Out of the Dark

[Sansa]

She slipped through the crowds gathered around the Eye of London, fireworks exploding overhead as people cheered and waved flags. The opening ceremonies of the 2012 Olympic Games were almost concluded and the pathways and roads were teeming with life.

Sansa Martin made her way to a taxi stand and got into the next available cab. As the black vehicle made its way to her home, she stared out the window. However London appeared on the outside to the world, with it's young Royals and cheering crowds, there was a very different city underneath. The Camarilla had managed to hold onto their seat of power, though Scotland belonged to the Anarchs. The Prince had not yet tried to bring the region back under his rule.

The Sabbat was still around, and Sansa folded her arms around herself at the thought. The former Archbishop of Moscow, Katarina Gordislava, had caused quite a bit of trouble directly after the Baali incursion had been repulsed, but there had been no word of her for years. Some had reported seeing her Tremere sorcerer wandering the countryside, but no solid evidence had ever been brought.

Sansa paid the driver and walked into her building, looking behind her as she crossed the lobby. The doorman nodded to her, "Miss Martin," and she smiled vacantly in reply. She pressed the call button for the elevator, and looked up, watching the numbers count down.

[Jack Bradley]

“He's dead. Dead dead.”

“Your astute powers of observation are exactly the reason I brought you along, Jack. Pin-point insight, every time. Razor fucking sharp.”

Passing the dish cloth one more over the length of his knife, mopping up the last of the blood, Sean sighed. It was a useless gesture, when most of his t-shirt was splattered with dark blood too. Sean had done most of the damage on this occasion and for his effort, he'd gotten the most back in kind. Jack had taken only a few hits by comparison and was periodically swiping the back of his hand beneath his nose, at the persistent dribble of blood there. You should have seen the other guy, he could say, and this time actually mean it.

“Of course he's fucking dead, Jack,” Sean went on. “He's got a fucking rolling pin sticking out of his ribcage. If you're going to be sick, go do it in the bathroom. This place is a fucking mess already without you blowing last nights curry all over the floor.”

Jack frowned and once again found himself looking down into the still open eyes of the man they had just murdered. Was it really murder, if he'd been dead to begin with - and was man the right term? He looked like a man at least, but that was about where the similarity ended. Normal men didn't have kitchens with empty cupboards and a fridge full of blood bags, or black-out blinds on every window in their flat.

He'd even met this 'man' before. Before he'd helped put an end to... his life, whatever it was. It wasn't the first time he'd come along with his cousin Sean on one of his jobs but it was the first time the mark had been someone familiar: Gabriel Rodermark.

The flat looked like a shit tip. They stood in the kitchen, which lead open-plan into the lounge area. Furniture had been flipped over, a glass table shattered, and a rather expensive looking violin lay in splinters on the floor. No one had come knocking about the noise, though. Jack supposed that someone like Gabriel Rodermark must make a lot of noise that people knew better than to ask about.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “What do we do with the body?”

“We?” Sean glanced up and shook his head. “We don't do anything. You need to shift it. You've got the kit.”

Jack paused, waiting for the punchline. None came. “You can't be serious.”

“Deadly, Jacky boy.” Sean pulled the holdall onto his shoulder. “You shuffle him out into an ambulance and no one is going to bat an eyelid. Just.. borrow it from work for the afternoon.”

Shoving one hand back through his hair, Jack shook his head. “And then what?! Just drop him off at A&E and hope no one asks any questions?”

Sean shrugged, “I don't know. Dump him in the Thames, take him home and stick him on your mantelpiece. Who gives a fuck?”

“I do, Sean! We just ended this guy and you don't seem to give two shits about what-”

Suddenly, Sean lurched forward, slapping a hand over Jack's mouth. He began to protest, muffled, against Sean's hand - but when his cousin tapped a furious finger to his ear, Jack grew still.

Somewhere else in the flat, a key was turning in a lock.

[Sansa]

"The fireworks were lovely," called Sansa as she opened the door. "You should -" The air had the metallic tang of blood, so strong she could almost taste it. She slipped her hand into her purse as the door opened completely.

"Gabriel?"

[Jack Bradley]

Dread flooded over Jack, like a bucket of ice-water dumped down the back of his shirt. His stomach twisted into knots while a matter of feet away, his hands perfectly steady, Sean palmed the handle of his knife and began to slide the blade slowly from its boot sheath. Panic flared inside of him.

