(Daci) Peek-a-boo, Guess Who?

[Vivian Nazarova]

[atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Vivian/H2/Viv12.png,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Vivian/Viv1_02.png][atrb=style,padding:0px 50px;background-position:top;background-repeat:no-repeat;]   What? Vivian looked at Dacian like he’d lost a piece of his mind. How could he have lived so long and not have any clue what a soul was?   “Vhere did you hear zhat?” she asked sceptically, looking a little less than impressed with his answer. “Because zhat is seh stupidest thing I ever heard.” Okay, a little blunt, but Dacian had done a fantastic job of fraying her nerves up till this point. Granted, she had no idea if Heaven and Devils had anything to do with souls – atheist and all that – but Dacian was waaaay off on one major detail: if you had no soul, you weren't sentient.   “Didn’t anyone teach you anysing about Dementors?”   Judging by the look of incomprehension she was getting, apparently the answer was no.   Vivian sighed and pulled a loose bit of hair away from her face and behind her ear. Okay, where to start explaining? This had never been her strong point.   Eeeerm.   “Zhey’re like...” she began, then stopped again to pause and rethink for a moment. “Zhey’re really tall, vith black hoods and cloaks, and they float over the ground. Zhey look horrible, like dead things.” Okay, not a bad start. “The vorld goes cold around zhem and zhey drain out all the happiness from the place until you haff nuthing left but suffering.   “I bring zhem up and zhey’re important because zhey... zhey eat souls.” Vivian struggled to try and explain it properly. “Zhey grab your face and-” she mimed along with the description “-pull their hoods back and suck it out through your mouth. It used to be a punishment for criminals in the vizarding vorld. If you vere really bad zhey gave you to the Dementors. I never saw it done, but it vos common once. Zhe soul is silver, if you’re vondering. You can see it when the Dementor rips it out of you.”   Okay, now to the point. “To lose your soul is horrible. Zhere’s nuzzing left of a person, just the body. Zhe soul is vot animates you, it lets you think and feel. It is your thoughts and your memories. Everysing about someone you cannot touch. Vithout it you are a shell. If you didn’t haff one all you’d be able to do is sit on the floor and drool. Zhe devil cannot ‘take’ it from you because zhen zere’d be nuzzing left of you. Vonce it’s gone, you cannot get it back.   “You can damage your soul, and hurt it. I sink zhat’s vot you mean to say. Zhey taught us in Hogvorts dark magic is one vay to twist them and vhy Dark Vizards are so dangerous. But vith enough time, and remorse, anyvone can be healed. If zhey truely vish it.”

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[Dacian]

[atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v36/Tigeress/Random/postscripts/daci.png][bg=000000][atrb=style,background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding: 220px 65px 65px 65px;]Dacian shook his head at her naivety. “They’re demons – evil creatures working for the Devil – stealing souls and everything else that makes a thinking human being.” He rationalised from what she’d told him. It might be true that they stole souls, but she was convinced that was the only way you could lose soul your soul. An expression that could only be pain tightened his brow and eyes, his scar furrowing like a vertical wrinkle. “You’re wrong – I have no soul. I sold it for immortality. “More than six-hundred years ago, I was at death’s door. I had a choice. I could die a noble soldier, and my soul would have gone to Heaven. I would have seen my family again – we would have been together in Heaven. But lying on that battlefield, I chose to become this.” He gestured at himself, lip curling. “Even before I lost my soul, I made that choice. I was a coward. I abandoned my wife, my children.” He turned from her, dark eyes staring into the darkness of the forest. His voice softened, but it was no less disgusted. It was bitter nostalgia. “I told myself she was an angel, I pretended I was going to Heaven, but when I woke up, thirsty for blood, I knew I’d chosen to sell my soul to the Devil for this half-life. No longer able to face a Cross or even the sun because of the blasphemy I’d committed.” He turned his face back to her, expression set in hard lines. “Since becoming a vampire, I’ve killed innocent people at the word of others, for my own gains, or even just because I could. I’ve cheated on the wife that I loved, even when she still lived. If you believe I can do those things with my soul still inside me, then I’d like to meet a Dementor so they can suck that darkness right out of me. I swear to you it would not be silver; mine would be black. I’d rather be a shell.” He fell silent, turning away and stepping over to a particularly gnarly tree. He sat with his back to her on a large protruding root, elbows on knees, fingers laced and expression troubled. The amount of sharing he was managing could easily be explained if he’d come across a werewolf roaming the forest. But under the pitch blackness of the sky, the moon hidden completely, there were no werewolves about. He hadn’t had anything at all to eat that night, so apparently he was simply possessed. Or Vivian was infectious. Either was likely. He was not accustomed to dwelling on the issue of his morality, or lack thereof, and so he doubted he could explain in a way that Vivian would understand. If she could even bare to look at him any more. If there was ever a case for a vampire with a soul, Vivian was it. From what he understood, conversations generally linked one topic to another, continuing the verbal rally until there was nothing more to be said on the matter. He doubted however Vivian would want to continue this thread. He wasn’t sure he would either. Oh there was much more he could say, and none of it was pleasant. For once Dacian knew it was time to shut up.

