Fit

[Nichatus]

In truth Nichatus wasn't sure of himself, not in the least. The biggest part of this little show of "bravery" was that he was resigned to the fact that if Jenica decided she wanted him dead, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot he could do about it, and that scared him a bit. But he had come to enjoy the fear in some...perverse way, though he would never admit it aloud. No, he would continue to spend his time near the vampire as a man who can see the gallows in the distance and knows he'll never escape them.

His skin ran electrically as her nail glided across the scar tissue in an almost gentle way. "Yes...odd," he paused and reflected on the stories behind the scars as he pulled his shirt back on, "and some are very old...." It was clear by his tone that it was not something he wished to discuss, but he doubted that the creature behind him would notice, and if she did probably wouldn't care. The jacket went back on, though it was warm enough not to need one at this time of year. He normally wore it year round though.

"Not a lover of much light myself," he said, taking this as her explanation of their being stuck inside. "A dim light just bright enough to read by is my preference." He pulled tight the belts on his armor finally and turned to Jenica. "So, Love, I imagine you traipsed about this humble home a bit in the night, wouldn't have come across the kitchen would you?"

[Jenica Sabiny]

She considered telling him about the gift she'd left the pretty female in the kitchen, but decided seeing his reaction would be more entertaining by leaps and bounds. It was a simple thing, to amuse her, but the challenge was in keeping her entertained. Playing with this male in one way or another could keep her amused for hours. Or so she hoped.

She nodded and moved, intending to lead him straight to the kitchen. There was no reason to dally, and she had no interest in learning about the scars he'd retained and why. She'd only felt the compulsion to comment on them - and so she had.

Down the stairs and through the hallways, she led him into the alcove that served as the kitchen. Within, the male she'd saved still sat at the table, still working diligently at slurping every last morsel of moisture from the bowl. Though it was a small thing, he already seemed more robust, less sallow and depressed. She tilted her head and sniffed in his direction, as though trying to scent any improvements. He did not stink as he had before - she'd had the maid scrub him down with a warm cloth. All in all, he was already much improved from when she had found him, and she took personal pride from knowing this.

The maid's glassy eyes stared at the table, lips parted just enough to look as though she'd just emitted a sigh. Though sight of a corpse sharing a meal with the shrunken male may have been enough, the vampire had taken it upon herself to make the maid into a statuesque warning to the pretty female. Instead of a maid's clothing, she was dressed in one of Ryxa's own outfits, pilfered from Ryxa's rooms. The battlemage had locked her door, and even now if tested it would remain locked. The vampire only wanted to remind her that locked doors could not possibly save her, should the vampire decide to kill her.

Jenica turned her head and gave the battlemage present a lazy smile. Tempted to speak again, she opted to remain silent. But her thoughts were sharp and clear, and she took pleasure in thinking them.

Well? What do you think?

[Nichatus]

Nichatus followed Jenica out of the room and down to the kitchen. At first she had blocked his way into the room, admiring something that he couldn't see, but she eventually moved. As he entered his eyes fell across the scene at the table. It was beautiful and grotesque, like some painting rendered by an artist gone mad.

He slowly moved to stand beside the maid, who he could tell was dead by the pallor of her skin and the blue that had claimed her lips, and knelt down beside her. He stared up into the girls face from his low position, admiring the vampire's work. The cool, icy blue eyes of the girl were bloodshot and locked on the table beneath her. "Shame," he murmured, "she was a pretty young thing. I can only express relief that you didn't take it upon yourself to add me to your beautiful little work of art, however." He stood and looked across the table at the man who was diligently scooping up the last traces of a soup.

"You've acquired a pet?" He turned to Jenica with a wry smile. "I do hope you know how to care for it and feed it? I won't be cleaning up after the wretch either." The battlemage laughed a bit at his joke and turned to a near by cupboard. He retrieved a bundle of what he assumed to be oats of some sort and moved to the cooking fire. The last vestiges of the man's soup were still inside the pot. With a shrug he tilted the pot over, it's liquid contents spilling onto Ryxa's nice clean floor. "Well look at the mess I have made. Tisk tisk." He smiled again and dumped some of the oats into the pot. After adding a little water and stoking the heat underneath he took a seat at the table.

