Kazuo Tsuyukikura never thought himself a compassionate man (his classmates would certainly agree, were they not all dead), and his stint as the Emerald Kamikaze had offered the same results. He was simply a stoic man, whether he was in the process of translating Goethe’s Die Leiden des jungen Werther into another language or shooting someone’s brains out. But upon seeing Indigo, the woman who he had known to be so strong and sure with a crossbow in her hand, unable to stand and falling to the ground, something washed over him as he crouched beside her. Pity? Sympathy? An overwhelming urge of benevolence? He was going to get her to the League, Violet and his tricks be damned.
She was incredibly drugged, if her movements were any indication, but she recognized him and the need to leave. He wasn’t against the notion of carrying her out bridal-style - he had been strong enough well before, and she must have been starved. But on the off chance the two ran into a vampire he hadn’t come across, she would be left completely open. a target to attack. She was strong, yes, but with her injuries…and she was only human. He was as well, yes, but he highly doubted Indigo could heal at his rate. He’d yet to meet anyone with his power, actually - he had the healing ability, the knowledge to kill vampires, and the strength, speed, and cleared mind to do so….Could he carry her on his back? A fireman’s carry? Her torso would remain level, preventing further injuries, and blood would be evenly distributed through her body. It would be more comfortable for the both of them, but his well-being wasn’t as pressing. Yet the method best suited for defense would be for her to walk alongside him, her arm around his neck and his around his waist, and for the two to hobble out. He could easily draw out a weapon in time then. But there were so many flights of stairs, and their pace would be slow-going to where they could easily be surrounded. He could survive the onslaught, but could she?
Damn it all, damn it all. He grunted, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was basing all of his theories on the off chance that there even were any vampires left, or at least nearby. He hadn’t hunted them coming in - he had set off on a path, and slaughtered any who came in his way. Exiting would just be in reverse. As long as he retraced his steps, the undead he ran into would be minimal, at least. Every second that passed was another where Indigo was still in danger and the door was still open, nearly announcing their escape plan for all who listened.
He’d take the chance. Aside from the first vampire, he’d heard them all approach. He knew what he was up against. And it would be laughably easy to turn his back to a lunging vampire and protect Indigo before neatly depositing her on the ground and whirling back around with his knife or, need be, his fists. His jacket would likely be clawed to ribbons, but he had others. The crossbow was still slung along his back - he had brought it for her, of course, but she was in no condition to fight. She offered no resistance as he pulled her into his arms, pulling the both of them up. With one hand under her ribs and the other supporting the back of her knees (knife in hand), he freed the Gale from her cage.
The labyrinth hadn’t changed from the time he had seen it; the way out, at least, seemed to be the same. His staccato footsteps broke the looming silence at even intervals. To his credit, he didn’t turn around or break pace when the footsteps begin to echo around him - that would have alerted his follower that he was aware of their presence. At least the vampire (because of course it was a vampire) was approaching from the back, although it posed a question of how to attack without sounding the figurative alarm. When the pathway curved to the left, he went around it, quickly depositing Indigo on the floor and turning back around with his blade extended. There was no one there.
Had he misheard? Miscalculated? The ground beneath his feet hadn’t changed, and he felt no sense of paranoia. He turned towards Indigo again, only to be met with a pair of claws that sank through his jacket and into his chest and threw him into the wall. The next attack would have likely broken his nose and taken out his eye if he hadn’t rolled to the side…or if he wasn’t Kazuo Tsuyukikura. At any rate, the vampire stood smirking above him, arms crossed as a cape fluttered to a stop behind him. Emerald drove all of his force into the vampire’s legs, sending him toppling down, and grappled for control. The world was up, down, up, down again as the two rolled back and forth, with the vampire snarling, fangs extended every time he was on bottom, and the bones in Emerald’s wrist cracking every time he was on top. The assassin was breathing heavier than he’d have liked by the time he was able to drive the blade into the vampire’s neck, and the precautions he had taken to ensure the undead stayed dead were more random stabbing than precise lacerations. But Indigo was unscathed, and soon the two were off again at a quicker pace than before.
Indigo waited on the floor in a heap, watching as Emerald apparently was deciding what to do. Time was still slipping by in an almost liquid way, making it hard for her to focus on any one part of Emerald, or indeed Emerald himself, for very long. Still, no one had come bursting in through the door trying to kill them, and so she was counting that as a victory. She wondered, idly, how long it had been since her last dose of drugs, because she was feeling a bit more like herself. Her vision was returning to normal, and her concentration was getting a bit better. The edges of things weren’t fuzzy and blurry anymore.
She pushed herself up into a sitting position, just in time for Emerald to gather her up in his arms like she weighed nothing at all. He carried her out of the room like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold, and it made her giggle, the sound almost foreign to her, in her dark, dank prison. But it was the first time she’d felt any glimmer of humor, anything other than fuzzy, dull apathy, and she clung to it like a lifeline. She clasped her hands around Emerald’s neck and held on, barely even noticing any bumps or jarring motions on their way out. She was simply too focused on the fact that she was almost free.
