Dead Man Dancing [Silas]

[Dacian]

The cemetery was deathly quiet. The vampire moving around a small crypt was pale in the moonlight, his lower half clothed in black jeans and boots but his chest bare. His movements were careful and practiced, but more than few times he had to stop, recompose ad continue. It seemed one arm was stiff and while the right arm had full fast and fluid movement, the left was sluggish and inflexible.

He held a dagger in each hand. The blades were well looked after and glinted in the pale moonlight that fought to break the cloud cover. The vampire seemed to be trying to dance, turning and jabbing in a neat rhythm yet coming increasingly frustrated as he did so. His arm was actually much better than it had been just a week ago, impossibly so compared to when it had first burst into flames a week before that. Dacian should have been pleased with the progress, but he couldn’t afford to be weak for any longer. He needed his left arm to be in fighting form a perpetual yesterday.

He could hold, carry and even lift more than a mortal with his left arm now, but fast movement still eluded him. The dexterity had not yet returned, and his left arm was clumsy and weak compared to his right. He wished he still had his sword, but he had left it at The Room and had not plucked up the courage to ask for it back.

Dacian had avoided thinking about the previous two weeks. The first of them had been unforgettable, but the events of seven days so had ruined any good memories. They were tainted, worthless. Dacian gritted his teeth and punched out with his left arm, snarling at the black burn on his forearm gave a twinge. He could repress memories, and the emotional scars would heal, but the cross-shaped burn on his arm would never fade and would maliciously remind him at every opportunity.

The flicker of movement caught his gaze, and he spotted an owl perched on a nearby tombstone. An owl wasn’t an unusual sight, but they rarely came near to humans. He checked its talons for a message, but it held none. With a hiss, he shooed it, wanting to be alone with his carefully-cultivated misery.

[Silas Rosier]

Dacian was a pain, really. Trust him to just disappear without saying a word to anyone. Apparently after leaving the Hogs Head he had moved into the Three Broomsticks with, according to the owners, a woman of all people. Silas didn’t think they had a reason to lie, but still, the news struck him as curious. Everyone was hooking up left right and centre. Ed had a new girl the bartender had stressed he was banned from meeting and Dacian had moved in with a mystery woman for a time. Apparently the relationship didn’t last and the vampire had done a spectacular job of disappearing. Silas found himself half-hoping whoever had killed the girl had finally just snuffed him. Giving up, he had just gone back to his tried-and-true method of hiring out an owl, putting a tracking charm on it and sending it off, which lead to...

The Graveyard?

Oh come on. Could Dacian be any more of a stereotype if he tried? Silas was almost disappointed at the trite choice of locale, although considering Dacian’s selection of over-uttered, unoriginal garbage he had spewed when attempting to be intimidating the first time they’d met, Silas rationed he shouldn’t really be surprised.

As much as he had promised himself two weeks ago he didn’t want anything else to do personally with the vampire, recent events had made that impossible. Firstly, you could only hunt someone’s enemies for so long without going to the source for more information, but mostly, he was just really fucking bored. The atmosphere had become crushing lately. Connery on one side forcing him to do useless, grinding busywork on a load of idiots who couldn’t even hunt one person down and Jack on another threatening to look into his finances on a trail which lead nowhere legal. It was squeezing him into a bottleneck of frustration that even Ed alone couldn’t vent. It needed to be dealt with quickly, before it ended up in the Hogs Head being burnt to the ground just to see how high the flames got due to the wooden structure and booze in the building. Pissing off a vampire to see how far he could get seemed like a brilliant idea, really. A much needed challenge, if you will.

Holy Water flask concealed, crucifix in pocket and wand ready, Silas gathered up a thick coat for the cold and apparated silently into the graveyard. The loud crack from last time had been for Ed’s benefit and had backfired rather nastily. The sudden cold almost stung and Silas immediately regretted not taking thicker clothing. The place was, predictably, impossibly dark, but he caught the outline of what looked like a mausoleum and flicked his wand hopefully at it, setting some torch brackets alight which cast a dismal orange glow over the nearby surroundings.

Dacian was pretty easy to spot, what with being the only other living thing there aside from the rented Tawny owl staring at the vampire like he was a lunatic. Silas slipped his right hand into his pocket to grasp the crucifix and held the wand at his side with the other, ready to cast another barrier spell if Dacian tried to body-slam him again.

”Good evening Love. Isn’t this a romantic little setup?” he said with a customer-service fake grin, wondering which way Dacian was going to interpret the usage of his surname first.

