If I owned Oblivion, I would have never killed off my favorite character, so I think all ownership issues are fairly self-explanatory. Thanks so much for all your reviews, people :D Random comment - I'm on a plane! (as I'm writing this) Also, I just turned seventeen!
DualKatanas - I feel bad reading your enormous and extremely helpful reviews when I've been so lax in reviewing B&S... I honestly haven't been on as much as usual lately, but I'll spare you the excuses with a flimsy promise to catch up when I can. Description of magicka... free reign, that's what authors are for. I often prefer to take a more scientific approach, but magic's a bit hard to reconcile with that. Morrowind enchantment got to be a bit of a pain in the butt when you had to pay over 100,000 coins for something, and most items couldn't hold a constant effect enchantment even worth buying (not to mention running around looking for Ascended Sleepers and Golden Saints just to put a one-point night-eye on your pauldrons)... but Oblivion's stuff really did disappoint me, being pathetic in some regards (feather) and a complete game-breaker in others (chameleon). Wow, off-topic... Wall of text? My monitor is wide, and a lot of those paragraphs are only four or five lines to me. Hm. I kind of like textwalls.
DeLyse - Yay, new reviewers! Thank you so much, that trio of comments served to make me a very happy girl. I completely sympathize with the Purification - I have never been able to make it past that point. And no, you don't sound like a coach, no worries. :)
Arty - Depressing? I love the whole tragic, self-inflicted regrettable instance-in-the-past thing, but at the same time, I really don't want him to fall into the Mary Sue trap (liek omg so i joind the brothrhod n nobdy lovd me nd my brothers abused me, etc). Was that kind of overdoing it? I did enjoy writing that piece, but... meh, you tell me. And as for epiphanies, well, I did say this was going to be Vicente x OC, and I suppose I've kept everyone waiting long enough... hehe.
TwelveEyes - Yay, new reviewer! Here, have a wall of text. I know - you're absolutely correct, and I acknowledge the discrepancy. Been thinking about it for a while now. As a writer, I like to play with things and take ideas from other sources, whether it's other games, books, or even my own ideas. Vampirism, I've done the same thing to. The strain of vampires we deal with in this story are quite similar to those in Cyrodiil, but not perfect replicas. And Vicente, being a Quarra, shouldn't have the 'blending' ability of Cyrodiilic vampires... but I was quite fond of that ability, and applied it to most, if not all, strains of the disease in Tamriel, including his, with my own added gimmick that it fades over time. It made sense, and I like things that make sense. I'm sorry if that gets on your nerves, but... :x The game itself is a bit contradictory. In-game, Vicente says he became a vampire in Vvardenfell - but all vampires in Morrowind have white/silver eyes with no pupils. He has the standard pale red eyes. Yes, they wouldn't create a new eye type just for one character, but that got on my nerves.
Lastly - yes, updates are taking forever, but life is annoying like that. And while the past few chapters have been very dialogue-heavy, and this one -could- be more interesting, I promise that the next chapter will be action.
Avielle had decided with utmost certainty that Vicente's self-approved style of training was complete and utter crap.
Of course, the mage's experience in training had been little more than sitting in a lecture hall, playing absently with sparks twirling across her fingers as a teacher - usually bald, corpulent, and with a voice that lacked any change in pitch - droned about magicka she was certain she could perform better. She'd paid for a few scattered lessons in other skills, and even recieved some brush-ups for free, but nobody had really taught her anything besides spellwork.
When the moon had dipped beneath the treeline, and the beginning hues of apricot toyed with the grey sky, Vicente had shepherded the tired mage to the nearest shelter he could find - the ruined spires of a fort had poked above the horizon. Unwilling to listen to Avielle's complaints about the lack of a proper bed, he'd cast a fatigue spell on her to knock her out, then set her gently down upon what he considered to be a perfectly fine place to rest so he could get on with decimating a nest of imps around the corner in peace.
She'd woken about an hour ago, and the assassin was not fond of wasting time if he could avoid it. And so he'd plunged ahead with instruction, brushing off her muttered comments about a sore back.
