Patrick Mahoney

The granite stone was cold, unfeeling. Patrick had always thought that his mother deserved better than the emotionless slab of rock in front of him. Even the words were cold...Norah Anne Mahoney...Beloved wife, sister, and mother... so cold, so unimaginative. Mrs. Mahoney deserved more than that...so much more.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he whispered.

A chilling breeze played with the edges of his clothes and hair, but Patrick ignored it. His mind was far away, thinking of the one person who had been there for him since his mother's death those four years ago, the one person who had helped pull him out of his deep swamp of sadness...the one person that he had thought would always be there.

I'm sorry, Mum," he repeated.

He looked up into the grey sky of the afternoon for a moment, as if that would be less painful for him.

"I let you down, Mum. You told me I could break this curse, but I haven't. You had faith in me, and I've let you down. And...I let her slip through my fingers. I drove her away, and she's never coming back.

With a sigh, he let his mind slip back to that faithful evening, two and a half weeks before. The night that he had discovered that Kathleen had followed him to the outskirts of Helvaband, and had seen everything.

The night she had seen him for what he truly was.

"I saw you!" Kathleen shrieked. "I saw you, Patrick!" She was hysterical, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Kathleen! I didn't want you to find out this way!"

Kathleen was distraught. "You--I saw you--you killed him! He didn't do anything to you, but you killed him anyway!"

Patrick's heart sank. She had seen much more than he had imagined. She had seen the whole thing.

"I...I was going to tell you!" he said weakly.

"How long?" Kathleen glared at him through her tears.

He sighed. "Almost eight years now."

Kathleen's eyes widened, and she said nothing.

"It's a curse, Kathleen. There's a way to break it, but I don't know how. I was going to tell you..."

Kathleen exploded.

"Why didn't you, then?! Why?! Why did you let me think nothing was wrong, blissfully unaware that you were out...MURDERING every night without mercy? Why did you leave me in the dark, never knowing, never even suspecting...How could you do that to me?"

Her shoulders shook with each sob.

"I'm sorry!"

"I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!

It felt like Patrick's heart was being ripped from his chest. "I do, Kathleen! I do! More than anything! I've always loved you! I always will! Nothing could ever change that!"

He felt something hot and wet on his cheek, and his mind registered that he was crying as well.

Kathleen looked into his eyes and shook her head. "How can I believe that? How can I believe that when I've seen what you can do? You're a--you're a--you're a Faoladh! A Conriocht!" she said, lapsing into the Gaelic words from the stories their grandparents had told them when they were children.

"No! No, Kathleen, don't...don't!"

"You're a Werewolf!"

"Kathleen!"

"You're a MONSTER!" she sobbed.

He followed her all the way to the train station, begging and pleading. It did nothing.

"Kathleen, wait!" he cried, grabbing her shoulder as she began to walk up the steps of the platform. "I can break this curse! I know I can! Please, don't go! I love you!"

Kathleen shook her head once again. "I loved you, Patrick. This hurts me as much as it hurts you, can't you see that? But I can't stay here! How can I , when I can't trust you?"

Tears were falling freely down the couple's cheeks, but they were ignored.

"You're a monster, Patrick"

Patrick let his arm fall limply to his side as he watched her walk slowly up the old wooden steps.

"Kathleen, I LOVE YOU!" he shouted desperately.

She turned around and met his eyes with hers.

"I'm sorry, Patrick."

She stepped onto the train.

The doors closed, and she was gone.

Patrick found himself back in the Cemetery again. He wiped the stubborn tears from his eyes as he stared at his mother's grave.

"I'm sorry, Mum."

"I'm sorry, Kathleen," he whispered in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

Lottie by Mascii

Patrick Mahoney

All of a sudden, Patrick heard a rustling noise behind him, and he slowly turned around. He saw a young woman cautiously enter the Cemetery, looking about nervously--I can't see why, though, it's the middle of the day! he thought to himself--as if she was afraid that something would jump out and grab her. Patrick watched her for a moment. He couldn't see her face, only her dark, curly hair and her white dress.

As he studied her, the girl knelt down on the cold ground and crossed herself. Patrick's suspicious expression immediately softened, and he wondered whether or not he should approach her. She might not want to be bothered...but on the other hand, she might want some company... Patrick looked up at the sky. It wasn't that late yet...probably only around three o'clock or so. He would have plenty of time to go quickly to Mallowcrest and then disappear off into the Moors to Transform. Oh, if only it was a new moon! he thought wistfully, thinking of the only nights where he wasn't forced to roam the mysterious outskirts of Helvaband, trapped in his Wolf form, awaiting daylight.

Making up his mind, Patrick slowly approached the praying girl. When he reached her, he said softly, "Please, forgive me for disturbing you, Miss, but I couldn't help but notice you...would you like me to pray with you?" He gave the girl a little half-smile as he awaited her reply.

Lottie by Mascii

Patrick Mahoney

The girl spoke, saying, "That's alright, I was just finishing," with a kind smile as she stood up. Patrick saw that she had kind, dark brown eyes and returned her smile. She's...pretty...he thought. Of course, no one could ever be as pretty as Kathleen, and no one could ever replace her in his heart, but...

"I don't have any relatives here," the girl said. "I was just saying a prayer for the dead here before looking around - I was told that this is quite an interesting place. A little sentiment of mine." Patrick nodded and, with a small sigh, said, "My mother is buried here. I haven't been out to visit her grave for a while, so I thought I ought to come. She deserves that."

Her smile not faltering, the young woman swept into a graceful curtsy. Patrick tried to hide his surprise. He could count on one hand the number of times in his life he had been curtsied to. "I'm Florence Raine, by the way," she told him.

"I'm Patrick Mahoney. It's very nice to meet you, Miss Raine." He stood still for a moment, considering, and then he gently took Florence's hand and placed a quick kiss upon it.