His eyes roamed from the man, now staring down into his empty bowl, to the still standing Jenica. "Well, what do you think? Do we make a handsome family?" He gently laid his arm across the shoulders of the dead woman, as a father might his daughter.

[Jenica Sabiny]

She watched him inspect her creation with a sense of disappointment. This had not been the reaction she was looking for, though his ambivalence about the sight served to intrigue her more than she had expected. While a yelp or blatant sign of distress would have been entertaining for a moment, his attitude was better for games in the long run. It had never occurred to her that she could have a play mate for her games, but this male was ripe for it.

She bristled when he looked at the man, narrowing her eyes and prepared to leap forward to defend him. But the battlemage only made a snide remark and moved on to grabbing some food.

She stepped closer to her new "pet" while the mage fixed his oats, creasing her brow. The man's hand was still shaking, though more noticeably than before, and he was gripping the spoon hard enough that the whites of his knuckles showed. He was staring at the battlemage with wide eyes, and his breaths had shortened into panting gasps. That he felt threatened was obvious, but she did not understand why. As the battlemage stirred his breakfast, she crouched next to her charge and tilted her head.

"What's wrong?"

The largest benefit to being a known murderer was that people were more inclined to answer her questions the first time she asked them. He shot his eyes from the battlemage to the vampire, and decided that of the two of them, he was more afraid of the one who was currently crouched and staring straight at him. He whispered.

"Battlemage..."

She creased her brow just as said battlemage sat at the table and hugged the corpse to his chest. The sight was certainly appealing, and she regretted that she hadn't thought to lend the battlemage's corpse to the scene. She smiled, baring her fangs as amusement forced a snort through her nose. She had to admit, it was funny.

She turned back to look at her charge, who'd dropped his gaze back down to the bowl and seemed intent on ignoring the battlemage in their midst. Her lips spread wider and she barked out a laugh.

"He's afraid. Of you."

She couldn't say she was offended, but she was surprised in spades. This man had seen what she could do, and yet still feared the mage more. Either the city regarded these mortals as strong enough to draw terror from the city's citizens with reputation alone, or this man had done something that might make the battlemage sitting directly across from him angry. She did not think he was harbouring any sentimental notions about the maid's death; he hadn't said a word when the vampire killed her earlier. But it was possible he was trying to draw as little attention to himself as he could. He was making a strict effort to avoid looking at either of the creatures now inhabiting the room. She turned her eyes to the mage, tempted to join together in a game. But she did not want to hurt this man.

She straightened instead and moved to fix the maid's ruffled collar, smoothing out the shirt that the mage had wrinkled with his display.

"Pretty dolly for the pretty female."

She tugged at the shirt and looked at the mage with something very near glee.

"Took the outfit from her room."

[Nichatus]

Nichatus snorted at the mention of the man fearing him. "What, Mutt, is there something you've done I wouldn't like?" The whole time he spoke with a fained smile of humor he was reaching out into the man's mind. The images of Jenica's late night escapades were still fresh, as well as some recent torture at Ryxa's hands which seemed like pointless attempts to amuse herself rather than a true search for anything. Then he came across memories of her questioning the man, and doing many horrid things to him. Just as the remembered version of the man was about to give in the memory went black and Nic was forced off into another part of the man's mind. He tried again and failed.

"So, you are experienced with mesmerism and mind probing." He was now glaring across the table at the man. Perhaps glare wasn't the right word. The battlemage wasn't exactly angry with the man, more annoyed than anything. He didn't have energy to waste on breaking down the man's feeble defenses. "No matter..." he turned to watch the vampire correcting the muss he had made of the maid's clothing.

"A toy for Ryxa? How nice of you." He laughed heartily at this. Oh how he hated that woman. "And putting the girl in her clothes was a nice touch I must say. Very ingenious. I swear you this, if that bitch dies of fright or panic I shall hold you near and dear to my heart forever." Another laugh at his own words as he rose and returned to checking on his food.

"No matter...." he turned and looked at the man. He couldn't remember Jenica giving his name, and he obviously wasn't offering it up himself. "Well I suppose I'll just have to continue calling you Mutt until someone introduces us properly, Mutt." He shook his head and turned back to the oats. "As I was saying: No matter, Mutt, you have the vampire's protection now. No need to fear me until she tires of you and casts you out."

