Elspeth Ann Thomas Fry (elspeth_fry) wrote in v_nocturne_rpg, @ 2009-08-02 21:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | elspeth fry, michael west |
Vampire Hunters
"You know, generally-speaking, I much rather prefer to do this sort of thing during the day..."
Nocturnal hours seemed to have little effect on the undead, save for it being a time when preying upon the living would go less noticed. Even so, Inquisitor West preferred having the advantage of daylight in the open air. For situational awareness, if nothing else. Besides, he reasoned, the things had to sleep at some time. Or at least, that was what Michael guessed they were doing, when being caught off-guard, every now and then, in that curiously death-like catatonic state. Whatever the reason for their slumber, a skilled hunter knew that it was best to strike at a dangerous foe when they were least likely to counter anything thrown at them.
Still, though, it was now late afternoon, and the latest mausoleum they had gained access to might well turn out like the last five: A dead end, in every sense of the phrase. Extending a hand to help guide fellow Inquisitor through the unlocked door, Michael coughed at the stale, dusty air found within. Even with sunlight still visible outside, he had to squint through the internal gloom.
"Looks like an adjoining chamber," he observed, pointing ahead. A moment taken while he lit a match, by way of illumination. "So, tell me... Did 'Alfonso' live up to his reputation?"
On her way through the narrow entrance, Elspeth's sleeve caught on a sticky mess of cobwebs and spiderwebs. She hastily brushed it off and joined him in the dank mausoleum. "For God's sake, West, it's as if you're speaking through a blow-horn!" she hissed. If the vampire they tracked to this corner of Highgate did slumber nearby, she did not fancy waking her with anything other than a stake and mallet.
She joined him in the meager pool of light. A tickle at the back of Elspeth's neck had her imagining spiders, and while she was not particularly afraid of them, she didn't want one nesting in her hair. Swinging her crossbow around her back, she fussed with the area, until convinced it was free of pests.
In addition to the automatic firing crossbow -- of standard issue within the Inquisition -- she carried a stake and mallet in the loops of a utilitarian belt, which she wore over a durable skirt. From another loop hung a metal weapon wrapped in leather, which looked like a gun but expelled fire. She also carried the arm-mounted canister of holy water. It was weaponry suited for more than a single vampire, perhaps, but one never knew how many might be present in a crypt.
"How did you hear about the magician?" she asked. "Did Armitage tell you?"
West refused to even dignify the initial criticism of his volume with so much as a look over shoulder. While he did soon lower his voice, the Inquisitor had no interest in being blamed for architecture which seemed to amplify even the tiniest echo.
Not that it really helped even his sense of foreboding, as he extended the match before him, venturing further inside. At one side, his free hand took hold of a specially designed form of dagger, presently strapped to one thigh, under his coat. The guard traditionally used to protect fingers had been slightly widened, so as to emphasise the symbolic formation of a crucifix. Of course, that was little use for readying it, at which times one's own posture tended to invert the tool, but it did, at least, add to one's faith.
Besides, Michael was always more comfortable with the knowledge of holding an actual weapon, rather than some arcane will-it-or-won't-it relic. Beasts, especially the hungry ones, seldom listened to reason. They just attacked. That feel of the ominous, however, was only rarely encountered. There was a certain measure of anxiety which he, for one, felt, when entering a genuine vampire's resting place. He put it down to hunter's instinct, but whatever the reasons for it, such emotions were never a welcome addition to a day or night's work.
"Actually, I was there, last week," he answered, truthfully finding an excuse for conversation a thankful diversion from the seriousness of the task at hand. "The comedian left me wondering if he wasn't bad on purpose, simply to get a fresh supply of vegetables hurled his way... Armitage mentioned he might attend the next and, seeing the pair of you out for the evening, I made an educated guess."
And there it was... The cause of it. Coffins now illuminated in that secondary chamber, adding up to the number engraved outside. The most worrying thing, however, being that one had evidently been added - and was black.
Exchanging a silent look with Elspeth, Michael took a breath to steady nerves. Quietly adding, "Seems we were right... They must've moved their 'Mistress' in here to avoid suspicion."