Lottie by Mascii

Florence Raine

Florence’s smile grew a little when the man looked at her in a way that suggested that he thought her attractive, although she doubted he was one for flirting. He seemed too…melancholy, too serious. She hoped he had a sense of humour, for if he didn’t she would have to excuse herself very quickly indeed. It would seem rather odd if she left too quickly, too, for she had said that she had wanted to look around and she had definitely not been there long enough to do that.

She introduced herself and curtsied. When she came back up and craned her neck to look at the man, who had a surprised look on his face. ‘Is it not normal in Helvaband to curtsy to people you meet?’ she wondered, and hoped he would kiss her hand, or else she’d have to excuse herself. Luckily, he did just that, and introduced himself as Patrick Mahoney to her relief. She had been wondering exactly how different the customs were in Helvaband. So far, people here had been very different indeed from her old life. Even the nobles were different…or perhaps just the noble she had met. Cody. Florence felt her stomach turn over at the thought of him. He was different, but in a good way, a refreshing way…and he was so handsome…She wondered if she would see him again, and when. There was another ball coming up, this one for Valentines’ Day…maybe he would go to that.

Florence brushed away these thoughts, remembering where she was and that she was talking to someone. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mister Mahoney,” she said. “Are you new to Helvaband or have I just not seen you yet?” She smiled. “I’ve not been staying here for long, myself – I only arrived just before Christmas – so it’s probably the latter.”

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Florence Raine

Florence smiled again when he asked if he could call her Florence. It was not something everyone did, and it was a little endearing, in a way, although if she were not concealing her identity, she would be greatly offended. “Yes, you may, Mister Mahoney…unless you’d like me to call you Patrick?” She was impatient to get past the standard introductory nonsense – although it was nonsense she could not very well stray from, whichever world she was in, the ‘society’ world or the ‘common’ world – for this man seemed like a rather interesting acquaintance. For he could laugh, which showed that he had a sense of humor. Perhaps he was not melancholy at all, and he just appeared that way because of…bone structure, possibly?

She studied him discreetly. His features weren’t the melancholy type. So why did he look so sad?

This was one mystery Florence wanted to get to the bottom of…

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Florence Raine

Patrick’s smile was slow, as if the muscles involved with smiling were rusty and unused to having to work. ‘I wonder what’s wrong with him,’ she thought. ‘He’s not ugly or anything and he doesn’t look poor exactly. I don’t see why he’s sad. Maybe he’s sad about his mother dying, or…or something…Jilted by a lover, perhaps? Or possibly he’s pining after some girl who doesn’t care for him. Or maybe it has nothing to do with love. Maybe his best friend stabbed him in the back.’ Florence’s thoughts went on in this vein for a little while, jumping from one reason for why he looked so sad to another. He didn’t seem particularly chatty, either, for he didn’t say anything for a couple of moments. Florence was about to make up some excuse – this was getting a little awkward – when he finally asked if she was enjoying Helvaband.

Now there was a question. Florence honestly didn’t know what she thought of Helvaband. Sometimes, when the mattress at the Hotel was feeling particularly hard (although she supposed it was better than it could have been, she had been used to luxurious, feather beds with an abundance of fluffy, downy pillows, which the beds at the Hotel were not) and when she was feeling homesick for her father and her old friends and the predictable, yet fun, life of a socialite, she felt as if she hated Helvaband. At other times, she liked it even better than her old life. However, she couldn’t exactly say any of that, so she simply said, “Yes, thank you. I was wondering, though…Is there ever any opera or…or anything like that?”

Now, while Florence didn’t love going to the opera, she missed it. Her family used to go to the opera quite often – they had a box of their own there – more to see and be seen than listen to the music. She missed that. She missed socializing in general. There weren’t very many people in Helvaband, or at least not ones she would be bothered about…

‘Oh, well,’ she thought. ‘There’s always the Valentines’ Day Ball coming up soon…’

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Florence Raine

“So, Florence, tell me about yourself.” Florence had to resist the urge to smirk at this question of Patrick’s. It was rather pathetic, although a little endearing in a way. He was obviously tongue-tied by her beauty, or something of the like. Nevertheless, she felt rather sorry for this man, so she rose to the occasion and told a little about herself or, rather, the girl she was pretending to be. It would not do to say something like, ‘Well, I am the daughter of an extremely wealthy baronet and my mother is dead and I am here because my father didn’t want me to get kidnapped again and I’ll probably be here for a very long time.’ While she supposed she could say something like that to Cody, she didn’t know this man. Of course, she had only met Cody once, but he seemed so…trustworthy. And he was a noble, too. He wouldn’t want to kidnap her. This man, however, was different. He looked respectable enough, but, then again, so did her kidnapper, and he was definitely not very well off. Not poor exactly, but definitely not rich, and while she supposed she couldn’t blame people for not being rich, she knew that a rich person wouldn’t bother kidnapping a girl for ransom, while poor people might for the money. Patrick didn’t seem like the sort to kidnap a girl at all, but one never knew, and it would not do to go blabbing it around to everyone that she was a noble – things had a way of getting out, after all…

“Well, I come from a little town nearby. I sing a little, although my talents are meagre,” she said, thinking of things to say on the spot. “I’m staying at the Hotel until I choose to leave Helvaband.” Florence decided that this was enough – a little more and she might accidentally give herself away. She deflected the conversation from herself by saying, “And yourself?”

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Florence Raine

Florence nodded in acknowledgement of his short description of himself. He seemed like a completely unextraordinary man in general – while not as handsome as Cody, reasonably attractive, bookish, and polite. Not particularly funny, but he had a sense of humor. A little bland, but likeable. And rather mysterious as well, which made him interesting. His sad countenance and his talk of friends who had left to go off into the world suggested a dark, interesting past…one that he didn’t care to reveal. Or perhaps his friends simply left one by one to go to other places, driven mad by the uneventful Helvaband life, and there was nothing particularly intriguing about it. However, he seemed as if he didn’t care to share, which awakened some curiosity inside her.

