Arduous Omen

Something, a feeling, a sensation, came over Gladys as she flew home from her tutoring session with Sera, and the next thing she knew she was hitting the ground, hard, in her human form. Then in a wave of weakness, her arms buckled beneath her and she slumped against the cold earth, feeling boneless and in pain, which radiated now from her gut, as if she’d been impaled. Her keening cries were seemingly being ripped from her against her will, so great was the pain; and more than that, the suffocating press of a feeling that something was terribly, deeply wrong.

The prone girl pulled at the old man's heartstrings, but all he could really do was scoop her up, awkwardly making an attempt to wipe at the blood streaking her face before giving up. Someone in the Villa might be able to help, some more experienced vampire. Leaning her head against his shoulder, he mounted the steps and kicked at the entrance with a supernatural amount of strength, the large wooden doors swinging open.

Standing in the doorway, he opened his mouth to shout, but was interrupted when he spotted some black-clad figure dashing down the steps with a familiar figure over his shoulder. "You!" ...Person! Who was that? He didn't know, but either he was in a similar predicament or Gloria was being abducted. Rémi didn't have long to question it, because he had barely gotten the word free when the two suddenly came tumbling down the steps together.

He dashed forward, poor Gladys jostling about in his arms as he frantically ran to greet the pair that had just come crashing down into a pile. He didn't have enough arms to catch all of these collapsing vampires. And despite being quite sure Gloria had been at the Villa before he had even encountered Streitstadt, he felt very old in this moment.

"Merde--" dropping to one knee, he set Gladys down, still holding her around the shoulders with one arm and attempted to push the robed figure off of poor Gloria with the other. "What is 'appening!? Get off of 'ehr."

Guillem blinked at the large hulking form that was Brother Alonzo, looking more perturbed than he usually did. For being such a man, of such stature, Alonzo was one of the few priests of San Sebastian who preferred to stay away from the battlefield and stay within the safe confines of the monastery, sweeping the ambulatory and lighting the candles. He was a vital part of keeping the false front intact, convincing people that the chapel of Saint Mary was nothing more than what it seemed. He was a peaceful and nervous man, but he was never so nervous as this. Nervous enough that he felt he must speak in another language. Something was wrong. Incredibly wrong. 

<"Of course, brother,"> said Guillem easily, switching on a dime to the different language, his voice taking on the throaty tone of the German language. It was, after all, one of the requirements of being a Cazadore de Lux, to know a good number of popular languages throughout the region. Even still, he settled his weight uneasily from one foot to the other, crossing his arms across his chest. With a leveled look of concern, Guillem pressed on, his eyes occasionally wandering to the unfamiliar surroundings of the strange building that mapped itself around him. Sometimes, he thought he saw glimpses of San Sebastian, the vaulted ceilings pressed into the framework, the statues of Saints peeking out from behind bookcases or around corners. Unsettled, unsure, feeling the distant drop of his stomach, Guillem returned his attention to Brother Alonzo. 

<"There must be a pressing need to be speaking in another language, Brother,"> said Guillem, his accent stilted by the occasional Castilian lisp, <"This is so strange. The environment around us seems to be like a dream, as if the church of San Sebastian is dreaming of a distant mansion. But buildings do not have dreams of other places, they are but buildings...I feel sick to my stomach. My head aches like a drum. Perhaps this is a hallucination of sorts...? What do you know of this? You must know something, Brother."> Guillem returned his eyes to Alonzo, thick brows knit with worry, before there was the loud SLAM! of a door echoing through the building. Guillem jumped, his hands snapping ready and to his sides, his stance changing, ready to defend as he swung his gaze towards the sound. 

<"What was that?"> Guillem whispered. <"Who are those voices?">

—Dr. Bec blundered into a wall, missing the door by several misjudged feet, but the integrity of this wing of the château had finally been compromised. The wall exploded outward in a burst of sparks and splintering, smoldering wood, and Bec’s momentum, as well as his ever-precarious equilibrium, staggered him to the floor—

Something was terribly wrong.

