bury you [daphne]

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

We liked the nighttime best, because the shadows are everywhere. Sometimes, we want to be a shadow, stalking quietly, following, but nobody knows we're there. Nobody is afraid of a shadow if it's their own – we like to be the shadow no one fears until our hand is over their mouth, until we make them breathe in delicious chemicals that will make them sleep, until we take just enough oxygen to where they cannot fight. Their bodies are limp then, in our arms, when we carry them to our work place. To our 'home.' Night is the cloak that has kept us, better than a home because it's always there. We can find night anywhere, can find darkness and shadows around any corner once the sun sets and the world becomes out playground. We've hunted in the day, but it's not as fun, no. Not as satisfying to us when there are no shadows, when we have to be rushed because all the people that might see what we've done or what we're trying to do. Then the pesky police officers come, and they meddle. Always meddling in affairs that aren't theirs. We've killed two police officers. Each one a treasure. We kept the badges in our secret place, under the floor boards, with the rest of our treasures. Now, the police call people like us who keep things from our toys 'trophies.' But we did not win the shiny policeman's badge. No, we took it. You don't take a trophy. You win it. Winning implies there are others to beat, but we cannot be beaten at our game, no.

We like the night in Manuka, and the train yard because so many people occupy it during the day, but only the daring tread here at night. The daring, and the dangerous. We are the dangerous, and maybe just a little bit daring as well. The brave targets are the most fun, because they think they can conquer the world. They can be reckless, adventurous, and challenge the shadows. They even think they'll win. But when we take them, when we bring them into the shadows with us, then they regret being brave. They beg for mercy. They apologize and call to God, and we tell them he's not there, he's not listening, but they just keep making noise. Awful noise, a bawling, squawking human with the will to live still in them. We always break the strong will on the brave ones. We break it with hammers, with fists, with wrenches and knives and spikes and swords and anything else in our toy box.

Then they stop playing with us, so we have to find someone else.

The bear we killed tonight wasn't a person, wasn't as much of a challenge. The blood was the same, though. Thicker, maybe. More viscous, and smells differently. Humans smell like copper and resentment, but bears smell like earth. Dust. Ashes. Not like pennies at all. Still, the knife to its heart was more merciful than we've been in... months? Animals are beneath our skill level now, but it's never a bad thing to practice. Practice, practice, practice – it's why we're so good at playing with those brave, stupid humans. Even the brave 'supernatural' beings play with us sometimes. They never know they're playing until it's too late. We've made special devices for them, too. Learned their weaknesses. Lots of hours with the doctor's nose in books, reading, reading, reading. Scribbling on paper, because we need to know all the secrets.

We bury the bear's corpse in the train yard. Behind the tracks, almost near the covering of trees. We don't like to stage the animals – they deserve a proper burial, because there's no greater purpose. With humans or others that leave some trace after they're dead, we like to pose them like dolls. Leave them in the open, in the sunlight, where everyone can see what the shadows have done to them.

The bear is heavy, but we manage to throw it in the hole we've dug, then put the last bit of earth over it and finally, finally rest our arms and hands by putting the shovel down. But wait. There are footsteps. We turn, grab the shovel, wait. Watch. Watch in the shadows.

Does someone want to play with us?

OUTFIT:

[/color] Here![/blockquote][/justify]

[DAPHNE SASHA ASTOR]

Sometimes, Daphne thought about the nocturnal predators. Owls, mostly. Always considered clever and special and intelligent. Silent stalkers of those weaker than them. But Daphne… she knew an owl. Weak little pansy thing that was always getting its wings plucked and torn and broken by those much stronger than it. It wasn’t strong and capable and brave and wise. The night brought it down, didn’t raise it up Daph was night. All starry sky and piecing shadows and terrifying noises and uncertainty. The ivory fae was fun. The owl was a plaything to the night. She sighed, no longer interested in the train of thought she was on, feeling the reins of this aspect gently tugged into another’s hands. Babbles, this one. Incessantly babbling about nothing and everything at once. Both brilliant and confusing. Trains… She’d just been thinking about trains, hadn’t she?

