#certifiedhorror

@certifiedhorror

emotions play across her aura in chaotic colors, building in a way she's never bore witness to and yet has heard others of the eldritch nature could perceive. could osman sense it within her? the way she was moments from shock and yet still sttubornly determined to retain some form of control? was this the reason for his insistance? and yet, if it was, why did he care? surely he could have sent her off back home to a godfather who'd seek answers. ari was merely a human. a human who had been involved with mehmed before his death but a human all the same. what did this man care about her to continuiously find his way into her life? the gods knew his family-- or rather at least most of them-- held little care for the humanity he associated with. and yet that was another conundrum. for so long ariadne had believed osman's actions were a simple means to an end and that mehmed had been the brother who held a true desire to embrace the world for what it could offer. no desire for the plans of the great families.

yet, was mehmed truly embracing humanity as much as he had been running from his family?

there was so little she understood about his life before her. but osman.. he'd been present at unexpected times and he was here now, no doubt having allowed his great self to complete a request from a human, her uncle nik. frustration creases ari's brow, the shades of grey which made up osman causing confliction within her. she wants to blame him fully, hate him for what had transpired months ago even if some part of her understands they would have come for his family eventually either way. ariadne had lived. perhaps in another universe she'd have turned, or died. but she stood there now, light rainfalls hitting her face as she peered into osman's features, her human as ever. and it was osman who had been there, ensured she was safe before unleashing his fury upon those whom had attacked her and his brother. it was osman who was there now, saving her again as if she was a child and not a grown woman.

you acted like a child, ari reminds herself. stupidity not usually a trait which embodied her. what plan did she have as a failsafe inside that blood den? what would she have done if osman had not appeared? had she truly allowed her desire to investigate a theory, strong or not, blind her to the dangers she had placed herself in? or had she merely become so asscustomed to the safety she'd been afforded at the side of mehmed that she'd become emboldened in such an environment?

mehmed was gone.

the weight of that loss an ache she always felt. but osman... he'd saved her life. she could have died. she would have died. her aura darkens as full realization begins to seep into her.

ariande's eyes meet his upon his second try. he's pleading with her, softer than usual. he's trying in a way she has no right to expect of him . in a way she thinks he doesn't bother with to most. her lip trembles slightly, from the cold, from the shock.. and she hates it. hates this uncontrolled expression he's forcing her to allow him to be witness to. she's stronger than this. and yet, she'd almost died before. more than once. she'd almost died now. memories blend in and out within her mind. she takes a breath when he tells her he will take her anywhere. confusion creases her features when he states he won't leave her alone. and yet, for perhaps the first time she's finally quiet. she stops aruging, nods and gets into the car as if she's been compelled. she knows he hasn't compelled her, no, her own emotions have.

it's a bright sort of day, the occasional birdsong piercing the air as the small creatures splash in the fountain behind the main house, tiny sprouts of varied plants rising from the grass under the feeder next to it. the air is warm as golden fractals cascade, ariadne even months following that horrific night and an ocean removed was still surprised by the detail of the world around her. a world she'd always been a part of and yet perhaps never fully known. at least not with the profound intimacy of her senses enhanced. she can see-- no, feel.. experience in an kind of all encompassing fashion-- the traces of summer which linger even as the season begins to turn. the way light makes leaves dance or steam rises, or in the harmony of her daughter's laugh as uncle nik sends those who seek him away until his story to the child is complete. she can feel everything, strongly, anew, alive. what beautiful irony did thus form? that she should experience life so truly within her post mortem?

three months since the night blood wrinkled pages and stained features. it had felt a lifetime of chaos and a woman who's life had held steady course suddenly became alice down the rabbit hole. a world turned upside-down where everything which should have been and everything which wasn't had become contrary. london had become america. the centre had become the bprd (for despite the short length of time, given her prior consultations such directional shift had required an answer and had led upon an altered path-- or well, perhaps an adjacent one for she still conducted some of what she had before). and osman.. she should hate him, sometimes she thinks she does, in those moments where she feels too much and her senses become alight with sparks of memories of mehmed's worries. in those moments she wants to give into the rage which boils within and she only feels pain relived, death.. and wrath. the wrath she had unleashed and what it had taken from her. sorrow of lost love. hunger still so strong in these fledgling months.