Bec knew he had finally landed, but when his vision returned and consciousness settled (such as it was), he found he couldn’t get his limbs properly working, and he could scarcely move his head at all. The intent was there, but his attempt to roll over, push himself upright and look around instead transformed into an array of jerky, flailing gestures that earned him little more than a crunch from his neck and spine. Whatever crunched may or may not have improved matters; he was too dizzy to make an accurate assessment.

—the screaming had subsided, but could just as easily have been muffled by the roaring fire. It found him at every turn like a sentient beast, blocking his path, hounding his steps, shepherding him and flicking at his heels with hot serpent tongues—

Bec blinked rapidly, trying to chase away the flames. What his eyes managed to seek out, however, penetrated his whirl of scattered senses—Little Red Baby with red on her face, and a stranger who had hold of her. Jumbled but vivid fragments of memories winked in and out like so many facets of a gem. Gauthier. The fire. The château. The hunters. Master. Gloria. The Villa. Fire. Hunter.

—a man had appeared from the other side of a pile of smoking rubble, too close for comfort, bow pointed at his heart, eyes showing white in consternation—

“Little Red Baby,” he garbled, mind too distorted to realize he was sliding between German and French as he tried to speak, “don’t—hu-hunter—get away—touch, no touch, don’t—get—”

—he crossed the gap in a blink, seized the hunter by his collar despite his injured arm, cracked the wooden arrow in half and, with the precision of a man who had studied anatomy in some capacity for hundreds of years, jabbed the splintered end into the hunter’s carotid artery—

Bec lurched forward to attack the man he believed was a hunter, but his balance had still not recovered from the damage done by his tumble down the staircase. He moved in a wild, diagonal path and, with another, more satisfying crunch from his neck, hit the ground. He discovered he could turn his head again, but the great hall continued to spin.

“Run,” he gasped to the ceiling. “Gloria—Red—M-Master, he’s gone—they’re here—”

Alonzo was nervous, odd, but there seemed to be good reason for it when he mentioned a nest of vampires in the next room. The look of confusion that warped Father Bautista's face was almost comical as he took in the information, but there was certainly a sense of urgency to his posture, to the way his eyes widened, his fingers clenched. He breathed in, set his jaw, and then adopted a sense of noble reassurance, a gesture that he had perfected in his time as a hunter of the church. It was the calm serenity of the statues of Saints, it was that stone cold resolution, but that semblance of drapery and softness of flesh and cloth. Guillem embodied that feeling, and with a confident smile, he kept himself before Alonzo as he stepped into the room beyond, following the sounds of the voices.

"Behind me, Alonzo. Stay with me," Guillem said gently, pushing his glasses onto his face, "I'll protect you." 

Creeping around the corner, stepping through the massive hallways and following the decorated walls and barrel vaulted archways that blended the elements of Saint Sebastian and this strange mansion, Guillem pressed forward, keeping a guiding hand behind him to feel for Alonzo's presence. Even while he was distracted by the sense of duty, there was still that resounding pain, that echoing throb, pressing outwards from his skull, as if his fontanel were sprouting roots, digging deep into his head, and his eyes ached, dry and tired. He felt weak, sluggish, but even still, he would not let any of that be seen. As a priest, as a Cazadore de Luz, he would embody that which he needed to become for the others around him, for the situation as it demanded. The hunters of San Sebastian were adaptable. They were flexible, mutable, ever ready to meet whatever challenge they might face, and even though he did not have his Cazadore de Sombra, he knew he could stand on his own. His own blaring headache would not stop him from getting his job done. He stepped quietly, not wishing to alert the nest in the next room, but as he moved, he slowly pushed himself into view, his muddied hair in loose locks about his face, framing his gentle complexion. When he smiled, the freckle on his cheek floated upwards, and his eyes crinkled into curves. He raised his hands in a silent symbol of peace. He stepped into sight, not wanting to surprise the group, but when he did, he was able to see the sight for what it was. There was a gathering there, no doubt, of trembling vampires, looking scared and distressed, a pair of young women, one looking younger and more bloodied than the other, and a bedraggled looking man gasping on the floor, reeling. There was another vampire among them who did not show the same shaky signs of trauma and he hovered over the bloodied one. For a moment, Guillem stood and took in the scene, studied the movements of each individual, their mannerisms, how they spoke, before his brow tensed and he took another slow step forward, his hands raised up to where they could be seen. He cleared his throat. 