[Vivian Nazarova]

[atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Vivian/H2/Viv12.png,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Vivian/Viv1_02.png][atrb=style,padding:0px 50px;background-position:top;background-repeat:no-repeat;]   Cripes he was stubborn. But then, it wasn’t so easy to just replace information you thought you knew with something else, especially when you’d believed it for hundreds of years.   This was also the first time that Dacian had told her anything about his past. She had attempted to probe several times before his disappearance, but he’d always stuck steadfastly to his usual blatantly see-through trick of changing the subject until she gave up and dropped it out of pure exasperation.   The killing people thing... well, she’d guessed that part already. Sorta. It was a little disconcerting now to finally get conformation on it but she’d always, kinda... knew? As for the cheating thing, not that she approved, but, “You’re not zhe first or zhe last man to cheat on your wife you know,” she pointed out quietly after a pause, following his example and taking a seat cross-legged on the ground. “And you’re not the first to kill either. Men have done zhat before all the time and their souls vere still there,” she continued, before adding for good measure: “And ve know zhat because ve’ve seen zhem get pulled out later.   “I don’t know vhere you got your information from, but vizards have been studying the soul for hundreds of years. You sound like you’re just guessing. I don’t care vot you say, you’re not telling me I lost my soul. I’m in love and you’re trying to tell me that’s impossible! I know vot I feel!” she argued, her voice getting higher again. Ordinarily she would have never admitted that to Dacian, but God, why couldn’t he see?!   “If you damaged your soul zhat vos your own choices zhat did it, not some devil. You could haff stopped at any time. I’m not going to break mine too,” she added for good measure. “Ve don’t control everysing zhat happens to us in our life, but ve control how ve react to it. I didn’t choose to be infected vith this virus, but I’m not going to turn into a monster because everyvone tells me I am,” she said, feeling herself starting to tear up again. Vivian stiffed loudly and attempted to dry her eyes with her sleeve.   “If you’re so souless, vhy do you care so much about me so much? Vhy did you come back for me vhen it’s ‘so dangerous’ to be here and not just make a new changeling zhat actually listens to you? Vhy did you care so much about Cassie so much it hurts to say her name? Stop blaming everysing else to escape your own guilt!”

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[Dacian]

Dacian stayed immobile in that way that vampires had – staring fixatedly into the forest, not breathing, not giving one ounce of an indication that he was even listening. But he was.

He almost broke his silence with a huff of dry amusement at the mention of studying souls. Souls were not things you could study. You couldn’t trap one in a jar, give it a name and run it through tests. It was an intangible thing that you couldn’t measure, couldn’t describe, couldn’t see. They were personal to each being and delicate too. Vivian could justify her knowledge with reasoning and pseudo facts, but Dacian knew the truth: a truth that had kept him sane throughout the years. The idea that he could be so vile and ruthless with a soul resting inside of him was blasphemous. She would never understand.

