash of fangs between his lips the boy turned and began to tug him through the crowd. Ragamuffin found himself staring at a head of shockingly blue hair crowned by a battered purple top hat as he was dragged through the throng of teenagers. Hands snatched at his barely-there shirt but, amazingly, the girls parted like the black sea as the boy shoved through them.
"Get ready to run!" the boy called back to him. Ragamuffin could suddenly breathe easier as they burst out of the oppressive mob of people into the too-bright florescent lights of the mall, and then he and the boy were running, running so fast and turning corners so quickly that Ragamuffin could scarcely keep track of where they were. The boy seemed to know the mall better than the back of his hand and there was no hesitation as he pelted around the displays and stands like they were neon arrow pointing the way to safety.
Ragamuffin felt someone latch on to his other arm and he stumbled, vaguely recognized the brunette from earlier as he tossed a terrified glance over his shoulder, and shook her off by flailing his arm as if he had a leech attached to it. In a way, he supposed the girl now sprawled on the floor was a type of parasite. . . then the boy turned a sharp corner and they both burst out into the night, cold air vaporizing the sweat that clung to every square inch of Ragamuffin's body and cooling his panic somewhat. The two boys jumped the curb and dashed into the garden, completely ignoring the fact that they should stay off the mulch, and leaned against the section of the brick wall that was hidden behind a large hedge.
The boy panted, out of breath, and Ragamuffin took a moment to better examine his savior. Besides the unusual hair and eye color, the boy was dressed quite oddly as well. His clothes were solid purple and consisted of a dark suit top, complete with tails, skinny jeans, a pale purple tank top, the aforementioned top hat (which Ragamuffin now noticed was embellished with a skull), and a pendant in the shape of a lightning bolt.
He was also wearing dark eyeliner and fake fangs, which Ragamuffin found both amusing and ironic.
"Well, that was quite thrilling! My name's Julian, by the way," the boy said breathlessly, although having rested a while this seemed to be more of a verbal tic than exhaustion. If he didn't know better, from the lilt of his voice Ragamuffin would say Julian was a girl.
"That was definitely a narrow escape. Thanks for bailing me out," Ragamuffin said gratefully. "I did not expect that reaction." Maybe a little attention, but not the attention of the entire female population of Nevermore.
"Mmm. 'Tis no trouble at all, my parents aren't expecting me back for, oh, ages. . ." Julian trailed off with a sigh, doffing his hat and running a frustrated hand through his blue hair. "My kinsmen are. . . distracted at best."
"So. . . nobody's looking for you. . ." Ragamuffin trailed off, mentally smacking himself for the direction his thoughts were now taking. He couldn't help it, though. He was on an abandoned street corner with a slim, weak-looking kid who wouldn't be missed, for a while at least, if he was to. . . disappear, and damned if Ragamuffin wasn't hungry enough to ignore the fact that Julian had just saved his ass from the rabid fangirls.
Plus, he was the first person Ragamuffin had seen all night who wasn't wearing one of those obnoxious choker necklaces.
Julian grinned, but there was an undercurrent of apprehension in his expression. "You could say that. Your fangs are absolutely horrifying, by the way. I quite like them."
"You have no idea," Ragamuffin muttered absently, contemplating the best way to go about this. Julian, while ridiculously effeminate, was still a guy, and this could get. . . awkward.
"Ah, fuck it," Ragamuffin growled, then slammed Julian into the side of the building hard enough to knock the goth's breath out of his lungs. Julian made a sort of strangled choking noise and dropped his hat. Ragamuffin barely registered the flash of purple hitting the ground before he clamped his hand over Julian's mouth and used his full weight to keep him pinned to the wall.
Julian's blood smelled good, really good, and Ragamuffin found himself almost melting as he pressed in just over Julian's collarbone and breathed in his scent. He was betting it would taste amazing too. . . and the next thing Ragamuffin knew, he was tracing along Julian's jugular with his tongue, playing connect-the-dots with each pulse of his heart. Every ounce of the vampire's being was telling him to just bite him already, but Ragamuffin held onto the tenuous grip he had on his hunger, letting Julian figure out what was going on. On the one hand, the kid would freak out even more than he was now– Ragamuffin felt muffled screams under his fingers– but on the other, Julian was kind of an okay guy and he deserved to know why he was moribund. Not to mention even if he did have a panic attack Ragamuffin was having a ridiculously easy time keeping him still.
