Élise de Cossé de Brissac (elisedecosse) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2010-08-25 17:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | #solo, 2009-07-24, elise |
It doesn't matter who's wrong or right.
Who: Élise & NPC anti-vampires/supernaturals
Where: The witching hours
When: The park & then the road
Bare-footed, the vampire in the red dress had been in the park for what felt like an eternity. The idea of an elsewhere was distant, a concept sitting somewhere in her peripheral vision that she could never quite catch. She distracted herself from the hunger that clawed at her hollow insides by trailing her fingers along the railings, absorbing and instantly rejecting the images that clouded her mind as a result. Things that had been. Some things that would be. Some that might be. It was a significance she understood for now, but did not wish to witness. Seeing lead to confusion. Looking did no harm.
With her own two eyes half-closed and head lolling to one side, Élise continued to watch the film reels that played in her mind's eye. Men, women, children. Daylight, night-time and everything in between. Shouting, whispering, talking, singing. None of it with any form of time stamp she could comprehend or even remember. She watched people die -- herself killing... Alors...
Whether it was the sight of herself that opened her eyes or the shouting somewhere in the distance was immaterial. Having followed her fingertips along whichever surface they had been dragged across, she was not where she had been before. She gripped the wall as though it grounded her and tilted her head. Her figure, languid, leaned away from the brick anchor, trying to drift towards the source of the noise. The scent of human blood -- it was so loud -- was intoxicating, stirring the creature trying to shred at her insides. No. No. They needed to go away. Maintenant, s'il vous plaît. Back to the wall, she just stared. Willing them to leave was not enough. And they were bringing the noise towards her. Too hungry to gauge the hostility colouring their tone and faces, and with no knowledge of what they meant by 'supernatural', she let her limbs fold her into the corner and sank to the floor in a sulk. Their presence and their collective scent made her feel wretched. Distance, she needed distance.
"Va-t'en," she protested weakly. Go away. It only drew their attention. Her head tilted back against the wall as thought her puppeteer had cut the last string. The expression of girlish disapproval was, perhaps, the only real sign that she was sentient, never mind that she did not want them there. Another time, she may have snapped necks and claimed eyes for herself, scattering what was left to the four winds -- just to end the heartbeats that rang in her ears.
The shouting ceased, replaced by murmuring laced with concern and distrust. Easy enough to ignore when their very existence on this mortal plane was driving her to claw at the paved floor beneath her. She saw the overweight human tentatively extend a helping hand towards her before he had actually done so; twice over, he did not get the reaction he had, perhaps, expected. Reanimating faster than her spectators had anticipated, the Harbinger shifted into an offensive stance, snarling in his face -- and was immediately hit over the head with a home-made wooden cross for her efforts.
For a split second, everyone present fell deadly silent. There was no movement, not a single utterance -- aside from that constant drumming in their chests -- while the vampire blinked from the hand she had shunned to the cross that struck her. "Qu'est-ce?" The pace of the drums quickened as reality dawned upon the drummers; they were not equipped for this. Élise's fingers closed around the wrist of the man wielding the cross. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Confiscating it, she released him and straightened up, eyeing the others. She didn't understand. Urban myths about her race were beyond her; for a fleeting moment she thought this was some sort of sign and one hand reached to touch her own cross. The wooden one was cast aside, naturally landing far further than a woman of her apparent build could have achieved with such an idle movement. Side-stepping away from the would-be white knight and her assailant, she stalked the circumference of the little group until she was no longer the one backed into the corner.
"Go away," was the growled demand that was answered by two baseball bats to the head. Or perhaps the same one twice, she couldn't recall. Stunned, Élise sheathed her fangs in a pout. She could have torn all of their throats out. She could have crushed their extremities and worked her way towards their vital organs. But she didn't want to; she wanted them to leave. Falling into a sulk, she pressed her hand to her temple, temporarily mesmorised when it came away bloody. Was that hers? It tasted like it.
The reclaiming of her own blood started the shouting anew, though she dodged the next few attempts at assaulting her. With sullen mutterings, she crouched defensively, slinking back a few metres before turning tail completely.
When she was just a red speck on their horizon, so to speak, she stopped running. There was blood on her hand and blood in her hair. It was hers, she knew, though the reasons behind this anomaly escaped her. Further up the road, a group of humans were shouting nonsense. Gripping her upper arms, Élise gave a dry swallow. She could cope with the hunger as long as they stayed over there. Away.