Elspeth's shoes made soft, gritty sounds on the stone floor. In such a situation, even the whisper of breath seemed too loud; It was fortunate that vampires, for all their sensory enhancements, were notoriously heavy sleepers. "They might've done better to remove a tenant and have her bunk in one of those," she returned, pointing at the original caskets. The lack of caution suggested arrogance in one's abilities. The emotion was either foolish or justified. One way or another, they would soon know.
Still, to make sure they approached the proper one, Elspeth knelt and struck a match, using its light to look for footprints in the layer of dust and grime on the floor. Though it was impossible to make out the entire floor of the mausoleum, the dust leading to the black coffin had been disturbed. Swallowing past apprehension, the female Inquisitor walked past the assembled coffins and slowed at that one. It would be far easier to simply douse it in flammable chemicals and drop a match, but while they waited to collect and scatter the ashes, the plume of smoke would draw attention, which was something they could not afford.
She eyed Mr. West across the lot of them. At times like this, Elspeth got the impression she wasn't as frightened as she should be. Upon being sworn into the society, her Advocate told her that she'd make a fine servant of the Queen, even though it was his personal opinion that Elspeth was simply lucky to have taken down her husband so easily. That, he suggested, had given her a false sense of her own safety. When she was frightened, Ms. Fry was determined not to show it, at least until she got into her cabin and wrung the linens into a wrinkled knot. "Shall we open it?"
Michael truly did not want to. The closer they got to the thing, the more nauseous he felt. Privately, he was trying to put that down to some sort of psychological effect, but could not help remembering the last two such incidents he had been a witness to. There was always something a bit... Off. Some of the scientific staff theorised it being akin to what effects the undead apparently had on animals.
West half-hoped it was just indigestion.
Hesitating before undertaking the inevitable, the Inquisitor removed a small charm from inside pocket, letting it dangle on miniature chain, just above the coffin in question. Waiting for a few moments, so as to minimise the effects of inertia, Michael felt a tangible sense of displeasure, as the item began to react with an increasingly violent swinging motion, knowing what this signified. Especially when the inner stone, usually dull in colour, began to glow a slight emerald green. Placing it back into pocket, he signaled with a nod for his companion to ready herself. He had to blow out his own match, simply to have both hands free, but had no desire to lift the top off, disarmed.
Once both were prepared, Michael gripped the sides of the lid, partially relieved at seeing it not being nailed down and slowly began to push the heavy surface off to one side...
The coffin held the body of a French woman, Anne-Laure Girard, who was turned by a servant in her family's home on the eve of her seventeenth birthday, 1862. For some ten months, the Inquisition had investigated stories of the foreign-born girl with brown curls, who most often made prey of chivalrous men who offered to carry her packages to her residence. Here she slumbered with arms at rest on her stomach. A sapphire decorated the ring finger of her left hand, and her gown was of a rich, blue velvet.
It was a shame they were about to ruin it, Elspeth thought.
Standing alongside Mr. West, she extinguished her match and slipped the stake from her belt; it was made of iron and stamped on its four sides with crosses. She placed it above the vampire's heart. Unfortunately, the neckline of the dress dipped scandalously below Mademoiselle Girard's cleavage, so that the Inquisitor felt like she was not so much staking a vampire as bursting an enormous balloon with the blessing of the Lord.
Feeling her face redden, Elspeth became irritated with herself and it was an effort not to stamp her heel. She handed her mallet to Mr. West, offering him the honor of paralyzing the creature. If asked, she would state that his physical prowess was the reason she encouraged him to swing the weapon. After all, a man's strength would be more useful in dealing the blow. Of course, that was a bit of a lie. Secretly, Elspeth found a disturbing sort of pleasure in watching a playboy like her colleague have to bludgeon the mammary offering.
"Ready," she whispered and held the stake in place.
Drawing in a breath, Michael's sense of unease was showing no signs of abating. His hand might not be shaking, but on the inside, there was little difference between this and facing down a wild lion. Save for the victim wearing a human face... And, if not, then this was still a matter of desecrating a corpse.
It was going to be messy, no matter what.