Both eyebrows leaping up, Jack mouthed: “What are you doing? We have to get out!”

There was only one doorway leading out of the kitchen into the entrance hallway. Sean slipped across the room, pressing himself flush against a wall, in prime position to jump around the corner at whoever came walking down the hallway.

Without direction, Jack froze. This was ridiculous! What was he doing? Why had he agreed to take part in this? So what if Gabriel was stealing from the hospital. Surely there were people better equipped to deal with it than an ambulance driver and an unemployed security guard. Sean shot him a glare. Fighting for a moment to keep the holdall on his shoulder, he waved at the couch then swatted his palm downwards.

“Get down.. get behind the couch!” he hissed, but it was too late.

Someone was about to walk through the threshold and find Jack Bradley standing over Gabriel Rodermark's dead body.

[Sansa]

Two heartbeats, fast rhythms. Sansa loudly tossed her keys onto the tray by the door, and felt her own heart sink into her stomach. Figuratively speaking.

Gabriel should have popped around the corner immediately, pestering her with questions and making her laugh. There was blood everywhere, she could smell it and sense it, and everything was wrong. Her happiness of minutes before was gone. Forgotten. Now there was sharpness inside her, like a coiled spring with honed edges.

As she walked to the kitchen the scene came into view. Gabe was sprawled on the floor, vitae spilled in sticky splatters all over the cupboards. There was a man standing there, and Sansa took in a ragged breath. "You killed him." Her purse fell to the ground and she stepped over the threshold, her knife gripped in her hand and fangs bared.

[Jack Bradley]

Just the sound of her bag hitting the floor was enough to startle Jack. He stumbled backwards and yelled as he tripped over the dead body of Gabriel Rodermark. The back of his head smacked against the hard-wood floor and the impact rattled up the length of his spine. Across the room, Sean roared as he jumped out in ambush – the holdall on his shoulder falling for the ground as he dived at the woman with his knife clenched in his fist, ready to take her down in a rugby tackle.

Dazed, Jack steadied himself and blinked away the stars from his eyes. He caught sight of his legs draped either side of the rolling pin protruding from Rodermark's chest and, teeth clenched, scrambled backwards.

[Sansa]

She could feel the man leaping at her before he'd even started moving. In time Gabe had said that she would be able to use her gift of Auspex over large areas, but right now the immediate vicinity was all that mattered. The power of her blood lent speed to her body, and Sansa deftly swatted the man's fist up as she ducked under his arms. She dove at his legs and surged up, tipping him arse over tip in the doorway.

[Jack Bradley]

Jack staggered to his feet, grabbing the handle of a kitchen drawer to pull himself up. The draw slid open and Jack lurched backwards, though his balance kicked in before he could tumble again. His eyes darted to the hallway ahead, where the girl was dropping Sean like a sack of bricks. He hit the floor with an audible smack and oof, but was lashing out at the girl within seconds of going down.

Fists clenched at his sides, Jack looked frantically around the room. What was he supposed to do? This wasn't part of the plan. He had to do something. Anything. Anything except stand there and watch Sean get torn apart. The holdall with Sean's weapons inside was out of reach and not an option, so Jack went for the first thing he could grab: a kettle.

Why the fuck does a vampire even own a kettle?! his mind shrieked, but he was already striding forward with stamping steps, his legs moving of their own accord, ready to crack the girl over the back of the head.

[Sansa]

The second intruder was scrabbling around in the kitchen, slipping on Gabriel's precious blood, but Sansa couldn't spare him more than a thought. Her attacker was recovering quickly, the knife still in his hand as he lashed out at her legs from where he was on the ground. She spun around, taking a slash to her thigh that parted fabric and flesh alike as she grabbed him by the face. He still struggled, fighting for life even as she stabbed him with her blade where his neck met his shoulder.

"Don't even think about it," she commanded, sensing the second man behind her with his hand raised. Her Presence was weak compared to most, but it was enough to make the man pause as she turned around to face him.

[Jack Bradley]

It was like the kettle hit an invisible wall as Sansa's command and the power that it carried halted every aggressive impulse in Jack's body. His arm locked in place, absolutely rigid.

Behind the girl, Sean choked out a wet cough. “Do it, Jack,” he said, his breath shallow. He groped at his neck, at the wound that had already soaked most of his shirt a deep, dark red. Then, fumbling for something to hold onto, he tried to get to his feet. He swayed, smearing a bloody hand print down the hallway wallpaper as his legs buckled beneath him.