The vampire noted Avielle's mounting frustration with a familiar amusement. He was used to it; most of his former students began as cocky introverts completely wrapped up in their own skills, and this girl seemed to have a problem with the entire world. Which meant he'd reach the familiar point soon...
The girl struck at him with the human equivalent of a growl, swiping the dagger in a sideways motion towards his chest. For the umpteenth time, Vicente reached out and firmly clasped his long fingers around her arm, bringing her attack to a brisk halt.
"This is a dagger, not a scimitar. Stab, not slash."
With a disgrunted "hnnrgh", she lunged at him again, form as sloppy as he'd ever seen it. He stopped her wrist once more, subconsciously noting the pulse that beat angrily below.
"A shade too low," he admonished dryly.
Avielle threw the dagger. He plucked it from the air, inhumanly adroit as ever, and lifted an eyebrow at her as he handed the silver weapon back. "This is not a projectile."
"How am I supposed to learn anything if you keep stopping me?" she seethed. "In a real fight, people aren't going to calmly tell me if I'm making a wrong move."
A knowing gleam glittered in the vampire's garnet eyes. "Very well," he conceded. "If you believe this method would help you learn more effectively, then the teacher has no right to deny you it. Come at me again."
Pompous bastard, Avielle thought darkly as she drew back for her next strike. Acts like I don't know anyth- holyfetchinghell!
This time, Vicente did not firmly halt her blow. She lunged towards the assassin, aiming for the carotid this time - or was it the jugular? whatever - and then everything was a dizzy blur. She shrieked involuntarily as he grabbed her outstretched arm, stopping the blow with pathetically little effort and using the momentum to toss her backwards over his head.
The girl landed on the small of her back, her breath escaping in a harsh huff. Her head spun, and a strange ringing clanged incessantly in her ears. Barely an instant passed in wavering confusion before a shadow slid into place above her as smoothly as a rolling storm cloud. A cool hand clamped down firmly upon her shoulder, pinning her down as if she were possibly capable of moving.
An uncomfortably familiar line of iciness touched ever so lightly upon her neck. Her eyes, travelling downward, latched onto and dizzily followed the ornate, bronze-etched patterns that twisted and flowed around the hilt of a very curved Ayleid dagger. She had never seen the weapon before, no sign of a sheath worn at his hip or a glint of metal beneath his vest, but could she even be surprised by that? Stealth was his aspect, concealment his forte - that much, she was sure of.
And the message was clear enough - Nice try, but look - you're dead.
Lifting her head a fraction, she stared back into those cool red eyes and swallowed. They were empty, collected, but this close, she could see something else rippling in the depths beneath the otherwise still surface. She was suddenly morbidly aware of what he had told her, of untamable desires that could override all thought and the inexorable hunger that had led him to the Brotherhood -
"You're absolutely right," he said, voice darkly amused, and it occurred to Avielle that had never really been a struggle at all. That ageless want that his features so barely betrayed had always been there, as much as him having red eyes or brown hair. It was a part of him, and one so deeply submerged that she felt almost ashamed for her momentary panic - even though being afraid of a pouncing vampire in close quarters was perfectly justified.
"Yes," he continued, "completely correct, but nonetheless missing the point. In a true fight, as soon as you make a mistake, you will be killed or incapacitated, the latter of which is likely to swiftly lead to the former. At your current level of knowledge, you would not be able to keep up with me if I were to take things as easily as I could upon you. So," and he stood, withdrawing the dagger and sliding it out of sight, "you and I may spar someday, but for now, I ask that you trust my judgement. You need to work on your form and aim. There is more to swordplay than sticking the sharp end into your foe."
He helped her back to her feet. Avielle rolled her shoulders, wincing. "The hell," she gasped, not having regained her breath. "You could have broken my neck just now."
"I picked you up and then dropped you. Don't be melodramatic."
"That was a throw, damn it."
"If I were to throw you, you would shatter like a raw kwama egg." There was a disturbingly pensive look on his face as he delivered the simile. "Hideous. Definitely one of the most distateful ways to kill a person."
The mage's face screwed up at the image he presented. "Yeah, well, we don't all have the unholy strength of the damned."