“So tell me about Helvaband,” she said. “The people left that you do know. The attitude of the population in general. I haven’t been here long, so I haven’t gotten used to staying here yet, and it would be helpful if I had someone to help me learn the ropes.” She smiled.

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Florence Raine

Florence plastered an interested look on her face while he talked about Helvaband in general. She supposed the information would come in handy later, but she knew most of what he said…except for the stories of magyck. But then again, those were probably just stories.

‘But you’re a witch,’ she thought. ‘And so is Bella, and Lilith, too, probably. Why wouldn’t they be true?’ She pushed these thoughts away. She didn’t want to think about magyck just then.

Florence made mental notes about the people Patrick talked about. ‘I know Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Minestoy…Alan Crane is nice…I know Mr. Lansforth…the Bingleys are good people and friendly…Narcissa is lovely…’ She instantly felt a fluttery sensation in her stomach when the name ‘Hawkins’ was mentioned. Cody and…Kip. That was his name, wasn’t it? The sick one. “That’s about it—although there are so many newcomers these days, they’re quite hard to keep track of. I haven’t gotten to know that many yet, unfortunately.” He paused. “I believe that’s everything…unless there is something specific you’d like to know?”

Florence hesitated – although she made it look as she were thinking instead of unsure – before saying, “Yes, please…what are the…‘Hawkins brothers’ like?” Her tone was interested, but it sounded as though she didn’t particularly care whether or not he answered…which of course she did. She didn’t want too many people to know that she was interested in Cody in that way, and even if she didn’t care much about who knew, it would feel strange confiding to a man about a man. It went against her baser instincts.

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Florence Raine

Florence concealed her disappointment that Patrick had simply given a general description of them. He had said nothing she hadn’t known already, which sort of defeated the purpose of her asking after Kip and Cody. Florence was hoping he would divulge a nugget of information – just a small one would do – about Cody in particular that she could use to her advantage. However, that did not seem to be the case. She nodded once, pretending to be sort of interested in what he was saying.

“May I ask why you wish to know more about them?” Patrick asked, his tone polite.

Florence thought quickly, making up a reason as she spoke. “Oh, no reason. I heard someone mention their name before and I was curious.” ‘Not a bad lie for having to think so quickly,’ Florence congratulated herself and then felt a little pang of guilt for congratulating herself for lying well. Lying was a sin, after all. ‘But everyone does it,’ she tried to justify herself. ‘Sometimes it’s even necessary. If I don’t lie about who I really am, who knows what will happen? Why, I might get kidnapped again, and maybe this time I won’t be so lucky. I don’t know how to control my magic that well, although I am getting better. And this isn’t exactly necessary, but if Cody were to know I have been thinking about him so much, I’d die of embarrassment. What if he hasn’t thought of me?’

She forced herself to think of what she was doing, and changed the subject. “And…Narcissa Dayton?” she asked, picking a name at random after filtering out people she already knew or people who weren’t high enough on the social scale to count much – for instance, Mrs. Pierce was a lovely person, but she ran a hotel, for goodeness’ sake, and she was old. Her father would not like it if he found out that she had been hanging around people like that too much, however lovely they may be.

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Drake Dekker

Cemeteries were the scapegoats of a nasty stigma, Drake often thought. Cemeteries were history books, with the records and memories of those honored and then buried in Helvaband. His parents' graves were there. It was nothing sentimental; he'd never really gotten to know them anyway, so he'd never learned to miss them. Things happen, neither for better or wore, but for what one makes of them. And he made something better of it. Through a chain of events beginning with those deaths, he was able to discover his passions and purpose. And since watching the burial with unknowing eyes still blue with new birth, though that day impossible to remember, Drake had felt the cemetery as elegant and quintessential as any Gothic cathedral. And it was often his choice of location for contemplation.

As days passed after the Christmas fellowship, the reaction of Narcissa Dayton to his questions kept forcing a twinge in the conscious. He knew it was his prodding that forced her exit. But it's a woman's nature to respond so dramatically, he'd told himself without much confidence, for his response to himself always was, but it's a man's nature to neglect all in pursuit of one result...

Not only this, but that paper handed to him by Hawkins. What was written on it was intriguing enough to merit grooved edges from multiple readings. And this, combined with the ring he'd handed to Miss Narcissa! The Hawkinses... smart, enlightened, good-natured people, yet even they suffered the same as the rest of the lot... where is the justice? He wondered more and more frequently.

And this wondering is what drew him again to his preferred place of contemplation: the cemetery. No one else liked it too much, so it was quiet. And the statuary above certain elite graves was as holy and celestial as any stained glass window. He looked above his head at the tallest angel standing guard over a tomb marked with the name of a young mother, described poetically on the epitaph below. He breathed in deeply, running through the Hawkins' insight mentally.

Voices reached his ears as he traced his way deeper into the graveyard. His eyebrow arched jocularly. Heh, he thought. I've started something. Soon enough a semi-rhythmic sound merged with the voices, though from a clearly different direction. He focused into the distance and saw a figure diligently at work. Any sense of peace the immobile angels might have given him quickly faded into stoicism, or a close relative thereof. He could have kicked himself for not noticing sooner! The flaming curls gave clue enough. Abelinda Wyn, doing something eccentric again, no doubt. He softened his footsteps, trying to match the rhythem of her work. He didn't trust her to stay if he made himself too obvious during this interesting little procedure.

Still a bit behind her, Drake broke the silence. "Surely you aren't digging up graves, Abelinda? I'm fairly certain that's a criminal offense in most places."

*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!

Florence Raine

Florence felt a supercilious smile tickling the coners of her lips when she saw a jealous look on Patrick’s face after she had answered his question (albeit with a lie), but she kept it in check, not letting it show, which was quite easy when she realized that this meant that he had guessed that it wasn’t simply because she had heard their name before that she wanted to hear about the Hawkins brothers. ‘Well you shouldn’t have lied,’ her conscience said to her. Florence quickly quietened its voice. ‘I don’t need your input,’ she told it, and then realized that she was talking to herself. ‘Well, things have come to a pretty pass, haven’t they? I’ve finally gone mad,’ she thought wryly.