She heard the approaching footsteps and a thrill of panic flooded her system. They were so close. She couldn’t go back to that hellhole, she’d die first. She rested her head on Emerald’s chest, playing the tired, starved, drugged victim to the hilt. She kept her mouth tightly closed as he left her on the floor, even as she wanted to scream ‘Don’t leave me alone down here!’. She could hear the two of them battling it out, and her heart started to beat that much faster, because if it wasn’t Emerald that came back around the corner, she was doomed. Of that much, she was sure.
But it was Emerald who reappeared, and she was so relieved she could just about cry. She was able to stand up under her own power this time, and she gestured to the weapon on his back. “Can I have that?” she asked, voice rusty from lack of use. “I assume you brought it for me, anyway. I may not be at the top of my game, but two armed people are better than one.”
Time had long ago stopped having any meaning for Indigo. There were no windows in her little underground prison, and her phone and watch had been taken from her when she’d been forced into this room. She couldn’t even track the passage of days by the sun or the moon. She had no idea how long she’d been down there, it might have been three days, it might have been two weeks. She just had no idea. And it was cold. The clothes she had been wearing when she left the restaurant hadn’t been suited to the underground climate, she’d spent the night shivering and almost caught hypothermia. The jeans and sweatshirt she’d been given weren’t exactly top quality, but at least she wasn’t feeling like a block of ice anymore. But all of this was compounded by the fact that she was kept drugged to the gills so she wouldn’t kick up a fuss. The room kept swimming around her, the concrete floor looked like ocean waves rolling around here, ans the ancient pipes looked like snakes about to strike out and bite her. Indigo fucking hated snakes. Creepy, scaly, poisonous motherfuckers, and constrictors could crush you to death! So not on. And…why was she thinking about snakes again? She didn’t remember, but she could’ve sworn she knew why a second ago. But then it was gone again, like water dripping from her dipped hands. It frustrated her, not being able to hang on to thoughts for more than a minute at a time. And it scared her, because what if the effects were permanent? An assassin with no memory was no better than a broken watch, a useless thing to be thrown aside and replaced. And that thought terrified her, sent cold dread snaking into her gut. They couldn’t leave her here to die. They wouldn’t. Right?
Her head jerked to the side as she heard what sounded like a screech from somewhere far away. Then again, it could have been her imagination, because she would have sworn she heard her father’s voice…was it yesterday? Two days ago? And her father had been dead for ten years, so that was impossible. Right? Right, and vampires were myths, and shadow leagues of assassins only existed in action movies and comic books. Which was cool, because that totally made her a superhero. And if she was a superhero, that meant, once and for all, that Raven was totally a ninjas. Case closed. She would’ve laughed at herself if her throat hadn’t been so dry. And if she wasn’t currently feeling like she was crushed under a black weight of despair. She wondered if she was going crazy, and the drugs were just helping her along. But…no. That couldn’t be right. She was pretty sure she had heard someone say once, that if you could still think to question your sanity, you were still pretty sane. At least she thought that’s how it went. She rested her head against the brick wall and groaned. She’d say it was impossible for things to get any worse, but that was just asking for things to get worse.Emerald remained half-crouched over the mutilated corpse, slowing his breathing and keeping his ears perked for any discernible movement or sound. Nine of the vampires had already fallen to his blade, most within mere seconds of lunging for his neck. One (a hulking brunette) had put up a respectable fight, and his assault on the assassin had resulted in one sleeve of Emerald’s jacket being clawed to shreds and a few wicked scratches that were already half-healed by the time Emerald had dealt with the body. For the most part, though, the bloodsuckers seemed to be easily decimated. Emerald knew his own strength and speed were to be respected, and being virtually impervious to damage was a definite advantage. But surely fighting and killing a member of the elite undead shouldn’t be this…effortless. It was almost as if there was no method to their madness. Not a single vampire paused to observe Emerald in action or even switch up their routine when he was able to avoid their direct attack. They all just lunged repeatedly for his throat, claws and fangs extended, and subsequently died with a look of shock and horror on their face. Had these vampires been kept in the crypt, forced to fight over whatever unlucky soul happened to wander in (or was locked away, in Indigo’s case)? Or were they truly this weak, paling in comparison to what legends and myths and popular culture forced their audiences to believe?
Identifying no threat, he straightened up in one fluid movement and continued forward. The crypt’s layout seemed incredibly arduous at first, but he was beginning to notice a subtle pattern throughout the twists and tuns. It wasn’t as simple as keeping to one side of the molded, crumbly wall, by any means, but it wasn’t pressing enough for him to slow down. Down one set of stairs, and then another…He briefly wondered how he appeared to the undead creatures he was mowing down - an avenging angel, perhaps, with a holy blade held aloft before him and extended wings shadowed by the poor torch light. One vampire dared to get close enough to rake her claws across his face, and he rewarded her with what he considered an especially painful death. He was correct, if the anguished wail she unleashed when he was on top of her and the blade passed through her limbs was any indication.