Vicente rolled his eyes. "Touche, but," and he tapped his ear, "The only thing that little lesson of yours ended up breaking was your confidence, and that does not seem to stay down for long."
"Whatever. Doesn't change the fact that it hurts like hell."
"As I said. Dramatic. Honestly, I fail to understand how you stereotypical mages function in the world when you have virtually no pain tolerance."
"I don't need to shoulder pain," Avielle retorted. "I can heal any scrapes I get instantly."
"No, you can't." The humor was gone from the vampire's eyes, and the suddenly intense seriousness in his tone was borderline unnerving. "You can't right now, and there will be times later in your life where you will find yourself unable to use magicka. You need to learn that the only thing you can ever rely on is yourself. Know it, shape it, hone it - and become able to function without the abilities you use as a crutch."
"You know what?" The girl was starting to get angry. "That's really damn easy for you to say. You're a fetching vampire. You're strong enough to... argh, I don't know, but you can do whatever the hell you want. You're made to be powerful. I don't have that - not that I want it - and I can't just pick up a sword and start swinging it like you do."
"You aren't understanding." Vicente kept his voice neutral. "What you just said may be true, but you still cannot see it from anyone else's point of view. Physically, yes, I am more capable than you. But to do whatever I want? Not in the least. Do you have the majority of the world trying to kill you for no other reason than what you are, Avielle? Do you have to constantly keep track of time, knowing that a simple mistake in that field will almost immediately kill you? Are you... well, I suppose we are both eternally on the cusp of losing our minds, and that a slip could slaughter anyone around us. What a pair we make. But I digress... can you not see it? Know your strengths and your weaknesses. Know yourself."
"My only strength is magic," she protested, tone bordering on whining.
"You are definitely the most incorrigible person I have ever had the pleasure of teaching," he mused, rubbing his brow. "Perhaps now, it is, and you do appear to have quite a penchant for it. But you are young, and still have plenty of potential to develop that you have yet to test out. I hope to both restore your magicka to you and hone your skills on the side. I might add that most teachers would have given up on you by now. Your ettiquette is painful."
"Most of them do."
"Unfortunately, Avielle, I am still quite patient. I fear you'll have to work much harder if you want to get rid of me."
"Who said I wanted to get rid of you? Well," she backtracked quickly, "I have more issues with you than I have fingers to count on, like you being a bloodsucking assassin who signed off my father's death and thinks he knows absolutely everything and -"
"...I'm not quite sure I want to know where this is going," the vampire cut in, an eyebrow lifted.
"-and probably has several thousand concealed weapons in his shirt alone and... fine. But you seem to have a thing for saving my life, which you were never really obligated to do, and I'd probably have died several times over if I'd never met you, and... in the end, you're actually sort of tolerable."
"'Actually sort of tolerable'." Vicente tossed that around. "I suppose I could take that as a compliment. It's preferable to 'filthy spawn of Vivec and Molag Bal', 'unholy beast', and 'old man'."
It was Avielle's turn to lift an eyebrow, although she wasn't able to raise one singularly and had to settle for both upward. "Who calls you those?"
"Guards, guards, and you, respectively."
"Hmph. Well, whatever. Look, don't start snuggling up to me, but you're not as much of a jackass as I was expecting."
Vicente was not a very snuggly person to begin with, but he allowed to comment to pass unobjected.
"Besides, you know a hell of a lot of stuff, and I plan on taking advantage of that."
Oh, do not attempt to go there, he thought, highly amused. He flashed her his best vampire grin, letting his fangs show quite distinctly. "Really? Nobody takes advantage of me, girl."
Two can play that game. Avielle smirked, fairly sure by this point that she could toe the line with him without getting her throat slit. "You're the one that brought me along, didn't you? That implies that you want something from me. And seeing as you're such a gentleman, that implies you should give something in return. I tend to get what I want."
Her cocky and self-styled devious effect was somewhat ruined when Vicente burst out laughing. Avielle was partially miffed and partially inclined to laugh along. It was infectious. She'd always assumed that assassins - or vampires - would cackle, but he had a nice laugh; it had the same velvety, mellifluous quality that his voice did.