Choo-choo! Chugga-chugga… How silly. Trains didn’t sound like that at all… More a growling screech of metal on metal, eventually pulled into a gliding drag like a very loud whisper, ground to a halt by an angry metal screech like a tortured bird. Owls… Something about owls. Something about owls was bothering Daphne. Maybe trains would quiet the owls. Screams of metal to drown out the shrieks of birds.

The window was silent- as it always was, lacking a proper speaking voice- when she slipped outside, naked feet slipping across the grass, dewdrops coating her toes in moisture. She was like a pixie from a silly tale. Propaganda that supernatural beings had spread to spread mischief and illusion, distracting from their real existence. Truth was so fragmented, shattered like glass, spread across the ground, shiny and reflective, like her dewdrops. But there were no truths Daphne wanted to see in her dewdrops, no knowledge to be gained there that she didn’t already have. Instead, she’d go see trains, and listen to what their thundering rumbling heartbeats fueled by flame and willpower had to tell her, even if it made her weak and tipsy to do so. Metal beasts, trains… The gravel in their stomachs made them move with a force that even Daphne could envy. Heh. But they were so ugly that she didn’t. She wouldn’t give up the prettiness of things just to have the power of a train. Besides all that, she had her own power. Special, secret powers, and terrifying, unreal powers that others would envy, if she ever gave them the knowledge of what power she held. Her head cocked then, listening to the winds tell her where the trains slept at night, before they communed with the tracks in the morning. Mayhap they would give their secrets to the night before they left…

Whispers of metals in the winds told her where to go if she wanted to talk to trains. The shiver in her stomach told her where the metal serpents lived. Why wouldn’t the ivory fae listen to what her body told her, and go away from the trains? Because, the body was sometimes silly, and her mind made the decisions for both of them anyways. Her whispers joined the whispers of the air, soft and deceptively gentle as her fingers brushed the metal of the cars, singeing her fingertips for her trouble. Bare feet crunched over the gravel, a pleasant counterpoint to her whispers. Tingles trickled down her spine, awareness of some signature that didn’t belong to her or the slumbering giants that she was petting. Her ears detected barely perceptible breathing, slightly elevated with exertion. Hmm?

Ivory locks moved and her hair jingled lightly from the beads as her body took a stance that was entirely to her advantage as she peeked her lithe frame around the curve of the behemoth, noting the presence of the hulking male with the shovel and the recently opened grave. Huh. Curious. A tiny single-finger wave made its way out of her hand, before more interest got the better of her and she cocked her head, raised her eyebrows, and pointed at the large mound at his feet. He could be burying a dead body, and she didn't care. Fear just wasn’t something she did… She wanted to know, she'd ask. Even silently.

----------------------------------------------------------------
clicketh for clothes!

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

This is someone we know.

Manuka is still full of strangers, full of victims, full of possibilities, but this one is part of the reason we came here. At first, it was all about the research. Books and pages and studies and cures, and we've started to think there was no cure, but then the vampire told us. Yes, she told us right before we took her head. It took three days, the torture, and finally we got her to talk about faeries. It seemed strange that little delicate, winged things would hold the cure we were looking for all these years, but apparently, faeries aren't so delicate as the stories say. No, murderous, vicious things. Not all of them, of course, but a handful. They play with emotions the way we play with our instruments, the way we play in blood and carnage. The way we enjoy that first incision that opens up the treasures within a fresh body. Not a kill, no. No, killing is the final step. First, we have to learn the secrets. The secrets that make a heart beat or a throat swallow or lungs breathe out a final breath when it is time to end it all.

When she emerges from the woods, prancing and light on her feet, that white hair glowing in the moonlight, we decide that she would be a terrible shadow. If only we didn't already know that she isn't. This one is a skilled, cunning, wicked little shadow. Not like us, but impressive. So seldom are we impressed, but this one has been interesting to us since she was a little girl. The Astor mansion, for all its pomp and circumstance, has really terrible security. We were able to slip right in, find a spot for watching, keep a close, careful eye on everything and everyone. Almost twenty years we've been watching, acting as a shadow in the day time. We watched the father, Malcolm, take the little white haired lovely to a hospital because she was different. We watched her brother, Jayne, and his contorted features when she was taken. Karson, who always cries, always sad, always with that damn owl... we want to murder that owl. We don't think much of either of them. Neely... she's different, too, but we've decided that's because she wants to be different. Wants to be someone she's not. Wants to be the little faerie gliding and prancing and wandering toward us. Wants to be our 'special' faerie, our chosen one. Neely probably knows, but she'll never be this one. This one... there is something special here, and we just want to find it and keep it and taste it. Ours, all ours.

