𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘴,

mark stands up slowly from his desk chair, holding it by the arms to avoid a jolt in the base below. as he moves toward the door, he listens close, presses his hearing against the attempted quiet that fills the garage just beyond his office.

those same curtains seem to shift, giving way to one more layer, peeling back the truth of his intruder. a heartbeat. a slow, syrupy sound that he's heard before, steady even in its panic. a heartbeat he knows.

❝  sofie? ❞ gruff voice calls out as the door is pried open. his eyes find the tarp first, take in the twitching of the canvas. ❝ what are you – ❞ mark pauses, struck by the sight of what he finds there. her skin. jesus christ, her skin.

ㅤat this distance, he can see how tired, how awfully gaunt she looks, as though she's not fed in months. warily, she gradually lowers the tarp so the rest of her shaking form is visible. her legs have fared no better, the burn marks snaking up past her calves and disappearing beneath her tattered skirt. " i don't know. they're... just p- people, but they like... blood. " vampire blood goes unsaid. " it's l- like a drug to them. they... t- tied me up, and- and— " weakly, she extends her arms, littered with track marks and deep bruises from where they'd drained her, over and over.

" i would care to sit, thank you, " he responded. " finding interesting company in this place has proven to be a real pain in the ass -- forgive the crude language; my hopeless american nature. "

bill drained what remained of the drink and, with a heavy sigh, took his place next to the french girl. shedding his own wolf skin proved to be a greater struggle than he imagined; dark chestnut hair (well streaked with iron these days) cascading to one side as he bared his face. a sudden, distant whistling, then another pop of fireworks illuminated their faces in ruddy, golden light. the little heir had certainly inherited all of her mother's austere, porcelain beauty.

monsieur philippe renard was, to the world, a highly respected, amiable, and wealthy lawyer as well as businessman. no one built an empire resplendent with topiaries and galas solely through acts of kindness, however; bill's very presence here the proof. he had seen what truly lurked behind philippe's mask and the two men became 'business partners' thereafter. the renard name had proven to be a valuable port from which bill could launch his ever-growing enterprise into new european markets.

" i needed some fresh air. think i would've disemboweled myself had i stayed inside a minute longer. that greasy bavarian sausage -- the finance minister, what's-his-name, is now singing on top of playing the piano. "

the man's full name, of course, bill knew perfectly . . as well as address, family names, hobbies, vices, and expiration date.

ㅤ "  h- he— he wh- what? " her voice shakes at a higher pitch now, dark eyes wide and nearly bulging, a prey animal caught in headlights mere milliseconds before impact. fear paints her face, all color draining from her skin, and beneath the clear shock and anxiety — the idea that her favorite possession, bar none, could be ruined — is anger. somewhere within those alarmingly dark depths are hints of matchbook sparks — conjured briefly, somehow both beautiful and shocking to witness, but never quite strong enough to become a proper flame. always deprived of just enough oxygen to grow.

ㅤshe stands abruptly and begins to pace, present company apparently forgotten. one hand rises to her mouth, where her front teeth begin to bite restlessly at her thumb's already short nail. " < s- stupid... stupid f- fat bastard... > " sofie is not prone to visible bouts of anger, far too conscious of her manners and outside perception. but that piano is her lifeline, her sole connection and outlet for working through emotions she might not otherwise know how to convey. the mere thought of some drunken businessman getting his filthy hands, let alone his drink, all over its beautiful keys...

ㅤher chest seizes and twists painfully, and she briefly bends ever so slightly at the waist in response. it isn't like her to get worked up, and when she does, her body does not approve. her first episode had been when she was considerably younger, and her parents, fearing she'd had some kind of respiratory attack, had summoned a doctor to their estate to check on little sofie, whom he'd shortly thereafter said had anxiety problems. she's been learning to keep it in check ever since.

ㅤwhich is why bill now finds her with her eyes closed, one hand pressed to her chest to monitor her heart rate, whispering near - inaudibly to herself as she breathes. " < in... out. i- in... out. > " soon enough, she appears to have calmed down, and slowly, sheepishly, returns to take her seat next to the older gentleman again. her thumb is bleeding from where she'd bit the nail down to nothing.

"hey," she responds, shifting her reading glasses up into her hair as she takes in sofie's appearance. her posture is shrunken, somehow appearing younger. frightened. like she's coming to tell leo there's a monster under her bed. "sof — of course, what's wrong?" scooting toward the edge of the bed, leo's steps are quick. 

she fawns over her, always has — moreso now than before, but she enjoys it. not everyone would or could understand their connection, how being the one to care for sofie is a privilege ... seeing her bare ... vulnerable and broken is an honor.

one leo takes seriously. 

ㅤ" well, i... " she hesitates once more, breath coming in deeper, shakier intervals from nerves. " i meant to... have them off much earlier. they're- they're new, you see, still experimental. and their power supply is... lacking. i should've thought ahead, but we were— " ( having such a good time ) " — t- talking, and i... "

she left, and took the colors with her

titus, she corrects herself as quickly as the mistake is made, rewinds the tape and sets it to play again, again, again. (how many times? how many fucking times?) the repetition feels personal, an unforgiving melody titus can't shake loose from the base of his skull. i won't be able to coach you.

❝ coach me. ❞ he snorts, a young boy positioned at the back of the class. she makes it so easy when she's like this. uncertainty, tried and true, plain and simple. she's two seconds from wringing her hands, twisting her words into two.