Playing around with a possible plot. Also, I just like exploring the dynamic between Allie, Dark, and Sam.

852 words, of the unedited and unread kind.

thread

The apartment was locked. Sam tried the door once, twice, and then turned to give Dark a pointed look. Dark returned the look with a carefully blank expression that suggested the rolling of eyes without any actual physical movement.

Finally Sam said, "Well?" and Dark did not sigh as he moved forward.

He bent over slightly, and did something that resulted in a metallic, clicking sound. A moment later the door swung open. It would probably never close properly again, but that didn't stop Allie from trying to shut it after the three of them entered.

The first thing Sam said was, "Wow, it's hot."

He moved, without hesitation, through a door. Allie shot Dark a questioning look.

"There was a fire in the area two years ago," Dark explained.

"Ah," Allie said, and followed Sam.

Sam was moving through the bedroom in an unknown, but systematic pattern. His eyes weren't closed, but they gave the impression they should be. Whatever the brunet was seeing, it wasn't anything she would understand. Occasionally he would pick up objects and hold them in his hands, exploring every centimeter with his fingers. As he worked, his frown deepened.

"Well, someone died in here alright," he said.

"Vampire?"

"No," Sam answered her, in a tone that almost suggested disappointment. "Something else. Dark!"

The blond vampire was instantly there. Allie's gaze swept to the side; the corner of her lips turned down. It was the only sign of her surprise that she allowed.

"Okay. So, we have a vampire--tall, maybe eighty kilograms--going through the window." Sam pointed. "He lands, approaches the bed, and gets to our man Rob here. Rob doesn't wake up until the vampire has his mouth on his throat."

Sam kicked the foot of the bed, as if in demonstration.

"That's all pretty normal. What isn't normal is the next part. Rob doesn't die. No, don't ask me how," he said, before Allie could even think of interrupting, before her internal question had even fully solidified, "I don't know. Sometimes miracles happen. He runs through that door, probably bleeding all over his clothes, and out. Then the police find him on the street and, ka-ching, there's an article in the newspaper, people read it, some people get curious, we happen to be curious enough to break into the poor guy's house...."

Sam circled, eyes tracking from the window, to the bed, and then back to the window. It felt suddenly cold.

Sam's heartbeat increased, and he was almost panting. Allie and Dark stood very, very still, as Sam--

expanded.

Allie had never pretended to understand Sam's ability, and Dark's knowledge was based mostly on conjecture. Now, though, they could both feel it, a slight pressure on their skin that grew outwards until it was as if the whole room had filled with static.

Now, it was clear that Sam could--feel, touch, sense the entire room. Allie closed her eyes and shivered. It felt frighteningly intimate.

Sam's eyes landed on her. Then they went back to the bed. "So. Back to our vampire. He mortally wounds Rob, watches the guy go... and something else comes through the window.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't touch the sill, the walls, the floor, or the ceiling. Maybe it's floating. The vampire watches it come near, and it's moving way too fast for him to see it properly. It's just a blur. Then the vampire's too busy dying to care much about keeping his eyes open."

Sam... pushed, and Allie shivered again; so did Dark, this time, though his expression remained the same as always: blank.

"And then... well, I got nothing."

There was a sudden snap, and Sam's presence disappeared, confined to the boundaries of his body. "Wow," he said. "That was useless. We should head back."

Dark said, "How much information can you gather from a corpse?"

Sam looked at him. "A hell of a lot more than objects," he answered finally. "But less than from anything living."

"Then we should track down the vampire's carcass." Without waiting for Sam's agreement, he left the room. Allie followed him, moving quickly to fall into step by his side. She turned to study the older vampire properly. "Why are you so concerned?" she asked finally, tone almost light.

Dark didn't misunderstand. "Anything that can kill a vampire so easily is our concern," he murmured. "After all, we have someone to protect."

"Or you could just be pulling him into something dangerous," Allie retorted, but just as quietly.

Dark said, "Anything is better than the path he's currently chosen."

Allie stopped. "You... that's--if he heard you say that!"

She wasn't angry, but it was an emotion near enough that she felt justified in narrowing her eyes, clenching her fists.

Dark just said, "He is someone to protect." He turned suddenly, ignoring her completely, and said, "Sam, is there anything else to learn from here?"

The dismissal was clear.

Sam looked at them, and shrugged. "I'm gonna try feeling this place out for a bit," he said. "You guys wait outside."

This, at least, was an order Dark obeyed.

