Fit

[Blood Ravenous]

The vampire reacted, hitting the side of the maid's face with her elbow. The maid gave a half-squeak half-cry and stumbled away with the force of the blow. She clutched her cheek, which would probably have a nasty bruise in a few minutes, and stood frozen in shock as she saw Jenica's eyes turn red. Ryxa reacted immediately, but did nothing to block Jenica: "You! Get out of here!" she shouted, waving her hand at the maid. That made the maid dash away out of the library.

Ryxa met Jenica's eyes and folded her arms again. She ignored the other's one-word question and just studied Jenica's eyes. Her mouth twitched into a smile for the briefest of moments before she said, enunciating the words carefully, "You clean up rather well, but you are in dire need of a comb. And clothes. Let's get you some, then we can be on our way." She was amused that the vampire did not care for clothing, which wasn't surprising seeing how she had treated her clothes from before. Ryxa didn't care if Jenica did the whole mission nude, but Nic would probably have a heart attack.

She gave Jenica a wide berth as she walked around her and out of the door. She did not like to leave her back to the vampire, so she walked backwards. Her house was familiar to her and she knew exactly where she was, so she did it gracefully. To get up the stairs, however, she would have to put her back to her, so she motioned Jenica up the stairs first. She followed, and led the way by gestures to her bedroom door.

"You stay here," she said, giving Jenica a stern look. Then she went inside, closing the door behind her.

[Jenica Sabiny]

The vampire took a moment to scrape her eyes along the shelves of books housed within the room. The ball of memories spun on a slow axis, as though orienting itself to provide her with the memory she could feel prickling along her spine.

She turned and followed the pretty female to the stairs, moving at her natural leisurely gait rather than rushing to keep up. She moved as directed, up and towards the female's bedroom, her eyes remaining fixed on the battlemage for further instructions. Once they reached the appropriate door, the female ordered her to stay put and went inside.

The vampire wasted no time in disregarding the order. She saw no reason to stand outside of the female's room like a jilted lover, and something about the library drew her back.

A quick trip into the bathroom to retrieve the vial from her tattered pants, and she padded down the steps and entered the room, moving in a straight path for the books. She set the vial on the small ledge as she tugged one off of the shelf, paying no mind to the binding, and set it on the palm of her right hand, using her left to pull it open. It laid relatively flat against her hand, and her eyes scanned the words along the page.

The language was not her first, slowing the pace of her reading enough that several minutes passed before she hit the bottom of the page. But she could read. And standing here, holding and reading this book, gazing at the words which she instinctively knew were words -

I remember this.

The memory ball spasmed and she flinched, anticipating hurt. But the sights which engulfed her were gentle and serene, the familiar scent of old books and sitting on a chair for hours and hours indulging in the fantastical worlds that the books her father brought home introduced her to. She found herself relaxing enough that she could relive the experience in near lucidity.

She slammed the book closed with one hand and dropped it to the floor, seeking out yet another from the shelf. She had no particular goal or book that she wanted to look at specifically, but as each dropped to the ground she knew it was not what she was looking for. Steadily a small pile appeared at her feet, and still she continued on.

[Blood Ravenous]

Ryxa had a fairly difficult time deciding on the clothing, since she knew that whatever outfit she supplied the monster would probably never be returned. Eventually she dug up an old white shirt that was in fairly good condition. The reason she never wore it any longer was because of the red splotches stained onto the sleeves. There were only a few, and they were small, and the shirt was fairly old and had a musty smell. She chose a pair of pants that had never quite fit her, though they were in excellent condition since she never wore them. They were a tad baggy, but even if they were so on the vampire, it probably wouldn't care.

Undergarments were a completely different matter. As she was pondering over this dilemma--did vampires wear bras?--when there was a knock on her door. "Yes?" she asked distractedly.

The head servant asked, "Mistress, what would you like us to do with the lady's old clothes?"

"Throw them away, I don't care where. And let me guess, she isn't out there in the hall?"

"Why, no, Mistress," came the reply through the door.

She sighed, and decided that if the vampire complained, she would buy the vampire some undergarments. The battlemage exited her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She had hoped the stupid beast would have listened to her; now she had to hunt her down. Making a guess, she went downstairs to the library. Somehow, the vampire was predictable; very one-track mind.