[Jenica Sabiny]

She tensed defensively when the mage spoke to her charge, indicating that he'd been poking around the man's head just as he'd done to her. She stepped forward and bared her teeth, balling her fists and making every effort to stop herself from physically assaulting him yet again. She wanted to defend the male she'd taken into her care from this mage's mind tricks. He'd broken her inside, and had yet to fix her; he claimed the endeavor was taxing and needed more energy. If he broke this male, he would not be able to fix either of them.

One clawed hand raised, just missing the tension needed to be a proper fist, and her eyes blazed red for an instant of pure protective instinct.

"You stay out."

In another instant, the emotions fled all at once, and she found herself relaxed into her more leisurely stance. The mage was talking about the pretty female and how much he wished her to die, and the vampire tilted her head. But the nickname he'd chosen grated on her, and she ignored the obvious question to ask her new charge for needed information.

She glared at him with no kindness or gentleness whatsoever.

"Name?"

He glanced at her, then clearly decided it was more prudent to keep his eyes lowered and speak as plainly as possible. Apparently this creature had little inclination towards patience.

"Pont."

She did not ask if it was a nickname or his first or last name. It was good enough to satisfy her, and she turned the glare on the battlemage. Satisfied?

"Why do you hate her?"

This inquiry was spawned of curiosity alone. She'd seen how the two battlemages regarded each other, circling as predators waiting for the needed sign of weakness before devouring their prey. The other had been the same way - had left the pretty female to her death in the vampire's claws. She couldn't help but wonder why these mortals seemed consumed with such blanket loathing of each other.

[Nichatus]

The battlemage turned and stared at Jenica, in a way that was stupidly like a challenge. He knew exactly why it was she was acting as she was. Didn't even need to delve into her mind to find out, it was simple when one connected his previous history with her and the protective way in which she hovered over the ragged man. "I will go where I like, Jenica." He was well aware that the creature he was staring down could tear him apart, and probably would given his chosen line of speech, but he had a point to get across.

"He will not suffer the way you did so long as he keeps his damn grubby hands to himself." He turned his back to them again, stirring the food in the pot one last time before removing it from the fire. "You are in your current predicament," he went into the cupboard again for a bowl and spoon, "because you would not relent your....impassioned....attack. If you'd taken your hands off of me when asked your mind would not be the mess it is now."

He plopped the bowl down on the table, a little of the contents splatting out onto the table, and took his first bite of the bland substance before he had even taken his seat. He then sat in silence as the exchange over the man's name took place. The next question posed was to him, and he had to mull it over a bit before answering.

"It's really a bit complicated. There are reasons for our mutual hate that we both know, some that only she could explain, and I'm sure that there are a few that no one has really realized yet." Nichatus pondered over the psychological bits of the reasons he only suspected, and decided it might be better to start with things he knew for sure, or thought he did anyway.

"I can only speculate as to many of the woman's dislikes for me. I fell that some of it is due to her viewing my abilities as weak and useless. There is also the fact that I have been a battlemage longer than her and we are still of the same rank, which I am sure she views as a mark of my unimportance. She also views my strict loyalty to the Judges as a weakness." He shrugs a bit. "I can not help but dislike someone who thinks so little of me, and due to my dislike of her her's of me has grown, which strengthens my hatred for her and so-on-and-so-forth. It's a bit of a vicious cycle, but I can not stoop to her and make her seem the stronger. I can not do that for some one who is so foolish as to think that threats of burning a home down are more powerful than revealing a person's deepest fears to them, someone who is happy in their ignorance of the inner workings of the human mind and the magic that allows them their position of power. In short, she hates me, I hate her, and she is a fool."

[Jenica Sabiny]

Regardless of his ultimatum and criticism of her current state of mind, she settled herself at a halfway point of the table, resting one hip against it and folding her arms in a casual pose. She had no need to remain tense and focused; if the battlemage attacked her charge physically or mentally, she would fling herself at him with full speed and strength, intent on the kill. They both knew she could kill him before he could react, and she assumed this would keep any urges he might have in check. Thus far he'd proven himself interesting company, but she was used to being alone and could do without conversation if needed.

As he explained the general dislike between himself and the pretty female, she shook her head and even rolled her eyes, rolling head and shoulders for no other reason than old habit. The muscles did not need the stretching and nothing cracked or popped with the gesture, but she enjoyed repeating it nonetheless.

