Leon Vincent (voodoowho) wrote in st_margarets, @ 2016-04-22 15:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: ambriel triádhos, character: leon vincent, location: beyond the academy and camden |
Thread: Cracks In Stone
WHO: Ambriel & Leon
WHEN: Saturday the 9th, evening [backdated]
WHERE: Lac Aylmer, home of the Aspidochelone
WARNING: References to past murders, self-harm/suicide
It had been more than a year since Leon had closely walked with vengeful spirits, and he never thought that being exposed to ghosts again, those souls that lingered on after death, would have such an impact on him. It brought back a lot of old memories of his childhood spent living with the spirits of the people he had executed. He was glad to leave the ghost town and was more reserved than usual through the next day's stops. A field trip with his classmates - not all of whom Leon regarded very highly - was not the place he intended to allow himself to break down.
Leon held it in reserve, not letting it show how deeply he was shaken. Instead, he spent most of his time with Barclay and Ashton, as well as Victoria and Bayani, even Thierry or Paxton when the werewolf and demon weren't busy with their more social friends. On Saturday night, close to the shore on the living and breathing giant turtle island, Leon sat quietly alone. He let the wind play through his hair, missing the security of the dreads he used to wear. He was wishing Andrei had come. His sire would've known without being told and would have, in his own subtle way, eased Leon's fear. Leon was missing Mickey who, while less empathic, was still keyed into Leon through his possession of the djinni's lamp. Mickey would've made Leon laugh somehow and then they would've disappeared into the trees together like they used to.
Leon slid tattooed fingers down his face and raked back his hair, turning clear hazel eyes to the stars. With his knees drawn up, arm draped over them, Leon could almost hold himself together. Bleeding agonized faces came to his mind. Cut throats gushed black blood and never stopped. Hearts seized inside chests unoccupied by the owner's spirit. Leon's spirit had taken their place. Leon's spirit had lifted their own hand to draw the blade across their own skin. Over and over again, in the name of his people, the Balance, whatever misguided effort Leon had been under at the time, Leon had used his gift to kill himself. He'd died over and over, gasping, choking, drowning on blood.
And then his spirit had withdrawn and left the shell of the body of his target, returning eventually to his own body in trance miles away. The backlash that always followed wasn't even the worst part. Leon remembered waking up each time from the coma and being met with the face of the person he'd killed. Their faces never left him as their spirits were now denied a peaceful exit from this life. Leon Drumm, the voodoo priest had robbed them of that and they wouldn't rest until he was met with the same fate. Leon Vincent, the vampire, was now outside their reach. He was soulless. Undead. Untouchable. Leon had defied Fate and he wore it with a permanent scar on his psyche.
One day it would tear open again and consume him, but tonight, Leon carefully wove another patch around it and stargazed in silence.