Vivian felt something for the boy, though rather than try and explain that it was simply an infatuation, the need for his blood and warmth that all vampires experienced toward their prey was only going to spur this argument on deeper, and he hadn’t the energy for it. Let her think what she will, the best way to learn was from your mistakes: it was a pity the boy had to suffer too.

He blinked once when her ranting turned into questioning, and he turned his head slowly to face her. He could feel the constant stiffness in his neck begin to ache with the movement. He needed to feed, and feed well, else his healing would take much longer than he could afford.

Dacian descided to select the questions that he wanted to answer to respond to, a tactic Vivian was familiar with when he wanted to change the subject. “Changelings are notoriously rebellious. You are no different, really.

“I have sired two changelings before you. The first did not survive much past her fiftieth year as a vampire. She was killed.” There was no grief to the statement, the fact had happened many centuries ago. “My second was a girl not unlike you, except a few years older.” A reminiscing smile quirked his lips and it was easy to tell he still held fond memories of her. “Her human father had driven her quite mad, I should not have changed her really, but like you, I could not leave her to die. She still lives, to my knowledge.” Memories of another vampire who he had been associated with at the time came to mind, and he ran his tongue over his fangs thoughtfully. No, best not bring her into the equation, Vivian would undoubtedly ask more questions. He’d already given her enough material tonight to keep her going for months.

“So you see, Vivian, it is very rare that I make a new vampire. There is always the instinct to protect and nurture a changeling, though most vampires sire others more regularly than I. My compulsion to protect you is strong, as my instinct is not so diluted by dozens of offspring. Why does any father protect his child? So long as I am able, I will protect you, even if it is ‘so dangerous’ to do so.”

[Vivian Nazarova]

[atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Vivian/H2/Viv12.png,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Vivian/Viv1_02.png][atrb=style,padding:0px 50px;background-position:top;background-repeat:no-repeat;]   Oh good God. She was about to give up. Fine, if he wanted to convince himself he was a monster, so be it. It wasn’t like she had centuries to talk him out of it or anything.  ... Although, it was probably going to take her centuries to process everything Dacian had already told her. Oi vey. So he’d had more before her then? For such a close changeling bond he didn’t seem all that depressed about losing one. Did that make them, whoever they were, her sisters? She was going to have to quiz Dacian on this later: she didn’t like the idea she had siblings she didn’t know about. Was that what you were when you had the same sire? Siblings? Or what were they? Not a big happy family, that was for sure.   And speaking of big happy families...   “Okay, forget all zhis,” Vivian huffed, crossing her arms sulkily and slouching. “Zhe point is, I still vant to know how you died and how you didn’t... stay... dead? How you came back. And you need to see Cassie and I’m going to bite you if you don’t.”   Hey, Dacian was always quick to crack out the threats. Monkey see, monkey do. That and she was probably one of the few people who could threaten Dacian without getting her teeth knocked in, even though the odds of her being taken seriously were along the lines of an orangutan winning Minister for Magic.

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[Dacian]

[atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v36/Tigeress/Random/postscripts/daci.png][bg=000000][atrb=style,background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding: 220px 65px 65px 65px;]Now that made him smile, fangs lacking their usual gleam in such dull light. Vampire humour, she was learning, and coming to accept her state of being. Dacian seemed genuinely pleased at the delivery of the comment, though he ignored its meaning. And she was asking about his past. She’d asked a few minor questions before, but this was the killer question. “The story is old now, but I suppose it’s a memory that will never fade.” Vivian’s experience had been perhaps as gory as his own, but certainly more traumatic. She was young, and the circumstances that brought her to death’s door were unexpected and cruel. His own death had been slow, but partly expected. After all, you did not go to war without coming to terms with the possibility that you might die. “It was 1415, Saint Crispin’s Day. We were in France, what is now the very North of it. Barely one hundred miles from London.” He was explaining what came to mind, never having rehearsed the story – not many people cared to ask, and even less of those Dacian cared to tell. “We were at war with the French, and our King Henry the Fifth had taken us to the mainland Europe to fight. We had travelled for a long time, had fought other battled before this one, and we were all tired. The French trapped us in a narrow valley, and during the night we could see their campfires in the distance. They were waiting for more troops, even though they were fresh and already outnumbered us. Morning came, and three hours after sunrise – my last sunrise – the French attacked. We were on the defensive, and the French had to wade through the thick mud that separated through a maelstrom of our arrows. By the time they reached us, some of them could barely lift their swords. “I was a dismounted men-at-arms. I’d lost my horse in a battle previously, but I would not have been able to ride in the terrible mud. The French were heavily armoured, but we were lighter, more manoeuvrable. We slaughtered them. There were five French for every one Englishman, but we beat them: we won.” His voice was proud, but there was a sadness to it. “I did not know this until after. The fighting lasted for three hours, but it could not have been more than half way through that when a rider-less horse – one of the French cavalry’s came into the fray. It must have been confused, disorientated. It had arrows lodged in its rump, and I remember it ran awkwardly, favouring one leg. “I was to the flank of our army, and I suppose that’s what saved me ultimately. The horse was running right past us, but it slipped and fell. It fell right on me, taking be down on the ground. It did not move again, I think perhaps his leg broke, but it was the mud that killed it – it suffocated in the mud. I know for a fact he broke my legs, perhaps my hip too. I was lucky I did not drown also. I must have lost consciousness, as I next remember the eerie silence as evening fell. For hours, I stared into the darkening sky as I died. “I lay there thinking of heaven. I knew that was where I was going. The troops, we had prayed, cleansed ourselves of our sins so we would avoid Hell if we died.” That was getting too close to the other argument, so he changed the subject. “She was blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Her hair was in ringlets that night. It became my favourite way to see it. She came across the battlefield, using bodies of man and horse alike as stepping stones. I remember; her shoes were so clean. She saw me, and she came to me. She should have just taken my blood and left me to finally perish but alas... She asked me to join her, and thinking her an angel, I agreed. When I next woke, my heart no longer beat and my wounds were healed.” He gave a huff and pulled up his sleeve. The arm was charred by the crucifix by Edward, and a newer pinker scar marked a recent stab wound. “When I strip my sleeve, no scar of mine was a wound I had on Saint Crispin’s Day.” There was a melody to that last sentence, as if he were reciting a poem. “Her name was Elizabeth, and she was born fifty years before in Wales. She’d taken be back to her coven – they were living in France at the time – and that is where I woke up. They nearly killed me. I know for certain they punished her. She kind and gentle; she had saved me. But she had not asked permission. Her status was low, and so was mine. We were lovers. I was completely infatuated. I thought her the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her coven leader – he was wary of me. I’d killed one of their own on my first night there. In the madness of blood lust, I killed a prominent member. Fortunately, I was spared, and my talent in warfare was put to use.” He paused, realising he was explaining much more that she’d asked for. “Elizabeth was killed a few centuries later. We were together for all of that time, and I left the coven when she was gone. Most were glad to see the back of me; I’ve never had many friends. I missed her dearly, and it was a few years later that I made my first vampire. We were together for a while, but she became vicious and cruel; and that is not good company to keep.” There was more to be said on that leg of the story, but he avoided it to save Vivian’s ears. “After that, I stayed alone; I found it the best way to be.” He fell silent, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt as if deciding whether to roll it back down or not. He traced the outline of the crucifix burn with a finger. He had yet to pay Edward back for that. He stood suddenly, pushing the sleeve back down over his forearm. “The night is wearing on. You may ask of me one more thing before we hunt. I need to feed regularly so I may heal swiftly and without delay.” He’d neglected to mention before now that his injuries were not entirely healed. His chest still ached with any deep breath, and that said nothing for the way his neck would twinge if he moved it suddenly, or how it would ache after too long left still. A broken neck was perhaps not the most painful injury he’d ever recovered from, but it was certainly the least convenient.