He dug his fingers deeper into Julian's shoulder, twisting the kid's head to the side and nosing down into the crook of his neck. Julian's heartbeat was pounding in his ears, or at least in the ear that was pressed against the side of Julian's throat, and Ragamuffin felt his fangs starting to throb to the same rhythm. All he wanted was to rip into Julian's jugular, and–
There it was. Julian's pulse jumped and Ragamuffin knew he'd just put two and two together and gotten 'fangs plus throat equals vampire.' He readied for a freak attack but, impossibly, Julian stopped trying to scream and actually relaxed. Ragamuffin growled deep in his throat, too far gone at this point to care what the hell was wrong with this kid, and opened his mouth further, feeling his fangs slide against Julian's skin as he did so.
He thought he heard Julian mutter something along the lines of "This is so freaking cool," but then there was blood in his mouth and Ragamuffin wasn't listening to much at all anymore. The only things running through his head were disjointed thoughts adding up to either "Holy mother of God, this is so fucking good," "swallow, breathe, swallow, breathe," or just simply "Mmm-gaaah. . ."
And then Ragamuffin wasn't holding Julian at all, but Julian's corpse, because Julian had definitely left the building, and the blood was gone and Ragamuffin still had his fangs lodged in Julian's neck. Before he could stop himself he'd dug the rest of his teeth in and bitten off a good-sized chunk of Julian's throat, swallowing reflexively.
Woah.
It had been forever since Ragamuffin had gotten hungry enough to go after actual human flesh, and. . . okay, this was good. This was. . .
Ragamuffin ripped another bite out and slowly chewed, savoring the feeling of shivers trailing down his spine. God, no wonder zombies liked doing this so much. It was the closest thing Ragamuffin could imagine to physically chewing electricity. Rich, incredibly sweet, and thick electricity that was leaving tingles on his tongue as he swallowed it.
And as it promptly came right back up again.
Ragamuffin dropped the body and clamped his hands over his mouth, feeling the torn muscle hit the back of his teeth even as he hiccuped and tried to gulp it back down. Bile was burning the back of his throat and tongue, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth that was a direct contrast to the sweetness he'd just been tasting.
He couldn't help it. Blood and sick was leaking through his fingers as he gagged violently, and as he fell to his knees he was landing on Julian's body but he couldn't hold it in anymore and-
And all of a sudden it was over. His mouth was filled up with a foul-tasting fluid and mixed-in chunks, which he spat into a nearby clump of daisies, the taste not leaving his mouth. He tried to swallow the remaining sludge but all it did was stir up his gag reflex enough that a moment later he was back on his knees and back where he started.
What was the point of that? Ragamuffin wondered as he wiped his mouth on the back of his shaking hand. An hour ago I was starving and Julian was alive. Now I'm still starving but Julian's dead. And the point was. . ?
He stood up and tossed a cursory glance over his shoulder, immediately regretting it but unable to take it back. The image of Julian sprawled out on the ground with his throat chewed up was burned into the back of his eyelids and would probably stay there a long, long time. Ragamuffin didn't usually deal with the bodies. . . after, but somehow leaving Julian felt almost. . . wrong.
Ragamuffin glanced to the side and picked up Julian's top hat. He spun it between his fingers a couple times before deftly slipping it onto Julian's head, tilting it forwards slightly to hide the too-still features and vacant eyes.
There.
He could be sleeping.
Well, provided that most people slept with their throats torn open.
"Sorry, Julian. Wrong place, wrong time and all that," Ragamuffin said softly, then turned on his heel and left.
He still needed to find another meal.
