milliways_bar | (no subject)

His eyes widen at the room number. "Mon dieu, but the bar is cruel."

Then his eyes narrow again. "It had best not be harmed."

"Though I suppose that would explain the shirt. I just assumed it belonged to-" He trails off and writes down 'choke' as well, for good measure.

While his eyes widen, hers narrow. "And why is that?"

A bit of a shrug and blush. "It has a small...slit in it? But it's okay, the thing was ugly, it had lace on it."

No, she has not noticed what he normally wears. Or she's trying to make him mad. The glint in her eyes might tell which.

An eyebrow is raised. "Belong to whom? One of your....acquaintances?"

He hisses in response.

"Pieu?" It may be a translation request, or possibly a threat.

"And yes, an acquaintance, but I must say, they tend to have more taste."

The sparkle in her eye intensifies, but her voice turns a bit colder. "Stake. Are you trying to create a murderer's bible or something? If you are, I hear sunlight is efficient."

If he wants to threaten her, he'd better be ready for a threat in return.

"And I tend to have more knives to hide. And I really don't think whatever they wear in your bedroom is considered taste where I'm from."

He snorts at the last comment, still not looking up. "Too true, mademoiselle. As much weight as I place on fashion, I still prefer them in nothing at all."

"And sunlight is only effective on vampires. It is not a vampire I am referencing."

Now he's got her curious. "Oh, and who are you referencing?"

She leans over, just a bit though.

He's writing in some combination of Latin, English, and French so good luck making any of it out, but it makes a strange sort of sense to him.

"I am not certain what he is." He admits. "Other than large and ugly. And claiming to be immortal." He shrugs at this though, because he knows better. Or he thinks he does.

He glances up again though, seemingly randomly, as a thought occurs to him. "Not a murderer's bible, no. Is that what you think of me?" He asks curiously. She'd be right, of course.

"..."

"So you're referencing yourself?" What? He fits all of those!

She raises an eyebrow at him, tilting her head a bit. "Do I even need to answer that? You've told me more than once that you think it'd be easy to kill me."

She sits back down.

"And to kill me, you'd need a lot of experience."

Montparnasse looks at her. In fact, he gives her a look. It says 'Are you blind, or just fucking stupid?'

Then he glances down at himself. Admittedly, he is just under six foot, but he is far from big. "Oh yes, large." He mutters. To be honest, he's still rather scrawny. Young after all.

He feels no need to comment on being called ugly. He's cocky enough to recognize that lie. Or assume that it is such. "How old are you?" He asks instead, absently.

She gives him a look right back. It says, 'duh?'

"Yes, large. I'm 5'4, everyone is large to me."

Her eyes narrow. "18 in...I guess a few days. I would ask your age, but I can't say I care."

He snorts, then nods knowingly. "18. Right then."

He smiles. "I don't think experience is an issue then."

She ignores the nod and first comment, running her hand through her hair instead.

"It should be. Something like over 11 years of experience."

It's said with a bit of regret. Her mother was a fricken slave driver.

He's listening for all it may appear that he is not. He's taken to sketching, however, rather than writing.

"When was your first kill?" He asks softly.

He's not ready to share his own life story or experience just yet, but who knows, maybe...

She thinks back, even though she doesn't need to. She remembers it easily.

"I was 13. It was an accident. We were on a training mission, learning how to tell auras apart in the middle of a city. There was a trainer with us, but she was a bit behind us. They wanted us to learn by ourselves."

A deep breath.

"There were three human girls, living on the streets. They stopped us to ask for money, and we were just going to keep walking. Except, we stayed a moment too long."

Something like guilt floods her face.

"I don't know how it happened, but a vampire found us. He was weak, but so were we. He just appeared, grabbed one of the girls, and bit her."

She shrugs softly.

"Our trainer couldn't get there in time, and all I could think about was how angry Mother would be if I let the girl die. He was distracted, feeding, and so I just stepped forward and stabbed him."

He listens quietly, still sketching, though it's hard to make out just what yet.

"I see." He replies, finally. Still looking down, -to hide the frown perhaps.

He can sympathize with both sides easily, but that was not his reason for asking. "You were young then, but at least you believed it to be a good cause."

She laughs bitterly, and there is no warmth there.

"A good cause? Maybe it was. But a worthless cause. The girl was still dead, was she not? For all I know, the vampire did not intend to kill her, even though he most likely did."

"Perhaps, had I waited, the girl could have been saved. The other two girls...I cannot say for sure what happened, but they disappeared a week later."

And now she gets to the problem that is always there, always lurking.

"And now I am that which commits acts such as these. I can never return to my home, and all it takes is one slip of my control and I am lost."

