Welcome to Gaia! ::

[

With her teeth bared, fangs protruding slightly over her lips, fingers curled into the resemblance of claws, she hurled herself at me, intense, animalisitc, hungry. It lasted for only a moment, one terrifyingly long moment, and then she froze, hand raised. The look of despair on her face made my gut wrench. The only time I had ever seen that expression before was when she had come crawling to my house a couple months ago, drenched in blood, her whole body trembling from head to toe. Her eyes had been impossibly huge as she stumbled into my arms, her breath rushing out on two simple words, “Never again.”

She never told me what had happened that night, but I was able to gather information from other sources. Irony had gone without feeding again. At first, I used to think that she only did that because she feared hurting anyone, but I soon realized it was more than that. Starving herself was a game; she liked to see how long she could go without feeding. And usually I was close enough to her for her to find and drink from when the hunger became too overbearing. But that night, I had been with my family.

Irony, according to my sources, had begun to succumb to her bloodlust, and in fear of going blank and slaughtering some innocent bystander, she had sought out the only being there that could help her: Ambrose. The details after that were fuzzy, but the male vampire somehow convinced—or forced—Irony into the midst of a large crowd of people right as her bloodlust reached its peak. What happened after that was predictable. Place a hunger-crazed vampire with fifty or so people and, of course, there would be a blood bath.

I didn’t blame her. I blamed Ambrose. Of course, I blamed him for most things. It was his greed for power that brought about Irony’s plight, and that was something I could never forgive him for, despite his claim to have done it out of love. He had a twisted sense of love if he thought manipulating Irony into killing equated to devotion.

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to bear the look on her face any longer. Breath rattled from her lungs, a sign that she must have finally regained her composure if she had once again fallen into the pattern of breathing. I looked at her through a partially opened eye. She had moved backwards and was standing as far away from me as the room would allow. I gave her a hesitant smile and took a step towards her.

“Don’t,” she snapped, her voice rough, showing that although she had returned to normal, she was still feeling the affects of hunger burning inside her.

I lifted innocent eyes to her. “What?”

She glowered. “Stay where you are. I don’t wish to have your blood on my hands.”

A small smirk sprang to my lips as I pointed. “You already do.”

And, indeed, she did. She glanced quickly down at her hands, staring for a moment before hiding them behind her back. She returned her glare to me. “You know what I mean.”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t want to kill me.” I folded my arms over my chest. “But everything is fine now, right?”

She just stood there, and I felt a sudden chill encase my body at the prospect of what her silence could mean.

“Everything’s fine now, right Irony?” I repeated, my voice having dropped to a whisper.

She broke eye contact with me, glancing towards the window. “Yes, Conan. Peachy.”

The chill intensified, and I found myself taking a hasty step backwards only to run into the wall. Her eyes returned to me. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” she asked.

I numbly nodded my head, but couldn’t force my voice to work for a moment. Finally, the words tumbled from my mouth, “What happened?”

I meant why had she turned so violently angry, but I realized that I also wanted to know what had happened a couple months ago that had left Irony—a woman that I had always known to be calm and strong, never afraid of anything and willing to fight to protect herself—broken and sobbing in my arms. It couldn’t have just been the pointless deaths. She had killed before in much the same manner, and though I knew that she hated herself for it, I had never seen that vacant, haunted look in her eyes before.

She was suddenly in front of me, and an involuntary cry leapt to my lips as she slammed the palm of her hand against my chest, successfully pinning me against the wall. I stared at her in wide-eyed confusion. She lowered her head, a flash of auburn hair hiding her face from me. “What happened?” she echoed me as she stared at the floor. “I realized the truth; that’s what happened.”

I narrowed my eyes and despite her threatening proximity asked, “And what is the truth?”

She raised her head slightly, just enough so she could see me past her bangs. “The truth, Conan, is that I want to kill you.”

I stared at her for a moment and then to my horror found myself laughing, body trembling as I threw my head backwards. I could feel Irony’s hand pressing harder against me until it became painful, but I couldn’t stop. The idea that she would want to kill me was just so preposterous.

“Stop it,” she said.

I looked at her, chuckling. “S-sorry,” I said. “But that was funny.”

“In what way?”

I tried to keep a straight face. “Irony, I know you. You wouldn’t ever want to do something like that, and if Ambrose has manipulated you some way into making you actually believe this…” I shook my head, unable to even voice what I would do to him, or at least try. The outcome would probably only result in my death, but I would give it my best effort.

