A soft hush of a brushed breeze raised the hair’s on Ivory’s arm, her eyes jumping wide as the much, much smaller girl walked by. God - there were too many faces in these dark halls. Ivory’s lips twisted to the side as she inspected the other girl, feebly grasping at straws as she tried to piece the her together. Shorter hair, soft cheekbones, doe-like brown eyes that was impossibly too harsh for the face.
Nothing but skin and bones. Ivory’s face relaxed, suddenly realizing who it actually was. “Indigo! Indigo!” Ivory’s mouth snapped shut, the thought that she barely knew the other girl clanging loudly in the back of her mind. But the deed was done, the consequences sure to swiftly follow, and all Ivory could do was roll with the punches at that point. And she had always stood by the motto that a friendly word was often wanted.
Ivory’s hand jumped to her hair, tucking a wayward piece behind her ear. “God - sorry. I tend to just, shout without thinking. Alabaster thinks it’s hilarious, but it’ll get me in trouble one of these days.” The tall girls suddenly felt awkward, weight shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. “I’m, uh, Ivory,” she finally supplemented feebly, a hand held out for a shake.
Indigo snapped out of her trance, turning around slowly as she heard her name called. Hardly anyone stopped her to speak to her anymore, she knew she looked rather off-putting, even in this world of people who killed for a living. But her too-gaunt face and hard eyes tended to deter questions, and it was sort of lonely. She managed to put a small smile on her face, and she grasped Ivory’s hand, shaking it.
“Nice to meet you,” she said softly. “Sorry, I was thinking about something else there for a while.” Understatement of the year, but they had just met, and there was a time and a place for spilling details like that, and this was not it. “And really, don’t worry about it, I’m not one of those people it’ll get you in trouble with.” She took about a half a step back, sticking her hands in her pockets. “So, what’s up?” she asked. “How are you liking the HQ?”
Ivory was in a particularly bright mood.
Well. As bright as one can be, hiding underground in a top secret industrialized technology driven behemoth lovingly covered by Russian snow. Her hair wasn’t being cruel to her that day, Pearl had nothing but warm words of praise after combat training, and there was something awfully fulfilling about a steamy shower comprised of warmth against aching muscle.
Not even a grumbling tummy and ridiculous food porn on the blogs could dim this bright bulb.
Ivory glided down the hall, not quite sure where her feet were pulling her. She didn’t have any further obligations - classes were adjourned for the day, Alabaster was more then likely curled up with Pearl, and was still a wee bit too early to reach out and start any kind of communication with Kari.
Ivory’s steps hesitated for a moment, a stark feeling of loneliness passing over her like a shadow. Almost a cloud obscuring the sunlight, for the briefest of moments.
And like that, the sunshine was back, warmth in her bones, a renewed pep in her step.
And off the girl pepped, still unsure as to where she was quite going.
If Ivory was the sunshine, Indigo was definitely feeling like the storm cloud. She was still slightly underweight, and that meant she couldn’t be declared mission ready. The doctors kept saying, ‘Just a few more pounds, Indigo, it would really make us feel better’. And so she had started eating like a horse, high-protein, high-calorie meals that sometimes made her feel like she might throw up. But she managed to keep them down, and her weight was slowly creeping back up toward ‘healthy’ instead of ‘too skinny’.
But it was still taking longer than she’d like, and when she wasn’t training, she had taken to stalking the halls of HQ like a caged tiger, looking for something, anything to do to fill the time. She couldn’t always go and see Stella, she had her students to look after, and master duties to fulfill and whatever else. And Indigo knew that getting bent out of shape about that was pretty much useless, so she just kept walking.
She passed a tall, slender blonde girl, one of the Typhoons, unless she missed her guess. What was her name…they were all shades of white, right? Ivory! That was it. They’d never really spoken before, and she looked like she had someplace to be, so Indigo just kept walking, lost in her own thoughts. Mostly she was wondering what to have for dinner, since that seemed to be the biggest choice she got to make, most days.
Cobalt had been in a solid state of shock and awe since she’d returned to HQ, on the back of Pearl Typhoon, her skin still marred black in places from burning in the sun. Everything seemed so incredibly different and yet so unchanged, with new members coming and going, and some old ones just…going. She had been this close to being one of those ones, too, and she wouldn’t have regretted it one bit. But here she was, alive…and a master, no less. The raise and increase in rank had been a shock to her. Ironic that she would be one of those who joined the league only a couple of years prior to Scarlet and to be ranked up so quickly. Being immortal paid off, apparently, because it was the same for the new Violet, apparently. Their powers had propelled them into masterhood, along side Silver…who was simply great. But he too had a power, as Cobalt knew. Though, she avoided thinking about the man as much as she could.
