Red eyes gazed upon the city. It seemed largely unchanged, unphased by the fact that the rest of the world was burning outside the city limits.
"Now, when they are organized and up in arms, it's more critical than ever that we not draw the attention of humanity," stated the black haired ancient. The shorter man he addressed, though also black haired and pale, bore little other resemblance. The physical contrast was farther highlight dress, as the older wore a tailored suit compared with the younger's trench coat, and demeanor, stately calm against nervous anger.
"Are they our master's then, Aro? Do we live in fear of what the humans could do to us?"
"Hardly. Think of us more as shepherds who don't want to have to cull the herd."
"Exactly. If you have a mad dog, you put him down. This is madness what they're doing."
"This isn't the first time. It won't be the last. This is just the one you've heard about, the one getting trumpeted. Where were you for the Armenians, what, two decades ago? And all those generations for the Africans, you never lifted a hand. The native people in every land ever 'discovered.' And those are just the recent ones."
"Past inaction doesn't make it right. We should have intervened then. We could have managed it, small enough that no one would ever know, not so that they could believe."
"No. There's no point to it. And as you feel so strongly, I have to ask you to remain here for the duration of the human's disagreement." He inclined his head towards a small figure standing by the doorway.
"No." A hand lashed out, clasping the elder's hand.
"Stop, Jane." He watched the schematics of the explosives concealed under the trench coat as they were painstakingly crafted in the other's mind. And saw in his own mind, memories of the speed with which his conversational companion could move. Quicker than thought. Quick enough that the heat and pressure from those chemicals sewn into his suit to bring down the building and any vampire nearby.
"I've learned some tricks from the humans," heard twice, the sound of it arriving like the ghost of the thoughts he heard moments before.
"Let him go, Jane." Out the window flashed the younger man, leaving behind two motionless figures.
"He'll cause problems," proclaimed a petulant voice from the doorway.
"Nothing major. Nothing we can't contain."
"Where's he going?"
"Back to his home. Not that it matters."
"Should I get Demetri?"
"No. Let's see what comes of this."
***
I'd been sitting at a table listening to the adults bicker. Looking back, twelve was much to young to think I could really do anything. But we were all crazy and desperate, and at least I wasn't old enough to realize that I couldn't do anything. We knew that the deportations were starting again soon. I didn't know when, but I think most of the adults knew a date. Some might even have known a specific time.
One moment, a child is sitting listening to four men arguing about how to best throw away the lives of the men and women who were under their command. The next, she was joined by a short, stocky man whose face she can't see underneath coat and scarf.
"Are they always like this?" he asked me quietly. The adults still hadn't noticed this apparition's sudden and soundless entrance. Or my wide eyed shock.
"More often recently," I finally whispered back as I found my voice again.
The men finally noticed. They all made a grab for the pistols they had at their hips, but found that the stranger, in the time it had taken them to move, had snatched them all and returned to his seat by me. Four pistols now laid on the floor in front of him, each perfectly disassembled as if for cleaning.
"Who are you?" demanded Leon (the one in charge of supplies, not the one in charge of intelligence).
"It doesn't matter. I'm here to help." The scarf unwrapped, revealing a brilliant and predatory smile. "I'm feeling particularly sacrilegious though, so you can call me Elijah."
Once again, I swear these will get longer. I'm writing this right now to keep me from falling asleep before my analysis class after pulling an all nighter. Is it good? Is it terrible? What did you think of the deliberately odd third person? I usually write in first person, and even when I write in third it is usually less obtuse than that. Comment if you think I should continue. And to help me stay awake.