Oliver Van der Meer (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} veridicality) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} bellumlogs, |
Chaos. It was simply chaos everywhere. Moments were blurring together and he was having a hard time separating everything as it happened. One arm was folded protectively over his stomach and he was afraid to look down, to see why the sleeve of his coat was soaked in blood. The cool air bit at skin that was blistered and burnt, but he managed to stumble on, pulled by the woman with the trees.
And then fingers slipped from his and he fell to his knees in the snow, turning to look about him in a sort of shock. John yelled in his head fiercely for him to keep himself together, to pay attention, but then there was that guttural roar and his head whipped around just in time to see someone... no. Not someone, John corrected him. Dracula tear the throat out of a villager.
"No..." Oliver whispered, guided by John's rage, and somehow he pushed himself up to his feet, lurching towards Dracula and his victims. The mob, he understood, was dangerous. They had pitchforks and torches, but noone deserves to be killed by that monster! Let me out! He would never see this coming! Oliver! There is a torch over there, one burned out in the snow. Just take it. Wind your fingers around it and go after that monster!.
It was a combination of adrenaline and confusion that had him reaching towards the abandoned torch, fingers curling around it as he hefted it, making his way towards the monster. John's expression was set, determination flickering in his eyes.