To throw Patrick off the scent, she asked about another of the people he had mentioned and he responded with a short description of Narcissa Dayton, the girl she had asked about. Florence nodded. “I’d like to meet her,” she said truthfully. Most of the people in Helvaband she had met so far were either too low class or simply not the type of person she liked to associate with. Rebecca was an exception, but, although she was sweet, she was still so…inexperienced. She couldn’t talk to her about certain things. She simply wouldn’t understand. Narcissa seemed rather normal. Of course, Florence preferred the extraordinary to the ordinary, but since she was supposed to pretend to be ordinary, she supposed ‘normal’ would have to do for now…which would make Narcissa a good candidate for being a friend.

“You say you’ve been in Helvaband since just before Christmas…” Patrick said.

Florence nodded. “Yes, that’s right…” She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue, for he evidently had more to say.

“Who have you had the pleasure of meeting thus far?” Patrick finished.

‘To say Cody’s name, or not to say Cody’s name…’ Florence thought as she named some of the people she had already met, saving Cody for the last, should she choose to say his name “Mrs. Pierce…Mrs. Minestoy…Mr. Lansforth…a young man named Drake Dekker…a newcomer, Rebecca Appleton…Mr. Ambrose Vorassi, who I met at the Christmas Ball…two girls I met on the train, Isobella Vaugier and Lilith Eytinge…” she said, putting all her effort into not making a sour face when she pronounced the last two names. “Oh, and I have met one of the Hawkins brothers. Cody. Although we didn’t do much more than exchange names. He seems nice, I suppose.” Florence kept her voice casual, almost disinterested about Cody, as if she didn’t even particularly want to see him again (although she didn’t make it seem as if she didn’t want to see him again…there was a fine balance). “That’s about it,” she finished. “Unless you’d like to hear about that fascinating doorman at Mr. Lansforth’s party. He really was such a vivacious man; I was tempted to spend the rest of the party with him,” Florence said, and giggled a little to let Patrick know she was joking and batted her eyelashes a few times. A little flirting was necessary to convince Patrick that she wasn’t interested in Cody; it would lead him to believe she was interested in him and therefore not in Cody. Although it did mean that she would have to avoid him after today, but avoiding people wasn’t hard…if you really tried…

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Florence Raine

Patrick laughed a tad too hard at her joke. She guessed that he, like Rebecca, didn’t know much about making friends and gaining influence, something which she, as nobility, knew quite a lot about. One could not laugh too much or too little, the right thing had to be said at exactly the right time, and one should know who exactly was acceptable to socialize with. Patrick obviously didn’t know much about any of those things. He wouldn’t be able to survive a single party back home. ‘Is everyone in Helvaband socially inept?’ she thought irritably, even as she giggled along with Patrick. She was very sure that Patrick had guessed that there was more between her and Cody than she let on, so drastic measures had to be taken. She needed to flirt with Patrick.

Florence batted her eyelashes after she and Patrick had finished laughing. “I hope you’re going to the Valentines’ Day Ball,” Florence said in her sweetest tones, even though she didn’t hope so, particularly. She supposed she liked Patrick, but she was afraid he’d embarrass her in front of Cody by talking to her and doing something…She wasn’t sure what exactly, but something embarrassing. However, she lied perfectly. It was what she had to do day after day, after all.

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Florence Raine

Florence felt a little, momentary rush of relief when she heard that Patrick wasn’t planning to attend the Ball, but the relief was abolished by Patrick saying, “But, I suppose, plans can always change.” ‘Oh, well,’ she thought. ‘He’s nice, I suppose. Take it in your stride, Florence.’

She smiled and murmured, “I suppose I’ll see you there, then, Patrick,” as she walked closer to him. She would keep up the flirting for now, she supposed. Even if it did get out to Cody that she had been flirting with another man, well, all the more to make him jealous with. Cody was a challenge…one she was determined to win. And she did not want the fact that she wouldn’t be much of a challenge for him to reach Cody. Patrick seemed to have guessed already about what she felt about Cody – or at least about the general gist of her feelings – so she had to do whatever she could to tell him otherwise. “For now, I have to go,” she said, her voice still soft and low. Her fingers brushed against his chest. “I’ll see you around.” With that she walked around him, her hair brushing his back – completely by accident, however – as she left.

‘Thank God that’s over!’

Florence|Flo=FIERCE! Eat your heart out, Tyra.

Drake Dekker

In an instant, Drake recalled why he intentionally had had such little contact with Abelinda Wyn, and as she smiled broadly, saying, “Why, if it isn’t Drake Dekker…in the flesh,” (as if he was the one who lived in the middle of nowhere and showed himself only at irregular intervals!), the thought laying on his tongue couldn’t be suppressed, however cordial his nature told him to be. The words about to leave his lips, his brow furrowed at the strange sight before him, Abelinda continued her uncomfortable monologue. “My word, boy. Are you taller? I swear, if you get any handsomer in stature, I’m going to have to eat you up.” She chortled, clearly enjoying humor in the comment that Drake felt he was thankful to miss, though the cryptic nudge about it was hardly reassuring.

Drake gave a small lopsided smile. “Yes, well, obligations disallow me to trek out into the woods for a chat, if you’ll forgive me.” He crouched so that he could better see how much progress she’d made in her… endeavor… “Not bad,” he muttered, ignoring Abelinda’s voicing, “I remember when you were knee-high to a grasshopper. Scrawny thing you were, too. And nowhere near as good-looking.” Drake’s face down anyway, he wrinkled his nose. Abelinda had a wonderful knack at making him feel awkward. Hopefully, he did not allow it to seem blatant. “As for digging up graves,” Abelinda continued as Drake rose to his feet, brushing dirt off his fingertips, “I am certain I have no idea what you’re talking about. I lost an earring.” She grinned that Cheshire grin again, shrugging, and Drake almost believed it was to spite him. God only knew how much she disturbed him and intrigued him simultaneously.