"Mortals wasting time. Why bother?"

Hating seemed like an excess of energies wasted for a silly predicament that could not change, and yet every human she'd met that was part of this government seemed consumed by the effort. They had so little time to explore the world around them and develop relationships with one another, and yet these particular mortals were more concerned with fostering relationships based on competition and loathing. It was a massive tribute to the fickleness of human spirit, the need to have some scapegoat to blame their own predicaments on, the desire for someone else to be lower on the food chain.

In one respect, she was the stronger of the three within the room. But this power had been given to her on a lark, a random choice that had no purpose behind it beyond using her up for someone else's agenda. She had made the choice herself to become like her sire, but the motivation had been the simple need to survive, nothing more. She hadn't craved additional power or needed any sort of eternal life to ease the stain of mortality. She'd simply not wanted to die and stay dead.

But in another respect, the choice to accept the power offered had left her more miserable by leaps and bounds. Some part of her recognized that with power came gut-deep loneliness, even more cutting than anything she'd ever felt as a human...that she could remember. These mortals at least had each other to work with, even if the relationship encouraged was built upon hate. The only link she felt was to an ancient vampire who had let her leave his presence twice. And perhaps if he had no real use for her, she had no real use for him, either.

She shook her head and flinched, trying to clear the odd morose thoughts suddenly threatening to overwhelm her psyche. This was not normal; it was not like her to ponder over her place in the world. And it was more odd for her to have trouble pushing it away. Struggling past the emotions, she squinted harder and shook her head again. Still, the thoughts remained.

Now she felt the tendril of a memory poking at her awareness, and realized that one of the latent thoughts had taken hold of her mind without her realizing what was happening. Now that she'd recognized the threat, she worked harder to ignore it - and it lashed forward to encompass her as a whole. It was not just one memory which filtered through; the entire bundle rolled over and began spinning out of her control. Mortals from years past and last week, victims and old mentors, the family she'd once lived with, all raging unchecked.

She reached up to grip the sides of her head, releasing a small but pained whimper at this newest assault. It was too powerful for her to fight it off alone, and the nails digging into her scalp served no purpose in helping her pull herself away from the memories. It was a different kind of pain manifesting under the onslaught, and she found herself struggling harder against it than she could have dreamed, lips drawn back in a rictus of stress.

Please, whispered a tiny voice from deep within, a voice she'd never heard before, don't go. I'll do anything if you just stay...

She had moved and collapsed to her knees in front of the fireplace, where even now the mage's leftover drying oats began soldering to the metal. She could not smell the burned food past the haze of sudden depression; she could not feel or sense anything at all beyond a deep chasm of internal pain that threatened to open and engulf her whole.

She balled a fist and thrust it straight into the burning coals, dousing her internal pain with a healthy dose of self-harm. Her hand exploded into agony and she ripped it free seconds later, cradling it against her chest and panting from the extremeness of the injury. She'd never been burned as a vampire before; she hadn't expected the amount of pain. But still, it was preferable to what had nearly happened inside. She could handle external agony. What had threatened to overcome her had been far stronger, far more deadly. Sinking into the mudpit of loneliness and depression would leave her incapacitated. Even she could recognize that.

She turned and looked at the battlemage, tears rolling down either side of her face as she regarded him. She had not properly prepared herself for the powerful burning sensation now covering her entire fist, and the tears were the only regular response to pain she would allow herself.

Pont had watched with wide eyes as his self-appointed protector hurt herself, and now followed her gaze to the battlemage. If the mage decided to attack him or the vampire, Pont could see no reason why he wouldn't win at the moment. He'd at least felt somewhat safe, with the insane-but-powerful creature as his protector. Now he could only wonder which of the two would kill the other first. The mage had said she would tire of him eventually; he was starting to believe this. But for the moment, he had nowhere else to go, and the maid's lovely corpse still sat at the table with them as a reminder of what the vampire would do should he try anything she didn't approve of.

[Nichatus]

Nichatus watched as Jenica began to think deeply. He thought nothing of it at first and tried to finish his meal. Then he saw her begin to grip her head. His first reaction was to scoot away from her, thinking that she was becoming enraged at his comments for some reason. He just stared at her as she stumbled around the table, and moved out of his chair away from her. The battlemage hurriedly felt at his belt for his longsword, but it wasn't there. He hadn't been able to get to his rooms to retrieve it before coming here.

