old habits die screaming

There was one thing to turn utter nothing, save a life, but it was another thing not to educate. That was strike two of three, for Elizabeth. Did she really want to use her last wish like that, did she really want to give up her life, her power for the sake of this... Good for nothing grain of dirt?

Her eyes settled on him, as she still had not said a word, Guillaume, however, stood still at the door, not knowing what was to come. True, not always was she predictable, not always did he know how things were going to turn out. Mostly, he probably just didn't want to end up cleaning the blood off the walls.

Especially when it was those little bits of flesh which he had to scrape.

Ah, Guillaume, they were all servants once. This too, shall pass.

"So... You do not know who I am, yet you're using his gift?" She asked, finally. No, it would never be his sire's gift, for all gifts came from Dracula. No, he should not hold gratitude to the woman who saved him, but devote his life to his clan.

Celeste moved through the room like the wind, settling herself behind Asher, as she gripped the back of his neck with her hands, her nails digging into his skin as the blood ran down his flesh, like a river of all things evil.

Yet, how tainted with mundane it was.

"This isn't a friendly visit, dust." She'd given him a nickname simply because he still existed in her presence. "This is who decides whether you are worthy of a life that was so carelessly given to you." Her nails only dug in deeper, while her servant, a French man from the 18th century, closed the door.

"Beau boulot, pet." She said to him, not even sparing a glance. She never spoke to him anything other than his mother tongue. It's how she kept him close and obedient to her, as he was grateful for his life, thus he put his life entirely in her hands. Such a good pet.

"You have nothing, you know. Nothing of interest which you could offer me or your master." Dracula, of course. "Your life has no achievements, no triumphs and it's been an embarrassment. Really, you should have died, and yet... Even your death... Pathetic as your life had been."

Celeste breathed in, her nails digging deeper into his flesh. "What are you willing to do for your life, dust? What are you willing to do for all that was bestowed on you?

who the fuck is he?

oh. oh. she was one of those vampire-jesus freaks, wasn’t she? dracula’s witness, as he’d dubbed them. gwen had mentioned something to him about them. he wasn’t really paying much attention though. things were starting to get a bit too charles-mansony for his tastes, so he kind of just… tuned out.

but no, to plainly answer her question, he doesn’t know her. he assumes she is some elvira, queen of the darkness type of girl by the way she speaks – self-aggrandizing and all –, but he fears that if he tells her that, she will probably slit his throat right open. and, as much as the ideation of her hands on his neck is very entertaining to him, he doesn’t feel like choking on his own blood… again.

wait, did she just call him dust? did she just call the guy pet? he was pretty sure the rest of the sentence was something in french – which he hated. a language full of made-up sounds that don't exist and that don't make sense. but that was absolutely besides the point. but she did just call him 'pet', did she not?

what the hell is this thing with nicknames? he kind of hates it. but he also assumes that’s kind of the whole point.

but then, after he’s done being annoyed by the whole nickname thing,  he traces back to what she said about deciding whether he lives or dies.

“listen, lady. i didn’t know there was some sort of test for this.” nor does he want to undergo any tests. “or that I had to work on my resumé before applying for the position.” his voice cracks a bit under the pressure of her nails. “but it’s unfair of you to say i have no accomplishments.” it doesn’t bother him, by any means, though. he knows he hasn’t contributed to anything but his own maintenance over the course of his life. he also doesn’t give a shit. still, he offers, “i dealt drugs for five years and i only got caught once.” like it’s some big accomplishment, more for his own amusement than anything else.

her nails dig deeper into his skin, he can feel cold blood tracing rivers down his neck now. he lets out a moan of pain before he speaks again, “look, I don’t want to do anything. i’m not very talented, as you yourself said. so why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what you want me to do, and we can get it over with?”

Did you hear? There was another bear attack. Must be a hungry bear. Maybe if people left the bears alone they wouldn't need to attack. I could probably take the bear. You'll end up like the cut-up body they found in the river. Gross! I'm eating.

A heavy sigh quietly leaves him, and Laurie, rather uncharacteristically, takes large gulps of his beer until his glass is empty. Glancing up, he looks for a bartender to order another.