Cobalt pulled the last katana off the wall and placed it into its place in the case with the twelve others, then shut the lid and clasped the locks. Many of the things had gathered dust in her time away, but now wasn’t the time for cleaning. She was packing for a change of scenery, so to say. She, of course, hadn’t been able to the old Cobalt’s room, after it was willed to Amber, who refused to vacate her own. So those options were out. She sure as hell wasn’t going to take Karel’s old room, and Mr. Grier’s old room had already been taken by Violet, who also refused to take Karel’s old room. And who could blame them? The room wreaked of him still, and Cobalt was 99% sure that the smell would never wash out. Regardless of all this, her old master, Pearl, had managed to vacate a room worthy of a master for her, and she was almost done packing everything up. Cobalt was about to get started on the last thing, her bed and bedding, when she’d sensed the approach to her door. She heard the light footsteps, the brush of legs against pants and the tinkering of bolts in a quiver, a series of sounds that she had come to associate with Indigo. Or Mauve, but Mauve didn’t have Indigo’s scent, that smell that was so beautiful she could practically taste her lips, even from here.
Stella crossed the space between where she had been in the corner of her room and the door, about sixteen feet, with one jump, practically slamming into the door in the process. She fumbled with the numerous locks and wrenched the door open when they were all free, all but tearing the door off its hinges. But Stella didn’t give a damn; she was staring into the eyes of one Clarissa Dawson. “Hi,” she breathed out, sounding slightly out of breath, as if she had just swam a mile, and as if vampires could ever be out of breath. Smiling brightly, she reached out and took Clarissa’s hand, guiding her into the room and kicking the door shut behind her, not bothering with the locks. As soon as the door was shut, she moved with blinding speed and pulled Clarissa into an embrace and pressed her lips to the other girl’s forehead. “How’re you doing?”
Clarissa felt a soft smile creep onto her face, and she wrapped her arms around Stella’s waist as the other girl kissed her forehead. “I’m doing OK,” she said. “They say I’m still too skinny, but at least I don’t look like I’m on Death’s doorstep anymore. So that’s good. And I can lift my damn bow and actually hit the target. Which is definitely an improvement over a month ago.”
She finally looked around the room, noticing a lot of the things were either gone or in boxes. “Moving to greener pastures?” she asked. “Swanky new master’s pad?” Her sense of humor had started to return, little by little, as she healed and grew stronger. But she was genuinely pleased for Stella and her promotion, even if, in the back of her mind, she’d been hoping to be promoted herself. But the masters did what they thought was best, and she’d swallowed her thoughts on the matter and concentrated on getting back up to scratch.
It had taken a while, a lot of eating, and training like a fiend, but Clarissa was finally getting close to where she’d been before Karel had kidnapped her. She was still slightly underweight, but her shooting was back up to where she wanted it, and that was more important to her, anyway.
And to add to the small pile of blessings she’d recently received, Stella wasn’t dead. If she’d been religious, she probably would’ve fallen to her knees and thanked God. But she wasn’t, so instead she just felt profoundly grateful that Pearl had managed to find her. The weeks she had spent thinking Stella was dead…those didn’t bear remembering.
She finished packing up her crossbow and left the training room, little tendrils of hair sticking to her face, a healthy flush in her cheeks. It had been a while since she looked like this, glowing with any sort of health, or pleased about something she’d done. But there was something else she needed to do, to cement the good feeling. She headed to Stella’s quarters and knocked softly on the door. “It’s me,” she called. “Can I come in?”
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.
Indigo had always known that Violet had a cruel side. He beat lessons into his students, and he was absolutely relentless in drilling in new skills. It made his students excellent warriors, but it could also break them in the process. It had taken Indigo longer than she liked to admit to adjust and start to excel, but eventually, when Violet pushed, she started to push back. She pushed herself harder, trained more intensely, and allowed him to shape her into the perfect weapon. She clawed her way up to soldier, and after even more and ever harder work, she was granted the title of mercenary. The day she’d been given the news was one of the best of her life, and it had taken all of her self-control not to skip down the hallways after she’d been informed. No one was going to take her out of the game without a hell of a fight. And when Violet had called her his best and brightest, it was pretty much the culmination of everything she’d been working toward.
Things had only gotten better when she’d met Snowy-Stella, rather. She was Stella now, and for the first time…Indigo was actually happy. Stella didn’t judge, didn’t talk down to her, and she made her laugh. It was easily the best relationship she’d ever been in, both before the League and during her time there. The fact that Stella was a vampire was becoming less and less of a thing every day, it was just a fact of Stella, like the fact that she had teal eyes and carried a katana. They were feeling their way through this whole ‘relationship’ thing, and that night in Paris had been wonderful. At least…until Violet showed up. That had been like a bad dream, one she couldn’t wake up from, no matter how badly she wanted to. She knew fighting wouldn’t do any good, and it might even get the both of them killed, so she went along quietly.