Truth be told, he lost count of the number of vampires he slaughtered. The urgency and adrenaline seemed to have been sucked from the situation; instead, he slayed them with indifference. They were nothing more than mindless zombies, obstacles designed to hinder his progress as he made his way through each level of hell. He suddenly stopped as the path he had been following veered away- to the right, what appeared to be an identical hallway; to the left, an abrupt end, where the outline of a door embedded in the wall was visible to those searching for it. This was it, then? Incredibly obvious, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. If it wasn’t Indigo’s prison, he would just continue onward.
There was no lock, no handle. It was far too early for him to start throwing his shoulder against the wall, so he took a few steps back, eyes sweeping his surroundings. Brick, brick, brick…and there, one slightly discolored, faint enough to be disregarded in a normal situation.
He ran his hand along it.
With a shudder, the entrance revealed itself, and Emerald stepped through with the knife extended, ignoring the dust and pebbles raining down on his shoulders.
“Indigo?” he called softly, allowing some warmth seep into his tone, when he spotted her huddled form. He approached cautiously over to her when she didn’t respond.
“It’s Emerald.” She was breathing, but the rhythm was off. Her eyes lingered upon his face, but they were unfocused.
“It’s time to go home.”
The door creaked open and Indigo instinctively curled in on herself. That door opening never led to anything good, even her pitiful meals fear. came with a side of fear. She pressed herself back against the wall, hoping to present as small a target as possible. But then the new person spoke, and she sat up, a cautious feeling of hope blossoming in her chest. They knew her name, and their name…Emerald? That was a strange name, but no…it was his code name. Like hers. She leaned forward, staring at the new face.
“Emerald,” she said softly. “Emerald Kamikaze.” One of her hands reached out, as if to touch his face. But she was still huddled on the ground, and he was standing over here, not looking much the worse for wear, even though he had to have met some of her vampire guards along the way. But almost as soon as she’d thought it, her mind dismissed it, letting it float away on a river of drugs. She tried to stand, to look at him more closely, but her legs shook and wobbled, and she landed on her tailbone, a jolt of pain firing up her spine and bringing her back to awareness, at least for a moment. “Emerald,” she said again. “Please tell me we’re leaving. This place leaves a lot to be desired, in terms of, well…everything.” She held one of her hands out to him, she would obviously need his help to try and stand again.
The note tucked under Silver’s windshield had been vague enough, just a line or two about taking his own bike to scout for Indigo. Setting out on his own was nothing out of character for his anti-social demeanor, which was certainly a benefit. It hadn’t been a lie, either. He was pressed firmly against his bike, with the wind rushing through his blonde bangs as he took hairpin turns at breakneck speed, and the purr of the engine had added a sultry, underlining rhythm to the song crooned through his earbuds. And he was tracking the lost Gale. He’d been partnered with her before, and she was one of the few who hadn’t been completely incompetent, friendly without being overly talkative, ridiculously energetic and excited, or hesitant to provide back up. The two of them clicked together beautifully, and he was more than willing to put his skills and gift to use and rescue her from whatever circle of hell she had landed in. A duty, almost.
The Emerald Kamikaze was on his bike, and he was on the hunt. He was just across the continent.
It had taken him the duration of the walk from his chambers to the garage to determine Indigo wasn’t being kept in Russia. The few encounters Emerald had shared with Violet, as well as the following of a few leads and his own theories, lead him to believe she was instead locked away somewhere in Italy. Kakurenbo. The children’s game. Popular during school time, except no one ever wanted to find Kazuo and he would be left for hours crouched behind a half-wall or sheltered by the tree. Indigo was just as unwilling a player as he had been, except now Emerald was on the seeker’s side, and he was damn sure he was going to come across her and help her back to base.
He mused over the companions he had left in the frozen wilderness. From what he understood, the orders had been passed from master to master, but the search and rescue team that had been assembled seemed a little…off. From his observations, Stark (like many of the League’s students) had yet to exhibit any skills worthy of more than a passing glance. Certainly nothing that had to do with tracking down Indigo. Emerald suspected that, unless the new Gust was hiding something spectacular up his sleeve, his tagging along was more of a field trip than anything else. Mission experience. A chance to play the hero. (A chance to get him out of everyone’s hair, more like.) And the Whirlwind master seemed just a shadow of his supposed former glory, all jagged cracks and harsh contours. He was a broken man. A broken, old man who had no reason to be searching for the mercenary and whose words rang out with a strangely false conviction. And for the assassin who had systematically planned and completed the cold-blooded murder of each of his former classmates and nearly gotten away with it all, it had been child’s play to escape from them both.