The vampire surprised him, however, by continuing past him to the fireplace. Then and only then did he realize what was happening. Something had picked at the little knot of memories and was causing it to unravel into an all consuming wave of wicked memories and nightmares. He took a cautious step towards her as she knelt down in front of the flames. He had caused her pain to preserve his life, but he knew how horrible the things inside that creature's mind were, and deemed that far too strict a punishment for any creature to suffer for mere attempted homicide.

He held a hand out behind him to tell the man at the table to stay seated, even though he doubted the man had moved, he wanted to make sure the cur stayed. Nichatus winced and froze in his approach as Jenica thrust her slender hand into the flames. She must truly be suffering if she had done something that drastic to rid herself of the visions.

An emotion Nic hadn't felt in so long he could barely remember it's name seized him by the heart as the creature turned to him with tears in her eyes. Sympathy, yes that's what it was called, sympathy. He moved closer to her, staring directly into her dark eyes and paying not the least bit of attention to her burnt appendage.

He slowly knelt down in front of the vampire, fully aware that she might tear his hands off in the middle of what he was about to attempt. The gloves came off and he slowly, and cautiously, raised his hands, which were shaking due to the aforementioned knowledge. The soft skin of his palms slid lightly across the skin of her face and came to rest on the sides of her head, his thumbs pressing lightly on her temples. The entire time his gaze never left her eyes, and wouldn't leave them until his job was done.

Nic slowly tore individual memories from the tangled mess that tore through Jenica's mind and forced them back into their hidden little places, deep within her subconscious. One by one they flickered back into near non-existance. One by one he was forced to view the horrid moments of the vampire's life again as he battled them back into their proper shadowed corners. The veins in his forehead stood out boldly against his pale skin.

When at last he was done he pulled his hands back from Jenica and sprawled himself out tiredly on the floor. From how low the fire now burned it had probably been at least a few hours since he began. If he was lucky he would have just enough time to rest before Jenica could exit the house and they could begin their mission. He wouldn't need to sleep this time, though. He hadn't put himself out that much. He wouldn't be of any use except to hold the floorboards in place and offer idle conversation for a good while, however.

[Jenica Sabiny]

Her pupils had dilated to the point that her eyes were entirely black when he approached and knelt before her. She watched his face, nostrils flared as she instinctively tried to scent any indication of threat. She could hear his heart's rapid pounding and his lungs working somewhat faster as fear ate at him. He removed his gloves, and she watched them fall to the floor before fixing her gaze on his hands as they traveled up to meet her head.

She flinched and shied away from his touch, tempted to stand and move to keep distance between them. She would not forget how he'd damaged her, and if he attacked her mind now she would be helpless to his mental whims. But she also remembered that he'd promised to fix her, and this likely required him to touch her. Torn between her two options, a sudden spike of pain from her fist drew a pained gasp, and she found herself with no choice beyond staying crouched where she was and letting him do whatever it was he would do.

Still, she tensed when his hands brushed against her face to rest at the sides, thumbs pressed into her temples to soothe a headache that wasn't there. She parted her lips to pant more easily; the pain from her hand was enough of a distraction to keep her focused for hours, and wouldn't heal within a short span of time. The blood she'd taken from the servants attacked the injury, healing the singed and blackened areas. And deep within her mind, the memories moved.

She couldn't help but draw her focus inward to watch his work. It was an odd sensation, similar to blood draining but more internal and specific. The spaces she'd known so well before reopened with each replaced memory or thought, and she steadily regained the quiet she'd come to know as her interior landscape. The threatening bundle of memories which so terrified her shrank away into her subconscious, and her eyelids eventually lowered to her more natural tired gaze. The relative silence was welcome after nearly a full day of having such loud thoughts that they overcame her at random moments.

Pont had watched the ritual in silence for a while, until it became clear that he would not see anything of interest. Keeping his tongue firmly silenced, he scooted away from the table and attempted to walk. The vampire had half-carried him up the stairs, and one bowl of food had barely been enough to whet his raging thirst, never mind his appetite. Despite his boldest intentions to at least leave the room, he found himself stuck in place due to physical limitation which could not be overcome by personal stubbornness.