"Gentle folk," Guillem stepped into the dim light of the foyer, aware of the priestly garb he was wearing, and he furrowed his brow as he strained to blink through the weary wobbly visions of one of the vampires. She seemed familiar. She was familiar. Like he had seen her before. Sometimes she looked like a nun, sometimes she looked....Guillem did not have time for his own ailing, his own dizzied head. He had to be alert. Present. "...You are ailing, that much can be seen," he said, gentle in the way that a shepherd might speak to his flock, "I will not add to your suffering. You are fearful, unwell. I am not your enemy. I am a man of peace. If you would allow me, I am a doctor. I know how to tend the sick and the wounded, even those of your kind. I have helped your kind before, made lasting friendships, even. Allow me a chance to be of help. How may I aid you?" 

((a joint effort reply between Eth and myself~))



Guillem's eyes caught a snap of movement. One of the vampires had taken his approach as an invitation and not the kind that he had hoped for. Widening his eyes with the raise of his brows, taking in every movement, every detail, he felt the sharp pang throb in his head, but he had to stay focused. Guillem settled into his feet and let his legs bend underneath him, adopting a flexible stance, seconds within the vampire leaping to his feet. He heard the vampire blurt something, his face was bespotted with...Were those buboes? This wasn't the time for a diagnosis, he needed to move. He had blurted something when he leapt at him. French?

<"I am a friend. I will not hurt you,"> Guillem blurted, matching the vampire's language, and with a simple step he swung to the side, dodging the first spring of the vampire. He kept moving, kept his hands up and aware, but this...This vampire was very disoriented. That was something they had in common and frankly, he wasn't sure what to expect next.





Bec’s neck felt stiff and the floor seemed determined to pitch him off his feet, but still he charged for the hunter—it had to be a hunter, already inside, trying to sneak up behind him, to bring harm to Gloria and Little Red Baby, he wouldn’t let him harm them—

—And he grabbed air.

Startled, Bec whirled round, his momentum carrying him a bit too far in a wobbly arc before he managed to halt his steps. That wouldn’t do. With a snarl and a strangled “<Get OUT!>”, he pivoted for a new angle and lashed out with both hands in quick succession, attempting to snag a fistful of the man’s dark robes.


~~~


Again, Guillem took steps back, wobbling one after another, dodging the man's clumsy swipes. He moved with practiced precision. He spoke, dancing across the hallway with the sick man in waltz. It was happening quickly, too quickly.
<"Friend, I am a friend.">



Infuriating. Bec heard words, but did not process them. The château—no, the mansion—this place was in danger—his family was in danger—there was no Master to protect them—and this hunter needed to be dispatched. His footing conspired against him in ways he didn’t understand, but neither did it matter. All he needed was a moment. Just a moment.

And, for a moment, his gloved hand brushed a wave of cloth as it sliced through the air. It passed one direction, and instead of following it, he veered in an opposing path. The hunter dodged right into him. Bec dug in his fingers until they pierced fabric, yanking the taller man downward in a violent motion intended to buckle his knees.

—he crossed the gap in a blink, seized the hunter by his collar despite his injured arm, cracked the wooden arrow in half and, with the precision of a man who had studied anatomy in some capacity for hundreds of years, jabbed the splintered end into the hunter’s carotid artery. He cast the arrow aside and tugged his mask loose to free his mouth, which he closed over the spurting wound—

Operating on a dizzying, instinct-fueled memory, Bec jerked loose the hunter’s collar with one hand, exposing his throat.


~~~


A misstep. Within seconds, the blare of pressure in his head, Guillem found himself twisted and dropped onto his knees, his bones rattling in his body. He brought his arms up by his head, bunching his shoulders about his neck, tucking his chin down in a familiar brace. <"Do not bite me, it is dangerous!! You will h--!!">