He knew that was why he had been selected. Not for taking his revenge, but for his enviable grasp on the concepts of logic and analysis. There were trackers more experienced than he, yes, but he wasn’t searching for Indigo’s trail. He was searching for Violet’s mistakes, because even the master was human. Those was what had lead him in this direction, after all. Those were what kept the connections in his brain being formed, what kept the theories being constantly created and rejected in favor of new ideas.
And those were what caused Emerald to enter the Vatican City.
He couldn’t shake the feeling of stepping back in time a few centuries as he swept the area for something amiss. The landscape was a far cry from the streets of Sapporo or even the icy Russian wilderness, but the style of architecture was familiar, and it took him less effort than expected to adjust. Within ten minutes of arriving in the city his music was paused and his bike was propped against a small half-wall, angled so no one passing by could spot it, as he descended a set of stairs leading underground with a revolver in his hand and the crossbow slung over his shoulder. The rest of his weapons were tucked away, including the blessed bolts he had brought for Indigo and the intricate knife kept strapped to his arm. Even as a child, Emerald was skeptical of the supernatural, but he was in need of a new knife anyway and if it happened to be the only thing that could fend off a fanged attacker, it was a win-win situation as far as he was concerned.
The overwhelming stench of pure and utter death curled around him as he made his way down the cracked steps. The crypt seemed to extend much further than the dim torches adorning the walls wanted to reveal. There was a definite sense of uneasiness that filled the whole crypt, but he wasn’t afraid.
There was movement out of the corner of his eye.
Something lunged.
Quickly checking that the figure had different proportions from the woman he was trying to save, Emerald fired his revolver directly into the woman’s forehead. Her head jerked to the side and her flight path was slightly altered, but there were no other effects. Her arms wrapped in a chokehold around his neck, and they were both down, down, down, rolling back and forth across the unforgiving ground. When the woman smacked into the wall and had to pause her unceasing attack, Emerald took the opportunity to throw his fist into her face. Sharp bits of teeth flew out, and the assassin discovered with almost a frightening calmness that he had just punched the fangs out of a vampire. Literally.
Emerald removed the blessed dagger and dove forward, swiping through the woman’s neck in one clean go. She screeched and clawed at the burns rapidly forming on her throat before pitching forward. Was there a special way to kill vampires to ensure their permanent death? He decided the head would be a good place to start, at least until he decided which direction to go or was attacked by another angry vampire. Better safe than sorry…
Time had long ago stopped having any meaning for Indigo. There were no windows in her little underground prison, and her phone and watch had been taken from her when she’d been forced into this room. She couldn’t even track the passage of days by the sun or the moon. She had no idea how long she’d been down there, it might have been three days, it might have been two weeks. She just had no idea. And it was cold. The clothes she had been wearing when she left the restaurant hadn’t been suited to the underground climate, she’d spent the night shivering and almost caught hypothermia. The jeans and sweatshirt she’d been given weren’t exactly top quality, but at least she wasn’t feeling like a block of ice anymore. But all of this was compounded by the fact that she was kept drugged to the gills so she wouldn’t kick up a fuss. The room kept swimming around her, the concrete floor looked like ocean waves rolling around here, ans the ancient pipes looked like snakes about to strike out and bite her. Indigo fucking hated snakes. Creepy, scaly, poisonous motherfuckers, and constrictors could crush you to death! So not on. And…why was she thinking about snakes again? She didn’t remember, but she could’ve sworn she knew why a second ago. But then it was gone again, like water dripping from her dipped hands. It frustrated her, not being able to hang on to thoughts for more than a minute at a time. And it scared her, because what if the effects were permanent? An assassin with no memory was no better than a broken watch, a useless thing to be thrown aside and replaced. And that thought terrified her, sent cold dread snaking into her gut. They couldn’t leave her here to die. They wouldn’t. Right?
Her head jerked to the side as she heard what sounded like a screech from somewhere far away. Then again, it could have been her imagination, because she would have sworn she heard her father’s voice…was it yesterday? Two days ago? And her father had been dead for ten years, so that was impossible. Right? Right, and vampires were myths, and shadow leagues of assassins only existed in action movies and comic books. Which was cool, because that totally made her a superhero. And if she was a superhero, that meant, once and for all, that Raven was totally a ninjas. Case closed. She would’ve laughed at herself if her throat hadn’t been so dry. And if she wasn’t currently feeling like she was crushed under a black weight of despair. She wondered if she was going crazy, and the drugs were just helping her along. But…no. That couldn’t be right. She was pretty sure she had heard someone say once, that if you could still think to question your sanity, you were still pretty sane. At least she thought that’s how it went. She rested her head against the brick wall and groaned. She’d say it was impossible for things to get any worse, but that was just asking for things to get worse.
At first, nothing but elation rolled through Stella’s body, the release of both emotion and sensation that would and could only come from a kiss. Second, fear. She had never kissed a girl before, had never before even been attracted to women, let alone felt any urges to kiss them. So what the hell was this? And what the hell did Clarissa think of it? Her lips began to tremble slightly in fear of the judgement that she was sure would come. Clarissa would lash out, pushing the girl away and call her a freak, no doubt.