"Ah, yes, very good," he chortled after he'd managed to calm down. "Perhaps I've succeeded in teaching you something after all. Try that again when you have at least two hidden weapons, one of which is enchanted, and are considerably sure that you could kill whoever you were speaking to if the need arose. And make sure that they believe that you could kill them as well. For now... I admire your attempt at such tactics, but they suit you almost as poorly as a lace dress would me."
Avielle was successfully diverted. "Where in Oblivion did you get that image?"
"One of my Sisters in my Sanctuary tried to get me in one not so long ago." Some of the laugh lines disappeared from his face. "She did not succeed. I consider myself very tolerant, but I do have standards." With this, Vicente lifted his eyes. "I know you have preconceived notions about the Brotherhood, but we were not the pack of psychotic, bloodthirsty murderers you believe us to be. Perhaps psychotic, yes... it was a psychotic and dysfunctional family, perhaps not unlike a guildhall you belong to."
The mage was not willing to dig into that topic. "I'm sure. Well, since you were originally teaching me something, I wouldn't mind going back to that. I was honestly hoping you would help me out with my magicka." It wasn't just impatience speaking; she was uncomfortably aware of how everything Vicente had seen of her consisted of incompetence or helplessness, and she was a little desperate to prove her worth. She didn't picture herself becoming a master swordsman anytime soon, and her skills in spellcasting seemed to be the only thing she might have over the vampire.
He sighed. "Very well, but I expect you to go along with my lesson plans in the future. I cannot enlighten a student without discipline... and firmly establishing my positon as teacher." He clapped his hands together in a businesslike manner. "Magicka is not something I am used to teaching. I am proficient, but there was... another mage at the Sanctuary that would cover that subject with promising recruits."
Avielle caught the momentary spasm of his features as he stumbled over the last part. "Was?"
"Is," corrected Vicente, a bit too harshly to be natural. "I digress," he went on briskly, leaving the girl to contemplate exactly what had happened with him. "This is not something I am versed in instructing, and coupled with the nebulous nature of your situation, I cannot be guaranteed that I understand what I'm doing. I cannot stress enough that this is all guesswork. Do you still wish to proceed?"
"Do you honestly think that's going to deter me?"
"No, but I wished to secure myself a disclaimer so that you were in no position to blame me in the event that something does go wrong. I've said what needed to be said; you have been warned."
Avielle snorted. "I'll blame you whenever the hell I want, for whatever the hell I want."
"I know," the assassin said wearily. "Unfortunately. But very well. I expected nothing less. You understand the basic theory of magicka, which will help somewhat. Would you please relay your proficiency in each of the six main schools for me?"
Finally, something that she actually knew how to answer. "Destruction is my forte, and I know a decent amount of Restoration - more healing than fortifying - and Alteration on the side. Mysticism, I'm not that great at, I can only pull off the most basic Illusionry, and Conjuration makes no sense."
"Destruction and Restoration are definitely beneficial for you to know." He called up a viridian spark and twisted it idly through his fingers. "Personally, I find Illusion to be the most useful application, but then again, I rely on stealth and beguilement moreso than you."
"Um, that's great and all, but can we talk about me now?"
Vampire eyes flickered up to meet hers; the vestigial Illusion flame dissipated instantly. "Patience. As I was about to say, I hope to teach you at least some camouflaging spells in the future. For now, practice with your strongest skill. Destruction is likely your most solid base to work from."
"The last time I tried to use that type of magic, I ended up frostburnelectrocuting myself to Oblivion," Avielle pointed out critically.
"It also seems to have damaged your vocabulary. Regardless, that's a worthwhile point. Since you seem to unleash a torrent of the particular school's effects at random if you fail a spell, it would make the most sense to start with safer effects. Alteration and Restoration, you said? I would rather not blindly toy with reality, so does Restoration sound agreeable to you?"
"Probably, if you'd tell me what I'm supposed to be doing with it."
"It's nothing difficult," Vicente reassured. "I simply want you to cast a basic spell. Try to heal your back."
"That's it?" The mage looked blank. "That's just the exact same thing I've been doing each time I screw up."