Neely won't envy her when she's dead.

We have big plans, little faerie. Big plans for you. We built you a special box, special chains, a special holding area where we can experiment and see the difference between your insides and the others. Do faeries sparkle on the inside? Is there glitter and beauty from all the emotions that you've eaten, or are they ugly like the humans who carry them like a disease? We only want the one. Only the one emotion, only the joy from feeling the life slip out from one of our playthings underneath our skilled, capable hands. The first rush of pleasure that comes from that gurgling squeak that escapes their lips when we operate on the live ones. All the others are cancer. Sickness. Humanity. Disgusting.

You are brave to approach us. Some do, but they all die. Some have said our eyes are cold, dead, lifeless.... maybe we are dead inside. We would rather have dead insides than insides tainted with the stink of humanity, just to preserve us and keep us alive. The beads in her hair jingle, and this is what makes us look up. She is close, and we can hear her – our senses are near perfect, near animal, we have trained us well. A strange little wave, wiggling one's index finger up and down... we are confused by the gesture. Today is not kill day. No, this is the first meeting, and we are not prepared to handle you yet, little faerie. Not yet, but soon. Today, we shall take this chance meeting and take notes, to learn later, to use against you when you are begging us for life, just like all the others.

She points to our grave. If she had been anyone else stumbling upon us here, we would have bashed those pretty brains in with our shovel, then placed her inside the bear for a long night's sleep. Maybe dead, maybe still alive. It's a good thought for later, and we decide to remember this for a future kill. We've never traded a bear's intestines for a human before.

”My dog,” we say simply. The excuse was one we prepared, just in case. It's always good to be prepared. No catching us off guard. We know all the secrets. ”I came home, he was dead. He always did like the trains...” Almost pathetic enough for us to be normal. She's smart, though. Crafty. Maybe she will see through us. Maybe our plans won't work. Maybe we'll have to put her in the bear after all, send her to sleep.

[/justify]

[DAPHNE SASHA ASTOR]

Homeward Bound. Okay okay, bear with the random thought for a few minutes. Just… keep it in mind, for later. Now, trains didn’t smell good. Like oil and coal and metal and rust. The behemoths weren’t clean and pretty. Not shiny. Hulking ugly things that were so very restricted. Stuck in dictated paths and lines, only to deviate when something extra-‘bad’ was happening. Daphne always thought that the trains being able to jump their tracks was like them finally achieving freedom. Like she’d done. A long while ago, now. She’d learned the rules, the things that made people look at her in that way that pushed the impulse to carve their eyes out, and what lines to dance on. She’d hopped on her own tracks to lead her straight out the door.

She’d hopped them right after that, letting extra-‘bad’ things happen. There had been such a shockwave when Daphne had been rebirthed from her prison. Such a downfall of so many beings. But not the ones that deserved it most. Oh no, because that could get her put back in the trainyard, and never allowed to hop on the exit track again. The ivory fae was strong, powerful, capable, but even she had a weakness. One intrinsic to her species, even when she tended to ignore it, as she was doing now, flitting around the trains like a sprite or a pixie. She ignored her weaknesses, pretended they didn’t affect her. She dared touch things she shouldn’t, and not eat when she didn’t feel like it, and not breathe when she didn’t want to. Someday, her body would realize the easiest track was the one where it just obeyed her. So she planned and ignored her weaknesses, honing everything else into a terrifying sharpness. Senses included.

They were how she knew he was there before she popped around the corner. They had caused the bit of awareness to enter her system. The ivory faerie was always on alert. Even when she didn’t have to be. His stance was… defensive, but only to the trained eye. Much like her own. He actually deigned to answer her questioning gesture. Something so… mundane. Her nose wrinkled with an ugly grimace. A nice gesture, if she didn’t say so. A tendril brushed him, pulling back, well, nothing. No attachment, no sadness. Just space. Dead air. White noise. Strange. Not exactly pleasant. Her tendril returned as she watched him, meeting his eyes for a moment, oddly jolted. They were so very empty. Cold and calculating. Not vacant, just not emotional. Different. She got different. Different lied to her though. The words rolled without conviction, and the grave was much too large for a dog… Still, play with the lie.