What a way to top off an already hectic night. But no! The other girl pulled her in, her hand around the back of Stella’s neck. She…wanted this…just as much as Stella did. And she did, didn’t she? Why else would her body make her do it when her mind wouldn’t allow it on the norm?
Stella’s body was acting its own once again, her arms finding the courage to wrap their way around Clarissa’s waist, pulling their bodies closer together as their kiss deepened. She opened the other girl’s lips with her own, feeling shivers shake their way down her spine when she breathed in, tasting everything on a higher scale than any human possibly could. And the taste was something Stella would never be able to put into words, not that she was exactly worried about doing so at the moment, with her tongue tracing Clarissa’s lips. She found herself, once again, hoping against all hopes that the other girl would not mind or care how cold the blonde’s flesh was…
Clarissa held on for dear life as her world shifted, turned upside down, and then righted itself again in the space of a few moments. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone since she’d joined the League, and even before that, it was usually a one-night stand, and she was gone before they woke up. She’d hooked up wit both genders in her day, and the fact that Stella was a girl wasn’t really a cause for freaking out. It was more along the lines of, ‘Badass vampire that could snap my neck like a twig, holy shit this is actually happening, is this real life?’
Eventually, though, she had to pull back and take a breath, resting her forehead against Stella’s. “This whole night has been so crazy,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I went from drinking champagne to flying across rooftops to kissing a vampire, in the space of only a couple of hours. Join the League, they said. See the world, they said. They left out all the exciting ways to almost have a heart attack.”
She shifted a little so she was sitting more comfortably, taking the majority of her weight off her tailbone. “But honestly, I think, if I had to do it all over, I probably wouldn’t have chosen the whole ‘getting shot’ thing. But it’s like the Stones say, huh? You can’t always get what you want.” She shrugged. “Still, I’d count tonight a win, I think.”
Snowy gave a low, shaky laugh. If she had been able to cry, she probably would have already. She still felt the stinging sensation in her eyes and sinuses that usually came along with tearing up and mucus gathering in the nose. She held her hand up to her face and wiped it, a habit from crying as a human. “I, uh…I know what you mean.” She laughed again. “When I was human, I never thought I’d be doing any of…” She gestured at the area around them, herself, and her companion. “…this.” Snowy shrugged, her slit pupils half hidden by her eyelids. “I always thought I was going to end up being in movies or something. The ‘something’ was usually stripping with girls like me. Like I was,” she amended, swiping her finger through the air as if literally correcting a written error.
She sighed deeply, biting her lip and tasting blood. She winced and touched the tips of her fingers to her lip, pulling away a red liquid so dark it was practically black. In fact, to the human eye, it probably appeared black. She sucked it off her fingers, ignoring the sour taste of her own, dead blood. “And then I was attacked…by that monster.” She scowled, her fangs completely extending for a moment, then retracting back to halfway. “I can’t even remember what he looked like. Or what happened after that.” She looked at Indigo suddenly, a perplexed look on her face. “And why on earth am I telling you all of this?” Snowy laughed. “I’ve never told anyone that stuff before. Ever. not even Pearl knows all of that.”
Snowy looked down at her feet, touching the toes of her white shoes. She had never owned a pair of shoes as nice as these in her human life, though she had spent over half of it longing for such things. Now that she was not only immortal but an assassin, these sorts of things were an aftermath of well planned disguises and whatnot. The only thing Snowy ever bought for herself anymore were her swords, and even those were killing tools, meant to make her job easier. She turned her head sharply, her face only a few inches from Indigo’s. Her voice was soft, almost vulnerable when she spoke, the smile that went with it much the same. Delicate, like freshly fallen snow. “My real name is Stella…Stella Phoenix.”
“I prattle sometimes,” Indigo admitted. “It’s worse when I don’t know what to say, which shouldn’t make much sense, but there you are.” She went quiet for a few moments before going on. “When Violet found me, I was a literal starving artist. I barely made enough to keep a roof over my head and some cheap food in the cupboards. I was due to be evicted that week. And I went to this archery range nearby, because I was the weirdo with the archery hobby. And he was there, and he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. And I didn’t really want to. He pretty much saved my life.”
Indigo shrugged awkwardly. “Probably for the same reason I told you about me. I mean, sometimes you just have to let someone in, even if it’s just one person. Especially if the memories are painful. I know everyone thinks I don’t let anyone in, but there’s a reason for that. You don’t let them in, they can’t hurt you.”
Indigo looked into Snowy’s bright teal eyes. She knew the slit pupils out to put her off, but they just…didn’t. It was hard to be afraid of someone you’ve just shared pretty much your worst memory with. And she knew that telling someone your real name was pretty much the most personal thing you could share with them, at least in this organization. It was who you were Before, and with her, at least, holding onto those good pieces from Before was important. A little piece that hadn’t been beaten out through training, missions, and relentless day to day life of the League.