[Dacian]

Dacian sensed a presence just before Silas came shambling out of the shadows. The vampire bared his teeth, clenching the knives tightly in his fists. What was that Wizard doing here? More importantly, how had he found him? In the golden light that had suddenly been lit, the mortal looked as sinister as any vampire, and Dacian recoiled, growling. If Edward could cripple his arm for weeks, he wasn’t keen on finding out what Silas was capable of.

Here alone, Dacian was highly suspicious for the wizard. What was he planning? Whatever it was, he didn’t think he needed backup for it, or did he just not want witnesses? Fairly sure that killing him and shoving him in a crypt would most likely raise suspicions; Dacian refrained from lobbing any knives. If the wizard was planning something, then Dacian doubted even he had the reflexes to avoid a spell and Dacian had learnt his lesson about getting too close to wizards who knew what he was. There was no way he was approaching Silas, so he supposed he was at the man’s mercy. He snorted. Yeah, right.

Finding that he felt uncomfortable in front of the man with his torso and consequently his scars on display, Dacian backed off to pick his shirt from the ground and eased it over his shoulders. He still had trouble rotating the arm to get through the sleeves and he had taken to wearing short sleeves while the skin of his arm was still healing.

The mortal’s greeting was less than appreciated. The way he put emphasis on ‘love’ was irritating and Dacian grumbled. “Don’t call me that.” He said with the slightest of snarls. The man was obnoxious enough to use the term of endearment on him, and the word had some old associations that he had disassociated from for a reason. “What the Hell do you want, Silas?” Cutting to the chase. There was a severe lack of threats today, mostly because for once, Dacian was unsure if he could actually carry through with them.

[Silas Rosier]

Hmm, mild anti-climax there. Dacian had apparently gotten a lid on himself since the last time. Silas supposed that was something to be thankful for, even though it temporarily robbed him of the opportunity to hit Dacian with Incarcerous if he attacked then string him up in a tree like a grotesque piñata, hopefully for some children to find. Never mind, there were plenty of opportunities to see what made him tick in the future. At the moment they had things to discuss.

For some reason seeing Dacian without a shirt was making him even colder. Oh how he hated winter. From what he knew he could guess the origins of at least a few of those scars, but there was only one he was interested in. He already knew what Ed had done with his Christmas present, the man had told him the story himself and sure enough the light caught on a black, familiarly shaped two inch burn mark. Silas felt a pang of smugness. If he hadn’t of been specifically looking at Dacian’s arm he would never have noticed the extra difficulty the vampire had with putting the shirt on. Even better. Was that why Mr Chompy was so subdued this evening?

”You, of course,” he answered with a smirk, figuring he might as well up the suggestive content as the opportunity arose. ”Or, your past more specifically. I can’t say it’s been a ball hunting down your life story all the way back to when you were a sperm, but Connery insisted I be thorough. I’ll get to that in a moment though, what I wanted to know first was how Ed of all people got the better of you. That’s pretty spectacular even by the standards of pathetic, Love. Although, at least he put my crucifix to good use, so I can’t complain.” Really, you’d be forgiven for assuming he just liked listening to himself talk.

[Dacian]

Why was it he always got the feeling Silas knew something he didn’t? The man was eternally smug. If it wasn’t for the steady thump of his heart, he could easily be mistaken for a vampire with that attitude. Silas was a particularly infuriating man, all the more so because Dacian couldn’t kill him. The days vampires earned rights was a sad day. Now he couldn’t do anything illegal without getting a fair trial.

Silas really did like to talk. Dacian fastened a few buttons, hoping Silas hadn’t noticed the light fumbling with his left hand. He’d sheathed the knives for now, though they were in easy reach if he might need them, which was probably likely. Dacian had known the wizards had looked into his past, but Silas made it sounds like they’d dug up every rotten detail. Suddenly the use of the word ‘love’ had an ominous ring to it.

Dacian maintained a sour expression standing at a safe distance with the crypt to duck behind should the wizard start slinging spells. Dacian did not take well to being reminded of Edward, and his teeth snapped together with an audible noise. “I should have known that Edward didn’t have the brains to take that initiative. Congratulations, Silas, seems your little pawn got lucky.” The admission stung, though it wasn’t something Silas didn’t already know. “It’s a pity you missed the show, it won’t happen again.” Where the Hell had Silas found a crucifix so old and potent with faith? Stolen it off the Pope?

So delving into his past was Connery’s idea? Why give the task to Silas? Purposefully so the man could come here and gloat? He was fairly sure now that the name Silas was calling him was no coincidence. “Do. Not. Call. Me. That.” He ground out through gritted teeth. That name was long buried for good reasons.