"Yes, but that ring should fortify your mental acuity. If you try, you may get a different result."
"That's not exactly making me feel confident," Avielle said. "I mean, 'just try the same thing and hope it doesn't blow up in your face'? Seriously? Not for anything, but that sounds like something I would do. And that usually doesn't work, which is why I'm asking you in the first place."
"I cannot merely wave my hands and say a spell to fix everything," he sighed. "However favorable it would be to have things that simple, life generally refuses to work that way. You can back out on me now, but without trying, nothing will heal itself - I can promise you that much."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I just... fine." The dullness in her voice betrayed the Breton's trepidation, and Vicente felt his usual condescending patience where mortal emotions were concerned give way to empathy. He was all too familiar with the demons of the mind.
He cleared his throat and offered, "I'll be right next to you."
"Just because you're archaic doesn't mean you get to be my grandpa," Avielle snarled, and plunged within herself.
Almost immediately, the whirling chaos planted itself within her consciousness, sparking madly with raw power. She could have sworn she'd 'seen' something in her mind's eye for a brief moment - a silvery pool in the center of a raging sea of color. Whether it was an attempt to make sense of something inside her or a complete hallucination, she had no idea, but she found herself falling into the wilder, deeper mass before the image was lost to her. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted up one by one as the unbridled energy raced through her body, prying desperately at her extremities for release.
But this wasn't what she wanted, she knew. Avielle gritted her teeth and tried to keep the growing mass of magicka within her. How the hell was she supposed to do this? What was she looking for? Tremors reverberated up and down her spine, and increasing numbers of sparks jumped from her fingers as the power refused to stay contained.
A rushing noise was beginning to fill her ears, like the indecipherable whispers of a conch shell.
She shook her head. She had to focus on something, something she knew and could use as a reality check. Her first thought was the man before her, and she brought her face up to fix her gaze upon him. But was he real? His eyes were glowing, red and vicious, and the blackness of his garments was spreading across his skin like demonic vines, twisting and grasping -
With a strangled noise, she turned away from him, struggling for breath. It was getting worse, she knew, and... what was getting worse? With a shock, she realized she couldn't remember. Things were bad, but...
And then she understood, because those terrible dark creatures with their shivering forms and bladed limbs were here, circling like vultures. She was afraid because they were going to kill her, to trap her with their burning eyes and tear her apart. They were the end, silent and indelible, and they wanted her.
"Hold yourself together," somebody urged, sounding slow and distorted to her ears. "Focus. You know what is and isn't real..."
But she wasn't sure she did, staring into those hungry eyes, those whiplike movements with which the emaciated monsters closed in on her. A whimper clawed its way up from her throat as she backpedaled, colliding with something cold and somewhat soft.
"I'm here," whispered a voice very close to her ear. "It's just me. You're safe."
Somehow, it was comforting, a beacon of tranquility amidst her rising panic. Avielle clamped down on that, pressing further against whatever surface she had backed up against - she felt it give way and stumble back a step - and desperately clung to that notion. Whose voice had that been? It brought up disconnected bits of memory, of white fingers on a green glass hilt...
Vicente.
She broke through the confusion. Her mind leapt brokenly from the vampire to the Brotherhood to Skingrad to the Imperial Watch in a frantic, disjointed moment, jerking to a halt at 'enchantment'.
Enchantment. The ring. My mother's ring.
Avielle focused on the warm feeling of the metal band around her finger, shutting her eyes as she willed the dual gift from her mother and companion to lend her its strength. Icy uncertainty tore at her concentration, but now that she had found the ring, she had something stable to hang on to. She imagined hearing a 'twang' as something intangible within her snapped back into place, and then gentle heat bloomed in her right palm.
Her eyes opened. There were no monsters, no hallucinations - just the dusty walls of an abandoned fort and the realisation that she had backed up against a vampire. Blushing, she detached herself from a rather squished Vicente - he straightened up and glanced at her cautiously. She looked down, somewhat embarassed to meet his eyes, and she caught a gleam; in her right hand flickered a perfect little star of white magicka.
"Avielle? Are you all right?" Vicente questioned.