ariadne almost has hated him, truly at times. moved without thought some time ago now, pushed him at the wall as her features had shifted before she manages to breathe, to think, to regain herself when she understands he lets her. that he could end her with little effort or halt her advance with a a single hand. he could ignore her insignificance in the scheme of centuries lived or have left her in that blooded tomb of a once-home. or let her die to prevent the risk of exposure that could be compounded.

what would uncle nik have held the power to do in such a case?

powerful as he was among humans, the shadow world held it's own rules and power structure-- she was beginning to discover that now-- and while maintaining the ease of the blood business created the allusion of equality in some respects, the vampires held the true power in such dynamics and could take away nik's if they truly saw fit. if she had been allowed to die or even killed by a member of a great family, there would have been no justice. just a cold body upon a wooden floor.

yet he hadn't. he'd saved her, she thinks. she's here now isn't she, even if she is a vampire. how can she hate him for that?

he'd done something which ariadne thinks maybe she still doesn't understand the full ramifications of, as if she'd glimpsed something when he'd drained her and brought her back in a true rebirth with his blood-- ancient blood-- rather than the false one she had awoken to previously with only traces of his brothers blood left in her. she thinks, perhaps, it's those moments where they stare at each other, tension palpable as she works to regain herself and he grants her patience and what looks like care, where a part of her understands the unvoiced truths which encase them and link them together.

the mutual weight of their loss.

they had both loved mehmed in different ways, but they had loved him all the same. osman as a brother and she as a lover. such a link bound them in a way, that maybe, just maybe spoke to why he still remained here at the estate, intertwined with humans and spending time with her daughter (and yet she had let him do the latter hadn't see? did that not show some madding form of trust of which even she could not fully comprehend?), walking her through these scattered moments of heightened awareness. he could have left her... returned to turkiye or found someone else to aid her. yet he hadn't.. abandoned her even when she raged against him. neither had made things easy, and thus would likely remain the status quo at times, but somehow in the middle of it all, darkness had met darkness and somehow created a spark of light which allowed her to continue to live even in death. allowed her to continue forward and believe she could, moving toward a light in the darkness. there was tension. awkwardness. confusion. need. hunger. pain and understanding all wrapped into their arguments and shared moments. 'when are you going back?' did she actually want him to? 'what happened was your fault.' that had come when she had been consumed in her grief and her hunger and everything in-between, and yet she knew, knew it was only partly true. he had killed a member of an order. an order that sought to kill vampires and others. dramatic flare in such action or not, the results would have been the same eventually. and it had been those people who had come into the home which had murdered. the people she had brought to justice in brutal fashion. 'leave me alone.' even in her moments of wrath did she truly seek to be alone, away from the only other person whom understood the multitude of her pain? 'i don't need a babysitter.' well, perhaps she didn't. she had mastered relative control quicker than most. just as she had in her schooling. 'just think of all the peace i'll have to myself once you leave.' leave... like so many others. perhaps that's why there's always a bitter edge to these comments that she usually wouldn't make if her emotions weren't so chaotic now, because she believes in the inevitably of that outcome.. yet not all their moments had been in conflict or indifference...

distant voices through a thick door, she enters the hallway, hesitates. emotions swirl, circling her aura in waves of conflicted color. 'they think i have enough control to go on missions.' she'd said to him days ago. did thus mean she hadn't needed him any longer, even if she'd be hard-pressed to admit she needed his help at all? perhaps in the moment, such had been exactly that. an air of 'thank you for the help but i have my own life to live now, one your brother had been part of but not you' kind of indifference that she refrains from speaking but radiates in the tension of the air. they'd barely seen each other in days and now uncle nik and him appeared to be speaking of some form of matter. business or....

the door opens and she steps back, acts as if she had intended to knock. to see uncle nik and not the vampire before her. (yet uncle nik is now forgotten behind the closed door.) dark hues meet his, questions.. confusion... confliction.. in her eyes. and suddenly she wonders, can he sense them in her? can he see her truths, because he brought her back to life? how had that never occurred to her until now?