“End this.. blood-sucking bitch. Le's.. get the fuck out of here.”

Jack just stared at the girl. “Please,” he started. His eyes were damp and his knuckles white as he gripped the kettle like his life depended on it.

“Please, I'm sorry. Just.. just let me get him to a hospital.”

[Sansa]

She was trembling as she stood there, vitae soaking her pant leg from where she'd been cut. It only took a moment to catalog Jack, his clothes mostly clean of Gabriel's lifeblood except for his shoes.

Not like the other one. The one who had been splashed all over with Gabe's vitae. The one struggling to stand up behind her while encouraging his mate to kill her.... with a kettle. Sansa whirled around with inhuman speed, snapping the killer's neck. He sagged against the ruined wallpaper, falling to the ground, and Sansa was in front of Jack, one bloody hand pressed to his mouth and the other holding his kettle wrist in a vice like grip.

His eyes were as wide as they could go and she could feel his blood pumping through his vascular system as she rubbed a finger over his teeth. Her hand shifted slightly to his face, holding his jaw tightly, but as her fingers tightened she caught sight of Gabe on the floor with a rolling pin in his chest, and a high keening wail started somewhere at the back of her throat. Sansa pushed Jack away from her and found herself at Gabriel's side, trying to cradle his head in her lap.

"Just get out," she cried, shooting the mortal a broken glance before returning her gaze to Gabe's mop of dark hair.

[Jack Bradley]

This isn't happening.

No, no, this isn't happening.

One hand clapped over his mouth, Jack sank to his knees beside his cousin.

“Sean. Sean. No.. no no no. Sean, this - this wasn't supposed to happen. You said – Sean – you –”

His cousin Sean. His cousin whose head was facing the wrong way. Whose jaw was slack and whose eyes were open and staring at him – staring through him. No life left in them. All the life spilled out over his chest, splattered across the hallway floor.

He could taste blood on his teeth and tongue. Bile gurgled up his throat.

“Just get out.”

The words snapped at him like a whip crack and he flinched, turning his helpless eyes back towards the girl just look enough to see her glare. As before, the power of the command reverberated through him, picking up on his own emotions and amplifying them.

He wanted out. He wanted out of the flat, out and away from this nightmare.

Reeling towards the door, he braced a hand against the wall and turned back to the sight of Sean looking like a puppet whose strings had been cut, everything at the wrong angle, one arm thrown over his up-ended holdall.

He couldn't stand to see it any more. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fell out of the flat into the hallway beyond.

[Sansa]

"No, no, no, no, no, no..." Sansa stuttered as she smoothed Gabe's hair from his pale face, the mortals already forgotten in her pain. "You can't be dead. We're immortal. You're not dead. No. Nononono..."

She pressed her hand to her leg again, her wound already healing, and dripped some of her vitae into his slack mouth. "No!" she screamed, shaking him wildly, then becoming disgusted with her actions and releasing his lifeless body as she backed away. Sansa sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her back against the stove as she stared wide-eyed at Gabriel.

After a few moments, or hours, she stirred herself, feeling Hunger from all the energy she had expended. She crawled to the hallway where the dead kine lay, his blood soaked into the rug and his shirt. Sansa knelt over the body for a moment, and then pressed her lips to the knife wound on his neck, drawing out what little blood was left inside his fleshy shell.

Disgusted and dissatisfied, she pulled away, wiping her mouth with her arm and catching sight of her purse on the ground in the blood pool. Her cell phone was peeking out of it, and she snatched it up, dialing a number with trembling fingers.

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam Dunsirn stretched on the couch and used the remote to switch off the television. The Opening Ceremonies were as British as fuck, and frankly the best bit had been the Queen falling out of an airplane. He'd stuck it out through the torch lighting, but it was over and he had work in the morning.

He brushed popcorn detritus from his shirt and pushed up to his feet, the bowl falling from where it had been precariously balanced and landing on the hardwoods. There was a muffled curse from Ewan's closed bedroom, and a giggle from the woman he'd brought in. Liam kicked the popcorn bowl by accident and it skittered loudly across the smooth floor until it came to rest against the fireplace guard.