The door swung open, without creaking for once, and Ragamuffin padded inside. Something struck him as being off the second he cleared the threshold. The house was quiet. Lenore's mansion was many things– messy, spooky, treacherous– but it was never quiet. He couldn't even manage to sound clichéd, calling it 'too quiet' or something like that, because any quiet at all was too quiet already.
"Uh oh. . ." he breathed, shutting the door behind him. If he was lucky, it would be just as silent as when it opened. . . but his luck, as usual, didn't hold and the door let out a raucous screech of metal on metal. Ragamuffin flinched and listened intently, trying to gauge whether or not he'd been noticed. He had no idea what was wrong, but considering that it was Lenore's mansion he knew enough to guess it was dangerous.
There was nothing but empty silence.
Then–
Ragamuffin felt his entire being jolt as there was a resounding crash made by something suspiciously antique-sounding smashing to pieces. Ragamuffin clenched his fingers into the folds of his shirt, just above where his heart would have been beating, and he felt the fresh blood he'd just taken in– courtesy of a pretty blonde goth too stupefied by his lack of proper clothing to fight him off– rushing to his cheeks in a startled flush.
"That was nothing! Just ignore it!" Lenore's voice called out in unmistakably guilty tones, and Ragamuffin breathed a sigh of relief. Not in danger, then, just in trouble.
So. . . if the movie was over then just how long had he been gone for? More than an hour, certainly, but beyond that he had no idea. The nights in Nevermore were too dark to offer much in the way of a sense of time, and he'd always been rubbish at reading the position of the moon anyway. He really needed a watch. . .
Ragamuffin started to trail off down the corridor in search of Lenore– the crash had come from the general area of the kitchen– when he was halted by echoing footsteps moving in the opposite direction. It sounded like Taxidermy, who normally made no noise at all when he was moving. Evidently, he was trying to give Ragamuffin a heads-up that he was coming down the hallway, and Ragamuffin felt both relieved that he was saved the trouble of jumping out of his skin a second time and a little annoyed that Taxidermy knew he needed the warning.
"Hey, Taxidermy," Ragamuffin called, letting out a heavy sigh and crossing his arms lightly over his bare torso. Here came the lecture he'd barely dodged earlier, he was certain.
"Ragamuffin," Taxidermy replied with a nod as he turned the corner into the entry hall. "You're back."
"And I was gone. . ?"
"Four and a half hours. Less than I was expecting, if I'm honest." Taxidermy tilted his head slightly to the left, something Ragamuffin recognized as a sign of worry. Rather than appreciating it, however, Ragamuffin found himself slightly needled by the insinuation that he was more concerned with feeding than he was with spending time with Lenore.
"Look, it's not like I wanted to leave," Ragamuffin snapped tetchily. "I like Lenore and I'm not gonna skip out just because–"
"Three victims in three days? Ragamuffin, that's excessive and you know it!" Taxidermy interrupted, exasperated but still not raising his voice. His cool accent made his argument sound smarter and Ragamuffin hated it because it made too much sense already. Vampires only really needed to feed about once a month, and not only was he aware of that fact, he knew Taxidermy was aware of it as well.
"Four," Ragamuffin growled under his breath. Taxidermy's voice turned hard.
"Sorry, what?"
"I said, four victims. Not three. Now just. . . butt out!" A fraction of a second later Ragamuffin regretted it but the words were already hanging in the air between them like buried mines. He was being unfair. He was being unfair and he knew it, and it was his own fault for not telling Taxidermy what was happening but he was scared and unenlightened and he felt like a little kid who was sick of throwing up but his mom wasn't ever going to be there to tell him it was all going to be–
"Oi! You lot! Come out and fight, you bloody undead!"
The room's heated atmosphere drained away at the unfamiliar voice and Ragamuffin slowly became aware that his eyes were lit up with smoldering crimson. A couple of blinks and the glow was dispelled, along with any remaining perverseness. The sick feeling stuck, however, and Ragamuffin wondered how long it was going to be before he puked again.
"Dullahan?" Ragamuffin asked at length after listening a while longer to the voice outside.
"Dullahan," Taxidermy confirmed. "You could tell because. . ?"