She didn't answer immediately, uncurling her fingers and freeing the spell. Energy imbibed her body, patching up her bruised back and wrist in a wave of warmth. Only then did she look up.
"I did it! Vicente, I did it!"
He smiled in return, pleased by her success and having never actually seen the girl happy before. It was a wonderful effect on her face, much better than her trademark scowling, and he wished she would do it more often.
"Very good," he praised. "Obviously, there is still much work to go from here, but I wasn't expecting such a quick breakthrough."
"You're such a killjoy," she accused, mock-punching him on the shoulder. "I actually managed to cast a spell again!"
"It is a start, but I'm not going to bring out the champagne just yet. You're still far from your original functionality."
The mage heaved a dramatic sigh. "Let me guess. No recognition, and straight back to trying again?"
Vicente's grin grew wider. "And here I thought I wasn't getting through to you."
The afternoon passed in this fashion. Avielle's capability waxed as time passed, managing to cast spells without hallucinating at all several times. Eventually, though, she grew bored, and her performance dwindled until Vicente had little choice but to concede for the day.
Now she was pacing, waiting for sunset impatiently while the vampire watched her calmly. He lounged against the wall, dusting his cloak absently. Avielle was not very fond of being watched. "Don't you ever sleep?" she asked him, exasperated.
Vicente flashed her a toothy grin. "No rest for the wicked, hm?" he joked.
"Ha ha." She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, when can we leave?"
"We may depart once doing so would not result in my quasi-instantaneous death. You know, it's actually rather useful to have a human around. Would you please go check? As long as the sun is fully below the horizon, the coast is clear for me."
"Fine, fine." The Breton turned and began climbing the stairs which led to the fort's entrance. "And don't call me 'human', it makes me feel like some vampire's servant or something."
"I did kidnap you," floated after her. She lifted her eyes again, unseen by anyone. The vampire's mood was always so random. And he had a very saturnine sense of humor.
It was already twilight when she pushed open the old wooden doors, propping one open with her foot. Soft light cast long, faint shadows. She inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air after a day spent underground. Spring was definitely at the doorstep - no snow remained, the temperature was borderline pleasant, and a tentative daffodil's petals fluttered semi-open by her feet.
The clouds still held traces of pale pink, but the sun was nowhere to be seen. "It's safe, come on," she called back.
Vicente came warily, clearly not having full faith in her verdict. The mage huffed as he finally trailed after her into the dusk, letting the door fall shut with a thud. "Was there a point in sending me out if you weren't going to believe me anyways?"
The vampire shifted, his cloak gliding across the grass. "You'll have to pardon me. I have lived with the most cunning and underhanded minds that one can find in Cyrodiil for a very long time indeed. Trust does not come so easily after that."
"Yeah, but I'm not a fetching assassin."
"No, you most certainly are not, but that sort of caution has kept me alive - figuratively speaking. Old habits die hard."
"Okay, okay, I get it. Not my fault you're paranoid."
"I said nothing even close to implying that." Vicente was a bit exasperated. "We should start off; if we hurry, we can pass Kvatch by far tonight." Seeing Aveille open her mouth, he added, "Yes, pass. I'm sorry, but I refuse to stay at a hotel. They're deathtraps for me. I would prefer to deviate from the road, now that we're close to the city. There are simply too many guards on patrol. Do you need my cloak?"
"No, it's warm tonight." Avielle didn't like the idea of traversing the wilderness, but she dutifully followed the assassin as he headed away from the Gold Road that was vaguely visible in the distance. If she trusted anyone to be able to ward off mountain lions and bears, it was Vicente.
The grasslands were quiet, though, a far cry from the monster-infested dark forests she'd imagined. The vampire seemed to take many random turns which she could not make sense of. When she inquired, he would point something out - the smoke of a campfire, the fresh tracks of an animal - that she couldn't see in the darkness no matter how hard she squinted. She was beginning to wonder if all the trouble she normally ran into was because she was extremely inobservant.
Then again, he's a fetching predator, she reasoned, maintaining her ego. People like me can't be that good.