By the time the mage finished his mental corrections within Jenica's head, the man had laid his head on the table, pillowed by both thin hands layered on top of one another. Asleep where he sat, he made no sound while asleep, mouth open as he breathed against the table.

As the mage drew his hands away from her and fell back in clear exhaustion, she tilted her head, raking her eyes over his figure. As she'd opened herself to his worst attacks, now he opened himself to hers.

She tilted her head in the other direction, then flinched and settled down into a cross-legged posture, tucking both ankles underneath her thighs for comfort. She stared at him in mild confusion, and had to admit that he'd done what he promised. Despite having lost the memories for immediate perusal, she found that it was easier to access them than it had been before. Doing so now, she remembered the most appropriate response available and whispered to spare her voice, lying her hand into her lap to let it rest while it healed.

"Thanks."

A pause as she again tilted her head in the other direction.

"For fixing it."

Curiosity bubbled within her, and she found herself wondering what he'd seen and how his magic worked. She asked the shadows and they obeyed, but as a human she'd never had any magical abilities to speak of. She wondered if this was how all magic was, or if she had a special relationship with the shadows which could not be duplicated in another medium. But the question was too complex, and she gave up trying to think of how she could phrase it. Instead of further words, he received a quiet sigh of resignation. She looked down at her burned hand, painful as it was, and watched the flesh she could see slowly mend itself with the passing time.

Three hours to dusk, whispered the voices she'd come to consider friends. Three hours, and then we'll be back to play.

[Nichatus]

Nichatus turned a curious eye on the vampire at her thanks. It was odd to consider that she might thank him for his work, much stranger still when she actually did so. "You are welcome, though I am not sure you need to thank me." The battlemage gathered up the small heap of red leather and recovered his hands. The wall was very near him, so he turned his body and leaned up against it so that he could see Jenica better.

From the angle he saw her at she almost formed a pathetic image, cradling her wounded hand in her lap. The amazing amounts of damage she could do was the only thing that kept her from looking truly pathetic. That part of him that he had fought with so often since meeting Jenica reveled in knowing that, and having the dead maid just a little distance away as proof of her power.

He felt lust rising in the pit of his stomach, and couldn't help but indulge the idea. with a shake of his head he cleared away the fantasy after a short time, however. The battlemage ranged through his mind, trying to find some topic of discussion that had would get rid of the thoughts that had made him....swell.

He found the perfect one, though it would hurt, it would end the previous thoughts. Something that he and Jenica had in common. Mutual torture at the hands of a cruel master.

"How long has it been since you met Bellatucadrus?"

[Jenica Sabiny]

She took on a drowsier expression as his blood quickened once more. It wasn't fear rising off of him now; the pungent scent of pheromones was hard to miss. He was lusting after her, though she couldn't fathom why. She was not making any effort to appeal to him at the moment - she wasn't even moving to touch him - and yet there he sat, his body craving hers in the most specific way a male could crave a female.

She spread her lips into a long grin, distending the sides of her mouth wide enough to let her fangs clearly show. Her tongue moved forward to stroke against the front portion of one fang, in clear view of his roving eyes. She was not threatening him, though part of her wanted to; she was only showing him the equipment available, for his review. He had fixed her; in a way, she was obligated. She had spoken the words to thank him, but there was more she could do and she had no personal opposition to the idea. He was attractive enough, though this was no real inspiration for her; the simple fact was that she didn't care. If he wanted the body, he could have it. She had fed twice today and this cooled the raging hunger which so often guided her motions. Even so, he would only be risking his life.

But then he spoke, and the question made her draw away inside. Her lips snapped shut and she lowered her gaze, tensing at the sudden rush of latent fear. She did not like to think of her sire; she did not like to remember how he'd created her on a whim and then forgotten her. How he'd let her leave him twice, apparently deeming her not worth his extra efforts...

She shook her head, and the memories retreated back to the crevices where this male had pushed them earlier. There was no need to remember such things; it was a path to something she'd burned her hand to avoid in the first place. As a reminder, she ground her burned knuckles against the trousers, letting the fabric scrape against the injured flesh and hissing at the pain. It was enough to pull her back to the here and now, where she needed to be. She looked at the male again, and saw that he was still looking at her. Waiting.

