Lane Probst / Mina Harker (noirishvirtue) wrote in ourtrueselves, @ 2010-01-06 18:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | lane probst |
Who: Lane Probst
What: Waking up with one hell of a hangover and thirst
When: Wednesday Jan 6 - early morning
Where: Petra's penthouse
Warnings: Cursing
This was the beginning of a life of hell, of thirst, of not knowing how he would make it. Lane had hoped he would die, that whatever trick she thought she'd pulled off, whatever she thought she was doing, wasn't going to work. It was something that happened in books and movies, not something that was real. He had hoped that reality, the laws people believed in of reality, would finally work as it should. He should have just died, not come back at all.
The detective groaned as he felt his insides turn; he was still dying, or that was the way it felt. The way his stomach lurched as he rolled to his side made him consider staying right where he was forever. His head was pounding, and everything in the world seemed too much. Too big, too bright, too loud, too rough, soft, salty, sweet. Just too much. In who he was, he'd read different books about vampires, mostly fiction, and he reasoned or Mina did that they were going through what every vampire went through; it didn't make things any easier. Mina tried to coo at him and soothe him, but she was feeling just as oddly as he. They'd shared his body all his life, and neither were sure they could handle the change.
It wasn't until he heard the soft sound of a young girl calling out for her 'Allie' or 'owie' that Lane's focus came to the moment. He was suddenly aware of another person close by. He pulled himself up enough to kneel, and he would have missed the note if it hadn't floated a little with the movement. He read it, the words slow to make any sense:
Lane dearest,
Welcome back to the land of the living! Feels good, doesn't it? Well, no, it doesn't, it feels terrible, I know. Don't worry, it gets better, I promise. Start out with a bite to eat first. I left the girl for you - object all you want, but you can't deny you're hungry, can you? You can't deny that you're starving, and that she smells ever so sweet. So do have fun, and find me once you've adjusted to your new life. I'd stay and help you, but you know me. I'm not a mother.
And you're welcome, by the way.
Petra,
Lane growled low and feral. The poor child in the other room quieted; she had a definite sense of survival. He stood, the paper balled in his fist. He stalked to the bedroom, stopping himself from entering. He could almost hear the little girl's heartbeat, smell her through the door, feel her warmth. If he got any closer, he knew he wouldn't stop himself from killing her in his need for blood. Damn her. But he had to call the child before he made his next move.
"Just relax. I'm getting help, now." His voice was hoarse, scratchy. As if he'd smoked one too many cigarettes. Damn her.
He stumbled to the door leading out of the penthouse and quickly dialed Deacon. If Lane were smart, he'd have the old man end it all there, but he wasn't ready to die. There was a beast out there who'd pay for what she did. He'd have his revenge.
"Deacon, found the girl. I have to go into the hospital; got hurt. Can't take her back to her parents. Come get her." Here he quickly gave the address and directions. "I'll wait around, shouldn't take you long to get her by the MTN. Move your ass, old man." Again, the gravel. He had to hope that Deacon would hurry, and he made his way out of the penthouse to settle in down the hall out of sight.