She stood in the doorway and watched Jenica for a minute as she went through her little routine. There was a vampire, naked, looking through her books in her library in her house. She shook her head. Quite odd. "What are you doing?" she asked, adding an admonishing tone to her voice. In her arms she held a neatly folded pile of clothing and on top a comb, brush, and scissors. If she had known she would be babysitting a vampire in her household, she would have hired someone to do this. The two servants were busy cleaning up the bathroom, and she didn't trust them to stay alive. It was such a bother to find good help these days.

[Jenica Sabiny]

She snapped another book closed when the woman's scent wafted to her, letting it drop onto the rising pile. None of these were what she wanted or needed, and when the woman's voice interrupted the silence she turned to glare at her. She hadn't had anything remotely useful, for all the volumes of literature the vampire had inspected. She could not stomach any further searching.

She sniffed hard at the air, stepping forward into the woman's range and reaching to take up the scissors. She cocked her head at a sharp angle as she eyed them, brow creasing a few moments later as she pondered the device. As weapons went, it seemed rather pathetic, lacking a true handle for grip. Still, if it was sharp enough to do the trick, it was good enough to kill.

Expressionless, she snapped them open and stretched her right arm in front of her, palm up while she pressed the tip of the scissors against her flesh. As she drew the blade lengthwise down her arm, a thin slit opened behind it. She followed the slight curve of her elbow to let the scissors drift from her flesh and inspected the wound even as it sealed itself. Then her black eyes fixed on the battlemage's face.

"Who else is here?"

[Blood Ravenous]

Ryxa watched the scissor warily as Jenica grasped it. She stiffened, ready to dodge backwards, though she wasn't sure she could beat Jenica's speed. They were a fairly sharp pair, good at cutting hair. Ryxa used it to cut her own hair, and she wouldn't use anything cheap on her own body. She was about to drop the garments on the floor and retreat when Jenica took the scissor and put the sharp edge against her own arm.

The battlemage could only watch in morbid curiousity as the blade cut into the flesh. Didn't the vampire feel pain? Why would she do such a thing? Though, it was most interesting to see the speed at which the vampire healed... Already the red slice was closing, leaving a pink scar, which also began to fade before her very eyes.

Who else is here?

Despite the screaming in the back of her mind not to, Ryxa falteringly looked up into the vampire's eyes. She took a deep, calm breath, and refused to acknowledge she was afraid. Her face set in a stern look and she completely ignored the question. Instead, she offered up the clothes with both arms like a sacrifice at an altar and said, "Put these on."

[Jenica Sabiny]

She pressed forward, extending her neck so that her head guided the rest of her body, moving closer to the female's person, trying to invade her personal space. She did not reach for the clothes, instead sniffing harder, again and again, her eyes dipping down and up again as she took in what surrounded the body before her. Servants - the male and young female - and another. The smell of decay and piss. Someone dearly in need of a wash. The vampire could get nothing further from the scent, but it was still fading from the battlemage.

She released a staggered growl, pressing forward again, intentionally driving the female back. The scissors were clasped tight in her left hand, but she did not really need them. A bared-teeth snarl revealed the most dangerous weapons she had.

"You smell like rot."

There was another human present, one she could smell off of this female. And she did not like not knowing how many humans were present. This female had a score to settle with her, and though she seemed to be acting nice enough, there was an unspoken fear which rose from her in waves. The human within the vampire did not care; the vampire wanted more fear. And so she continued forward, her feet slapping lightly against the floor as she moved. She had no interest in being silent as she stalked the battlemage.

[Nichatus]

Nichatus stumbled out of Moryldar’s office with unfocused eyes, but he did not follow the two women’s path. No, he was looking for anywhere he could lie down in comfort to sleep. A left, a left, a right, one more left, and…a wall that shouldn’t have been there. He retraced his steps and followed a line that would take him to the hall that should have been on the other side of that wall. Yet another misplaced wall blocked his progress. He leaned against the wall in a defeated way, the stone cold against his forehead.

Eyelids fluttered closed. He was asleep, so exhausted that comfort no longer even mattered. The vision of being pinned to the ground flutter through his mind again, along with the presence of something else. Nic’s eyes shot back open. For some reason he suddenly had a little more energy. Not enough that he could fight off sleep for more than a half-hour or so, but his chest no longer burned with his every breath and his legs didn’t feel as if they were buried in a sand pit. He grumbled, knowing exactly where the gift had come from.