He paused for a moment, looking down at the empty bottles that tallied his beer consumption for the evening, and then his phone rang. He bent to retrieve it, and brushed his thumb across it's surface to accept the call. "'Allo, darling. Wait. What?" Liam pulled the phone away from his head for a moment as the voice on the other end got very shrill, and then he said, "Try t' stay calm. Don't call anyone else, and don't move anything."

His face split with a craggy grin as he slipped the phone into his jeans and walked to Ewan's door. He opened it without fanfare and announced, "It's your favorite crazy bird, and she's crazier than normal. Plus she's at your favorite location - a murder."

[Ewan Dunsirn]

It was almost an hour and a half later by the time Ewan found himself stepping over the dead body in Sansa Martin's flat. He took deliberate care to edge around the pool of blood that surrounded it. Sansa's hardwood floor would be stained, but that didn't mean he had to ruin a good pair of shoes too.

She hadn't moved the body, at least. In fact, it didn't look like she had moved at all, until she looked up at Ewan with confusion in her eyes.

“The door was open.”

Ewan's lips pursed into a thin line: his approximation of a sympathetic smile. His eyes slid over the second 'corpse': far less bloody, but with a make-shift stake piercing his chest. Ewan's brow wrinkled, ever so slightly.

Liam had said Gabriel Rodermark was dead. Either he was terrible secretary, or Sansa Martin still had more than a few things to learn about the Kindred. He'd known all along that she was sheltered from their society, but not to this extent.

Slowly crouching down beside Sansa, Ewan met her eyes.

“What would you like me to do?”

[Sansa]

Sansa blinked, focusing on the face in front of her. She ran her hands through her hair, or at least attempted to before her fingers got tangled in her messy locks. "I need a place to stay." She looked in the direction of Gabe's body, but didn't actually look at him. "He said we could trust you."

Her cheeks were stained red with dried tears. "I - I don't know what t' do." She looked up at Ewan, her eyes large. The whispers were quieter now that he was there.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

“Of course. We can sort you out with a room in a hotel nearby. Though...”

That last word hung in the air as Ewan considered Sansa. He imagined her in a suite at The Savoy, crying blood all over the Egyptian cotton sheets. The thought of it made a muscle in his cheek twitch.

“If you'd rather not be alone, I do have a spare room in my flat.”

Spare wasn't entirely accurate. It was technically Liam's room, but Liam tended to sleep - like the dog he was - wherever he happened to be when he passed out from an over-indulgence in his hedonism of choice for the day.

“Whatever you'd prefer, I'll arrange for someone to give this place a clean up while you're away.”

[Sansa]

"Please..." she tried to smooth her tangled hair with shaking hands. "I don't want to be alone. If it's not too much trouble..."

Sansa sniffed, and screwed her eyes shut, shouting inside her head. Alone! All alone! Alone and immortal. Her head twitched slightly to the right, and then she opened her eyes and pushed herself up to her feet, back supported by the wall all the way up. "It's just... he always took care of this sort of... thing." She gestured weakly at the body on the floor, and then had the shuddering thought that all of this really reminded her of walking in on Emilie all those years ago.

She stepped over the kine and walked woodenly to their bedroom, a part of her knowing that she needed to pack some clothes. And change, too. Sansa looked down at her ruined pants and bloodstained tank top, and suddenly she couldn't get them off fast enough. She threw them into the clothes basket, and pulled on a pair of leggings and a baggy t-shirt. Other items were stuffed into an oversized purse in a sudden flurry of activity.

He's dead. And she was too. Sansa felt emptied out, all the joy and laughter they'd had together gone as if it had never existed.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

Ewan straightened to his feet, watching with only half-hearted interest as Sansa tore herself out of her clothing. She was attractive in a waifish sort of way, he supposed, but quite clearly damaged goods. Liam would try to fuck her on principle. It was a territory thing and he wouldn't let the small fact that she was dead stand in his way. She looked, however, a little too much like a dead-eyed whore from some Eastern bloc nation for Ewan's tastes. It wasn't her looks that the family cared about, fortunately; what they were interested in was the blood bonds she shared, her significance within the Camarilla community.

“Do you need a hand with anything?” Ewan called out, his voice flat as he stared down at the dead body of the supposed Prince of London. The dead kine could be used, but Rodermark? No, not him.

[Liam Dunsirn]

Liam bounded up the stairs, found the door unlocked, and let himself in. The odor of blood and the beginning of decay was sickly sweet in the air, though still faint enough not to alarm the neighbors. Luckily the downstairs flat was empty and the people who lived above were on holiday. He'd just had a nice nose about in their apartments to make sure.