Her free hand lifted and stroked my cheek. “Ambrose has nothing to do with this. I learned it myself.” Her face came closer to mine, and I realized that once again, she was not breathing. “Every time I bleed you, I wish for your death.” Her voice had fallen to a whisper, and I barely caught the words. “Your blood…” Her eyes closed and her face took on an expression of ecstasy. “…is exquisite. It’s always been the hardest thing to stop before killing you, but I always do because I know that if you die, I will lose this wonderful source of sustenance.”

Her eyes flicked open and she stared straight at me. I wanted to look away, but somehow her icy green gaze held me locked in place. I didn’t believe what she said; it didn’t make any sense. Irony was my friend, and friends don’t want to kill each other. But then again…Ambrose claimed to love Irony, and he had killed her.

My eyes shut. I couldn't look at her, not when she was like this--so cold, so frozen. “I…I don’t believe you.”

Her hand pressed harder, forcing a small gasp of pain from my suddenly dry lips. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, voice a dry growl. “Your belief or lack thereof changes nothing.” She ran her tongue over her fangs, and I shuddered as she moved even closer until her mouth was right up against my face.

“Please, stop,” I gasped out as my ribs screamed from the pain of her crushing force. “You don’t want to kill me. Please, I know you.”

She paused, her lips having made their way to my throat. “I don’t?”

I lifted trembling hands and put them against her shoulders, pushing, trying to lever her away from me, but her vampiric strength foiled my efforts. “No, you don’t,” I said. “I’m your friend. I…Irony, I love you.”

She lifted her head slightly until she was looking at me directly. “Ambrose loved me, too.”

“I’m not like him.”

“And would you tell me, Conan, if you were like him? If you wanted to hurt me, would you admit that? If I were only here so you could use me, would you speak that truth?” She raised an eyebrow but continued on before I could even open my mouth to answer. “Of course, you wouldn’t. Do you think Ambrose told me that he wanted me dead? No. He didn’t once hint that he was a manipulative b*****d who wanted to drain me of blood. Your words mean nothing to me.”

I felt my face pale.

Her eyes returned to my throat, to my suddenly all too active pulse. Her body pressed closer, crushing my arms against my chest so that I couldn’t even try to move her away from me any longer. Her lips brushed against my neck, and I jerked, an involuntary cry spilling from my mouth.

“Please, no,” I said as hot tears filled my eyes.

She reached a hand up and gripped a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. I stared up at the ceiling in dumb confusion as her fangs touched my skin. I struggled against her hold, desperate to be free, but she was stronger than me. And then there was pain. Agony flared through every nerve in my body, and my eyes widened in shock. My mouth opened to scream, but all the air seemed to have been choked from my lungs and not even a whisper of sound left my mouth.

She pulled my head back further, and I could feel hot traces of tears on my face. It wasn’t so much the pain, though. No, I’d dealt with pain before; it was something I was use to, but Irony was my best friend. No, more than that. She was the only person that I truly cared about. I would have given my life for her, though this wasn’t how I had imagined it. I had expected pain, but not this excruciating, mind numbing agony. I had expected tears, but hers as well as mine. I had expected a deep sense of satisfaction at finally having done something useful with my life even if it was the last thing I would ever do, but now I only felt empty and helpless.

I suddenly became aware of a keening sound that filled the air; it started low and then rose in pitch. As the pain threatened to make me black out, I concentrated on the noise, wondering what it could be and hoping that it would distract Irony and make her stop, if only for a moment, just so I could catch my breath. But she didn’t even pause as if she couldn’t hear the sound, but it was so loud. How couldn’t she? I wanted to cover my ears, but my arms were still imprisoned between our bodies.

It wasn’t until I ran out of breath and the sound stopped, that I realized the noise had been coming from me. I wondered at that, too. It hadn’t sounded natural, not even human, and I didn’t know how it could have been produced by my voice box. I drew air into my lungs, pain flaring in my throat where Irony bit into me. The keening began again without me even giving it any thought.

The rest of the time passed in a blur of misery and confusion. I was not able to focus my attention on any one thing for longer than a few seconds before it sputtered and went off in every direction. I tried on many occasions. I was only aware that Irony had stopped when I saw her standing above me, looking down into my face. I stared blankly at her. She knelt down beside me, reaching a hand toward my face. I flinched away in terror, a strangled cry jumping to my lips, but she simply brushed a strand of my sweat soaked hair off my forehead.

“Shh,” she said softly, her voice sounding almost guilty. “Don’t be afraid.”

I stared fixedly off into space, too terrified to even look at her, sure that even a simple glance would incite her to anger and she’d hurt me some more. Her hands were all over my face, touching and prodding, as she consoled me in a whispery voice. I wanted her to stop, but said nothing, knowing that it would be a waste of effort. She cupped the side of my face and turned my head until I was looking at her with glassy, blank eyes.