Which was how she had wound up in this dark, dismal chamber, locked away like a prisoner and all but forgotten about. Just another example of how she really did have an atrocious cycle of luck. Her mother had turned it into an opportunity, she always had been an optimist. “No matter how unlucky your star may seem, Clarissa, don’t let it get you down.” That’s what she’d always said. “It just means you can make the best possible luck for yourself, if you only try. And remember: angels are always watching over you.” Those words had comforted the young Clarissa, but they seemed hollow and mocking now. Angels didn’t watch over damned souls like her. And thinking about this right now was just compounding her emotions, she rarely thought about her mother, it just made her upset. Missing her and crying never did her any favors, they just made her miserable. But there was something she’d always said, some kind of…prayer or blessing that she used to say before Clarissa went off to school every day. She struggled to remember.
God, we pray
That through the intercessions of St. Nicholas
You will guide and protect our children
Keep them safe from all harm
The whole memory left a bad taste in Indigo’s mouth, it made her long, just for a moment, for something she knew she could never have back. She knew she should be working on an escape plan, but instead, she was mired in memories and emotions. She wished Stella was there. She wished she was back at HQ, practicing shooting with Mauve, bickering with Raven, or hitting up Viridian for more explosive arrows. But like the saying went, if wishes were horses, and all that.
Deep underground, where not even sun and sound could penetrate, a lost young woman with a name like the sky rested her head on her knees, silently said a very old prayer, and wondered how, exactly, her life had gone so catastrophically awry.
“No, I don’t really mind waiting,” she said. “I like the winter better anyway, I fry to a crisp in the sun. One of the multitude of reasons I don’t mind at all that we live where we do.” She laughed then. “I’m curious as to whether the parasol is white or black. But something tells me you probably own both.” She sipped some more of her own wine, enjoying the slight buzz she was building. “Although I’m not sure I could rock that look as well as you. I tend to default to jeans.”
The pasta smelled like garlic, butter, cheese, and the delightful scent of seared shrimp. And the plate was huge, which made her appreciative stomach let out a growl. “Ugh, I know,” she said, picking up her fork. “Those so-called top restaurants, where the plate has about..three bites of food on it and the rest of it is sauce that tey drizzled all over the plate. I never saw the point behind that. This is exactly what I needed right now.” She speared one of the shrimp with her fork, popping it into her mouth and savoring the taste. “Mmm, it’s delicious,” she told Stella. “Help yourself, if you’d like.” She twirled some pasta on her fork as she thought about Stella’s question. “Did it hurt?” she asked after a little while. “When you were turned?”“Ah, so we share a mutual hatred for sunlight.” Stella placed her hand on the table, letting it trail along the surface as the fingers of the hand that was holding the wine glass thrummed, each in turn, sounding out with almost musical notes as she did. “I have loads of parasols, actually, not just white and black. Blue. Pink. Red. Green. Purple. Yellow. Orange.” A slow grin evolved on her lips, allowing her pearly whites to peak through ever so slightly. “You should see my closet. Despite myself, it’s a god awful rainbow barrage of dresses, blouses, and many more forms of clothes.” She cocked her head to the side and she raised the glass to her lips, sipping at the mixture of blood and wine, raising her eyebrows at the food before Clarissa. Her hand darted out, two fingers plucking a piece of shrimp off the plate and popping it into her mouth in between sips.
And nearly choked, her hand shooting up to her mouth block anything from falling out. If she had been expecting a question about the process or the state of being undead at all, despite her provoking the subject with a theoretical stick, she had not been expecting one such as that. After properly swallowing the piece of shrimp and the rest of her wine, she took an unnecessary deep breath. “Well…” Stella’s hand slipped into her purse once more, gripping one of the blood filled flask. Her teal eyes met with her opposite, looking almost guarded for a long moment before relaxing. “For me, it was…very painful.” She refilled her wine glass, keeping her eyes locked onto Clarissa’s.
“I was attacked by one of my kind that fancied himself a bite…and it wasn’t the pleasurable kind.” She bit her lower lip, this time allowing Clarissa to see her empty the flask of blood into the wine glass before silently putting it away. “Occasionally, we all fancy a bite. But, when we don’t finish our meals, we leave behind a hot mess.” She lifted her glass and swirled the contents into a a perfect blend. “I am the leftovers of a messy meal.” She lifted her shoulders in a light and casual shrug, trying to seem offhand about the biggest change in her life. “The bite infects. And if the infection is allowed to spread through the body before the infected dies…the change takes place.” She took another deep breath and emptied the contents into her mouth. “I assume that the change can be more…casual, less painful.” She shrugged again, wishing that had been the case with her. She’d heard stories about covens and gangs of her kind, but had never the option to join any..