"You look terrible," he said immediately upon laying eyes on Sansa. She gaped at him, and he gave her a little push into the bathroom where she could survey her bloody face. She turned on the water as he walked over to Ewan, his nostrils flaring. "Building's empty but for us."

Liam looked around at eye level, his brain sorting out all the different smells. "Where's the other bloke?"

[Ewan Dunsirn]

Ewan gave an exaggerated shrug that said 'don't know, don't care.' It didn't matter who else had seen whatever had taken place. There was no one who could have connected anything in Sansa Martin's flat to the Giovanni. Even if they did, the family was well-connected. It'd be left to Roland Salisbury and his lackeys to try and sweep that mess under the carpet.

“Anyway,” Ewan glanced down at the smart-phone in his hand, “I've got people on the way here to clear out the bodies, so I'm taking her back to ours. It'd be helpful if you could keep out of the way for a while.”

[Liam Dunsirn]

Helpful. Of course. Liam thought about taking offense, but couldn't find the conviction inside him. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to scare anyone." He bared his teeth in a smile as he opened the fridge. Empty.

There was a corked bottle of merlot on the countertop, however, and he put it under his arm. "Right, I'm off." He sauntered down the hall, stopping to give a damp Sansa a nod before letting himself out.

[Sansa]

Sansa felt a tiny bit better, her hair and face rinsed clean. As Liam Dunsirn thumped down the stairs she lingered in the hallway, trying not to stare at the body of the man she'd killed. It wasn't that death disturbed her anymore, or that she was squeamish about taking a life. She was just so fucking hungry.

She was breathing heavily, open mouthed, and unaware that she'd spoken her last thought.

[Ewan Dunsirn]

“Uh... huh.”

Ewan fought the impulse to narrow his eyes at her. Instead, after double-checking that she had indeed removed any clothing stained with blood, Ewan carefully wrapped an arm around Sansa's shoulders and began to guide her out.

His car was parked in the garage of the Sansa's building. The cars headlights flashed as he thumbed the button on his keys for the central locking. Before he opened any of the doors, however, Ewan paused and took hold of Sansa by the shoulders.

“Do you need to feed right now? I think you can be strong for me and hold on for a little while, can't you?”

He had visions of her going into frenzy and trying to tear out his throat, driven wild by a potentially lethal cocktail of stress and the hunger. It was better if she didn't drink from him. That would risk creating the beginnings of a blood bond and weakening the attachment that she had to Gabriel.

[Sansa]

"N-no, I can wait." Sansa chewed on her bottom lip for a moment and then squared her shoulders and straightened her back. She was a Toreador, not a sniveling child.

She didn't much feel like it, though. "Apologies, I am afraid I'm a bit of a wreck."

[Ewan Dunsirn]

“You are.”

Ewan held the passenger door to the car open and Sansa climbed inside obediently, the door closing behind her. Ewan slid into the drivers seat and paused a moment, flexing his fingers against the wheel. The cars sterile, air-conditioned interior was a welcome departure from the sloppy mess inside Sansa's apartment. Adjusting the rear view mirror, he couldn't help but glance briefly to the left, as the worry that Sansa might get blood on the upholstery needled through him.

The things I tolerate for the Family.

Ewan smiled and shifting gears, pulled out of the garage. The streets of London were busy, busier than usual as kine from the world over flocked to the spectacle of the Olympics. Ewan frowned faintly as he realised the voices on the car radio were also ooing and aahing over it all. With a twist, he lowered the volume.

“Is there anyone we can contact for you, Sansa?”

[Sansa]

She was silent long enough that he wondered if she'd heard him at all. Who could she contact? Gabriel was the disgraced former Prince. His old friends had shunned them for years, and she'd rarely left the apartment except for finding kine at his side. He let her take walks by herself from time to time, and of course she had been away from him when he'd needed her the most.

Sansa knuckled her forehead in distress, and slowly shook her head. "There is no one to call. Except..."

Ewan looked back at her in the rear view mirror, and she shrugged. "Thaddeus Post, perhaps. He used to be a friend of Gabriel's." Unless Post was behind the assassination. She leaned her head against the window, staring blindly out at the street as they drove. The world of vampire politics was a big confusing mess of wheels within wheels, and she didn't have the brain for it, as Gabriel had often told her.