Labels: _fiction, c: allison fencer, c: dark, c: samuel gray, verse: darkcity

experimentation
(or: she's just nudging them towards the inevitable, really.)


Sam wakes up to Allie's weight across his hips, to her hands on his arms, to her lips against his.

It's. Probably not right that he notices her lips last. But Allie is... well. She's heavy. Vampires generally are. It's not a trait most people expect. Her lips are feather-light, and soft; the rest of her is threatening to break his spine.

He's confused. It's a normal reaction.

She's still kissing him. Sam tries to speak; she runs her tongue inside, instead, over the ridge of his teeth and his bottom lip. Then she straightens, looking thoughtful, and says, "Hm."

"Allie," Sam says, very, very patiently. "Get off me."

She grinds down. Sam doesn't react. He says, "I have a wife. Get off."

"She's dead," Allie reminds him, as if he doesn't know.

"I have a wife," Sam repeats. His concentration coils like a whip; the next moment, it strikes. Sam imagines he can hear the air crack as Allie is thrown across the room. He pulls his anger around him like a cloak; it's unexpectedly cool.

He sits up and looks at Allie; she looks back, one arm pressed across her torso. Her expression is blank; Sam reaches up and touches his lips, feeling the residue of feelings there. He reads curiosity, mostly, and yearning.

As if to confirm his findings, Allie says, "I was curious." She stands. She isn't hurt. She could be pretending, but Sam's too pissed to care if she is or not.

Sam says, "I'm going to have breakfast."

He stands, and walks past her. Allie watches him go, head turning slowly with the motion like an owl's.

She doesn't apologize, and Sam doesn't ask her to.

Labels: _fiction, c: allison fencer, c: samuel gray, verse: darkcity

I'm going to get down on my knees and beg forgiveness for not using quotations with dialogue in this one. Except, well, not.

1692 is a reference to the Salem Witch Trials, which was a mess that resulted in a lot of innocents killed or imprisoned because of false accusations, or grudges, or paranoia.

So. This is... Sam adding another member to his harem coven. I have no idea who she is. 834 words, unedited and unbeta'd--I didn't even look through it lawl.

-

breathe, and it comes

They have tied her to a stake. It is a scene from 1692, except that she is not a witch, and they are not killing her based on any wild accusation. They know what she is; and she knows what they are. They are the people gathered around her in a fair number, though there isn't enough to call it a crowd. They are dressed in jeans, sweatpants--dark-colored clothes, so that the stains from previous hunts don't show.

They are annoyed. They want to go home. She is going to die tonight, and they are discussing what show they missed that evening, what they should buy for their kids' birthdays, when can we leave forfuck's sakes, it's past midnight.

Midnight.

She tilts her head up and imagines she can feel the moon, although she knows that, even if they were outside, it would be hidden from her. She would call it neglect, or abandonment, but. But.

But.

She is not trying to free herself from her bonds. As a predator, her foremost attributes are cunning and intelligence. If she attempts escape, the hunters around her will strike, and....

Well. Kill her, perhaps. Disable her. It is a fate that is near-certain; she would rather prevent her impatience from hastening it.

They are going to burn her alive. It is not so bad. She has suffered through worse--berserker rages in the sun, burning outside and inside. Childbirth, long and hard, only to find the child had long been dead inside her.

She is waiting for an opportunity, although it is increasingly likely that there isn't any opportunity to wait for.

Hurry up, one of them says.

Another one, this a bare two meters away, shakes a tired head. No, we're waiting for another one. It makes more sense to burn them together.

What? Another? --Really?

It was a good hunt tonight, comes the reply.

She does not move a single muscle, in the single, expressive way of someone trying very hard not to react. She wants to believe none of them notice, because they are tired.

Another one. They are bringing another one, another one like her. It is, if not a good opportunity, at least an opportunity. Her fingers are curling slightly. Her claws unsheathe themselves. Around her, tension coils thick in the air, waiting and expectant. They fall quiet. They are all waiting, together, she and them, prey and predator.

Then the other one arrives, only it is not the other she expects at all.

It is a human, not a vampire, who steps into the warehouse.

He is looking around. He is not scared. He has a knife, and the blade is dark. His gaze tilts up, and she is startled to find him staring at her. He is ignoring them, the hunters, but perhaps he can because he is human. Perhaps he is one of them.

No. He isn't. He is walking towards her, and although they are parting, creating a path through negative space, it is not a gesture of submission. They are drawing guns, the glint of metal dull in the vacant light of the warehouse. She can sense the tilt of their thoughts, although they are unvoiced: What the fuck is he doing here, and who is he, and is he a complete nutcase?