"are you going back then? to turkiye, or..." she assumes with an attempt at indifference (even in light of her lingering questions), yet with surprising disappointment in her being in that same way she does every time her father visits briefly, that same look in her gaze as she'd held once before, years ago when ariadne and osman barely had spoken two words to each other and had both awaited in this very spot. him for a meeting with uncle nik and ariadne for her father who had finished and promptly let her know he couldn't stay. how strange it was that same conflict of emotions played across her now, for osman of all people; not that she realized it displayed so plainly during either occurrence-- maybe it didn't, except to someone who was able to truly read her. "thank you, for what you've done these months. i know i've.. well, i know this hasn't been easy for either of us..."

'but soft, what light through yonder window breaks? it is the east, and juliet is the sun.'

words upon a bloodied page; centuries old parchment torn around the edges by shattered glass against a crimson soaked rug. screams in the distance, a fox calling into the veil between night and day. crystalline shards scatter the entranceway of the old english home, the chosen dwelling of a vampire who'd chosen to bask in the light of humanity. the home is grand by average standards and yet nothing of what would be expected of it's owners' status. it's warm, colored ascents and trinkets of his homeland sprinkled throughout it's corners. a woman's coat knocked off a rack lays upon the ground, muddied footprints stomped into it. the scent of fresh death is thick, swirling in the too silent air. splintered wood lays further inside, a bannister broken. the wall is busted inward as if someone had been thrown into it with unnatural force. crimson rivers leak, seeping, dripping across shelves and artifacts and a singular child's toy at the intersection of the foyer.

the wind from the open door catches, swirls through the ghostly halls. it moves passed the body of a woman upon the ground, her hand laid over the child's toy and her neck ripped out with a feral sort of vengeance. her scent mixes with another, a few meters further. a man bloodied, battered, dead. another upon the turn. and one more, another man, each destroyed as if their right to exist, even in death, had been revoked by one or all of the gods. the breeze proceeds upon it's odyssey, swirling and shifting, scents mingling as it travels toward the shattered window in the furthest room-- it's escape of the this horrorscape. the sound of pages pierce the early hours, a ghost in a tomb which once was a home. pages move, blood drops winkling the pages of a book among dozens scattered across the room.

'a glooming peace this morning with it brings; the sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: for never was a story of more woe than this of juliet and her romeo.'

mehmed's body lays upon the ground, half covering books and broken glass, his ancient body appearing such for the first time as it desiccated, and yet in the stillness he almost appeared asleep if naught for the blood. there was so much blood. dry and wet, covering her in too many places, tears upon her clothes from a struggle and crimson smeared across her face where ariadne had allowed her newly formed fangs to tear into flesh. there was a dull pain in her jaw she was beginning to feel, the dark frenzy of violence and shock melding into the brief flickers of awareness in the red streaks beginning to from across an increasingly turbulent sky, shrouding the brightness of sun in shadows.

a toddler cries out from a closet with a stark suddenness, their mother having little memory of the voices she had risen to, moving toward the child to take her, only the blind rage she had felt. the pain. the turmoil. the primal need of a mother, and of a lover as mehmed's lifeless eyes looked upon her. she doesn't remember the struggle, or the footfalls, or the crashes. she doesn't remember tearing into the flesh of the first threat as the others scattered. she doesn't remember grabbing alara and putting her into the closet, ariadne's own blood and the man's smearing across the child's onesie. she doesn't remember hunting the others down through the house. she doesn't remember returning. she doesn't remember holding mehmed or her refusal to open the closet door out of fear. fear of what she was. fear of the memory of her own mother who had been so close to harming her own daughter-- the madness that had over taken her. (but ariadne was stronger than her mother, she always had been. and such had been the saving grace, if there could be one of the night.)

she doesn't remember, until the approaching footfalls break the hold her shock has over her and she remembers everything all at once. blood. there was so much blood. she could feel it, smell it, crave it, fear it. her face, she can feel the pain in her gums. she can feel the veins in her face. she can sense everything, too much. she needs to go to her daughter. can she? his body's at her knees.. mehmed... mehmed... the crunch of glass. osman. osman killed a member of their order. they'd said that. mehmed had talked about it. worried it'd shift the tides-- bring too much exposure. it wouldn't matter if how many resources they had as one of the great families... she remembers now. she remembers.