To this, Drake could only raise his eyebrows in disbelief. He tilted his head toward the shovel in her possession. “Do your missing earrings often burrow themselves in the dirt of other people’s resting places?” And after a pause in which he bit the inside of his cheek, “Allow me to aid you, then, in relocating your treasure.” He couldn’t help but smirk, awaiting her response to that.

After all, he did have use for her. Hopefully he would be able to get a thing or two out of her, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath.

*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!

Drake Dekker

Abelinda Wyn hesitated, if for only a fraction of an instant, at Drake’s offer, clearly not so clueless as to overlook his ulterior intent. Which was fine by his mind; it was in his benefit. She held over the shovel, saying “If you insist upon showing off your chivalry, officer, by all means,” and gave a wink. He compulsively took the extended tool, but, of course, did not break ground; he simply held it as one holds a book or a newspaper in his nonchalance as she continued: But allow me to further explain my expedition of sorts – as you dig, of course.”

Oh, how she was grating him; the way she simply said “officer” dripped with mockery, or at least so it sounded to him. But dwelling on that would eventually show on the surface, and that would hardly behoove him. He smiled in returned, as if this all was a game like Abelinda seemed to think. “You’ve got me hooked now. Go on.”

Abelinda came to stand level to him and did indeed go on: “You see, this lady friend of mine from back in the day used to borrow my things all the time. Nasty rotten piece of a woman, too. I wouldn’t expect to find her much changed after a few years in this superbly created and designed cemetery, though she wasn’t deemed fortunate enough by the fates to be thus buried here.”

Drake was snickering in his mind. Nothing Abelinda said would change his conclusion about her: She disturbed him, simple as that. But unfortunately, her eccentricity is what would be to his advantage once they could get past the current… complication.

Quite proudly and with her perpetual devil-may-care attitude, Abelinda made herself at home on the grave marker. Where she a man at that moment, Drake would have pulled her off and made sure she would hold proper respect for the cold stone henceforth. But as she was not, and he did intend to see this all through, he refrained, as Abelinda continued her spinning. “Well, to cut a long story short, her husband found her with another man, and being a drunk himself, began to whip the blithering daylights out of her. He ended up getting shot by the man who had laid with his wife – a fine young chap, if not a bit too valiant and brave for his wellbeing – but not before ripping off his wife’s earring. Which happened to be mine. Since the two lovers escaped that night without telling anyone, the corpse was left until the distant neighbors came over to inspect the sounds from the night before. By that time, his hand was very tightly clenched around the earring, and those who buried him only opened his hand enough to see that it was ‘just a stupid old earring’.” --Abelinda added an injured pause— “So now I’ve come to get it back.”

Surely she doesn’t expect me to believe that rubbish. She doesn’t expect me to believe any story, he realized. She’s challenging me. His hand tightened on the handle of the shovel, the only outward sign of his inward thoughts.

Abelinda eyed him amusedly. “Well, I’m sure a grand ol’ sheriff such as yourself must have found some flaw in my story. So unless you’d rather talk politics while we dig, I would like to ask your thoughts on the whole, scandalous affair. I think it’s top-notch material for a fairy tale, if you ask me.” She did it again! He thought scornfully. The burlesque attitude with which she said that phrase—grand ol’ sheriff! He did not want to feed into her game, but her apathy of his person, of his abilities, of his mind surpassed base insult. “Abelinda,” he said slowly, “No man is above the law. No woman is above scrutiny…” His eyes left her briefly and flitted toward the fresh hole. He imagined her taking the shovel to his family’s plots not for sentimentality but to add fuel to the fire. “Listen… I don’t expect you to tell me what happens in that cottage of yours or what your interest is in this… hole… But you cannot honestly expect me to believe that ‘before his soul departed, he managed to tear off his wife’s earring’?” His voice rose steadily, though not intentionally, emphasizing his disbelief. Upon hearing his own voice die into the surroundings, he made sure to lower it to a much calmer tone as he said, “Forgive me, Abelinda… but… were I to walk in on a betrayal at the hands of my blushing bride and to enter into a murderous anger, facing my death at the hands of the traitor, the first thing to cross my mind would not be to grab hold of my wife’s earlobe.”

He thought about throwing the shovel down at her feet and making a big show about it, but that would be silly. Instead he twirled the shovel where it stood, making a circle in the bit of loose dirt. “Why don’t you try again?”

*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!

Drake Dekker

Some -- most-- probably would wonder why he even bothered. Unfortunately, if someone were to ask, he would not be able to give as sufficient answer, save that Abelinda apparently saw this as a game and so Drake did not wish to walk away defeated, and that the words from Hawkins still pressed on his mind, and somehow he connected Abelinda to it all.

She seemed genuinely amused by him, and her indifference, though not something new in his experience, could never settle well in his mind. “First let me point out that you haven’t said a woman is about the law. A bit of an error on your part, I’m sure. Second, I’m glad you’re not too curious about the happenings in my cottage. I can’t think that they would allow you to sleep easier at night, knowing a poor old woman likes to bake raspberry tarts. With a special family recipe she’s carried around for years, of course.” She winked.

Right. Tarts, he said to himself. A game for two, then… He assumed the same indifferent countenance as his interlocutor, eyeing her with disinterest and subconsciously biting the inside of his cheek; like a game of chess, one should always think three moves ahead…

“And thirdly," she continued, "I would take great pleasure in later discussing with you the possibilities of you even having a wife, if you would not take offense at my plain summary of such a conversation. I mean no offense, I assure you.”

He raised an eyebrow. It's called theorizing.