Sorry I came so late.

He is speaking to her. Or at least, he is looking at her, and his mouth moves while he looks, and words come out. There is intent directed at her. But the words die out, and make no sense.

She is curling her fingers again, slowly, and she realizes the true reason she has not acted: She is injured.

She does not feel injured. She feels no pain. But she is injured. The thought is unfolding itself in her mind, new and wondrous, and she thinks, ah.

Sorry I came so late. But I'm going to rescue you now.

Coupled with the extra sentence, his words are making more sense. But. She is still confused. And now, she is watching; the blade of the knife presses against her bonds, and then stops, because the human has a gun pointed at his skull, pressing into his hair.

I'm sure none of us want the mess of your brains blown out all over the floor, says one of them, and then, like an afterthought: Motherfucker.

And then, smooth like silk, a voice she knows, because it is the voice all of them have: I wouldn't touch him if I were you.

Her gaze is moving, from the human to the door, and standing there are two others.

And then the human says, Well, actually, I have a condition. As if there is no gun pressing itself against the back of his head, as if they are not surrounded by them, by hunters, all of them palming guns.

He is smiling.

She says, I accept, because she does not care to wait for an explanation. She was expecting an opportunity; this is an opportunity.

They are not going to burn her alive, because the human says, Okay, and his knife slides through her bonds, and then everything erupts into motion.

Labels: _fiction, c: allison fencer, c: dark, c: samuel gray, verse: darkcity

How Allie and Sam meet. 606 words.

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"And what will you be having?" the girl says, and she looks, sounds, so completely natural that Sam almost doubts himself. Almost.

She's good. He'll grant her that. Her hair is messy, and she looks ridiculous in the hat. But her smile isn't right, not for a girl working the fast-food track; there's a certain line to the way she moves, a tilt to her voice that is slightly too flat. She's too put-together, like a model posing in a magazine or an actress playing a role.

Still. She's good. Sam wonders what she is, if she's even anything he--or anyone--can shove into a neat, black-white label.

She isn't feral, and she isn't a ghoul. Socks was a ghoul, and the girl in front of him isn't exhibiting any of the signs. Sam wonders where she gets her blood from.

He glances around, making sure noone's near enough to hear. He doesn't bother being discreet. Then he leans forward, elbows on a counter slippery with who-knows-what, and says: "So what's a vampire doing busting her ass off in a place like this?"

She smiles at him. "So, a medium Coke and a cheeseburger?" she says.

"Sprite, actually," Sam says. Her smile widens, and shows teeth.

Sam says, "Thanks," and opens his wallet. She gives him his food.

Thirty minutes later she's sitting across from him. She's taken the hat off, which is bad, or maybe good, because it makes her look slightly less ridiculous and it reminds Sam of what she is. She's a blonde, and attractive. She has a pink bracelet on.

Sam has already finished his meal, and gone for a refill four times, and went to the bathroom twice. He's probably going to feel off tonight, from drinking so much soda.

"I don't see many of you guys around here," Sam says. He puts his cup between them, like a shield, as if plastic and paper could ever stop a vampire.

"No," the vampire says. She's still playing the teenaged girl, and slouching like a pro.

Sam tells her his address. "Come any time," he says. "But make sure I'm there. Dark's kind of territorial, and he's probably older than you."

"... Why?" the girl says.

Sam grins at her. "I'm... gathering a coven. Sort of."

"You're a human," she says. "Humans can't rule."

"Yeah, I'm a bit young, huh?" Sam says, as if the issue is age. "That's why I said sort of."

"You're scared," she returns. "Your heart is beating faster than normal. And you're sweating. Your breathing is too controlled. And the skin below your eyes is twitching."

"Uh," Sam says, "I knew I was scared already. No need to give me a report. Seriously, though," he adds. "Come any time."

The girl straightens. She's forgotten herself. When Sam stands up, he finds himself looking down at a predator. He forces himself to smile. "See you," he says.

He leaves.

He's entirely, entirely unsurprised to find Dark waiting for him outside, because the guy is an obsessive, paranoid freak. He's smoking. Dark will never admit that he smokes when stressed.

"She'll come," Sam says in reply to Dark's unspoken question. Dark walks with him, and, side-by-side, they make their way to Sam's car.

"That makes three," Dark says. "It's hardly a coven."

Sam laughs. "It's enough, for now. Minimum of three, am I right?" He reaches into his pocket, curls his fingers around the receipt he feels there. He touches the flimsy paper and feels traces of the girl still lingering. Vampires feel different from humans, the taste and color of their thoughts different--cooler, and less chaotic. They burn less.