“It’ll be okay,” she said. “You know that, right?”

I could only stare at her and the blood—my blood—still on her lips and dripping down her chin.

She jerked my head and pain bloomed anew through my body. I cried out.

“You know that, right?” she repeated.

I nodded my head, trembling in expectation of another attack. Instead, she went back to gently touching my face, talking in that soft voice as if it would make everything better. Her hair tumbled down between us, and I stared at it with a deadened sense of fascination as if I had never seen it before. Her hand swiped the hair out of the way, and then she was looking at me again, a somewhat motherly expression on her face as she stroked my cheek tenderly.

I watched a bead of blood roll down her chin before it dropped down onto my face, making me flinch. Irony smiled and lowered her head, licking the drop from my skin. Her eyes closed, and a look of utter satisfaction touched her features before she returned her gaze to me.

“Conan,” she said. “Are you in pain?”

I numbly nodded my head at her question.

She frowned, her face still scant inches away from mine. “I’m sorry. I guess I got carried away.” For a moment the guilt deepened, and I thought that she might finally be coming back. But then that twisted, mocking smile found its way back to her lips.

She moved her hand along the side of my face with gentle strokes. "But it's your fault. You brought this onto yourself." Her carresses came to a stop, and she tipped her head ever so slightly to the side. "You understand that, right, Conan?"

I nodded once again, the action becoming almost involuntary.

She smiled and brought her fingers to the wound on my throat, pressing against it and stemming off the flow of blood. "Everything is okay now. I'll take care of you. Don't you worry."

An arm snaked around my shoulders, and she roughly pulled me up against her body. Pain shuddered through me, but this time I didn't cry out, though I thought that had more to do with my increasing weakness, rather than a lessening of pain. My head rolled backwards, and I stared up at the dark expanse of the ceiling. The shadows seemed to converge, coalescing into one monstrous form. I wondered briefly if I was going crazy.

"Conan."

I looked at Irony as she smoothed my hair out of my face.

"It's okay," she said. "You can stop crying."

I realized that I had been almost soundlessly moaning in her arms. I tried to stop, but the sobs only intensified until my whole body was shaking. Irony frowned again, but she made no move to stop me. Only continued to whisper, "You can stop, Conan. Just sleep. It will take your pain away. Go ahead. Sleep."

I continued to cry but allowed my eyes to close, making the darkness complete. I waited for unconsciousness to claim me, and when it finally came, I sank into its comfort gratefully.

The bags were carefully put on the floor, lying there and occasionally making sounds that sounded suspiciously like canned goods. Their owner quietly got on her knees and looked around the corner with a hand mirror. The predator on the other side of the wall saw the car come in, and was sure to realize someone had to have come if the lock had clicked. He was looking around excitedly, hoping his boy, dog, or mama would be popping in.

Screwing up her courage, the woman very carefully inched the groceries towards the pantry, careful to avoid any unnecessary sound. She may not have a ninja pedigree, but her lifestyle give her a wealth of experience. She'd just made it to the pantry door when her coffee container escaped. Unable to catch it in time, it rolled unceremoniously in the kitchen, right where the Quaker could see it. He was just eyeballing it, like he did the mailman. There was hope. Intelligence glistened in the lone eye she could see. He was smart, but not middle-school smart.

The broom she used {the Sweep came to life! How curious!} carefully pulled the can to the left, the right..almost to her hands! The bird finally figured out the lock clicked, and food appeared, but no Mama. "Paul want a treat".
The broom stilled {Sweep can fly like me! Is it part of the flock too?! More flock! <3} and very slowly started moving the can back towards the pantry.
"Paul want Mama. Treat? Treat? Love you. Want coffee please. Paul was a good bird. Hello? Hello? Treat please." The can didn't stop it's slow and agonizing trip towards towards the pantry. The broom made a quiet swishing sound as it was put away. "Paul see Ford. Mama help! Help me please. Treat for a good boy!" The woman rolled her eyes heavenward as she sighed quietly. He wasn't going to stop, and she still had to get the mail on the table. No hiding there, as her son had used the box for a time machine.

Food was put away and she sat there contemplating what lunch would be when she was interrupted. "Mama think time done? Help Paul? Paul want coffee! <3" The trill in in that last note didn't escape her. How dare her ex teach that bird such a terrible habit. Resigned to a lifetime of servitude towards a bird she could crush in one hand, she responded. "No Paul, coffee is bad. I'll get you a cookie."

....silence. Blessed silence.

"No bus day! Jay socca' gaming! Coffee day. <3"

Muttering to herself as she got some dark colored juice for the quaker, she muttered to herself, "Whatever happened to mimicing sounds and wanting crackers?"