what is peace without a blessed fight? Who: Darklis & Rina Where: Home When: Early evening
It was funny the things people decided to stare at. And when they chose to stare at them, as if somehow any of it was actually a surprise. Darklis had no idea what her neighbours were seeing when they looked at her. She hadn’t been near a single reflective surface, how could she? Oh, who’s kidding. I look like I just died in some kind of horrific car accident. Which was about right, if you took into account that she actually would have died had she been even the slightest bit human. Really, the Human Rights people could bitch about vampires as much as they wanted, but for once the Azraelan felt not one bit of guilt for her automatic acknowledgement that she would still live longer than them. She was seriously considering sending one of the Calverts a postcard saying ‘I’ve got fucked up ribs, a screwed lung and a hole in my chest from where I was pulled of what was left of what I think might have been a sign-post, but I will still be here to give your grandchildren nightmares’. That might have been pushing her luck, though. Besides, she had no right. She wasn’t bleeding anymore and Regina had done her best to help. It was more attention than most people had gotten. But really, couldn’t the guy from three doors down just stop gawping? She was walking funny because her legs felt like lead, okay? There was a hole in her shirt because a fucking pole went through – and she really thought the blood spoke for itself. It had been on the news, right? The bridge hadn’t been blown up and somehow just get missed by the media.
“What?” The word would have had more of an edge if she wasn’t so tired. Didn’t matter, it still had the desired effect. He scurried away inside as though she were some kind of horror movie prop come to life. I am. Good. Now wasn’t a time for Darklis to be tolerating spectators. Ideally, she needed to collapse. Feed. Heal. The chances of her having any earth elemental were slim, but there was always that hopeful ‘maybe’ at the end of her thoughts. Keys, keys, keys… Why was it her phone was MIA, but her keys were right there even though she had a doorbell and Rina’s scent was too recent for her not to be home? Unless she left via the garden. Not a thought she was having. No thoughts that ended with the possibility of that angel getting herself blown up were making it very far into Darklis’ head. Fumbling with the door, the Azraelan struggled with trying to both open it and use it as support at the same time. The end result was her leaning her back against the wall, one arm habitually lashing out to close the door then hit the voicemail.
Of which there were many.
“The explosion lost my cell, it wasn’t me,” she muttered sulkily, picking up the voicemail machine and sliding down the wall to sit on the hall floor. The wall probably needed cleaning now, but messages first. One by one, she listened no further than the intro – ‘Darklis, it’s Pyotr’ – then deleted them. Until her sire’s voice piped up. He who apparently needed no introduction, speaking in rather dated Austrian – but then she supposed Lenhard was a rather dated Austrian – about the importance of keeping one’s phone on at all times. “Oh, no shit,” she hissed over the message, using the same language out of sheer habit. “Next you’re going to tell me to make sure the ground I walk on isn’t going to explode, right? Because you know that would totally put an end to the use of minefields.” A beat. “Also? You really need to pick up a textbook. Nobody uses slang like that anymore. Seriously.” Her cheeks puffed up moments before her tongue stuck out at the Austrian voice that was still talking about responsibility and probably about to get cut off by the recording limit. She had nearly died again, she had totally earned her right to that moment of total immaturity. And god, she needed a drink.
A glance at her left leg, and Darklis blinked at Trouble. “How long have you been there? Just out of interest.” Because if it had been a while? Her own mind had clearly had an elsewhere to be.