Sam smiles. "She'll come," he says, again.

Dark nods, and follows his lead.

Labels: _fiction, c: allison fencer, c: dark, c: samuel gray, verse: darkcity

It's a throw-away life

It's a Friday. Sam is grading papers, making clicking sounds every time a student makes a mistake. Sometimes he'll read out the more notable mistakes: "Hey, this kid spelled chlamydia with a k! I should give him points for the reference. I hope it was a reference." Mostly, though, he's quiet, even if Sam does 'quiet' differently than everybody else. Occasionally, his chair squeaks across the tile whenever he shifts. Sam is never comfortable when he's grading.

Dark sits on the other side of the table, and he isn't drawing, although he's holding a pencil. The paper in front of him is 11.7 by 16.5 inches of blank space.

Allie has her cosmetics in front of her; she has to leave for work soon. With the right kind of make-up, she can pass for human. Maybe it's her clothes, too: people don't think killers come in bright pink. She has her compact open, a single finger on a curved lip of plastic, but she's still.

Dark knows what she's listening to, because he is as well: The beat of Sam's heart. It's steady, steady, steady, and if he moves his hand, pushes it across the table, he could press his fingers against Sam's neck, wrist, heart, and feel that heartbeat under his skin--

There's the snap of the compact. Allie ties her hair back; she's barely remembering to throw in lots of extra movement, so that the action looks natural and clumsily human. She smacks her lips together, exaggerated. "Okay, I'm going," she says.

Sam looks up, focuses his expression on her. Dark grips his pencil; it bends.

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, and then, absurdly: "Stay safe."

Allie smiles at him. She leans forward. This is all vampire--smooth, graceful motion, her torso tilted at an angle no human could hope to suspend without extensive training. She presses her lip against Sam's cheek. It's a split-second touch, because Dark is present, and leaves a smear of pink.

"Sure," Allie says. She straightens, and suddenly she's a teenage girl, off to stand all night in the ordering booth of a 24-hour fast-food restaurant.

Dark waits until they're alone. Then he puts down the pencil and gives Sam a long, measured look, but the man is back to his papers, and his students. "You should be more careful around her," he says.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Train isn't spelled T-R-A-N-E, is it?" he says, and red ink flashes across the page. With his other hand, he reaches into his jacket. He pulls put a knife--the knife, the one Dark gifted him with. It lies between them, fenced in by blank sketching paper and student essays.

"I'm always careful," Sam says, and then: "Shit, you know what, I'm just going to take fifty points off these dumb unnamed papers."

Dark says, "I see." He picks his pencil up again, and begins to sketch.

Labels: _fiction, c: allison fencer, c: dark, c: samuel gray, verse: darkcity

Prompt: Bulletproof. Words: 285.

"What the fuck," Sam said. "Allie. Allie. What the fuck."

"It's your birthday present," Allie said serenely, and smiled at him. She looked perfectly sweet, except that she had just given him a revolver.

"You'll have to learn how to use one someday," she said, in a tone that suggested what she was saying wasn't completely insane.

"Why," Sam said.

Unfortunately, she answered. "For self-defense," she said.

"Against who?"

"Vampires."

"You're a vampire," Sam said. Allie didn't answer; Sam turned the gun over in his hands. It was cold, and second-hand: he could feel angry, violent memories pushing against his fingers where the skin touched metal. He shuddered lightly, and put it down.

"We worry, you know," Allie said finally.

"Because I'm human?" Sam replied.

"Because you're a friend."

"You guys aren't exactly bulletproof either," Sam snapped. The gun, red-black and cold to his mind, was starting to make him feel sick. "But I'm not giving you weapons that you can--that you k-kill people with!"

"Because we don't need them!" Allie said, rearing, and Sam jerked back. The gun clattered to the floor and they both winced at the sound. Allie's teeth were bared, eerily sharp. She saw his expression and seemed to fold herself inwards, as if that would make her presence smaller.

"We worry," she said. "Please, just--take it, Sam."

Sam pushed his palm against his eyes and thought angrily at his fear: Allie's a friend. She's not dangerous.

But the edge of terror wouldn't go away.

"I don't need it," he said, voice thick. "Dark's--he already gave me a knife."

He heard her kneel, pick up the damn revolver. "That's... okay, Sam," she said, and he hated how relieved she was.

Labels: c: allison fencer, c: samuel gray, verse: darkcity