(no subject)

[bolivar]

[Lurking in the shadows, watching people.]

Comments

That goth douchebag :D!

[eph_everything]

[Zack hasn't spoken since The Incident. The Incident at The House. Since Her. The End.

These are just a few of the euphemisms Eph has been trying on for size as a stand in for "I shot my undead wife". None of them are doing the job. Even thinking about it indirectly is like brushing up against a hot coal. He can't stop.

Fet's place does have food, as promised, but no milk, and more liquor, and fuck it: while the everyone else had holed up inside the rat catcher's lair, Eph had secretly liberated a bottle and slipped outside. And maybe the rest of them had decided he needed some time to himself, or maybe they just don't care if he gets eaten, but no one had stopped him.

Was it the best choice of action? No, certainly not, but since when does Eph choose wisely (not lately; not lately at all). Was it just a little bit suicidal? Maybe.

Possibly intentionally so.]

I couldn't resist!

[bolivar]

[Bolivar watches Eph from the shadows. Tracking Setrakian has been his job for a while now, and it's only by happy accident that he's stumbled upon Eph. Bolivar's head has been clearing ever since he was called by the Master, and each feeding clears it further. Bolivar hasn't been shy about feeding. Not now, not with panic starting to fall on the streets after the broadcast.

Bolivar knows, with more than just animal instinct, that there is something special in store for him. That the Master has a purpose for him. His lack of Dear Ones to hunt marks him as different from the others. As the change nears its end, he can think, and it isn't hunger that has him watching Eph, but calculation. After all, Eph works with Setrakian.

Bolivar steps closer, into the light, his stinger visible in his mouth. His clothes reek of ammonia and are stained with dirt. He cocks his head, watching the doctor. He doesn't attack yet.]

Hi, Doc.

NEVER RESIST.

[eph_everything]

[He whirls around at the sound...that isn't sound at all. It's an invasive, disorienting feeling. And it's not Kelly, which is the most important thing.

It's not the German, either: no accent. It's not the Master: Eph will never forget the sound of his voice in his head, freezing him in place and then his feet dangling in the air as his world-view was utterly shattered. Eph is a man who has been places and done things; knows things average people do not, and don't even know they don't know. He had no idea that this was even a remote possibility.

The world doesn't spin as Eph spins. If nothing else, Eph is at least very, very functional. He isn't even unarmed: he has no sword, and no gun, but there is a silver dagger in the pocket of his coat. It's not optimal, but it's better than nothing. His eyes fall on the rock star, and his nose wrinkles in a disgust that is not all that far off from his reaction to an entirely human Bolivar.]

What the hell is this?

[Communication from anything other than the Master or the German is new, and not entirely welcome.]

[bolivar]

I don't smell your friends nearby. Run off without them?

[Bolivar's walk is, at least, no stranger than when he was human. At least right now. He has his hands clasped in front of him. He still has no shirt, and blood stains his chin and chest. He's completely hairless, except for the long-haired wig he's still wearing.

He stops about six feet from Eph and cocks his head.]

Should I infect you and leave you for them to deal with?

[eph_everything]

[All of Eph's friends are right here, in this bottle still clutched in his left hand. And also a little bit in his liver.

That isn't true. He cares about them, of course, all of them. Even Dutch. Eph is just a man who, owing to a not particularly happy childhood spent, among other things, being used as a pawn in his parents' divorce, and professional necessity when working with people who are suffering if not dying on a daily basis, has spent his life building emotionally stunting walls around himself. He has always assumed everyone else does the same, and that they just have more patience for pretending than he does. Or else that they find more enjoyment in manipulation. Genius though he may be, Eph has never cared for chess: Eph likes baseball.

He takes a step back, but only one, and then there's a wall behind him. He fishes his dagger out; lets the light glint off the silver blade. He may smell like whiskey, but his hands are steady.]

Is that the best threat you can come up with? Because they would.

[They've all definitely proven that. They would not hesitate. Only Eph has hesitated.

It's not entirely innocuous, though, as threats go. Beyond the natural fear of death, a part of Eph is also aware that his perpetually hidden feelings run deep and strong and arguably a little to the obsessive; seemingly more so than some of the already infected. If turned, Eph would truly be a terrifying thing to be reckoned with to all who know him. He gestures with his dagger.]

And I've killed you things with less than this.

[bolivar]

[Bolivar doesn't step any closer when he sees the silver blade. In fact, he drops to an animalistic crouch. His mouth gapes wide, showing off the stinger inside. The noise he makes is something of a rattling snarl. There's no emotion in his mental "voice", though.]

Strange, they let you out with alcohol with nothing but a knife. I have faced worse.

[Bolivar had. During their last confrontation, his stinger had been severely damaged by a sword. He does, however, keep an even distance from Eph and his knife.]

You know who I hunt. How long until he catches on that you were infected, do you think? When the paralysis catches hold and you can't remember what happened? When they think you passed out drunk?

[eph_everything]

[That's good. They're easier to deal with, the less human they seem.]

Jim knew what was happening to him. They would know.

[The old man carries silver-backed mirrors for just such an occasion. They still have a UV light or two stashed in the bread truck as well. They'd see the worms, and that would be it. There would be no point in asking them to hold off; to see if there's anything that can be learned from the change from the inside. It would only hurt Zack in the end.

He punctuates his next statement with a wave of his knife; a little slice at the air. He's quick and accurate with it. (From his surgical training.) He was good with the gun too. (Formative years spent at video game arcades working controllers shaped like actual guns, not the wireless weightless things Zack knows.) He even swung the sword better than fine. (A sword isn't so far off from a baseball bat.)]