Drawing back his arm, West made clenched jaw, winced in foreknowledge of just how much blood was likely to splash out of that undead heart and made one solid blow to that killing tool aimed at chest. The pained shriek was expected, yet made the task no less unpleasant. A second strike cracked ribs. A third sending the creature from spasming convulsions to paralytic coma. Only after the sorry deed was done, could Michael wipe a bloodied brow and collect his thoughts. That and cross himself, uttering a small ritualistic prayer.
As ever, protocol was everything in such circumstances.
Rarely was he as thankful for the concealment of a coat over crimson-splattered shirt, as moments such as these. "When do you fancy we should see to Her Ladyship's posthumous cremation?"
"Pbb...pbbbt..." Letting go of the stake, Elspeth kept her eyes and mouth tightly shut while she fumbled for a clean handkerchief. She withdrew it from her sleeve and dabbed the cool droplets off her face. The worst part wasn't the splatter of bodily liquids; it was the occasional bone fragment or chunk of an internal organ, like the piece sticking to her temple.
"Well done," she acknowledged, balling up the bloodied cloth. "That went... as well as could be expected, I think..." She looked at her right glove. Even in the dark, she could tell it was soaked with spray from the open wound. Elspeth dropped the facade of tranquility and cringed. "God's teeth, we'll look we've come from a butcher shop!" On the next vampire hunt, she would take her chances and aim a crossbow from a respectable distance.
Elspeth used her shoulder to rub her cheek. "I think we should remove her at once," she suggested. "If we leave her unattended, someone might return and withdraw the stake."
"Never quite like the adventure novels, is it?" Giving a diplomatic smile at his colleague's relatively fastidious nature, Michael glanced down at the French woman with a wince. Still facially attractive, but... Unfortunate. Very unfortunate.
"With luck, any prying eyes should-" But, preparing to move the blackest of those coffins outside, Michael reared head back, looking around. "Did you hear that?" He asked.
"What... the sound of your heart breaking?" Elspeth teased. The only noise she registered was a grunt from her throat, as she attempted to lift her end of the coffin. A few months' time in the Inquisition had given her unfashionably muscular arms, but those muscles strained to lift a wooden box with a woman lolling about inside.
She glanced at Mr. West and noticed his alarm. It sobered Elspeth. She stilled and looked around for signs of another presence.
When air flowed freely, even a tomb could generate an atmosphere of sound. Ceasing all but the most necessary of movement, Michael knew well enough how the sound of even one's own clothing could distract the mind from a true interloper's location. He might have retorted against Elspeth's jibe, but, at times such as these, it was difficult to control that familiar sense of encroaching fear.
From where, West had no idea; only that something rammed into him, throwing the
Inquisitor straight across the casket. The contents of which remained deathly still, but that was no compensation for realising just how much danger they were now in. Michael making a hurried grab for his dagger and trying to roll to one side, lest his assailant attempt to press the attack.
Clearly, Anne-Laure had not been alone...
Elspeth gasped and dropped her end of the coffin. The body in the box slumped sideways. She crouched and scurried around the head of the coffin, going quickly to take cover behind another. Once there, she reached for a weapon. It was too dark to accurately aim her crossbow. She'd have to fire many arrows to hope to hit the heart, and in such close quarters, she didn't dare. Instead, she took out another -- the inventors called it a 'fire-breather' -- and took aim.
"Michael, down!"
Flames shot from the end. The torch illuminated the mausoleum and burned her nose with an acrid scent of fuel. The vampire dove to escape harm, but before it tucked and rolled, Elspeth saw that it was a boy, who looked no more than sixteen. Holding the incendiary weapon out, she got up and crept in the vampire's direction, triggering the weapon to emit puffs of fire. She didn't want to roast the vampire. After all, things on fire tended to flail around and burn other things, like herself. She wanted to back it into a corner. Almost accomplished it, too, except the prototype weapon began to leak droplets of fuel on the floor. One of them caught fire, barely missing her skirt.
In a panic, Elspeth dropped the weapon.
And, with a clatter, fired a plume of orange directly at the blackest of the coffins - missing the evasive West only narrowly. "Hell's bells!" He exclaimed, having to flap coat in an effort to put out the start of licking flames, as he virtually bounced back up to feet. One last twirling stomp of foot bringing him face to face with a hissing predator.
It lunged.
Michael punched.
Unstoppable object, meet irresistible force...
