Who: Aline and Stieg Moreau What: A little, uh, sibling bonding. For lack of a better word. Where: Aline's flat in London. When: Thursday evening, January 12, 2012. Warnings: Blood, blood, gallons of the stuff...
The idea had started out vaguely – barely an idea at all, merely a thought, and a troubling one at that. Troubling, yet... intriguing. Louis didn't like it, of course, but Aline did. It'd be a test, that was all. To see if she could do it, human or otherwise. Just a little test.
So the idea became a plan. Someone had called it a science of a thousand details – she couldn't remember who, exactly, but the man was right. Settling on one detail led to questioning ten more, and questioning only led to doubts. She quashed them as best she could, with no help whatsoever from her melancholy reincarnate, and in the end, she strove for simplicity. With fewer variables, less was left to chaos and chance. That was science, and it was cold. She needed cold.
It was easy enough, at first. She found a stranger, and got to know him from a distance. Only a few years older than her, he was a bachelor living in the building next to hers – directly across from her flat, in fact, which made him all the more easy to spy upon. Within a week, she knew his habits. Within two, she knew how to get him safely into her flat. He was lonely, you see, and she had a lovely smile.
"I hope you don't mind," she'd said, looking at him with a sort of self-conscious kindness, "but I live across the way there, and I couldn't help but notice – well, you don't suppose you'd like to come back to mine and have a drink with me, do you?" Oh, how his eyes had lit up at that! Louis was never a mind-reader, but Aline didn't need that particular gift to know that this was exactly what the man had been waiting for. It was like something out of a movie, and he practically tripped over himself to accept, running to get his coat and leaving with her in a matter of seconds. It was sad, really, but she smiled at him nevertheless. He was going to die soon. He deserved that much from her, at least.
Ten minutes later, and she let him into her flat. He stepped inside first, looking around and complimenting the decor as he began to unravel his scarf. Aline, meanwhile, reached into her pocket and pulled out a syringe. You will change everything, if you do this, whispered a soft voice, so suddenly she nearly dropped her weapon of choice (or Dexter Morgan's, rather; if anyone was a proper tutor of how to go about killing someone, it was him). Momentarily distracted, she forgot about the door behind her, accidentally leaving it ajar.
You will change.
"Precisely," she whispered back, and she stepped up behind her chosen victim and took the plunge. He fell to the floor instantly, and she looked down at him with a distant sort of curiosity, brows slightly furrowed and head cocked just to the side. "Hm. Now what?"