“I am afraid I was not quite clear enough in my story. He was beating the blithering daylights out of her, which, to better clarify, meant he was gripping her by the ear and slamming her face onto the table.” She shuddered, and her face seemed too authentic. Well, all stories have a root of truth, he thought doubtfully. “His grip on her changed quite often that night, but at the moment that Frederick Bourne found his lover Veronica being beaten once again by her husband, the drunkard happened to be gripping her ear again.”

He was beginning to feel (o perhaps, to fear) more and more that the tale did not just stem from truth, but that it was. Not that it was so unbelievable, but that he'd prefer to be right in his initial assumption, especially in regards to Abelinda Wyn. He exhaled slowly, about to speak, when Abelinda said instead, “If you don’t believe me, feel free to wait around until I open the coffin. I assure you, you will find a small, but wonderfully bright earring clutched in this man’s fist.” She cast her eyes to him darkly, and with brief amusement the phrase "if looks could kill" flashed in his mind.

He smirked. "I think I'll decline your offer… But why did you wait so long to retrieve this thing if it was so important to you? …And as to my first comment-- as to man and the law, woman was implied. But that's irrelevant here and now, yes?" He sighed, knowing the next move he would have to make would be… uncomfortable.

*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!

Drake Dekker

Abelinda ignored his statement and rhetorical question, which was fine by him, because talking to Abelinda about ethical philosophies was like talking to a brick. Or eating grass. Either way you looked at it, not pleasurable and not productive. She simply flittered off the dead man’s marker and demanded briskly, “If you are not going to assist me further my task, I would ask that you give me back my shovel and allow me to do so.” She held out her hand for the shovel, and he handed it to her, but not without saying with a hint of cynicism, “You really didn’t expect me to assist you in this? Because, Abelinda, you and I both know that lost earring or not, digging up graves is still digging up graves.”

Abelinda rolled her eyes, clearly fed up with Drake’s adamancy. [b]“I waited because I myself wasn’t positive if Freddy had the earring. There are many dead-end trails when one is trying to solve a murder – as you well know, I’m sure – and it has taken me some time to sort out the lies among the truth.”

He glanced away briefly and swallowed the sermon. “Don’t let me see you doing this again.” He assumed she would understand the double meaning. Drake turned back to her eyes, which told more about the sincerity of a person than anything. Shakespeare was no fool, he’d thought before; though he was no literary scholar he recognized wisdom when he met it. There was enough honesty there to persuade the twelve peers… “If I could swear to you my words are truth, I would do so. But it would be rather futile, considering our relationship. I know you’ve never trusted me farther than you can sneeze, but there’s nothing I can really do about that now. My character is set.”

Drake had difficulty articulating in his mind the feeling that was prodding his conscience now. Abelinda was quite right—her character was set, especially in Drake’s eyes, and that was no secret. There was nothing neither of them could or would do to change that in him, and there was nothing he could or would do to change Abelinda’s deviance. Anyway, prodding her like this wasn’t why he bothered to stop her, though it was quick to enter his mind. “And what about you, Drake? Have you really always to be a policeman?” Abelinda said with a peculiar meekness.

Drake was slightly surprised, not by the question but by the tone. Abelinda was too multifaceted to simply be understood by her words alone. The tone she added made the language as layered as old house with years of paint jobs behind it. He knew exactly the answer he would expect to hear, and that he was ready to give, but what did Abelinda want? “I…” He weighed his words, deciding she wasn’t interested in his beliefs on the essentiality of order and a hierarchy of authority. Instead, he took the opportunity to fish for some answers to the questions nagging at him, courtesy of the Hawkins brothers. “What if,” he asked, “upon reaching his casket, you find he is not there? That something extraordinary occurred—that he…” (He felt so foolish, but it was on the note, and the Hawkinses were perfectly reasonable people! And this was Abelinda, after all.) “…That he was not quite dead? Or, if not that,” he proceeded in a gently jocular voice, “perhaps he simply had—” he looked toward the sky, humorously suggesting the idea came from the heavens—“spectacular magic that allowed him to just… disappear and leave a cold replica in his place.” He gave an authentic laugh at the fantastical ideas he was actually voicing, casting his eyes down in her direction, waiting for Abelinda’s response.

*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!

Drake Dekker

Abelinda's response was hardly satisfactory in his opinion: “I always knew you were a quick one, Drake Dekker," she said, appearing perfectly pleased at the peculiar proposal. "Lots of other law officers would have just brushed off such ideas as craziness. But you..you’re keeping an open and willing eye out. So perhaps this man is some devil-created monster…I wouldn’t remove it from the possibilities, Drake. Honestly I wouldn’t. But then again…”

"Yes?" he pursued. At least he was getting somewhere.

Abelinda thrust the shovel into the hard dirt vigorously. “I’m just an old, maddened woman. What would I know about such things? If he’s just not there, then I suppose a scouring of the countryside is in order. I have a few friends that might help me out. As for a cold replica in his place, I just hope he left the actual earring behind.”

He cocked his head briefly in consternation, not caring to picture what the countryside would look like scourged by Abelinda Wyn. "Abelinda, mightn't we progress a little farther away from the earring?" He wanted to add, "however sparkly it may be," but thought it would not behoove him. "I think you would know about such things. Especially", he smiled, "as you call yourself an old, maddened woman…" Drake was quite serious when he asked, "But tell me, how would our friend here manage to perform such a trick? If he could, of course." Cheating death, the greatest Machiavellian quest of all time.

*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!

Drake Dekker

Abelinda seemed to be giving him the proverbially cold shoulder now, and nothing was going to happen with that attitude. She dug into her work with great gusto, the shovel's thudding against the soil still sending a shiver up Drake's spine at the wrongness of it all. Her answers to his comments were only more vigorous thrusts into the earth. Drake sensed spite. And when he posed the question about fooling death, it was the only time Abelinda deemed him worthy of a response.

