#tfelena

It was nearly night by the time that Claude slipped into the hospital and through the desolate halls, finding his way towards the room in which she was allegedly being kept. His footsteps cautious and quiet, he slipped unnoticed into the room, shutting the door behind him with the faintest creak. As the door clicked closed, he stared at his hand on the handle for a long moment, not wanting to look. What am I doing here? No answer came to him, and after a long moment, he forced himself to turn around. There she was, sleeping like death on the bed, pale blues and whites making her look angelic and ill all at once, the colors only accentuated by the light from the streetlamp that was filtering in through the window. Forcing himself to take slow, quiet steps, he walked carefully towards the end of the bed, his heels only making the slightest of sounds. His soles made an eerie shuffling sound as he turned on his heel when he came to a stop at the end of her bed, and then all fell silent once more, save for the beeping of the heart monitor.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.

- Revelation 6:8

Characters Present: Elena Nayar Event: Arts Alive, after the shooting at the Mayor’s speech Warnings: descriptions of blood, violence, death, thoughts of murder, and the general ickyness that occurs in Claude’s interactions with Elena.

The room was dimly lit, dismal, and it struck Claude as a vision of Hell. Gunsmoke still lingered faintly in the air, adding to the atmosphere. It was a massacre, plain and simple. Except, it wasn’t that simple, not really. Lying dead near the edge of the room was the Commissioner, bleeding from a bullet wound to his forehead, the red liquid oozing slowly now. Claude looked down at the corpse dispassionately, as if he were not really there. This changes everything. Turning away, he looked around at the scene that surrounded him, paramedics helping alarmed and panicked citizens, putting the living on stretchers, leaving the dead behind. Having shown his badge at the door, he was largely ignored in lieu of helping the wounded, and he took the opportunity to slowly wander the room, taking care to not step in any puddles of blood. It was carnage, what was once a burlesque club littered with corpses. Looking at the periphery, he saw Ursula standing, speaking with one of his officers. When she met his gaze, he saw rage burning there, and he simply nodded to her and continued on his way.

Walking along the back of the aisles, he looked at the wreck that had been left behind. What a mess. The Commissioner was dead, as well as at least another dozen citizens, if his count was right. He knew they would be at it for days, cleaning and repairing the damage and looking for the perpetrators. And where does that leave me? He did not know what the future would bring, but he knew that he must take action.

He was about to turn and walk away when a particular body caught his eye, and his heart nearly stopped. Moving swiftly around chairs and bodies with as much care as he could manage in his state, he headed towards the female figure that lay in a puddle of blood, her small frame nearly hidden by the chairs. Taking no care to keep his suit clean, he crouched down, turning over the body. He felt a bubbling in his gut once more as his suspicions were confirmed, and he looked down at the face that had haunted him for years. Elena. His hand immediately going to her neck, he began feeling for a pulse. It was there, although it was faint. Slapping her hard across the face in an attempt to rouse her, she didn’t even stir. He hit her again, which caused her eyes to flutter open for a brief moment, looking at nothing in particular before they closed once more. He could feel the panic rising in him as he shook her a little, which still did nothing. She had lost a lot of blood, judging from the small puddle that she was lying in - although it most certainly had mixed with the blood from other nearby bodies.

He was about to call for the paramedics, but something stopped him. She could die. He paused, staring down at her face, pallid and still. She is going to die if I do nothing. Yet still, nothing is exactly what he did. He looked down at her neck, flesh exposed to him. She was so beautiful, even standing upon the brink of the abyss, like a wrathful angel struck down in a divine war. Those lips that he had dreamed of so often were pale and ghostly, and he wondered if they would be cold if he leaned down to kiss them. I could let her die. The thought was a strange one, but yet, he held her life in his hands. Was that not what he had always wanted, since the very first time he had laid eyes on her? He stared down at her, his hand running down her arm, streaking the blood on it. Inhaling sharply, he looked at the blood on his hands before he looked back at her face. I could kill her. It horrified him that he was actually considering it - just as much as he was considering leaning down to take one last kiss - but the thought would not leave him as his hand slid back up her arm, over her collar, hovering over her neck… so elegant, so slender, so delicate…. and his hands were strong… no one was around…. no one would see.

Letting go of her abruptly, he allowed her to make the short fall back into the puddle gracelessly, and he cleared his throat before looking up for the nearest person. “Paramedic!” he yelled, standing up. “There’s one here that’s alive!” Quickly, someone came to his aid, and he stepped back, pushing chairs out of the way as he let them bring over a stretcher to put the woman’s small frame on. He watched, fascinated as they did so, shaking slightly. It’s better this way. He did not want her dead. Seeing her on the brink had clarified that for him. He did not want her dead - he wanted her to love him. He had always wanted that. As they pushed her away, towards the exit, he followed, not caring what else he was needed for at that exact moment. If she loves me, I can destroy her. After all, wasn’t that exactly what she had done to him? He would reap the rewards, one way or another.

As they wheeled the stretcher outside, he was blinded by the bright light of the outdoors, and he shielded his eyes with his hand. Catching a glimpse of the red, he lowered his hand, looking down at it. Looking at the rest of himself, he saw the bloodstains on his legs where he had kneeled, the blood on his suit coat and hands, and it occurred to him that he himself looked like a vision of Death, emerging from Hell, and the light of heaven burned him. Staring up at the overcast sky, he shuddered, a twinge of fear creeping into him. But the Lord is always watching. Looking over to where Jennifer and Bradley stood, facing away from him, he was brought back to Earth, away from hellfire and heaven’s light alike. He had work to do, and he knew that it would only grow as the day wore on into the night. Turning back to watch them roll Elena away, he watched as she disappeared into an ambulance, and it occurred to him that it might very well be the last time he saw her breathing.

↳Regium's Citizens

January 7th, 2015. (October 14th, 2010)

Stepping into City Hall, Claude paused just inside the entrance, checking his watch. 1:13. Nearly thirty minutes early for his meeting, he smiled a little, pleased with himself. At last, he had learned the most efficient way to drive from the Police Station to City Hall, something which he had been trying to figure out for the last ten months. He once had only been seven minutes early for a meeting with the mayor, and he had been mortified by that experience. He would not make that mistake again. Looking back up, he made his way to the security checkpoint, pulling his keys and wallet and phone from his pockets before he set to work on removing his watch.

Letting out a tsk as he was unable to remove the watch on the first try, he furrowed his brow as he fiddled with it, trying to twist it just right so that the small metal bar would become free from the leather strap. Frowning as he continued to tug at it, he looked up and immediately froze. There, on the other side of security, he saw her. She was standing in front of a message board of sorts, her back to him, but he knew her in an instant. Her short, slender frame was achingly familiar to him, and he unconsciously pulled his watch strap tighter around his wrist.

There she was again. He had heard her voice before, full of passion and righteousness and youthful folly, and he had learned to ignore the sound. The youths had been protesting in the park down the street from the police station for the last week, and the few words that he had heard were not anything special, just the voices of children yelling about things they did not know about. He had walked past the first few times, uninterested in what some little girl standing on a literal and metaphorical soapbox had to say, but something this time made him stop. As he walked past, for the first time he looked into the face of the speaker - and his heart leapt. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared. Fiery eyed and raven haired, with a voice of an furious angel, the girl was the most beautiful creature that he had laid eyes upon. He turned to watch her more fully as she spoke, suddenly interested in whatever she had to say. He had to get her attention somehow. He had to.