“Yes, Porter? Is there something you need?” He said aloud in the most offensively placating tone possible.

“You know where you’re supposed to be.” The strange entity whispered back inside his head. His voice also taking on an infuriating inflection. This subtle command received another grumble.

“I’ll go were I please,” he spat as he took off again. He made a quick right hand turn and slammed into a wall, placed just far back enough that Nic couldn’t have seen it until it was too late. No how the Porter had known to move a wall there, he didn’t want to speculate. The very basics of the thing’s existence would probably take years to understand. At last he gave in and began the process of making his way out of The Hall. “Bastard,” he mumbled under his breath as the doors eased to behind him.

He walked through the streets, shoulders slumped and head hung low, picking his way to the home of the frigid Battlemage he’d been commanded to work with. The mild chill in the air served to revitalize him, somewhat, so that his eyes were at least wide open when he arrived on her doorstep. He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles ever touched the wood the passage was opened by a man. He was clearly a servant that thought rather highly of himself based on the air he carried himself with and the way he spoke to Nichatus when inquiring as to who he was and what he wanted.

“Ah yes, I will see to it that my Mistress knows you are here,” the man said, and made to close the door. Nic caught it around the edge and pushed it open a bit, despite the man’s fighting.

“I am in no mood to wait in the street while that bitch takes her sweet time in formally recognizing me as a guest, or what the hell ever protocol it is you seem to think this situation needs.” He pushed the door open and made to step inside, but the man placed his hand squarely on his chest and pushed him back outside. The Battlemage presented the man with the back of his hand and sent him sprawling across the floor. “I told you I was in no mood,” he said simply as he walked into the parlor.

He could hear voices coming from somewhere nearby, but the warmth in the room made him lazy and slow to care. His eyes slowly took in the bit of the house he could see, making the painful admission to himself that it was a beautiful home. Even once he realized that it was in fact Ryxa and Jenica speaking he didn’t care, all he wanted to do was commandeer one of the comfortable chairs in the room. That was before he realized that the servant had mentioned someone bathing and some conniving, self-betraying, feral, and rutting-preoccupied part of his self-conscious took over and forced curiosity into his mind.

He made his way across the room, following the sound of the voices. He stumbled upon them fairly near, and the two of them there formed a sight much to his liking. The creature that had tried to make him her play-pretty nude and playing her little games with Ryxa. A sound implying something between amusement and perverse pleasure reverberated up and out of his chest as he looked over the two of them.

[Jenica Sabiny]

The vampire had backed the female into a corner of sorts, with the staircase's railing at her back. The female could go no further back, and the vampire was losing the small amount of interest she had in this game. She did not need this female to find the other human she could smell. She only needed her nose.

The sound was enough to draw her attention, and she twisted her head enough to see the newcomer. It was the male from before, inside of the stone building where the walls moved without hinges. She sniffed gently, narrowing her eyes at him. What did he want? Again, she felt that her game with this female was being interrupted - but then, she was no longer having fun. Perhaps a new game was in order.

Spontaneously, she did not want to play. This male had broken her. He hadn't been able to fix her yet. But he had at least tried. For the moment, this earned him a reprieve.

"What?"

For all that she did not want to aggravate him, her voice sounded as harsh as ever. Her throat was going raw with the lack of feeding, and her vocal chords grated painfully on the word.

[Nichatus]

His eyelids moved through a slow blink, stuttered by his fatigue. He just stared at the vampire, his pupils directly in line with hers. That animal side of him begged him to at least look her over once more, as he had when he first came upon the women, if not more. Much more.

No, he knew better than to give in to that part of himself. In his current state if he started up that particular game again there was no way he could stop her from ending him or enslaving him through a blood tie like the old fables said her kind did. It wouldn't do for him to be the slave of such a creature, not in the least. Though...he could see the benefits of being the thrall of something built so...enjoyably. The sensations he might know. Pleasure and pain mixed in perfect measures.

He pulled his eyes away from their slow drift south over Jenica's body and gave his head a hard shake, realizing the path his mind had carried him on. He renewed his blank stare at her eyes and quickly composed his thoughts into some sense of a logical order.