[Silas Rosier]

A little ego stroking was always nice. So Edward was his pawn was he? It certainly had a nice sort of ring to it. He couldn’t boast having given Ed the orders to thrust the thing into Dacian’s arm, but really, there was no mistaking the intention when he’d mailed the crucifix. What else was Ed to do, pray to it? Heh, perhaps Dacian was right. [Insert Deity Here] knew Silas certainly didn’t mind pinching credit whenever he could and the idea had appeal. The poor crosses had probably been bored just sitting there in the church museum displays they’d been pilfered from. Silas ran his thumb over the carvings on the small Roman one in his pocket. Muggle security systems were laughably easy.

Still, he couldn’t afford to get distracted yet. Now that he could be sure Dacian had no inclination to attempt to smash his head in that very second he took the opportunity to cast Homenum Revelio silently while Dacian was talking to ensure it was only the two of them around. The last thing he needed was to find out the vampire was so mellow because he had an accomplice waiting to pounce. Silas wasn’t even sure if the spell worked on vampires, but it picked up Dacian just then, so that was his question answered. According to the spell there was no one else present, so that was something less thing to worry about.

The vehemence of Dacian’s promise that he would never be bested again coupled with the order never to use his surname had Silas grinning somewhat manically. Dacian was angry, that was a good start. He wasn’t here to make friends. Would it be worth dying if he could take out Dacian as well? Absolutely. However, he knew the vampire had no desire to cause life-threatening problems for himself so Silas felt safe to metaphorically prod with pointy objects to find out which ones hit a nerve cluster.

”If you say so, Love, although I personally think your name has a nice ring to it. You should embrace your past you know, take a nice trip to France, maybe take a stroll around Agincourt and buy Armand Deluce flowers in time for Valentine’s day.”

[Dacian]

A tickle of magic raised the hairs on the back of Dacian’s neck and his glower intensified. What was the little wizard up to? He took another step back, wary as a wild animal confronted with a threat that was hard to classify. Would Silas attack, or was he intent on just verbal abuse? If it wasn't for the potential for Silas’s threats to be disastrous, Dacian would start to think he was all bark and no bite.

Unfortunately for Dacian’s temper, Silas’s bark was doing its job well. He could feel the irritation rising as Silas continued to speak and like a kettle left too long on the hob, he boiled over. His right hand snatched for something in the top of his boot, and silver something twirled through the air toward the mortal. A few dozen inches from impaling the man’s eye, the throwing dagger suddenly rebounded and before Dacian could recoil, it lodged itself in Dacian’s shoulder, mercifully just under the collarbone and leaving the bone intact.

The vampire howled with fury, staggering back and snatching at it with his left hand. The digits refused to cooperate and it took a few tries to pull the knife out. The wound was only a few inches deep, and not inflicted by anything blessed, but it hurt nonetheless and until it healed, moving his right arm hurt more than his left. He's fallen for the bait, and not he was paying for it.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Silas?” He gasped, left hand pressed over the seeping wound, fangs bared fully and the hatred raging like fire in his eyes. The shock of actually being stabbed by his own weapon hurt more than the wound itself, and his loathing for Silas increased tenfold. That was the second time the man had caused him pain, and Dacian was determined to see his demise. Just perhaps not when he had his wand at the ready.

[Silas Rosier]

There we go. Dacian’s breaking point. It was only the fact that Silas had been tensed and ready for an attack that gave him the opportunity to react quickly enough to counter it. Dacian was still horrifyingly fast even when sporting a relatively recent crucifix injury. He scarcely had enough time to raise his wand when he saw Dacian duck down to grab something before the knife was flying at his face.

After he shouted the first spell that came to mind, Depulso, the knife reversed its progress not a second too late. It cut through Dacian’s flesh with a dull, sickening thud and Silas managed a second to comprehend that that easily could have been his own head rather than Dacian's torso. Perhaps a sane person would be slightly more humbled at such a brush with death, but then, Silas was anything but sane. The affair was just the energy rush he was after and he had to remind himself that pressing his luck was counterproductive.

There was a definite enjoyment factor in watching the vampire squirm. It had been so long since he could actually get away with injuring someone properly. Adrian’s fingers hardly counted, as any fun there had been directly countered by the ex-aurors pathetic little trick and Dacian’s intervention. As for that, this could easily be considered revenge, albeit a rather reduced form. Dacian had easily done a lot more damage in a lot less time.