"you did this!" she moves in a blur, both hitting the wall and knocking what little remained to the ground. alara cries again because of the sound and ariadne's grip tightens but she doesn't attack as if she's warring with herself and yet such a battle proves she already maintains more control than what should be expected. even if it's precarious. her grip loosens, turns into shoving, into hitting his chest until she's falling under the weight of everything that's too much. she can see the bodies, the killers, the murderers in the corridor.

would they have come one day, either way?

"he's gone. he's dead. they murdered him. and... i killed them."

street lights reflect in brilliant fractals of wet pavement and cars, loud buildings and busy sidewalks filled with everyday people attending the vibrant neon club on the corner fill the air. the moon shines brightly with little cloud cover, the scent of former rain still hanging in the area. she's taken a ride, this time, utilizing a service trusted by uncle nik of which she usually doesn't partake. she dislikes such things, preferring the freedom of her own movements and the mundanity of moderate living (even if she often attends family dinner at the estate). she also seeks to prevent any appearances which could be seen in a false light. this night, however, she's unsure of the variables at play and having a driver with a life incentive of getting her home safely and a capability to take some sort of action should it be needed would be an advantage if things got hairy.

of course, doctor kalkan could have called the detective on the case, or perhaps agent myers before this evening's undertaking. she hadn't, but she should have.

further did she not have some form of justification toward this chosen course? she suspected a paranormal element, but did she know such as fact? no. calling the bprd about something of which may not concern them would be unproductive. equally, calling a detective about a hunch based on the evidence gathered at the latest victim's dwelling of which could get the detective killed if it led where she believed it could was less than ideal. it was no matter that she wasn't meant to be in the field at the frequency she often was-- when her favorite detectives who often gave her the benefit of the doubt allowed her to be. she would investigate her underlying theory and then take the proper course of action. detective or bprd. it was simple. logical. and when uncle nik held some collective control over supplying most of the blood dens on this side of the hudson, she felt fairly confident she'd be able to navigate her mission without too much issue.

ariadne walks across the street, passed the bustling club and to a non-descript building half a block down, speaking with a man who opens the door at her approach before he lets her inside. first step completed. if only the next fourty-five minutes of her attempts to uncover if the victim who'd been tore apart (overkill for a vampire so much so that she'd almost wondered if something else had committed the crime, though perhaps not overkill for a ripper) had truly been there prior to her demise had gone to plan. the inside of the building descended into a club-like atmosphere though the music was different and the lights were disorienting. perhaps it was a method of trickery, to convince some who found their way there without foreknowledge into believing it was a normal club or maybe the local vampire population simply was enjoying the vibes. such had been irrelevant to her reasons for being there.

the trouble had begun in the shadows, as it so often did. some left her alone, perhaps knowing who she was, others of whom she got the feeling weren't from around there took more convincing to back off and held no care or knowledge of who she was or why they should care. no one wanted to answer questions even if she framed them in a backstory of her own creation. then again, maybe she'd been playing with fire during this endeavor. knowing about something, even knowing some vampires, was not the same as entering this side of their world especially when senses were heightened into a frenzy. afterall, there had been a few times where even mehmed had struggled to stop when he had been overwhelmed by her blood-- he always had, but she sensed the struggle. ariadne's in too deep before she realizes her cosmic comedy of errors, heart rate quickening as the vampire she'd been talking to gets too close, blocking her path toward the front and escape.

why was this place like a maze? what the fuck was with vampires and labyrinths?