"Were the pretties playing together? So nice to see you girls getting along so famously." He huffed out a laugh at his own little joke and flashed a mocking smile at Ryxa. Turning his attention back to the vampire he spoke more seriously. "How is your head, dearist?" He tapped on his temple for emphasis. "If the job isn't satisfactory I can try after I have rested some." His current situation sprang back to mind.

"I believe I will be needing room and board, Ryxa. I seem to be banned from my own quarters by that damned thing." A look of hatred crossed his face at his own mention of the porter.

[Jenica Sabiny]

She narrowed her eyes and flared her nostrils when he tapped his temple to indicate her internal damage. She tilted her chin forward, sniffing at the air before her, taking in his scent again. She huffed the air back out in an airy snort, giving her head a quick shake to force his scent from her nostrils. With her face relaxing back into its more natural tired expression, she inhaled to speak.

"Dearest what?"

The expression was wholly foreign to her; she had never been called such a thing that she could remember, and was perplexed by his usage of the word now. His statement of needing quarters shot the servant into grumbling action. Though he'd been back-handed by the man, he still had a job to do, and Mistress Ryxa was not someone he wished to answer to in his lifetime.

The servant trundled upstairs and the vampire's eyes followed with a blatantly hungry glare. After the older man was out of sight, she turned that glare on the male battlemage.

"You'll fix it."

Of this there was no question. He would fix her or she would torture him until he agreed - but he was offering of his own accord, and oddly enough she trusted his word. He'd been manhandled enough that like the pretty female, he would likely work under the notion that she would not hesitate to kill him if needed. The personification of imminent death had its uses.

Now she turned to the pretty female, reaching to take the offered clothing. She wouldn't sleep during the night - there was no point in sleeping for her, and these humans needed their rest. Instead, she would lurk. And perhaps make a game of the servants who hung about the area. She couldn't help but grin to herself at the thought. She wondered what the pretty would do if she woke up to find her manservant scattered all over the bed, like delicate breadcrumbs of flesh and gristle.

[Nichatus]

"It's merely a form of address," he said with a shrug, "and yes, I will try to fix it." He was headed up the stairs after the servant. Out of habit he cast the tendrils of his mind out to prob for any malicious thoughts left in his wake. Ryxa he just ignored, of course she would have some extra malice for him, he was practically forcing his presence into her house. He caught something else too, though. Something a little more....violent. The armor would stay on this night.

He arrived in a densely packed room, far from the stairs. It looked more like a room Ryxa used to pack away the furniture she hadn't yet found space for than an extra bedroom. The man servant turned a disdainful look upon Nichatus before exiting the room, closing the door harshly behind him.

The jacket and boots came off, followed by his armor and the rest of his clothing. He then replaced the latter two items, in reverse order, so that it appeared he had taken off the metal. His gloves, however, never left his body. If Jenica should try to enact the little visions he'd collected from her mind, the sigils on that red leather would be his only mode of offense.

Protected, as best he thought he could be from such a powerful creature, he laid down on the bed atop the blankets and throws and drifted off into a deep sleep.

Sleep was another area of life where Nichatus differed from most people. He did not dream, or not his own dreams anyway. Instead his mind was either pitch black and blank or filled with the lives and hopes and passions of the minds he'd spent extended periods of time searching.

Visions of himself surrounded by mounds of gold and the glinting green of Bishani. He knew this to be from the mind of a fool who had attempted to burgle Justice Hall, as he'd witnessed this one many times and even remembered when it had began. This time however, it altered its self. He was no longer alone in the giant chamber of wealth. He could sense somewhere nearby. It was only seconds before the fully exposed, milky white skin appeared from the shadows before him. A pleased smile crossed his face and was mirrored by a mouth of a more....fanged...persuasion.

[Blood Ravenous]

As she was cornered, she decided she would silently stare down Jenica rather than say something to make this situation worse. Lucky for her, Nic came as a useful interruption, and Jenica eventually took the clothing from her. Relieved of her burden, she rolled her eyes at Nic's various comments, choosing to remain silent because she was in no mood to play games. She begrudingly watched him ascend the stairs, led by the head servant, and folded her arms once he was gone. Well wonderful, now she would have to deal with him in her house, too. He'd better not want to take a bath.

She turned to Jenica and did not hide her displeasure from her face. "Well, since we are obviously not going to start on our way this night, I shall retire to my bedroom. And you will not--" she emphasized this as if speaking to a bad pet or child--"disturb me." With that she turned on her heel and walked away. Once she was inside her bedroom, she locked the door, and set about getting ready for bed. She did not care if the vampire ran rampant as long as she was undisturbed in her bed.