The lad, clearly inexperienced against prey capable of reacting with violence, staggered back; one hand covering nose and yelling about it being broken. Michael wasted little time in taking the most obvious course of action and retrieving his dagger, aiming for the adolescent beast's heart - even as its sire began to slowly roast, smoke beginning to fill the air. Her would-be saviour, however, was not totally at a loss for defense. Only startled. A fact proven by how he grabbed successfully for West's wrist, not only holding the weapon away from heart, but starting to tighten grip on the same. Whether or not a vampire possessed enough strength to break bones in such a manner, was not something Michael fancied gaining personal knowledge of, but if this was anything to go by, then he just might.
"Elspeth!" He cried, still very much in the midst of a tussle. West's opponent knowing fully well that the vampire presently starting to burn in coffin would need rescuing, as soon as possible. "Your assistance, please!"
One positive thing could be said about the fire. It was an excellent source of light.
Across the mausoleum, Elspeth could at last see her colleague and opponent grappling, which gave her confidence in the crossbow. While she snatched it from the harness across her back and raised it, she sent an errant look at Michael. "I wasn't lallygagging!" she cried. The Inquisitor's gloved finger found the trigger mechanism. 'Hold still!' One poorly aimed attempt could place an arrow in Mr. West's eye socket. It would hardly do to write that in a field report.
She breathed out and fired. An array of three iron-tipped arrows plunged into the vampire, each sinking into the flesh between its shoulderblades. "Well?"
With the irate teenager going starkly limp against him, West suddenly felt excessive gratitude for his companion's accuracy with bolts. One of them must have penetrated the heart. Now finding their enemy as impotent as its maker, West dumped the unliving corpse atop the same. With a stone floor, the blackest of those coffins was going to make a nice self-contained blaze. Smoke inhalation, however, was a problem... It would be a while before they could venture back and collect the remains, before scattering them. Grinding whatever small chunks of bone might remain, into a fine powder, would be preferable, of course, but not strictly necessary.
"Together in death," Michael remarked, holding up forearm to shield mouth from the acrid smoke. Vampire incineration always was a rather... Distastefully revolting process. Something most definitely reflected by the smell. Two at the same time only increased such effects.
Bending down to collect Elspeth's primary weapon from the floor, Michael coughed and nodded towards the entrance. "It'll be a while... I think some fresh air would do us both a world of good, right about now."
Gladly taking leave of the star-crossed lovers and their funeral pyre, Elspeth put the crook of her arm against her nose and mouth. After gathering her things, she left the mausoleum and went to stand in a narrow corridor between buildings. The low temperature of the stone presented a welcome relief to her shoulders. She let her loose weapons, including the blasted 'fire-breather', settle in the grass around her skirt and boots.
"I hope there aren't any mourners about," she said. The caretaker could be waved off easily enough, but cemetery visitors often proved far too curious. If the plume of smoke failed to keep their interest, the Inquisitors' equipment and bloodstained hands would do the trick. Under such circumstances, Elspeth decided, she would keep quiet and let the honey-tongued Mr. West speak on their behalf.
Having gotten out of the scuffle unscathed, Elspeth was slow to think of her hunting partner's physical condition. Often it escaped her to ask, unless the person was missing a limb or gushing from an artery. "Are you injured?"
"Only my dignity," he replied, looking up and pausing for a full five seconds of seriousness, before feeling the need to act on impulsive laughter. A natural stress-relief by-product of the mind. They had literally just escaped intact from not only facing down two blood-drinking fiends, but self-incineration. All in all, it was a tad bizarre to think back on.
"I'll live," he clarified, straightening up from his pose of leaning against the wall. "How about yourself? If you've a need to relieve your stomach, I won't take offense... That stench takes a bit of getting used to."
Straightening away from the wall, as if leaning on it had made her appear vulnerable, Elspeth gave him her most indignant look. "I am... not weak-stomached," she said. Taking her coat by the hem, she tugged it into better position on her hips. "No matter what Mr. Harrison thinks." She smoothed down a wisp of hair.
There had been an incident -- once! -- during her apprenticeship when Elspeth lost her lunch on another Inquisitor's shoes, but it was quite understandable! They were on an investigation of an oversized bird nest found under a bridge. Mottled, green eggs filled the basin of it, and those had been covered in viscous fluid. Harrison poked an egg with a stick and as it quivered in response, the slime made the most dreadful squish.