"The threats on my afterlife and incessant neighing were a dead giveaway," Ragamuffin completed, running an anxious hand through his damp hair. When had he started sweating?
"Look, this conversation isn't over yet, but. . . I'll let you choose when to have it. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
"Mmm," Ragamuffin grunted, standing on his tiptoes to gaze through the peephole. He didn't want to see Taxidermy's 'expression,' be it pitying or understanding. The first would sting and the second. . . the second would just hurt. He did, however, glance back over his shoulder when he heard the rustle of moving fabric and caught a glimpse of Taxidermy sliding off his black suit top. Ragamuffin rolled his eyes. Typical fight-preparation from the older generation, loose clothes would just get in the way. "Look, you don't need to fight him, I'm more than strong enough to-" He broke off as Taxidermy draped the jacket over his shoulders, 'smiling' down at him with a careful tilt of his head.
"I know you're strong enough to fight him. I just figured you'd rather not do it in your. . . street clothes."
"Ah." Yes, it would be helpful to not get laughed off the battlefield. Ragamuffin slipped his arms into the sleeves of the jacket, and although it was several sizes too big it was much better than the faux-blood-splatter tee-shirt he was currently wearing. "Be right back."
"Try not to take five hours this time," Taxidermy teased, voice still heavy but attempting to lighten the mood.
"Four and a half," Ragamuffin corrected, "And I won't even need five minutes." He felt his shoulders lift as the air cleared. He didn't like fighting with Taxidermy, and it felt wrong when it happened, like he was dancing on a coffin with Lenore. Gleeful and giddy for the briefest of moments but then you realized what you were doing.
"Well, try to make it quick. Lenore's attempting to make cookies."
"Let me guess, the operative word there is 'attempting'?"
"No, the important word is 'Lenore'." Taxidermy turned and started off towards the kitchen, and this time his footsteps made no sound at all.
Ragamuffin growled in annoyance and ripped open the front door. So Taxidermy had just been humoring his pride. That didn't hurt at all.
"Well, it's about time!" The Dullahan snapped, but Ragamuffin thought he sounded rather pleased with himself. He'd probably thought he'd be out here all night, just kind of. . . screaming insults.
The Dullahan was dressed nicely enough in Victorian-era finery. White ruffles, gold accents, blue velvet trim, the whole nine yards. It would all have looked so much nicer if his head had actually been perched in his collar, rather than tucked under his right arm. Ragamuffin could just make out tousled blonde hair, devilish green eyes, and a shit-eating grin. What was really distracting was the place where his neck had been sawed off- whoever had done it obviously hadn't been paying too much attention because there were backtracks, restarts, and random nicks where the blade had slipped. The final result was a rough, uneven edge caked with dried blood.
Ugh. I'm going to puke, Ragamuffin thought. Not only was he about to engage in senseless violence, but usually the only reason Dullahans bothered the undead was because they were a little. . . well, bitchy. Dullahans had an annoying habit of picking out the places they wanted humans to die in. They liked to play with death, and when it made exceptions for other people they were like the vindictive boyfriends outta hell.
"You seriously wanna do this now?" Ragamuffin asked, carefully shutting the door behind him. "I mean, I literally just ate, so–" There was a loud snap in his ear and Ragamuffin felt something wet and warm trickling down his cheek. He caught a drop of the blood on his index finger and licked it off with affected indifference as the cut slowly closed over.
The Dullahan coiled his whip back up in his left hand, keeping a steady grip on his head with his right. "That was a warning. The next slice goes through something that won't grow back."
Pompous idiot. Ragamuffin trailed his index and middle fingers through the remaining blood and carefully, mockingly smudged it over his lower lip, much like a cat licking itself in the presence of a stranger. Only the cat knew exactly how grievous the insult was, but the stranger could take a pretty damn good guess. The Dullahan seemed to realize he was being mocked as he snarled, his whip snapping out through the space where Ragamuffin. . .
. . .was. . . no longer standing.