[Vivian Nazarova]

[atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Vivian/H2/Viv12.png,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Vivian/Viv1_02.png][atrb=style,padding:0px 50px;background-position:top;background-repeat:no-repeat;]   Um, whoops. Her bad. When Vivian had asked about his death she’d meant his most recent one. (Which turned out hadn’t really been a death actually, just Dacian messing with everyone and she wanted to know why.) Her sire had decided she meant the story of how he’d been turned, but Vivian quickly decided she had no intention of correcting him. She’d wanted to know this particular tale for months.   It wasn’t pretty. But then, she supposed unless it was consensual you’d be hard pressed to find someone with a light and fluffy story about being turned. Not only that, but it went a way as to explaining why Dacian was such a humourless misanthropic grouch. Anyone would be when you lost the one you loved, and at the mention of Elizabeth’s blonde hair Vivian was quick to imagine her for the rest of the story as looking like Cassie.   She wasn’t really sure what to say afterwards, and the best she could manage was looking sullen while she poked the dirt infront of her with the twig she’d picked up earlier. Dacian saved her the trouble by allowing her one more question before they left. She wasn’t going to challenge him this time: that story must have been hard to tell and she didn’t want to strain him much more for tonight. She could wait until it was appropriate to quiz him again, and for once, she wasn’t going to protest his plan to hunt either. His use of the word ‘we’ hadn’t escaped her notice and she wasn’t going to try and ruin everything by denying the request.   “... You never did give me zhose three reasons.”

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[Dacian]

[atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v36/Tigeress/Random/postscripts/daci.png][bg=000000][atrb=style,background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding: 220px 65px 65px 65px;]Dacian gave her a steady stare, “I gave you more than enough reasons.” He rumbled, looking very firm on the matter. As far as he was concerned, that thread of conversation was dead, and if it wouldn’t remain so, he would set it alight and bury it. His brow creased, and he gestured with a hand for Vivian to stand. He wasn’t acting like he was particularly pleased, though for Dacian anything more than an outright snarl was amiable behaviour. “We’re going hunting.” He said with a note of finality about it, “You can humour me at least this once.” Hunting he knew was not Vivian’s favourite pastime, but he needed to feed and he was not leaving Vivian to walk home alone. She could endure his fruitless tuition for another hour or two. He was really going to have to work on his teaching method. Perhaps he should pick up a book on it. Vivian didn’t seem to respond as well as she should to the direct ordering approach. Something more subtle was in order. He was also going to have to train her not to pry into his social engagements so much. How did she get it into her head that he would want to see her again. He did not want to, and he would not take up her ‘advice’. It was up to him who he saw and didn’t see, and if she thought she was going to convince him otherwise, she was sorely mistaken. Without further conversation, he led her back the way she had come, veering down a narrower path that would cut off a great deal of the journey from the meandering path she had taken. The silence was not altogether comfortable, but Dacian was not about to spill any more information on his past and he had figured that Vivian needed some time to think about and digest the fact of his revival. If he had the capacity at the moment, he might have felt embarrassed that he’d given her so much of his history and the personal nature connected to it. But it was in the open for her now, and as he knew more about her than she did of him, it was a fair exchange. He had been there at her death; she was not even a twinkle in her ancestor’s eye when he had died. The age gap was phenomenal if you rated it in human years, though Dacian had long since lost the ability to judge time like a human. Time moved slowly for him, and the insight came to him that it may still move quickly for Vivian. She still lived in her human world, every year rushing up to her and spurring her human-thinking mind to think that time was of the essence. Well she was immortal now. Time was the one thing she had for certain. He paused in his purposeful stride and waited for Vivian to draw alongside him. He slowed his pace to a more natural one. The dawn was hours away. They had time. There was no need to rush. After watching her from the corner of his eye for a long time, he lifted a hand behind her back and laid it lightly on her shoulder. “I’m glad to see you again.” He said before dropping his hand and continuing on their silent walk. He was glad, glad to see her alive and well, though he’d wisely decided that the spoken version would be better received. There was the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. Perhaps this would be a fresh start, and his relationship with Vivian would improve from this point forward.