Such heavy burdens on such bowed shoulders.

"Mademoiselle," He replies, all but smirking. "if you expect sympathy you are telling your story to the wrong man. I cannot provide it." The smile becomes slightly rueful as he scratches a few more lines on the sheet of paper. The outline of an elephant beginning to form.

"We all face trials such as these. At least your intentions were good. Someone was ready to act in her defense. That has to count for something." A soft amused snort follows. "You would have had a harder time forgiving yourself, I think, had you done nothing and watched him kill her, all the same."

"And now you are one who commits such acts," He repeats scornfully. "A vampire, part demon, a murderer. Like myself. Some of our kind are even soulless, but we do not all deserve your contempt. Some of us have suffered at least as much as you and have survived in the only way we know how."

"I was not looking for sympathy!" She spits, black eyes flashing.

"And believe me, I have had my share of trials. You asked about my first kill, I told you. Excuse me for not being the rock of Vida control that is expected of me."

Her glare intensifies. "You do not need to tell me this. I know it as well as you do. But I cannot stop what my heart feels. Just because it doesn't beat does not mean it doesn't feel."

And she laughs again, the heartless laugh of a killer.

"If you had ever actually listened to a thing I said, you would not think I hold all of your kind in contempt. I have seen firsthand what a vampire can do when control is lost. Even the most well-meaning of them can cause enough damage to ruin whole bloodlines. Not all vampires are evil, but a vampire who looses control is no longer a thinking entity. And that does not spawn contempt. It spawns fear that one day, that might be me."

/As she looks down upon a shattered youth
/A shattered mirror shows a shattered truth

"Then feel all you like." He replies indifferently. "I prefer not to."

But the smirk falters a bit, because it is not only that he does not wish to, but that also cannot. He feels much less already, and less humanity.

"It might just as easily be anyone." He adds, somewhat resigned. "Even a human may be evil, may kill needlessly, and that almost certainly will be me, someday. It is only a matter of time."

"That is obvious." She catches the falter, but presses on. He doesn't deserve anything from her.

"Yes, it certainly will be you. And it would have been you before the blood froze your heart and lungs. It is what you are, Montparnasse. A sick bastard. You find things and people that you care for, and then you bring about their death."

"It all seeps off of you. You're incorrigible. You pretend to treasure your friends but would kill them in a rage. You will end up alone. It is people and things like you that I hold in contempt."

Most of this is guesswork, based off what she can feel from him. But some, she simply knows.

He looks up, at the second statement, and watches her intently. He finds that he is little concerned with what she knows or reads, beyond a few specific details.

So he watches and listens, but with perfect calm. A very faint curling of his lips, at the corners, must certainly follow. "You tell me things that I have known for years, girl." He points out coldly. "Nothing that I do not already realize, and while you can say this, can repeat what you think you see and know of me, you would not understand it." Even he does not completely, to be entirely truthful.

"...And it very rarely requires rage."

She shakes her head. "I do not pretend to understand. I do not wish to understand. But do not pretend to understand what I am, or what I do. My experiences shape me, in the same way that they shape you. You know barely anything of me or my past."

She's quiet for a moment, and when she speaks, her words are soft. "What do you see, when you look at the world?"

And he cannot really say that he cares to know, but he does not leave, nor chase her away either.

At the question, his eyes narrow suspiciously. "How do you mean?" He demands coldly. "Why do you ask me that?"

But the answer is simple. Humanity and the results of their actions. All of their flaws. It is the same thing he has always seen. That much has barely changed. So he offers his reply. despite suspicion.

"I see pain, ignorance, and cruelty, mademoiselle." A rueful grin. "And if those are the only options that man might aspire to, it is clear which I chose."

"I ask because, though I do not wish to understand, I feel that I must on some level. I do not think you are the type who hogs pity, but I also don't believe you are the type who could live alone, without contact."

She does not know if he will reply, but she holds up her hand to stop any argument he might put forth.

"Life spat you out. Vampirism doesn't seem to be treating you any better. But as often as I see you alone, I see you with someone. Talking, threatening, all manner of actions. And as hard as I try to not see you as a little boy lost, I cannot help it. I will not tell you that there are other things out there. Hopefully you know this, deep down."

She closes her eyes. "I am tired, and I am thirsty. If we ever speak again, which I believe is inevitable, maybe we can speak normally. Without yelling or philosophy."

As she walks away, her posture is stiff and guarded. She never knew how things would end up when she spoke to Montparnasse, and she hated the unknown.

He frowns, because he knows and does not wish, just yet, to do anything about it. He doesn't want anyone trying to remind him either.

"We still need to see to your closet." He mutters as she walks off.

Another time then.