It was her, however, who noticed the strange yellow shimmer beneath a lonely tree. She peered further, trying to make it out. It looked like a trick of the light, but she couldn't blink it away. If anything, it seemed to be moving towards her.
"Hm?" Vicente had noticed her staring and followed her gaze.
As she pointed towards the radiance, she finally realized what she was seeing. "Ah, hell." The mage reached for her magical reserves instinctively, letting go when she realized it was probably better to let her companion handle it. But a glance showed that Vicente was not reaching for his sword; instead, he was extending an open hand towards the will-o-the-wisp, as if coaxing a timid bird to perch upon it.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked incredulously.
Vicente didn't reply. He stood utterly still, an effigy scultped of onyx and marble in the moonlight, as the curious cloud of light drifted towards him, little tendrils on the edge poking forth and withdrawing like the paws of a kitten. Slowly, it reached his limb and hovered there, glittering softly.
It was strangely beautiful, but the display was leaving the girl rather unnerved. "Okay, is there a reason you're getting on so well with that thing or is that just some of that weird vampire stuff you can do?"
He didn't look over at her as he answered. "I'm simply fond of them."
"Why the hell would you like them? I mean, they want to kill you and drain your essence or whatever. Doesn't seem very cuddly to me."
"Hm?" The vampire was still staring at the ethereal creature fluttering around his outstretched arm, almost mesmerised. "Ah... they remind me of the sun."
"Oh." Avielle wasn't sure how to reply to that. She hadn't considered that Vicente might lament his inability to see the daylight, but there was something a little heartbreaking about it, now that she lent it thought. The daylight hours were something she took for granted, but picturing a life without the sun shining brightly in the sky each morning was unimaginable to her. And yet that was what it meant to be damned...
Okay, enough with the gushing sympathy. What was wrong with her? She shook her head. Pity towards the assassin had no place in her head. Maybe he was using some vampire powers or whatever to screw with her mind.
But even holding onto that thought didn't change the scene before her. It was beginning to dawn on her that despite his flippant humor and unperturbed attitude, Vicente seemed... sad. Regretful? Avielle was not skilled at reading people - generally, she just didn't care - but now that she gave it her attention, he seemed to carry an enormous weight on his shoulders. How he'd regularly stumble in mid-conversation, how random things would instantly deteriorate his mood...
At last, the wisp seemed to lose interest and floated off, humming. Vicente let his hand fall to his side, staring after it.
Impulsively, the mage felt the need to say something, any word of comfort. The only thing she could think of was a lie.
"You're not missing out on much," she offered.
The lack of conviction in her voice would have been evident even if Vicente hadn't been well-versed in seeing through facades. But he was utterly surprised at the gesture. Was Avielle actually warming up to him? She was certainly a piece of work at times, but at others...
Or, he thought, internally cringing, I am seriously falling apart, to the point where I look pathetic enough to draw water from a stone.
"I've had plenty of time to grow accustomed to this," he said brusquely, starting off again eastward. No need for her to think of him as weak. He did not need children fawning over him after every travesty he underwent.
Avielle followed him mutely through the tall grass, half-stunned and admittedly petulant that he'd brushed her off when she attempted to be nice.
"You, on the other hand, have not. I should apologize for dragging you into my nocturnal lifestyle. Living as a hermit takes plenty of getting used to, and I fear I ripped you from luxury with a vengeance. I maintain that -"
Vicente did not let his words trail off as they occasionally did. Rather, they simply came to a jerking halt, as did his stride. He froze without preamble, head tilted back like a wolf scenting for prey, one palm raised in a gesture for stillness.
Avielle stumbled to pause alongside him. "What's wrong? Why are we stopping?"
"I can smell smoke. And sulphur. Something..."
The girl did not have the senses of a vampire, but even she could see it as she followed his gaze. Upon the mountaintop ahead sat a city, barely a silhouette to her human eyes. Daylight was far from reigning, but there was no denying the vermillion glow on the high horizon, the billowing blackness that towered above that was too heavy for storm clouds. There was no denying how the night was painted in blood, a mockery of the sun that Vicente had almost forgotten.
And his ears alone caught the distant shrieking as Kvatch burned.