“Well, Stella, it’s very nice to meet you,” she said, lowering her voice to match the other girl’s. “I’m Clarissa. Clarissa Dawson.”
“I guess I should’ve known you’re into Bram Stoker.” Snowy gave a shaky laugh, unsure of what else she could say on the matter. Sure, vampires weren’t the same as they were in the classic, but one could gather the basics all the same. She sighed and lowered her face onto her arms, honestly scared of what someone else might think about her since becoming a vampire. When it had happened, she had no one in her life for her to worry about. And when Pearl found her, knowing what she was and taking her in anyway, she hadn’t cared. When she had let Rose find out, she wasn’t worrying what Rose thought of her, just whether or not she could keep the secret. Crimson had easily found out what she was, and, once again, she didn’t care what he thought. But here she was, concerned that Indigo would think less of her for what she was.
But the reaction was entirely the opposite. Snowy was shocked and, for some reason, offended. “No, no, no. I don’t…I’m not…” She tapped her fists on the sides of her head, squinting her eyes angrily at herself for not being able to find the words with her usual flourish. “I’m not sorry that I stopped the bullet from turning your head into a melon.” Her lips fumbled the words out through her fangs, which were somewhere between withdrawn and exposed. “You…I don’t know. My body acted on its own. I didn’t know what I was doing until it was already done.”
She looked to Indigo’s eyes, her own teal eyes glowing, the slit pupils scanning the other girl’s face. “Normally, I would have just watched someone die. I’ve seen it happen…let it happen, dozens of times before. Without a care…but something about you.” Snowy looked away, her eyes narrowing. “I just can’t let you die. I don’t know why. Even thinking about it now…” She let the images flow through her mind; Indigo falling lifelessly to the ground, blood streaming from some fatal wound, the light leaving her eyes. Snowy’s body convulsed as if she was going to be ill, as if she could be ill. “…I can’t describe it.”
Indigo shrugged. “I’m into all sorts of things, I read nothing but horror novels my junior and senior year. Dracula was one of the ones I kept and didn’t donate to a charity shop. I always liked things like that, things that were so fantastic they couldn’t possibly be real, you know? But since I joined the League, I’ve been learning that what I used to think was fantastic is, in fact, just a normal Wednesday around here.”
“Well, you aren’t going to hear any complaints on this end,” Indigo murmured. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I filled up enough bucket lists for about ten people, it wasn’t like there was anything keeping me here. But no one really wants to die, you know? And now, thanks to you…I don’t have to.” She looked up at Snowy, and her smile was soft and real, the shakiness and uncertainty from before gone.
She watched as Snowy’s body shook, scooting over until she was sitting right next to her. “Whoa, hey, I’m right here,” she said softly, like you might to a spooked horse. “You did it, you got me out. Sometimes we do things we can’t rationalize even to ourselves. That’s life, it’s part of being…OK, you’re not human, but I think the principle still applies.”
“Y-yeah, uh…” Snowy looked away, her eyes narrowing as she silently cursed herself. Where was her usual bravado? Where was all her confidence and wordplay? And why the hell had she even blocked those bullets, then rushed out with Indigo in her arms? The normal Snowy would have let the girl die and have made her way out of the joint before they could have been seen together. She would have been long gone, giving some bullshit excuse to the masters as to why the Gale had died.
But here she was, sitting on a rooftop, having saved the other girl’s life. She had some sort of power over her, some way of making Snowy wanting her alive. No matter what. It was unnerving. Disturbing on some level. New. Frightening. And, above all else….thrilling.
“I’m, uh…not human.” She sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on her left one, unsure of how to proceed. “I’m faster…and stronger than you. Or any human. I don’t need to breath. I’m bulletproof.” She closed her eyes and reopened them, staring directly at Indigo, her pupils slits and her teal eyes glowing in the dark. “I can see better than most telescopes and magnifying lenses. I can smell, taste, and sense beyond the capabilities of any living animal.” Finally, she opened her mouth, her fangs protruding from her lips, sharp and vividly white. “I’m not living, but I’m not dead…I’m a vampire, Indigo. And I’d apologize for saving you, but I had no choice.”
Indigo looked blankly at her. “Yeah, that bit I got when you picked me up and started jumping over rooftops,” she said. The sarcasm was a defense mechanism, it was her shield against the things she didn’t understand. And nothing Snowy was saying made any sense. “And it was both very cool and very freaky when the bullet hit your hand and just…stopped. I’m not too fussed about that bit, you kept my head from turning into an exploding melon.”
She made herself be quiet and sit still, looking into Snowy’s teal eyes and absorbing everything she was saying. Vampire. The world really was insane. But at the same time, she couldn’t discount the idea outright. Snowy was scary good with her knives, she was a crack shot with that revolver, and she was just so competent sometimes it was scary.