“Yeah…I tend to fry in the sun if I stay outside too long,” Clarissa said, glancing down at the pale skin on the underside of her arm. “Blame the mixed bag of Eastern European heritage in my family tree.” She grinned when Stella told her about her rainbow clothes. “Color is good,” she said. “I see far too much black at HQ, it can get kind of depressing. I like anything jewel toned, personally. Lots of emerald and navy and maroon in my closet. Plus, maroon doesn’t show blood as easily.” Stella’s food snatching antics made her laugh. “You can have some more, if you want. And we can always get another plate.”
She certainly hadn’t expected a reaction like that, and nearly lifted her hand to whack Stella on the back. Before remembering that she was a vampire, and had probably just not been expecting that particular question. But if Stella was going to answer, the least she could do was not look away. She’d seen a lot of pain and death in her time, hell, she’d caused a lot of it. But it still squeezed her heart a little, the thought of Stella being attacked and left like that. “He sounds like a fucking piece of work,” she finally said. “I’m in no place to judge anyone, really, considering my line of work, but I’d still like to put a bolt through his heart.” She tilted her head, thinking. “Maybe it has something to do with whether or not the, person is willingly bitten,” she mused. “Although I am certainly no expert.”
Clarissa smiled. “I’d like that,” she said. “I know so little about Japanese culture. I made a brief stop in Hiroshima once when I was avoiding…was it the Thai police? I can’t remember. Might have been the North Koreans. But I hid there overnight. Although I didn’t get much of a chance to do any sightseeing. You’d probably know the best places to go and see and whatnot.”
She laughed as she looked at Stella’s reflection in the blade of the knife. “Nice toss, by the way,” she said. “I knew some of that stuff had to be totally made up, but then again, until I met you, I thought all of it was made up.” She felt a little twinge at the thought of Stella staying young and beautiful forever, while she got old and gray, or more likely, got a bullet to the heart, but she ruthlessly squashed it. There was no use in dwelling on what hadn’t even happened yet, and she had always considered herself a practical girl. “So I guess that rules out a trip to the beach,” she said, her face set in a mock pout. “Darn.”
Clarissa laughed too. “OK, I have no idea what any of that means, but it sounds very technical, hence why I leave that sort of thing to the professionals. If I tried to rig my own arrows to explode, I’d probably end up killing myself, or blowing my hand off or something. But like you said, she seems nice enough, for all that I don’t know her very well.”“I know all the best night haunts.” Stella laughed, shrugging her shoulders lightly. She stirred the wine idly in the glass in her hand, her teal eyes zeroing in on the swirling liquid. “But if I dress the right away, we could probably check some things out. Preferably in the winter, if you don’t mind waiting.” She smiled somewhat timidly, because it was both an offer of time together and a request for hers, a request she couldn’t help but hope for a positive affirmation to. “Clouds take a lot of the…heat off of the sunlight, no pun intended. And, luckily, the gothic lolita look isn’t all that uncommon in Japan, so I can totally rock the full cover dress with a parasol and not be labeled as a freak.” She laughed, emptying the glass as she let her eyes slide back to Clarissa’s.
The waitress returned and placed a large plate down in front of the girl opposite the vampire, who took a deep breath through her nose. The smell of the food was masked over by the smell of the sweat and flesh of the woman who set the tray down, and Stella had to close her eyes until she left to hide the fact that her pupils had become elongated slits. When she opened her eyes again, she was staring directly at the food. She smirked and took up the wine bottle, pouring some more into her glass. “The serving is much bigger than I expected. Usually at these places they give you a serving that couldn’t fill the stomach of a chinchilla and make you pay eighty bucks.” She laughed and reached for a small flask in her purse, pouring the contents so quickly into the wine that it would have gone unnoticed by everyone else. She stirred it lightly as she eyed Clarissa. “Did you…have any questions about how…or what it’s like?”
“No, I don’t really mind waiting,” she said. “I like the winter better anyway, I fry to a crisp in the sun. One of the multitude of reasons I don’t mind at all that we live where we do.” She laughed then. “I’m curious as to whether the parasol is white or black. But something tells me you probably own both. She sipped some more of her own wine, enjoying the slight buzz she was building. “Although I’m not sure I could rock that look as well as you. I tend to default to jeans.”
The pasta smelled like garlic, butter, cheese, and the delightful scent of seared shrimp. And the plate was huge, which made her appreciative stomach let out a growl. “Ugh, I know,” she said, picking up her fork. “Those so-called top restaurants, where the plate has about..three bites of food on it and the rest of it is sauce that tey drizzled all over the plate. I never saw the point behind that. This is exactly what I needed right now.” She speared one of the shrimp with her fork, popping it into her mouth and savoring the taste. “Mmm, it’s delicious,” she told Stella. “Help yourself, if you’d like.” She twirled some pasta on her fork as she thought about Stella’s question. “Did it hurt?” she asked after a little while. “When you were turned?”