“As I said before, no one believe the crazy old hermit-lady, but if it were me...I would say it’s very possible to perform certain acts of questionable innocence and integrity to secure a unique after-death state. Insurance, you might say. Some are quite simple and easy to perform, but they hardly ever work quite correctly, often resulting in one half of the body awake, and the other dead. Those types just have to keep going on with a feeble excuse of ‘my left foot fell asleep…oh yes, and the entire left side of my body, too. Fancy that’. The harder it gets, the longer it works. No one truly lives forever. But some are very capable of stretching out their time with some significance.”

She went back to her digging, awkwardly pouncing on the edge of the shovel like a kangaroo. Drake assumed she expected his response to this... interesting... explanation... but it was enough to ponder for a good while, as parapsychological and voodooish as it sounded. It was a beginning, and maybe inertia would be kind enough to kick in.

After an ample amount of time, Abelinda broke the rhythm of the shovel's grind and said, “Any other questions, my dear?”

Drake exhaled as he rose to his full height, stretching his fingers out of habit. "No," he said contentedly. "Thank you, Abelinda, for putting up with me... Good luck with your... endeavor." He smiled politely, dipped his head, and added, "Good day."

He stepped off the mound of dirt, hands in his pockets, and meandered along to the more frequented path. Some are capable of stretching out their time with some significance... Hogwash.

Wasn't it?

Drake has left the Cemetary.

*claims the first sig NOT to have a link in it* HA!

Ambrose Vorassi

Heather.

Of all the people that he could have held so dear, it had to be her. Why? Because she was one of the most wonderful people he had ever met. Why? Because she was strong, in control, but sensitive when she needed to be. She knew how to take care of herself. She didn’t need someone, so Ambrose had felt sure she wouldn’t run away to someone else, like everyone else he had loved before.

He had been wrong, of course. He always was with love.

But he still loved Heather, and he felt that he would love Heather forever, though she would never feel any sort of love towards him. She was locked in. That was the only problem he could find. Anger? Oh, well, that could be dealt with. Besides, her anger was a defense mechanism. That was believable. But the fact that she was worried but told no one… That was unbearable. He often wondered how what he was saying was effecting her, and why she was not showing it to him.

It was probably because she didn’t trust him. No doubt, she didn’t trust him. And why should she, after all? Why should she trust him whatsoever? He didn’t deserve it.

Ambrose sighed as he came up to the cemetery. He could only hope that she would be there. But as he glanced up from the ground, he saw a lone figure shivering upon a bench ahead. ‘ Oh god, Heather, you didn’t have to go and freeze to death in a graveyard for me. ‘ Ambrose picked up his speed slightly so that he could get to her a little faster. This was the only cloak he had, but she needed it more than he did. Surviving versus hiding, after all.

Heather looked up, her beautiful face pale with the chill of the morning. “Good morning, Ambrose.” she said, and Ambrose smiled at her as he removed his cloak. Wrapping it gently around her, he looked down at her angelic lips, which were turning blue from the cold. He knelt onto his knees in front of her instead of sitting beside her.

“Ah, and a good morning it is, now that you have wished me well.” he said, finding the cheer coming back into him. “You are the first to say such to me, but I am sure that none could make me happier with it.” He laughed. “But you should not take the chance of being so cold, just to meet me here.”

Dr. Hal Ramsey

Ambrose Vorassi

“It – you, said you were leaving…so I thought I should at least say goodbye.” Heather said with a shrug, looking down. Ambrose tilted his head slightly so that he could attempt to see her face. She looked sad, but he could find no way to pry into why. She was in a graveyard, perhaps that was it.

No, something told him that he was wrong, but he, again, feared to ask her what was on her mind. She spoke first.

“Why are you leaving?”

Ambrose saw Heather’s eyes meet his for a split second, and though it joyed him, he did not smile. He reached forwards and lifted her chin so that they were gazing straightly at one another, his grasp on her face as gentle as he could manage. “For many reasons.” he said, now that he felt he was speaking to her. Talking to someone who would not look at him made the vampyre feel as if they were too afraid to look at him. But, for whatever reason Heather had decided to look down rather than look at him, Ambrose didn’t like it. “One of them is the growing presence of a colleague of mine that I hope you never know.” He shook his head. “Adder Napier. He was not raised well enough so that I would want you to keep his company. Do not. He may be handsome, but he was not raised well by his parents. Even I could not save him from the hate he has in his soul.” Ambrose leaned closer to Heather’s face. “He shall be here soon, and I beg of you to not allow yourself to socialize with him, even out of common courtesy or out of curiosity. You shall only be hurt. I promise you.”

He sighed, glancing away from her for a moment. This was too much to tell her at once. “You are another reason, I fear, Heather, for my leaving.” He met her eyes softly, leaning slightly closer. “I cannot bear to see you without loving you, but I dare not take apart any chance at happiness you have. You, Heather, have worked hard for whatever contentment you possess, and you deserve it. You are a stronger woman than I am a man, and I love you for that more than anything else.” Ambrose put his hand on hers, which rested upon the letter he had sent to her. “Heather… I want you to be happy, and I cannot bear the thought that if I stay longer, Zuco may discover my feelings for you. I cannot imagine what that may do to the relationship that the two of you have built. And yet…”

He fought himself with the sudden urge he had, and backed his face away from hers. “Forgive me… for I still linger in the wish that you could love me, though my soul tells me that you cannot.”

Dr. Hal Ramsey

Ambrose Vorassi

“I….I think you’re right, Ambrose… Zuco doesn’t need to know about…about any of this. But Ambrose… I think it best that you go.”

Ambrose bit his lip as discretely as he could. She meant it well, he knew, but… it still hurt to hear her say that she wanted him to leave. She didn’t understand how much he cared, did she? She had absolutely no idea how hard it was for him to finally love so deeply, for the first time he ever had.

“I don’t want to cause more pain to you than I already have. I’m…I’m truly sorry that all this has happened. You should be with Narcissa now. I think she might have made you happy – perhaps.”