“OK,” she said, half to herself. “OK. Fangs, super senses, I get that. I guess vampires crawled out of my copy of Dracula when I wasn’t looking.” She sighed and tugged her mask up, resting it on top of her now destroyed hair. “And you’re…sorry for saving me. Yeah, I’ll grant you it’s a bit out of the ordinary, but you always had a choice. With what you’re telling me, in any given situation, you have all the choices. So you didn’t have to. But you still did. So…thank you.”
It was an odd sensation, allowing herself to be pulled through a crowd by someone who was far less powerful than her, as if she was the one needing saving. It was definitely ironic, to say the very least. Snowy’s teal eyes spun around in their sockets, finding all the men with guns in the room as they shot down the party goers, narrowing as she waiting for them to turn on her and Indigo, knowing they eventually would. She continuously shoved people aside with her free hand, ignoring their cries as they spiraled to the ground several feet away, some of them taking bullets to the dome only moments later.
She heard the gun shoot.
She smelled the metal burning as it shot through the air.
She could practically sense its trajectory before she saw it.
And her hand was already outstretched, her body already shoving forward.
The bullet hit the palm of her hand, which was being held right in front of Indigo’s face, and her slit pupils watched as the bullet ricocheted away, crushed upon impact with her gloved hand. Shocked by her own reaction of saving Indigo’s life, her eyes wide open and pupils as thin as toothpicks, she didn’t notice the second or third rounds flying towards her head. The first round hit the right side of her face, knocking her mask off and sending it flying into the crowd. And she was making eye contact with Indigo when the second bullet struck her right temple, the bullet crushing against her skin and making her head jar slightly to the left and causing her to wince slightly.
Without missing a beat or waiting more then a second, Snowy swept Indigo’s legs out from under her and held her in her arms, like an over ground child, and leaped through the crowd. She plowed straight through the crowd, knocking people over and practically tackling anyone who got in her way. Tucking Indigo close to her like a football in one arm, Snow dove out the window, grabbing onto one of the rappelling cables and swinging out, away from the building. When her feet hit the wall, she instantly kicked off, causing them to swing like a pendulum outward until their landed on the roof. Waiting only to adjust her grip on her partner to both hands, Snowy bolted toward the ledge, rocketing off the edge like a plane taking off. Jumping from building to building until they were at least a mile away, Snowy gently deposited Indigo onto the roof of the building, staring down at her with both worry and intensity. Her voice was hesitant and a little shaky when she spoke.
“S-so…how ‘bout that party, huh?”
Indigo heard the whisper of air being rent by a bullet, and she knew she only had seconds. ‘Well, it was a good run,’ she thought, because she’d always known she was going to die in this life. She mentally steeled herself for a split second of pain and then nothing. But it never came. Snowy’s hand shot up and the bullet simply stopped in her palm. The next two hit her head, both of them kill shots. But they simply bounced off her face, as though it were bulletproof glass.
Before she could even begin to process that, she was being lifted off the ground and rushed through the crowd, faster than a human being should have been able to move. And then they were outside, away from the crush and the screams, clinging to the skin of the building by just the thin rope, swinging up and out and landing with a thud on the roof.
To her credit, all Indigo said was, “What-” before they were off again. She didn’t scream, mostly because she’d forgotten how. Her mind was overwhelmed with sheer disbelief, clinging to Snowy’s neck like a lifeline and praying she wouldn’t slip as she jumped. She didn’t look down, either, she was sure she couldn’t stomach the overwhelming vertigo that would bring on.
When they finally stopped and she was set down, her knees felt as shaky as a new colt’s, and it took her a few steps for her legs to stop feeling like rubber. Snowy was staring at her like she was going to start screaming or crying at any second. Indigo drew in a breath and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she simply sat down, hard, heedless of her dress. It was really the only thing she could think of to do.
“Fucking hell,” she said at last, low and sharp on an out breath. “OK, the men on the ropes with guns, I get them. Guns for hire aren’t uncommon. Whatever. I’ve dealt with worse than those amateurs. But the roof swinging. And the jumping. That’s gonna take a bit more explaining, I think.”
Snowy mused on the idea anyway, a light smirk covered by champagne glass. Snowy would have no issues with an indoors riot, finding it quite easy to slaughter her way to safety and anonymity. “I think we’re slippery enough to not get caught, don’t you?” She took a swig of the champagne, wondering what the alcohol percentage was and how many glasses it would take before she felt a buzz. “But I would really prefer not to go with that plan, really. I’d sooner gut him where he is now than pretend to be attracted to him.” She sighed, drinking from the glass again.
“Brainstorming with alcohol, huh? I like it. I do believe that’s something I should try more often.” She smirked at Indigo, all warmth and humor. “Bring a bottle of vodka with me on every mission sound like a good idea?” The blonde shook her head, small particles of glitter falling from her hair and mask, catching her eyes as they flitted down, refracting light. “I’d probably end up looking like Onyx Gust, though…” She fiddled with the glasses in her hands, one empty and the other half full. She looked honestly disappointed at the fact that she was running low. She didn’t like constantly grabbing more from the maids. “I imagine that spilling a drink on the man wouldn’t do much to change his night; I think he’d just deal with it.”