[Jenica Sabiny]

The vampire lifted the clothing to her nose and sniffed at it. The female's scent lingered about the fabric, so faint that even her sensitive nose barely registered the smell. But it was there. The vampire found something very amusing in the thought of being clothed in the human's wardrobe, surrounded by remnants of her smell. She was tempted to tease about them becoming sisters, bound by fragrance and hand-me-down cloth. But the female was already leaving, and the game had been spoiled.

With both mortals gone up to their quarters, the vampire was free to roam. She turned to re-enter the library, setting her new clothing down in the same neat pile it had been gifted to her on the ledge. The pile of books was being steadily returned to the shelf by the diligent manservant, dedicated as he was. He staunchly refused to look straight-on at her, and the reddened cheeks and flustered breathing told her why. She hadn't forgotten nudity as a taboo within mortal culture, but she was unused to paying heed to it. If the entire city beheld her naked figure, she wouldn't care. But she did enjoy the feeling of cloth covering her form enough that she would eventually clothe herself.

She looked over the bookshelf again and paused, eyes falling on a short novelette of a rather tarnished blue color. She reached to remove it from the shelf, turning it over in one hand with the small spine braced against her palm. There was no title.

She opened it with one fingernail, tugging the old cover open to collapse back against her palm. The interior spine was disintegrated and only barely clung to the pages within; it fell upon the hand-etched title page. The image was a flowing, watery ink-stain which evolved into a tiny man covered in jester's clothing with a tambourine in one hand. His feet were twisted and dancing, as though he'd been caught in the act of a twirl. But above his head, a layer of water shimmered in the morning light, with the walls of a well stretching up until the page ended. His blank expression belied the joyful atmosphere of a jester in his element; this man was under water, and his eyes were closed. He was dead and drowned in the well.

Papa, read me a story.

She blinked slowly, staring at the image. She knew this story; she knew what it would say. A simple young dwarf, sold into slavery but finding his kind mistress years later by chance. Always jolly and always twinkling, he'd served as the jester in his mistress's court, for of course she had been a princess. The vampire remembered how happy he'd been having found his home, the place he belonged. But the mistress-queen had become betrothed, and the little dwarf had been too simple to understand that she could love him and her husband as well. Distraught and full of pain, he'd gone into her private garden and drowned himself in the well there. Years later, after the death of her beloved husband, the queen realized why the dwarf had killed himself.

The vampire who'd once been a human had cried when she first heard the story, curled into a chair across from her father. But it had not been the first sad tale her father had told her, and she'd known better than to ask for comfort. He would only say his favorite phrase for his younger child, who so often lived within dreams and fantasies instead of reality:

Leave dreaming to the beggars.

She closed the book in her hand and laid it on top of the pile of clothing, then took up the vial gifted to her earlier. She uncorked it and sniffed gently at the liquid inside out of habit rather than necessity. Whatever the vial contained still smelled and moved like regular blood. She pressed the pad of her index finger against the top and tilted the bottle once, moving it back to vertical before removing her finger. She eyed the small droplet still remaining on her finger, pressed it between index finger and thumb - same consistency as regular blood. Now she swiped the tip of her tongue against both digits.

The sensation lasted a bare moment and did not seize her body and motor functions as it had before, but it was powerful enough to be felt. A small shiver along her skin, the odd sensation similar to goosebumps rising and falling in a quick wave of heat. And then it was gone.

She stoppered the vial and laid it against the book she'd claimed, satisfied that there was nothing further she could do to discover what might be within that solution. All of her senses called it blood until it sat within her, forcing pieces of herself to reawaken.

Or was it a pure illusion? If they had the gift of humanity, why was her own sire still a vampire? She did not care for humanity; she did not remember it and did not strive to duplicate it. But he had his pretty furnishings and lordly mansion. Of the two of them, why did they assume she was the one who wanted this gift badly enough to do what they said without further question?

A quiet, affirmative voice drew her eyes to a slanted expression, regarding the manservant in her peripheral vision.

"Was there anything you needed before I retire?"

She raised her eyebrows, staring at his figure. She could tell he was keeping his eyes planted firmly on her head, regarding her ear with a stoic expression likely perfected through years of service. She granted him mercy by turning her head further, so that he could at least see her eyes.