’Awfully large for a puppy resting place, wouldn’t you say?’ Her bare feet carried her over the churned earth, noting the change in texture with her toes, watching his face. Nothing. More nothing. And she was awfully close to him then. Him and his defensive shovel. She chuckled then, amused. Defensive shovel. What a thought. And another returned to her then; real pet person would be offended about him being stepped upon, stuck in the dirt like he was. Cue the Homeward Bound thought. The doglet getting stuck in the mud, ‘member? Even a bigger pooch wouldn’t need a dirt hole this big. Her hair jingled quietly again as she cocked her head- as she was wont to do- and looked up at him. ’What kind of dog was he?’

Her feet spun her around on the mound then, tamping down the dirt some more before hopping off, returning to the gravel with a little crunching sound that she quite enjoyed. Daphne was a fan of pleasant sounds… Her definition of ‘pleasant’ tended to vary from most people's though, she had found. Even Jayne couldn’t comprehend why she preferred such ‘grotesque’ noises. Even though those weren’t the only ones in her repertoire. She liked the sound of her own laughter, actually, so she did it again before tip-toeing back onto the dirt, contrasting the soft sigh of compacting earth with her throaty chuckle. ’Must’ve been a dumb doggie. Only the dumb ones like trains. Shouldn’t like monsters that can kill them, hm?’ Daphne tended to see more than people gave her credit for, sometimes more than she gave herself credit for, actually… But she’d realize that later.

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

The little faerie is smart. We give credit where credit is due, and we've always known this one to be clever. Wise beyond her years. The rest of them, they don't see how special she is, but we've always seen. We've known since she was little, long before the men came and took her away, put her in a 'facility.' Even her own family doesn't see all that special. Her brother, she loves him, but he can't see her the way we do. Him and his normal, unclouded mind and all those distractions. Distractions are welcome, of course – so many times we've been able to snatch someone up because they weren't paying attention to the shadows, to the darkness and what might be lurking within the 'safe' surroundings. Comfort is a silly thing – too many people trust in their daily routine. In their every day lifestyles. Nobody notices us, because everyone is so comfortable.

This one knows. We guessed she'd know, but we didn't plan for her to see us today. Too soon, too soon. We had a plan, had everything all meticulously decided. We knew when we'd take her, how we'd hold her, how she'd die... the faerie would never see it coming, either. The doctor says maybe we need to re-think some of our old plans, since she has already seen us here, burying the bear we killed for practice. Plans are good, and they've kept us from getting caught on so many occasions. But we need to be confident, and that is what we tell the doctor. We have been doing this game for a very long time – longer than the faerie has even been alive, and while she does potentially serve as a formidable opponent, we still feel that she is no match.

Plan or no plan, soon we'll have her. There's a special contraption that we've made. It's iron and silver, so faeries and werewolves will both suffer all the same. Hands and legs pinned against a wall, a special remote that will tighten the shackles – the device came from something we read in a book about how they tortured prisoners in the Medieval ages. The Dark Ages. From what we've read, it sounded more pleasant than dark back then. The scientists and torturers had many good ways of making people talk. We've taken some notes, meticulous notes, so we understand their thought process and how all the little devices functioned. Once we get more supplies, we plan to make renovations to the wooden box with spikes for our vampire guests. Then, we'll get a jaw splitter. Great little piece that goes right between the teeth of the guest, and screws move it... they talk to us, or the jaw gets broken. Beautiful, beautiful screams when a jaw is broken. The jaw-splitter gives us better access to the tongue, the teeth...

She is talking to us, asking questions. Inquisitive little thing, don't you know talking to strangers is dangerous? Even for you. We must think of more lies now, so she doesn't find us out of place. We wouldn't want her to keep us too close in her memory, even though once we have her, she won't escape. There have been some that we've let go, but we've always altered the memory and left presents behind so they'd have a calling card from us without an identity attached. Safer that way, when you let someone go and they can't identify us, the surroundings, the way we took them from the original retention point. The faerie is clever, but still no match. No match for us.