Now, seeing that Mr. West felt free to bend over, huffing and puffing for breath, and consider it no damage to his reputation as a hunter, well... She envied the freedom to relax in such a way. Elspeth was aware that part of her problem was an inability to 'loosen up', so to speak. If she did, some of the teasing and poking at her might relent. But it was a double-edged sword, because they might not take her seriously. She didn't know anyone well enough yet to predict their responses.
Hedging into that territory with Michael, she said, "We ought to leave this world of demon-hunting behind and become grave robbers. Did you see her ring?"
"Not particularly," he frowned. "Not the details of it, anyway."
Which was Michael's primary character flaw, in so far as doing his job was concerned. Tracking and hunting techniques were one thing. A typically male talent of ignoring important clues was quite another. It was, perhaps, why he and Elspeth had been paired up before. She was more aware of such things, while physical confrontation fitted more into his own speciality. Near the start of their working relationship, Michael often shrugged such things off, but experience had since taught him to respectfully take note of Elspeth's perception.
Straightening his shirt and coat, Michael made sure to close the door, lest the billowing smoke attract prying eyes. Hopefully, the fire would restrict itself only to the one coffin and burn itself out, soon enough. Once it got dark, then they could allow the collected fumes to escape. "Are we speaking about marriage suspicions or some sort of specialised engraving?"
"I'm not certain it was a marital ring," Elspeth said. "It was on the proper finger, but too gaudy a stone." Truly, she couldn't believe he had missed the huge sapphire, but she put it down to a female's interest in such jewelry and Michael's eyes being elsewhere. If it became important to recount the number of moles on the woman's bosom, perhaps he could be of some use.
"Maybe her young lover stole it for her," she suggested. "And some deceased French royal is wandering around Paris as a spectre, searching for a lost family heirloom." Elspeth looked at her fingers. She wanted to remove the bloodied gloves, but it would be foolish, since she would need them to work in the mausoleum. She let her arms hang at her sides.
"Mm," she reconsidered, taking a few steps in the narrow strip of grass. "More likely it will lead us to a missing English aristocrat and we'll find ourselves on a wild goose chase for the Queen."
Truthfully, it had been too dark and too violent an episode for Michael to have been doing anything of the sort, but that made Elspeth's suspicions no less of a comical image. It was easy, sometimes, to picture him as some sort of reclining lizard at a bar, flicking out tongue, every now and then, to sample the nearest lady's perfume. The reality... Well, the reality of it, sometimes, might not be too far removed from that, but for the most part, he had his mind on other things.
Not always, but... Mostly.
"The clothes'll likely burn, but I'd not think something like that would be harmed. I'll see if I can fish it out from what's left. See if it matches up with anything. Armitage might be able to shed some light on it... Failing that, there's always someone hunting around for things of value. Assuming, of course, that she didn't take it for, um... 'Services rendered'."
Removing a fob watch for spring-loaded inspection, Michael was calculating how long they might have. Considering the number of bodies, he supposed that doubling the estimate would not hurt. Add that to the necessary method of disposal and they were probably going to be in for a long night of it. "If nothing else, it'll make for a mildly instructive diversion, hmm?"
"Services rendered?" Elspeth searched his face for clues. "You don't mean that she..." The intake of breath was as telling as the high-noted question. Realizing she sounded like an affronted old biddy, Elspeth erected her shoulders and attempted to wipe the scandalized look off her features. "Yes, well, in that case, we have alleviated two menaces in one go, haven't we?" The spread of fatal disease was every bit a threat to the empire that a pair of fangs were; one simply killed quicker than the other.
She patted her skirt and remembered she left her mallet inside. Hopefully it hadn't caught fire. Both their mallets would be necessary for grinding the bones into smaller chips. Once done, they would gather up the ashes and bones in a sack and carry them to various places in London for scattering and ritual, making sure than neither of the vampires resurrected in the full moon.
"Shall we discuss where we're headed tonight, then?" she asked, removing a square of paper from her sleeve. On it, she had listed a few safe places to dispose of the remains without drawing queries.
"I think we should start in..."