"Who else is here?"

She was startled by how strong her voice sounded, despite not feeding for over two days. It must be the blood gifted to her. She ignored these thoughts to turn and start a slow advance on the man, coming within range before stopping. She did not intend to intimidate him yet; he would receive a chance to answer the question.

But an advance was an advance, and he was clearly questioning having said anything at all. Now he had this creature's full attention focused solely on him, and though she had taken on a relaxed expression and stance, he had seen the young maid's black eye. Standing still made this creature no less dangerous than movement.

"There is mistress Ryxa, and the other - and the young maid, and myself..."

She tilted her head as her eyelids lowered, making her look on the verge of falling asleep.

"And?"

He stuttered.

"There's no one else...lady. If you would follow - "

She growled, a deep, guttural noise that rattled against the walls of the library. She could have punched or kicked him, grabbed his arm and broken it and continued snapping and crushing until he told her what she wanted to know. Instead, she merely stepped forward, closer inside of his range, and snarled. He reacted.

"There is a prisoner, in, behind the kitchen, he'll die soon - "

Now she reached to take the back of his throat, squeezing until his startled cry diminished to a strangled mew. It would not do for him to scream the entire time.

She shoved him ahead of her, letting his stumbled steps guide their path. Down the hallway, towards the door - the female's scent was strong throughout the house, but here the scent of the other was strong as well. Another heartbeat, faint though it was, and the stench of living decay and human waste. Another mortal lived here, if not willingly.

The manservant opened the metal door and they descended, him leading the entire way through blundering steps and a stiff back. He'd decided that fighting the vampire served no purpose, and fancied that perhaps just going where she was semi-guiding him would help his cause.

The smell was far stronger down here, to the point of overpowering her, and she stood unfocused for several seconds while she waited to re-orient herself beyond the stench.

She eyed the cell door speculatively. She could have tried to break it, but there was no need; she only needed to be a bit stronger, and she would be able to get inside. The manservant had served his purpose; now she tightened her fist and drew him close, past the strained gasps of terror and flimsy flailing. She took up one wrist and buried her fangs inside of it, drinking deeply as the struggles weakened and finally ceased. He hit her; he scratched her; he kicked and flailed. But he was weaker, and because of this he died.

She released his throat to let the corpse drop and eyed what was inside the cell.

"Please, please! Don't kill me!"

The voice was harsh and dry, crackling from lack of water.

The man before her was pathetic. Arms raised in defense as he cowered, mewling whimpers of begging, tatters for clothes. She wondered why the pretty female had left him the clothing at all; it was unnecessary. But either way she had, and the duress of his stay within this cell was implanted in the stains and tears of the clothing itself.

The cup he'd been given earlier was still clutched in his hand, dry as bones exposed to the air. Although now beyond its purpose, it remained the sole symbol of hope he had to cling to. His wasted body stretched in sallow grooves of tightened skin as it sucked out every bit of moisture still left within the muscle and remaining fat. But the moisture was mostly gone, and she could sense this lack within him; his heartbeat and breaths rang hollow in her ears.

She pressed her hand over the lock, eyes losing focus. It took a full minute to learn the inner workings, another to begin manipulating the shadows how she desired. A light click, and the door was ready to open. She opened it to crawl inside without celebrating her victory over the lock. She felt neither pride in her achievement nor shame at stooping through the bars to enter the cell where the man was. She did not fear what he might do to her, nor did she notice the implied submission of having to crawl through the opening. Subtleties were lost to her as she stared down at his figure, head tilted as she considered his fate.

He wasn't broken; even now his voice whimpered and pleaded quietly, asking her to show mercy. He'd watched her murder the manservant - the sole reason he lived even now, the one comforting face he'd seen once locked in this cell - and how she'd done it. He knew it was death which regarded him, and despite his weakness, he begged. They both knew he would die one way or another; she could kill him now, or she could turn and leave again, curiosity satisfied, and go back upstairs to leave him to his fate.

And yet, he begged. Knowing that perhaps the only salvation from the pain of starvation and dehydration stood before him, he begged her to let him live. She blinked once, and for a moment, saw herself.