”He was a big dog. Large breed,” What is a large breed dog that people like? ”Newfoundland. Also, it's awfully rude to cage an animal who so loved to run by not giving him enough room, don't you think?” We like reading about all subjects so we have much to talk about when questioned, when meeting with other potential victims. We used to be better at interaction before, when we had some feelings, but now we just have to try to fake as best as we can. She already sees through us, sees our game – now we're just playing for sport.

The faerie makes noise in the dirt, and we watch her carefully. She is so full of life, so full of emotion that it makes us want to behave poorly. Act without thought. We wonder, do her wings have feathers? Could we pluck them one by one when we finally do have her back in our work station? Would it hurt the little faerie if her wings were plucked? We took a Fallen Angel once... let him go because we didn't have the proper weapon to kill. Drugged him well. His memory is fractured now, like a broken mirror. We found the scars on his back where his wings used to be and sliced them open – dug our fingers against the bone on the inside. Wanted to find feathers there, but didn't find anything but blood and sinew.

”Man's best friend isn't always the smartest,” we reply. ”Now that he's gone, though – I don't think I've the heart for any more pets.” Never wanted pets. Only had an interest in other people's pets so we could practice our surgical technique. ”Do you have one? A dog or a pet?” We know the answer, of course, but must keep up the ruse. We don't want her to know too much.

[/justify]

[DAPHNE SASHA ASTOR]

Oh, Daphne was reaching that bored, sleepy place… Her body was tiring. It was all the damn metal, she knew, pulling her very energy away from her flesh, pulled like fingernails or teeth, but much less pleasant. She fought to ignore it, to behave in her usual manner, and talk to the tall shovel man, but her form wouldn’t allow it. He was… well, nice, she supposed, to answer her rudely-phrased questions about his pet. The words- well-spun though they were- were obviously not true. Not to a fae who spun them better than she spun fibers into fabric or a hula-hoop around her waist, not that she did much of the latter anymore. That and she was, in fact, fae and could read something amiss in the words just from the lack of emotional signature. A nice attempt though. She might’ve congratulated him if she wasn’t so tired. And if she knew such a thing would defeat the purpose of the attempt. Her brain was fuzzing. Defensive Shovel said something about a Newf-something. Oh. Newfounland. Answering her question again.

’Still too big. Maybe it was the running that killed him… Maybe it was the trains. Rather big monsters themselves.’ She slipped, and turned it into a twirl over his large burial mound, a breathless giggle emerging from the depths of her lungs. Ooooh, much longer, and she would lose her glamour. Her pretty face would slip from her prettier face, and scare the tall giant before her. She had to- she had to move out of here. Daphne was giggly and silly now, almost slap-happy, though she was still in control. Pushing her limits was something she did with a frequency that scared most people. Still… the other pieces of her sanity were screaming at her now, forcing her to move away from the trains and the man, fighting to pull a full breath. Couldn’t leave it lie like that though. Couldn’t let people know a weaker moment was finding its way into her bloodstream. ’Odd, for a dog to be fond of such things that could kill him…’ She swallowed quickly, practically tasting the metal in the air. Her lithe body was dancing away from him. Spinning and twirling in complex patterns that very few could dance.

He gave the right response to her claim. Something meant to mollify, and almost-not-really agree. Clever. Correct. But all wrong. An interpretation of the right answer crafted to look right, but not quite managing. A high-priced knockoff.’Probably best. Doesn’t feel like you had the heart for this one. He spent time with trains instead of you… Makes one wonder at the preference of hulking metal monstrosities to man, the best friend.’ Preservation should make her less inflammatory when she was feeling this way, her knees weakening, and her chest constricting. More steps away from him, more frivolous dancing that disguised the need to move, that her brain was forcing her body to withstand longer than it really should. Made her stay and listen, learn. Not give anything valuable away, like the potential for her to fall at any moment. For that next traipsing of her delicate foot in the gravel to catch a stray rock and send her tumbling, scraping her hands and knees, dress and elbows. By the dark, she was not a delicate being. She was not a fairy, she was a murderous, dangerous fae. And she would not be undone by metal. So soon, she amended, feeling light-headed, knowing she couldn’t last much more. She wondered what he would do, if she moved more away. Would he follow her to hear the answer to the question he’d posed? Nothing to do but find out…