She did not know the answer to his question. Time was a flitting thing to her, something she'd lost track of over two years ago when she'd lost her final companion on her journey to nowhere. Passage of time mattered when there was a goal, a destiny to fulfill, and the destiny she'd been created for was lost in her sire's implied rejection of what she'd become.

She shook her head to indicate she could not answer the question. She provided him the best example she could, though it might mean little to him.

"Don't know. Not long."

[Nichatus]

Nichatus sat silently regarding Jenica as she pondered his question. He hadn't noticed her little display of fangs and tongue in the slightest. He just watched her thinking. In that moment, turned into her mind and not paying attention to the outside world, she seemed to soften a bit. She didn't look like death its self or the hardened murderous beast she was. She looked almost human, confused and weak and.....lovely.

He rid himself of the thoughts as she finally answered, though it wasn't much of an answer. "Hmm, I would not imagine it had been more than three or four years. Not enough memories after for much more time to have passed." The idea made him think of more questions. How old was this creature before him? She likely wouldn't know, so subconsciously he began the slow process of piecing together the seemingly useless bits of information he had garnered from her mind. Dialects spoken, styles of dress, and the like. It would take a while before he would come to any concrete solution.

His eyes slowly drifted down across Jenica's body again until they came to rest on her burned hand. The little self-repairs were already visible given his proximity to her. He was curious about it. The mechanisms by which she healed herself.

Nichatus sat up suddenly and scooted himself a bit closer to the vampire, sitting on with his ankles tucked under his thighs as she did. "May I see it?" he asked, indicating her injured hand. He was already watching the burned flesh patch its self together in a type of morbid fascination.

[Jenica Sabiny]

She blinked slowly, considering his estimation. Again she delved into the crevices and cracks he'd opened, sorting through the inner thoughts. She looked further back than she was accustomed to, and this took her somewhat longer to sort out in her head.

She creased her brow with the effort of trying to find the information needed. She didn't know how long it had been since she'd been turned; those years blurred together in one long stream of monotony. Kill after kill, alone and silent inside her head save for when the bloodlust filled it. There was nothing important there to remember.

But she pushed further still, back when the body had breathed. When the heartbeat had been steady and strong. She couldn't remember what a living body felt like, but she remembered her own thoughts at the time. The sense of self that she'd had present within her, before boredom tore any part of her that still cared away. She'd kept track of her age then, had taken pride in each passing year that marked another year of surviving her circumstances. She could not remember why this had been so important to her, but it didn't matter. She'd found something closer to an answer.

"Twenty-one when he found me. He said die or...die."

She didn't care that he'd moved closer; his exhaustion made this the least threatening thing he could have done, putting him within her immediate kill zone. She took amusement from this thought as she presented her injured hand to him. If he hurt her, she would return the favour - but she did not think he would look so fascinated if he intended to actively cause her pain. No, he was interested in the body itself, and she could not fault him for that. She shared the same interest and this manifested in her self-abuse, trying to push the body as far as it could go before giving out. As a vampire, this was far longer than a mortal body could withstand, since her body worked to heal any damage she inflicted on it with expediency.

"The body heals."

She watched her flesh mold and scab as it healed along with him, almost disappointed at the progress. She'd forgotten how much blood enhanced the healing process, and it was moving faster than she was used to. She would remember in the future.

[Nichatus]

Nichatus gently took her hand and raised it up a bit so that he could see more clearly the work that her strange body did on its self. Skin cells reconnected to one another and nerves and muscles reattached themselves in the proper places before his eyes. He saw months' worth of work take place in the span of minutes. "The body heals," his lips repeated the words Jenica had spoken. He ran a finger lightly across a small area that had almost entirely finished healing. "Can you feel still?" The question may have seemed odd to the vampire's mind, but he was attempting to see how thorough the healing process was, if she would be left with scar tissue that would dull the sense of touch in the skin as normal healing would.

"So twenty and one years when you were taken?" He asked, still looking at her hand. "Strange, I did not believe myself the elder here. I realize time is meaningless to you, but it is still a thing that I must deal with and measure preciously, suffering from the wretched disease of mortality as I do."

After another moment of simply watching her heal, wrapped in fascination with the expedited process as he was, he released the hand and laid back against the floor again. "You truly are a fascinating creature Jenica..." he trailed off, noticing the way her physique showed through her clothing from this angle. The animal urges, so long unsatisfied, rose to the front of his mind again.