She crouched just within range, forearms resting on her knees, and reached to stroke his hair with the backs of her fingers. Her touch elicited another whimper, and what was left of his wasting muscles braced against the imminent pain. She leaned forward, resting her knees against the filthy ground and moving closer. The touch continued; his cringing did not stop. She pressed one palm against one of his sunken cheeks and pulled his eyes to her face. His breathing came in short, pained gasps. His eyes were filmy as the orbs began to shrink under the strain of dehydration.

She took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss, then pulled away and stroked his hair again.

"Shhhhhh."

In light of her gentleness, the surrealism of the situation, her nudity - his body responded. There was nothing else it could do.

* * *

Several hours passed in relative silence as the mortals slept. The vampire had nothing in particular to do, though she did take it upon herself to put on the clothing provided. She'd immediately ripped the sleeves off, turning it into something more functional; she was more comfortable with the torn sleeves, her arms freer for movement. And she liked the idea of destroying something of the pretty female's.

The little book and vial both lay within a loose back pocket; her body was flatter than the pretty female's and didn't fill out the clothing in the same proportions. This worked well enough for her needs.

Boredom now pressed down on her, and though she had the ability to lull into stasis she knew that at least two mortals were resting in this house that she could start a new game with. The pretty female was taken care of; she had corpses to find. But the other, the male - he'd said he'd fix her. She did not want him to think she'd forgotten his promise. He would be watched.

She moved up the staircase and followed his scent, an easy enough maneuver. His door was unlocked and she stepped inside, then shut it behind her and rested her back against it. Her eyes fell on the figure on the bed, sleeping above the covers and locked in exhaustion. She was prepared to wait until he awoke to see her.

Within the kitchen, at the table, sat the young maid's body, propped up with her head lolled forward. Her cold hands rested against the table and her dress was clean enough, a pretty dolly that the vampire thought the battlemage would enjoy. Across from her sat the prisoner, dressed shabbily in the manservant's too-large clothing. His hand shook as he took one hesitant spoonful after another from the bowl before him, filled to the brim with luke-warm broth prepared by the young maid. He'd been ordered to drink it slowly and told that if he vomited anything back up, he would become another pretty dolly to play with.

He ate it with care.

[Nichatus]

Nic's dreams continued their confusing, winding path through his mind for the rest of the time he slept. A blurring jumble of images; some in black and white others in color, some clearly visible and yet others completely distorted to the point of being unrecognizable. What had his trip into the mind of that creature done to him? He only hoped that whatever the damage was, it would not be permanent.

His eyes opened, then shot back closed at the little sliver of light that fell right across them. He opened them again, more carefully this time. Judging by the amount of light that filtered in through the shuttered window it was near midday. He'd slept late, and felt appropriately rested. He stretched like a waking cat and rolled onto his back.

It took him a while to notice Jenica standing by the door, but when he did he bolted upright in the bed. "What do you mean, standing there watching me like that?" He huffed and climbed out of bed. "If you're after me to fix your head you'll have to wait a bit longer. I need to get myself in order and get something to eat first. Unless you've got some lust for me buried in that little black heart of yours, I'd suggest you get out."

He slid his shirt off and tossed it on the bed, revealing that he'd slept with his armor hidden beneath his clothes. The rest of the clothing came off, followed by the top half of his armor, revealing the scars of penance across his back.

[Jenica Sabiny]

It had been worth it, to see him sit up so quickly. It wasn't fear that she enjoyed the most; it was the moment of blind panic when the mortal realize that something capable of killing them was standing within range. She gave him a lazy smile as he spoke on and on, and decided not to mention that he would be getting his own breakfast.

The mention of lust, followed by removal of most of the clothing that would have prevented her from acting out on said lust, made her raise her eyebrows in some surprise. This one somehow managed to be even more sure of himself than the pretty female, apparently seeing nothing wrong with unclothing himself in front of the vampire. It was intriguing, at the least.

She stepped forward when she saw his scar, reaching to trace against his back with a light nail. A silent huff accompanied the movement, and she looked straight at him with some wonder.

"Odd scars."

Rather than rasp the words out as she'd gotten used to, she spoke with the quiet undercurrent of sympathy. In truth, it was latent sympathy for the male downstairs, but she did not think he would notice or care about the difference.

She snorted and shrugged, pulling back again but staying within range.

"Can't leave yet. Stuck inside."

Her eyes flowed to the nearest window and jerked back away, flinching in pain at the brightness.

"Can't stand the light."