"Oh, hey," Laurie greets, unable to hide the surprise on his face when Asher appears behind the bar. "I didn't know you--" Well, why would he? Outside of the sporadic updates from his mom and sister-in-law, which were usually of the negative kind, he didn't know anything about what Asher's life looked like now. Arrested in New York, back in Salem, another black eye. The desire to reach out was always there. Laurie never forgot what Asher was to him once, the kind of friend that helped the other out without a second thought. But people grow apart. He knows that now. He just doesn't know why it makes him feel so sad. "How long have you been working here?"

if things have been awkward since asher’s return to salem, they have gotten even worse after he was beaten up, killed, and brought back to life by the hands of gwen bellerose. how do you even deliver this news to your estranged lifelong best friend? ‘hey, i know we haven’t talked much in a while, but guess what? i was murdered and now i’m an undead demon that needs to drink blood to survive!’?

but now that asher has already seen him, the only thing he can do is go serve him. he would only be making things worse if he point-blank avoided laurie. plus, he doesn’t even really want that… he misses laurie. even if he is sick and tired of all the moralism, the political correctness, and the endless lectures about how he should quit dealing – and doing – drugs. or how he shouldn’t be putting his life in danger (no need to worry about that anymore!) and blah blah blah…

and maybe it’s for the best that they’ve grown apart. just a few days later, a tall, beautiful, blonde stranger would be threatening to slit his throat right open. so maybe at least laurie would be safe from this shitstorm that perpetually follows him around now.

“just started last month.” he quickly says, before laurie is even finished asking. “another beer?” he wants to buy time. to disguise the fact that he doesn’t know what to say to him. what does he even have in common with him anymore? what do they talk about? it’s a shitty realization, yes. but what can you do?

and, as he sets a refilled pint before him, he goes for the worst possible alternative: talking about current events. there is nothing that says ‘i have NO IDEA what to say to you’ more! “have you heard anything about this chopped-up person thing?” not to mention asher himself had been responsible for the murder, so it would be nice to know if there was anything he should be worrying about…

If she wanted to do something well, she had to do it herself. With the mess that Elizabeth got them into, there was hardly anyone else to trust to sort this out.

Pro bono cases were not something she was happy doing, nor was it her or Dracula's brand. Once he woke up, if he saw this, their heads would roll. Not that she was decided fully that she was going to give this one a chance at all.

Messes had to be cleaned up, and Mister Davenport was the biggest one this week.

Celeste didn't bother knocking, actually, she didn't even bother touching the door at all. Guillaume did all the work for her. He was a good boy, that one. Always did what he was told, and sometimes exceeding himself with thinking ahead. A good pup.

"Mister Davenport... Or is it Asher? Certainly you may consider yourself as ash... Speckles of dust that disappear into the air." As she walked into the room, her finger traced a cupboard, collecting the dust that had been there. Her eyes saw every speckle of dust, even as she blew it off into the air. "See, as good as nothing."

He would be, soon enough.

"Are you willing to rise like a phoenix?" She asked, taking another step closer to him.

"Well, it's not as if you have a choice."

sure, the calling-him-mr.-davenport thing was hot, the comparison with ash, the insult… all things he very much enjoyed. not to mention the aura she exuded. of someone who could sever his head at literally any second. pretty hot, if you asked him. that is if he didn’t fear she might actually sever his head at any second…

there was also the issue of the guy she had brought which, frankly, asher wouldn’t mind, even if he hadn’t tried anything with any guys before – besides that thing one day with the boys in the band, but that is a story for another time. but, even if he was willing to try it out, he knew that her intentions were very distant from his weird midnight fantasies.

and then there was this whole conversation about rising like a phoenix and he started getting confused, because didn’t vampires die if they were lit on fire? Well, maybe she was just being poetic…

“uhh… okay.” he said, finally, eyes darting to the silent guy who had come in with her, expecting some reaction, but his dead stare revealed absolutely nothing. “i’m asher,” he quipped, repeating something she had already said, sarcasm as sharp as their eight (twelve?) joint fangs. “what’s your name?”