Quieter steps carried her a touch farther, but a train yard was no small thing, and it had yet to provide her with relief. She shook her ivory waves of hair, a light grin on her mouth in response. ’Neither, I’m afraid. My parents did not feel that I would take adequate care for one. I have a propensity for disregard. Had an owl in our house though… Dirty owl…’ Her smile changed then, to something a touch more sinister, heedless of her ‘regular, quirky, but rude’ facade. ’Dying owl. Soon to be gone from disturbing me anymore.’ A hitch in her breathing occurred at the end of her sentence, and she bent at the waist, before rolling it into a twirl. The faerie was going to retch soon, all over the ground. But first, she may chance the opportunity to keep escaping. She wanted to climb out, but that would hurt her worse. Wanted to fly out, but her wings wouldn’t carry her anymore. She had to dig and pull herself away from the sickness she was feeling. She denied feeling it, but it was wearing on her anyway. A happy pirouette, a leaping, graceful jump. A land on one perfect foot, followed by a crumple. No sound emerged. She was better than that. But regardless, she was on the cool dirt, looking like a broken flower. ’Well, poo. Knew I hadn’t mastered that move yet…’ A lie, of course, but hopefully would distract. She wasn’t embarrassed, she practically never felt such a thing, but she was mentally whirling. Better get up, right?

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

Something was happening to the faerie. We noticed as she dimmed, like a light bulb slowly reaching the end, from shiny and lively to dull and gray. Our research only told us so much – we hadn't gotten a chance to experiment on faeries yet, because we were saving ourselves for this one. It is difficult sometimes, learning patience, waiting – more difficult for some than others, but we enjoy being patient. Waiting, drawing things out, learning everything we can about a target just makes us more powerful because we know them. We know the routine from the moment they wake to the moment they sleep, and have considered all the different scenarios and chances where it would be perfect to take them. That is why we always capture our prey – why they always get to come play with us, because right before we take them, we have to know them better than they know themselves. Of course, this is easier for us to do with some than others – although over the years, we have learned that so many people shut out their own knowledge of themselves. They don't understand what goes on in their own bodies or minds, but we do. Even before we cut them open and take a peek inside. We know them better.

The little faerie is hard to understand, so we've had to try harder with her. She's more of a challenge than we've ever faced, but it's never enough to deter. No, we like the challenge. Bigger prey will likely yield better results, which is why we have been training for this, waiting and wishing and planning and wanting to just take her while she's weak and look for the faerie dust inside. But we have to hold back, because it's not a challenge unless we take her when she's strong. She's talking about our fake dog, and we are getting bored with this conversation. It was just a lie to send her off our scent, but it didn't work. Even the large dog breed we chose didn't sway her – she's too smart for that, even though the light bulb is dimming. What is making her weak? We've never seen her weak before. It's almost... beautiful. ”How smart is an animal, though? You can love them, care for them, and still they'll run off, addicted to some pretty noise and get hit by a train.” We had always thought animals and humans were the dumbest things alive. Fickle, with little insight to the world around them. When we were human, we were still different, with a thirst for knowledge and blood that was more fitting to someone more like us now. Someone immortal, ageless, who can see all the world's offerings and understand them, or at least have the desire to understand them.

”I could only do my best. I'm a busy man.” We replied simply when she insinuated that we didn't love our fake pet. Really, we cannot love anything, so the little faerie is right. But who could love a dumb animal but another mentally stunted individual? No, we loved our research once. We loved the screams and agonized moans that came from our victims when we made the first incision and started a live surgery. We loved the look in their faces when they finally realized they were going to die on our table. We can't love any of that anymore. That's why we need the faerie and the magic inside of those bones. We need it to love again.