"Yeah, the comment about just eating? Not something to be brushed off," Ragamuffin breathed in the Dullahan's ear. He had to crouch slightly to reach but it was worth seeing the smirk melt off of the Dullahan's face. He twisted to the side, maybe catching a glimpse of Ragamuffin's shirt as he danced lightly around the fey. He felt great, amazing even. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be full up on blood but now he was running hot and packing a punch.
He felt fast enough– and cheeky enough– to slip right under the Dullahan's arm and snatch his head by a handful of golden curls. The fey managed to get out half of a curse word before Ragamuffin was ten yards away and dropping it to the grass.
"This is an outrage, I demand–"
The vampire grinned and started to bat the head around with his feet, trying out some of the soccer moves he'd picked up playing with Lenore. He hooked his toe under the ears and kicked the head up into the air. He missed bouncing it off his knee on the downswing but the satisfying thwack it made as it landed more than made up for it.
There was a second thud behind him and Ragamuffin found himself grinning as the Dullahan spat out a mouthful of grass. His body had just collapsed despite numerous attempts to stay upright.
"You can't move right, can you? Not without your head pointing in the same direction as your body. And not with me tossing your head around like this–" here, Ragamuffin gave the Dullahan's head another vicious kick, stopping another round of profanity before it could start and spinning it up into the air. "So I lied. This'll take more than five minutes." Ragamuffin tossed another look at the Dullahan's body, just waiting for him to heap some abuse onto it. "Misplaced aggression, here I come."
Kicks eventually gave way to more creative blows. Ragamuffin yanked the body up by the frilly collar and managed to flip it into its own carriage. It was made of polished bone and all looked rather impressive right until you got to the steeds.
Dullahan horses were. . . alright, they were just pathetic-looking when you compared them to the mental image most people had of the kind of horses that were supposed to pull death carriages. Instead of being tall, black stallions they were a particularly short, undeniably chubby-looking obscure breed of horse that had actually been named 'Dullahan horses.'
The horses started to edge away as Ragamuffin neared the carriage, but the vampire still leaped on board without much trouble at all. The Dullahan was starting to sit up, feeling blindly around the edge of the driver's bench, and Ragamuffin took to opportunity to kick him. . . somewhere not very nice. As he doubled over the vampire flipped him over his combat boot and into the backseat, dropping the head on the bench as an afterthought. Then he vaulted into the back himself and began to pummel the Dullahan's chest, slamming the steel-toed boots into and under his ribcage.
Okay. . . liking these shoes a lot.
Ragamuffin felt almost. . . immature as he basically used the Dullahan's body as a trampoline, but he could feel the stress that had accumulated over the past three days melting away with each blow. He was sick and tired of everything always going wrong for him and now everything was right, and he was so much stronger than anything this pest could throw at him that he couldn't help but feel buoyed.
"Agh– in the name of Mab, st- stop, I won't bother you again I just- gah!" The Dullahan's head choked from the front seat, his body twitching as Ragamuffin slowly stepped off of it. Ragamuffin rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, whatever," Ragamuffin muttered, but he was already feeling sooo much better about his afterlife that he was in a genuinely good mood. Psychologically speaking that could not be good for him. . . He grabbed the edge of the carriage roof, hauled himself out, and with a cheerful grin sent the Dullahan horses in the direction of the nearest swamp.
"And don't come back!" he called after them, waving energetically.
And then promptly threw up, his feeling of triumph taking backseat to a sudden rush of nausea.
Right, he thought dryly. Don't exercise until half an hour after you've eaten.
BVQA: Yep. Dullahans. They're actually a thing. You can look them up, they're pretty cool. There's a reason that I included one here, but. . . spoilers! Also, anyone who can tell me what fandom Julian's from gets 'you are an awesome person' points (and no fair looking it up on google!).
Chicky: So, I hope you all liked this chapter, in all its wonderfully gory glory- I certainly did! I didn't "pull a Thor"… okay, maybe I did, that's not a movie I've seen, and I'm going to assume that's what we're talking about. I merely…requested a re-write. And just for my own curiosity: anyone else loving aggressive!swearing!Ragamuffin?