At the end of that sentence, the ceiling high windows shattered and burst inward, spraying glass on the party goers who were close them. Men wearing body armor rappelled in through the windows and started tackling people to the ground, handcuffing them. The entire party was in an uproar, chaos raging freely as every single person desperately broke for an exit. Snowy glanced at Indigo, eyes wide as she lifted the hem of her skirt until her thigh was visible, as well as the holster that held the revolver and revolver magazines to it.
She whipped the gun out and aimed, firing six rounds into the crowd, taking out three party people with vital shots and blowing out one of the knees of their target. She flipped a nearby table and pulled Indigo with her to duck behind it. “Well, he’s down. Hopefully he gets trampled on. But what now?” She practically had to yell over the cacophony of the crowd to make herself heard.
“I rather like to think so,” Indigo said, eyes dancing. “If we weren’t, we’d be in jail or dead, not mercenaries.” She finished one glass and reached for her second, mentally cutting herself off after that one. It was all well and good to drink fine champagne and pretend they were socialites at a ball, but if she drank much more, her aim would suffer.
“Ugh, yes,” she agreed, wrinkling her nose. “But being buzzed on missions actually doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea, but let’s not take it to Onyx’s lengths. That way lies madness.” She’d barely gotten out the last syllable before the windows exploded, and she raised her hand as though to protect her face, but keeping an eye on Snowy’s movements the whole time. She was a crack shot, it had to be said.
“We can’t leave him alive,” she called back, reaching into her tiny purse and removing a folding knife. The knife wasn’t meant for throwing, and she’d only have one shot, but if she couldn’t hit a spot to make him bleed out from here, she had no business calling herself a mercenary. She peeked out from behind the table, sighted down the length of it like she would a bolt, drew her arm back in a false throw, then let it fly. It sank into the soft skin of his neck, and bright red blood spurted onto the ground and his clothes.
“Now we get out of here,” she said, raising her voice over the din. She grabbed her skirt with one hand, Snowy with the other, and began shouldering her way through the crowd, stepping on toes and using her sharp elbows if she had to. She kept an eye on Snowy’s white ensemble out of the corner of her eye, it was pretty easy to see amongst the crush of tuxedos and black dresses. And she needed to get out of there, there were too many people too close together, she couldn’t breathe. She needed the open spaces of the base, or even their car on the road. But she kept it under control, because the last thing they needed was her to have a breakdown.
Snowy’s eyes widened as she caught Indigo’s scent get closer, that peculiarly flower like aroma wafting through her sinuses. It was strange how quickly she came to recognize the other girl’s scent, and even more strange at how it seemed to be so potent. She turned her head at her partner’s words, spotting the man out of the corner of her eye. She downed the rest of her glass, then switched it with a full one off of a tray as one of the maids passed by. “Well, I do sort of like the idea of taking that shot and causing mass panic.” She shrugged, downing the champagne in one. Her tone was like velvet, soft and sinister in its seductiveness. “Would definitely make this lot more interesting, I think.” She glanced down at her empty champagne glass, disappointed that alcohol wasn’t as strong on her as when she was human, and didn’t even have the same effect on her.
Switching the empty glass with two more, one in each hand, she turned to Indigo with a deep sigh. “We could always seduce him with the idea of a private threesome, then gut him when he least expects it.” She sipped casually at one of the glasses, letting her teeth nibble the edge of it lightly, careful not to break it. “But then we’d have to…you know, seduce him.” She scowled openly, biting her lip lightly. “I’m sorry, I’m yammering on and on. I’m full of useless and impractical ideas.” If she had blood in her system and the capability to blush, she just might have. “I’m so used to…you know, tag ‘em and bag ‘em kind of missions…”
Indigo couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Yes, dear, I know, but then we’ll have a herd of frightened people stampeding toward the door. Or trying to capture us, and I don’t exactly fancy being carted off to prison in this dress.” She tilted her head to the side, thinking. “Although between the two of us, we could probably use our jewels for bail money. That’s assuming they could lay hands on us long enough to get us anywhere.”
She grabbed her own pair of flutes, leveling a stony look at the waitress’ raised eyebrow, then smirking as she scampered away. Her lip curled at Snowy’s suggestion, mostly because from what their intel and her own observations had reported, the man was a cretin. “I suppose we could keep that in the arsenal,” she said, a bit hesitantly.
“You’re not yammering, we’re ‘brainstorming with alcohol’,” she said, throwing Snowy a tiny wink. “Slight but important difference. I’m more used to the ‘bag and tag’ missions too, usually I set up a few hundred yards away and wait. This one’s…a bit out of my element.” She shrugged. “We could always throw a drink on him and take him somewhere to clean up?”