Ambrose looked away. “I would never have been happy with Narcissa.” he said, his voice nearly emotionless as he stared out at nothing. “But not because she would not try. Because she could never be happy with a vampyre. She would want a normal life, as would any normal woman. She needs that, and I cannot give her that.”

“I cannot lie to you anymore, and say that this being brought to light hasn’t made things more difficult to understand.” Heather continued, and Ambrose met her eyes. He had cried in her prescence before… but the first time had been here, actually. It was strange that he found himself in that position once more, as the tears slipped from his eyes without warning. “I can’t say what my feelings for you are anymore, because I don’t know them myself. I truly don’t. All I know is that something isn’t quite right, and I don’t know why… Zuco should make me very happy. He’s kind, and sweet, and would do anything for me. I have to try and make this work, for both of our sakes…”

“I…. I understand.” he said, looking down. He should have known that this would be a hard moment for him. But he had to remember that she was only trying to do what was best. She didn’t know that this was what he had felt before. What had hurt him before.

“I just wish it didn’t compromise you in any way. Please remember what I said at the Valentine’s Ball. It would have been better if you had never met me, I think. Then you wouldn’t go through this.” she said, and Ambrose shook his head.

“I do not know what sort of person I would be if I had not met you, Heather. You opened up my soul, and no matter what hurt I may have let in…” he said, meeting her eyes though he was still crying. “I do not regret a moment of the time that I have spent with you. Not a moment.” Ambrose forced himself to stand up. “But… alas. No doubt this is hard enough for you. I have put unnecessary stress between you and the one you love. I have been told before that it was simply impossible to love me, Heather, and I do admit that I shall not challenge that for a moment. I trust too much and I trust too little. I am just… not enough to linger very long.” He bowed deeply, then looked deep into her eyes. He was leaving anyways, so… suppose it would be alright, just this once? Yes. Ambrose leaned forwards, capturing her lips softly. It lasted only a moment, but he took the memory and held it close, never wanting to forget this.

He stood up straightly. “I shall not keep you any longer, Miss Heather… You need to get inside where it is warmer. I can stand the cold perfectly well, and I have no comprehension of the temperature anymore. Forgive me, for drawing you out here today.” He swept into another bow. “Please, if it helps you any… I give you permission to forget me.” He took a step away, awaiting her answer before he left. He could not stand to linger much longer, as he wiped his eyes gently. If he would have to leave, now he would leave. Heather thought it best. That was what he needed.

Dr. Hal Ramsey

OOC: Ambrose is such a depressing character right now. >.<
BIC:

Ambrose Vorassi

The first kiss they had ever shared in the land of the living… It proved what he had thought. She could never love him. Never. It was just fact. He would have to move on. “I couldn’t forget you, Ambrose. You’ve effected many lives here in Helvaband – effected them for the better. You’ve given many people hope for the future, for love. I thank you for that, and I’m grateful for it.” she said. Ambrose half-smiled, not really wanting to believe her. Then her gentle touch met the steady teardrops that were cascading down his cheek, and he froze. “Goodbye, Ambrose. Maybe we’ll see each other again, someday…” He could say nothing, only watching her clasp a tear in her hand as she pulled away, and he met her eyes. “Maybe in happier times?”

He sighed, looking away. “Only if you can wish it then, Heather.” he said, unable to look into her eyes again. “I… forgive me.” He whirled in the other direction, the pain in his heart unbearable. “W-When I return again to Helvaband… You…. You may not be here…” Ambrose swallowed, glad for a moment that he could not see her face. “It may be long after death has taken you… I am a weak man, Heather… I would wish you happiness, but never be able to bear seeing you happy with another.” He gazed at her, his expression full of the sorrow that he only dared feel before Heather. “I shall be far away, but…” He swallowed. “I do hope that you find what you have been looking for in Zuco.”

Something in his pocket grew warm, and he retrieved Evelyn’s ring. With a sigh, he turned to Heather again. “Take this. Please.” He shook his head. “Please do not refuse it. I know that you have Zuco’s ring as well. But… this was Evelyn’s… and I wish to leave the pain Helvaband has given me behind. And I can think of no one better to bear my hopeless love than a victim of it.” He smiled sadly. “But… you are… a much better person than Evelyn ever was.”

Ambrose forced himself to walk away, not able to bear the soft heat of Heather any longer.

Ambrose has left the Cemetery.

Dr. Hal Ramsey

OOC: Planned Patrick/Lena interaction, sorry it took so long!

BIC: Patrick Mahoney

He wasn't sure why his wanderings had brought him to the cemetery...in fact, he had only a vague memory of venturing there in the first place. His feet had carried him from the square on their own accord, and it was only after he had tripped over a small headstone that he realized where he was. Brushing himself off, he stood up and sighed. Patrick looked up at the moonless sky above him and tried to make sense of the meeting in the square.

His thoughts were a jumbled mass. So many things had happened in the square he couldn't keep them all straight in his mind. First, Vorassi's departure. How was the Vampyre supposed to help him now? He felt like most of his hopes had been crushed with the news that Ambrose was leaving. If he couldn't help him, who would?

Then, there was the matter of Lilith and Nicolas Dubon. As much as it had hurt at first, the discovery that they were together, he now felt numb by the whole situation. Maybe that old saying is true..,the first cut is the deepest... Despite his neutral feelings about the situation, he was still saddened by it. For weeks, his friendship with Lilith had been one of the few things that had kept him going. What will I do now?

Wait. She can still be my friend, can't she? And she can still help me. Her Mr. Dubon wouldn't deny her that, I'm sure. If he starts to dictate who she chooses as her acquaintances, then he doesn't deserve her anyway. I can settle for her friendship alone, can't I?

And finally, there was the man Ambrose had mentioned, the one who was coming. The one he feared so much. Patrick felt goosebumps appear on his flesh when he thought about the fear in Ambrose's voice, and the terror his words had inspired in him. Who was it? Could he be stopped? Would he harm anyone else, or was it Ambrose alone who he had come for?

What does this mean for the rest of us?

Lottie by Mascii