And you know who we hunt.

[bolivar]

[Bolivar doesn't back off any further. He can see the knife is no threat, with the distance between them. Unfortunately for him, the doctor is in no danger either. To hit Eph, he'd have to move close enough that the doctor could very likely stab him with the silver knife.

Bolivar cocks his head, instead. The whispering is always there, now. Always there, in his head. The Master there, showing him what Kelly sees, the animal way she's tracking her prey. Showing him that she is still searching for Zach. Bolivar straightens and grins, showing off his pointed teeth.]

I don't need to do anything, Doctor Goodweather. Nothing at all. If you and the old man don't go to the Master first, he will find you. Very, very easily find you.

[eph_everything]

Maybe we're counting on it.

[He doesn't know if they actually are. He doesn't know if they're counting on anything anymore. He doesn't know if anyone else knows.

Eph doesn't know. He just doesn't know.]

If you wanna scare me, maybe you should threaten to force me to listen to one of your albums.

[bolivar]

[The taunt might as well have not been uttered, for all the attention Bolivar pays to it.]

Not them. You. He knows who is dear to you. To you and your wife.

[Bolivar doesn't know if it is wise, to say this so openly. It isn't as though they couldn't know, of course. But to put them on even greater alert, perhaps even make them run even faster? He watches Ephraim carefully, masking the attention by yawning his jaws again and showing off the stinger.]

[eph_everything]

[The despair bubbles up inside him first, but it turns to anger quickly enough: white hot and heart pounding. It's a welcome change.]

You shut your mouth!

[He hurls the bottle of whiskey at the pavement at the vampire's feet, where it shatters spectacularly. It's initially satisfying, and then regrettable. A waste of not good liquor, but of any liquor at all.]

[bolivar]

[Bolivar does indeed shut his mouth. The glass shards, though, cut his exposed skin in a few places, allowing white-ish blood and worms to escape and wriggle along the ground.]

Do you want to bet on how long it will take her to find her son?

[Bolivar takes a step back as he says this, watching Eph carefully.]

[eph_everything]

[No, Eph does not want to bet on that. Eph wants to sink to his knees and scream until his voice is gone, sob until his eyes are dry. Or drink until he can't feel anything. His eyes dart between Bolivar and the worms inching their way through the remains of his whiskey.

Lucky worms.

Eph takes a brave, stupid step forward.]

There is no her. She's gone. You're all gone. You're all just puppets being controlled by a disease. And we're gonna cut the strings.

[bolivar]

Arrogance. You are cattle.

[The mental voice is partly Bolivar's, but it's mixed heavily with a voice far more powerful than his. The Master. Bolivar stands stock still for a moment longer, then his head cocks, he gives Ephraim an assessing look, and he takes a step forward.]

You can't win.

[eph_everything]

[And that is, oddly enough, exactly what Eph wanted to hear. Or who to hear it from. Because it means he's right. Because it means they are a threat. They have hurt it. It feels good.

Before this little "meeting" he had felt defeated, beaten down: broken. Now the fight is back in him. It pounds in his ears; in his chest. It rushes through his veins.]

Keep thinking that.

[bolivar]

[Bolivar doesn't answer with words. Instead, his mouth gapes open and the stinger appears. There's no one left to talk to. Unlike the Master, he's still changing, still maturing, and he's run out of patience. He's hungry. He takes those steps forward he hadn't been willing to take earlier and launches the stinger at Eph.]

[eph_everything]

[Eph just manages to dodge away from it. He slashes in front of him with the dagger, but it's more defensive than offensive: he moves it in quick, wide swipes to deter the vampire as he moves backwards. He almost stumbles over a trashcan, but manages instead to hurl it at his attacker.

The fight is back, but so is the flight instinct; the will to live.]

[bolivar]

[The vampire dodges back from the bright silver, blinded enough by the wide swipes that he doesn't see the trashcan moving at him until it hits him, making him instinctively crouch. He pushes the can out of the way and advances, slower this time. His mouth gapes, and he again launches the stinger at Eph.]

[eph_everything]

[Eph seems to be of the opinion that what Bolivar needs is another trash can. Some sort of commentary on the state of popular music, possibly? This one rolls at the vampire. Bowling for vampires. Eph hangs onto the lid like it's a shield. If only it were metal, but, alas, this is Brooklyn and these cans are Rubbermaid. They may even be artisinal. Eph is just lucky this building doesn't compost exclusively.

He's really regretting his lack of sword right now.]

[bolivar]

[Bolivar takes a few stumbling steps back from Eph as the second trashcan hits. He's trying to move closer for another shot when he hears a shout behind him and whirls.

There's no telling what the police officer thought he was doing. Perhaps he saw Eph roll the trashcan, or he saw the knife, or maybe he recognized one of them. But the minute he's within striking distance, Bolivar's stinger has him.]

[eph_everything]

[It's terrible: one more death Eph is responsible for. And one more link in the chain of infection as well.

But it's also a chance. It's already too late for the man. There is nothing anyone can do for him. Eph has already failed him completely (good job, hero), and the choice he faces now is to remain, and fail everyone else, or to allow the man's death to do some good.

Eph chooses Eph. It's not a difficult choice at all.

And he's gone.]

[bolivar]

[Bolivar turns to watch Eph leave. As he finishes his meal, he grasps the policeman's head in both hands and twists abruptly, allowing him to fall bonelessly to the ground. He calls after the fleeing doctor.]

We'll see each other again.

[And they would. Bolivar turns to leave, to report his encounter to the Master.]