"i'm leaving. you're going to want to get out of my way." her voice emits with more confidence than she feels, anxiety and panic rising within her. her breath starts to catch, memories of that night in london she'd thought she was helping a girl and walked herself into a trap in her own home mix with those hours with her crazed vampiric mother after she'd been pulled out of school at the back of her mind. another part of her mind wonders if the projection of her voice will get the attention of someone, anyone that knows uncle nik or at least of him. maybe the gods would be kind to her, maybe leander was there. (he wasn't and they weren't.)

what rules were at play when she'd been the one to walk into their dinner party?

maybe the same rules and loyalties that governed the normal elements of uncle nik's control held no real power here. no one pays attention to what's unfolding as the vampire gets closer still and she reacts without thinking, attempting to shove the vampire away which only seems to amuse him. there's no hiding her panic now. then, suddenly, she feels a presence at her side that hadn't been there a moment prior, a shaky breath let out.

the vampire next to her needs no introduction to a younger vampire, his power projected and radiating off him though ariadne can only base this off of the way the vampire that had likely wanted her for dinner backs off and seems to meld back into the shadows. her hand comes up to run through her hair, another breath released before she can face this new variable. maybe she was going to be dinner for this newcomer, it'd certainly make it easier to hate him. because she knows, even before his hand finds her arm and begins leading her out who it is as if somehow there's something that calls to her each time he's there in that same way she seems able to sense some creatures. she's not sure how, but she does.

traitor, she thinks as if the driver could hear her mental musings (it didn't matter that he'd likely saved her life or that she hadn't known this new vampire was even in town not that she'd have wanted to see him if she had).

"let me go, osman." she states in their native tongue once fresh and moist air finds her lungs and he releases her near a car she doesn't recognize. where the fuck was that traitor driver? (and how much did her godfather know about where she'd been already if now osman was there? had he had business with uncle nik or had he happened upon things?

"what are you even doing here? thank you, thank you for helping the poor human." she exclaims dramatically, an edge to her tone that's distracting from, or trying to, the way there's an underlying hysteria building within her whole being because of the shock of the what she knows nearly happened and what she's experienced before. somehow she doubted a struggling human was going to leave alive like the regular donors did. it was going to hit her soon, she just wanted to hold out long enough to be far away from mehmed's brother.

it's an odd sort of evening, the quiet sound of leaves rustling outside her window in-between crashes of distant thunder; the window is open, fractionally-- just enough-- for the breeze to flow through yet not allow rain inside. clouds turn the darkening skies a deep shade of gray, sunset soon to follow. the day had been contemplative, a needed break after the stress of everything life had thrown upon her over the course of the last few weeks. she had had a plan in mind for herself and her life when she'd decided to return to new jersey. she would be close to uncle nik (close enough to visit the estate and ride sherlock, the horse he'd gifted her upon her return) yet far enough to maintain an air of independence from the life he'd chosen to live and her own. she wasn't the type to let his choice of business and her own line of work obstruct her loyalty or cause her to abandon her family. they were separated entities on the professional front and anyone who truly knew her, understood that. still, she was aware that declining the initial offer to live at the estate when she returned was a needed separation for professional appearances. plus, frankly, she needed her own space. her own dwelling to make her home in the wake of some much loss. loss of her best friend, though not in a morbid sort of way-- he'd left her not died, and loss of mehmed. her move was supposed to be a rebirth of sorts, a new beginning inside of the shell of something familiar to build off of.

yet, that's not exactly how things had played out had it? no.

devin had been there, that first day at the medical examiners office and a great many truths had come to light in the weeks after which had made ariadne question her understanding of many things including them. "you know. it's really strange. mehmed never saw this house. the whole time we knew each other was in london. six months that felt like a lifetime... and yet, all these months later, somehow... a part of me still expects him to walk through that door. i'm not sure that ever will go away on days like this."

her voice isn't melancholy, just... perhaps, tinged with a kind of resigned acceptance of a simple fact. she has grieved and sought to continue forward. she understands life will continue and maybe one day she will love again. but one love does not erase another. just as reuniting with devin did not mean she still held onto the hopes she once had for them. perhaps their time had passed and only friendship would now remain.

life was complicated like that.

it was only going to grow more complicated now that a winchester was standing in her living room. a different sort of complicated; a kind of complicated that had become increasingly present in her life lately-- given her work with the bprd on occasion-- even if the supernatural had tinged it since her mother. "if you need to get in touch with my baba you'll have to get in line. haven't heard from him in over a month. uncle nik is a lot easier though. he's just a short drive away and i think he always had a soft spot for you when your father brought you by."