Conjuring up a strong shield charm now would seem almost like cheating. Had to give the vampire a sporting chance, no? Deciding to try out one of his earlier ideas, Silas took the crucifix out of his pocket and tossed it into the air. Catching it with a levitation charm it quickly sunk to hover neatly between the two of them, tracing a little sideways figure eight continuously.

”Information, actually. We’re a lot closer to finding the guy who hit your little underage sextoy and we got six in the hotlist which are known to be nearby,” he continued, voice unnaturally steady. ”Which means, guess what Dacian? I went through seventy six of your apparent stone cold killers and I’m still standing. Pierre Jones, Andrew Fox, Christopher Newell, Troy Nefert, Cain Heath and Jacob Abel. You can shed some light now or let me look them up myself which might bring up more you don’t want me to know.”

[Dacian]

Silas’s triumph set his teeth on edge. Falling so easily for that was a testament to the vampire’s state of mind. He probably had Cassie to think for this. Come to think of it, he had been off his game since she got to this God-forsaken village. He needed his head back in the game before he lost it.

Adding insult to injury, Silas revealed a crucifix of his own. Dacian actually flinched and recoiled with a lurch when the wizard tossed it in the air even though the trajectory was completely off for hitting him. Squinting against the glare, Dacian watched it hang in midair, weaving threateningly. Hunched as he was, clutching his shoulder, his eyes cast away from the crucifix and thus Silas beyond it, if Dacian didn’t know better he would have said he was cowering,

Silas’s dig at Vivian started an eye muscle twitching, and Dacian reined himself in. Crucifixes, rebounding knives, the threat of a sunlight spell. It just wasn’t worth testing any thin strands of luck he had left. His tone mildly defeated, Dacian replied though clenched teeth. “It’s not Pierre, Newell or Troy. They need orders to act. This isn’t Fox’s style, and Heath is just pathetic. If its any of them, it’s Abel.” Abel had the sadistic mind to slice up a girl for the sake of getting back at him. Perhaps lopping off his arm below the elbow hadn’t of been the best of ideas. That had been a few centuries though. If Abel was just getting round to revenge now, he was taking his sweet time. The man wasn’t known for patience.

Dacian wasn’t even sure why he had put the rest of those names on there. Probably just to slow up whatever investigation Silas and Connery were organising. Pierre, Newell and Troy might have been hateful bastards, but they were loyal to their masters. They couldn’t come of a vengeful rampage without permission. Fox could have done it, of course, but he was too suave for these tactics. He was more likely to come and find Dacian somewhere and challenge him to a swordfight. He’d lose, of course, but the bloke hadn’t given up in three-hundred years.

Cain? Cain was a wet blanket. He still had no idea what Eloise had seen in the fool. Naturally Dacian had shown her the errors of her ways, and the lovely young vampire was out breaking hearts and heads without Cain in tow. Cain had been overly sensitive about the whole thing and had sworn vengeance, but Dacian had laughed off his junior (three hundred years his junior, the guy was barely pushing two-hundred) and carried on his way. There was no way Cain could even track him, let alone device a cunning retribution strategy.

Dacian was very fond of his 'never underestimate the enemy' rule, yet it seemed he’d neglected its teachings in recent months.

[Silas Rosier]

Oh yes. There was something incredibly satisfying about having a six hundred year old vampire squirming in front of you. Of course, the whole deal might have been sweeter if Dacian were, say, cowering at his feet instead of a safe distance next to a gravestone, but still. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. He’d done well for the night but now he had to be extra cautious for a possible counterattack for a while. If there was one thing he’d learned from the work on the list it was that vampires were pathetic enough to hold a grudge for a bitch of a time, focusing on the past rather than the present like they should.

Still, even in his current state Dacian was Dacian. One move too fast in his direction and Silas was willing to fly the crucifix into the vampire’s forehead and cry that it was self defence. Maybe his head would catch fire? The religious artefact was now slowly tracing random patterns in the air rather than the steady horizontal figure eight.

Silas could see the white mist made by his breath billowing even when he wasn’t speaking. It was too fucking cold to stay here longer if he planned on still having his fingers tomorrow. How in plu-perfect hell did he manage to forget gloves? Silas lodged his right hand back into his pocket again.

”You sure you want to lock in those answers, Love? Abel has been living in Scotland almost forty years without moving, but Newell has severed his old allegiances. He and Heath have shown up in every place you’ve visited for the last sixty odd years. No pressure or anything, but pick wrong and you might get someone very pissed off with you showing up in Hogsmeade for a surprise visit.”