Suddenly, the faerie became even more interesting to us, speaking of a disgusting winged creature that apparently sparked disdain from those pretty lips. ”Did you kill the owl?” Maybe she'll answer us when she hears that we have no judgment in our tone. We know you're like us, it's part of why we want you so badly. If we can capture one of our own, so to speak – if we could look inside the brain of someone with the propensity to kill that we have lived with every day, then we'll get the answers. We just know it. ”There are poisons that make birds shrivel up like a spent balloon... sweet-smelling, like perfume.” Did we just say that out loud? Shit. No, no – more lies! More lies. ”I watch a lot of television. Animal Planet.” Animal Planet had been playing on a television inside a laundromat when we took a young man who was waiting on his laundry to finish. We killed him in the bathroom, then placed his head in a dryer and let it go. It wasn't a thorough lie, but it was quick. She'd see through it, but perhaps not right away.

She started dancing. Odd, jerky movements that weren't as smooth as when we've seen her dance before. Something is wrong with our faerie. She tries to leap and jump, but cannot fly, and then... falling. Falls to the ground, to the dirt, exclaims her disappointment. We cannot let anything happen to her – we've put too much time into this. ”Here,” we offer our hand, lifting her to her feet again with our strength. We look into her eyes – pretty. There's so much emotion there. Delicious emotion that we want for ourselves. There's a flicker, then, when we touch her... a spark. Something... we feel something. Immediately, our hand drops away from hers like we've been burned. ”What was that?” She wouldn't know what we were referring to, unless we got more specific. ”When I touched you...” Will you run, little faerie? Or are you as interested in us as we are in you?

[/justify]

[DAPHNE SASHA ASTOR]

There was a gnawing in her brain, like the metal monsters were trying to tunnel their way out. Hmm. It was distantly painful… She knew what pain was, intimately, but it was because of that intimacy she could shirk it like a pushy lover. Stupid body still wanted to misbehave because of it though, weakening like a tiny kitten. But she was fierce kitten, rough and tumbly. Tumble like a gymnast. Twist and flip and prance. And dart. Shooting darts at him. Whoever he was. Sir Awkward Shovel. She chuckled at her own mind, a little more loopy than usual from the metal. It didn’t impede her brilliant mind, it just made her less-inclined to play to normalcy that she had learned to fake. Also, he was lying to her. So there was that. It was just a game. How far could they stretch the lies they were spinning? How intricate could the spiders make the web?

’Speaking as an animal, I believe myself to be at least a touch intelligent. Smart and clever. Addicted to pretty noises in my own right. But perhaps I was taught better than to let myself get hit by things that are bad for me…’ She giggled, high and bright, for about a second before she forced it to stop, abruptly. Oh, this was not necessarily wise. Wisdom had never been her playing field or forte, however, so she didn’t much care. She was, truth be told, having fun playing with this bit of known lies and tangled twists of non-truth. Daphne had played with a much more dangerous version of it than this, though, many times. On her danger scale, not-really-dead dogs was incredibly benign. Apparently though, he was too busy to train his non-existent dog to avoid hulking metal snakes. Perhaps he deserved its lacking in existence then. Both in the first and second place. Strange, that her mind enjoyed this tete-a-tete of falsehoods. Until it was spinning and spinning and oh, but she was going to puke. Her eyes watered and she walked away, talking about the wretched owl. Wretched bird was as wretched as she was quickly becoming. His question arched one of her slim, white eyebrows to the ceiling. What a question to ask a complete stranger! Especially when you were feigning love for a dead pet, yourself. But she giggled anyways, and answered.

’Killing the owl. A beautiful, slow progression. No suddenness, as delivered at the capable hands of a train…’ Her slim fingers trailed over the metal, burning slightly, but not causing any blisters. Her hand was just red and angry. Daphne’s words seemed to spark something in him, as he talked about poisons, making her grin. ’Drip-drop, drip-drop like rainfall and tears.’ Her voice was a soft sing-song, and she kept walking, in her barely-hitched dancing way, trying to escape the trains. Not him… he was a curiosity, but it was not as though she’d be asking him to follow her. If he wanted, more power. If not, she would be fine. Or so she thought. If she could just get out of there. Gravel crunched while she danced, a happy twirl and spin. He watched her carefully, hawk-like. Observant. Another bird that needed killing? Not at the moment, it seemed. The ivory fae was far too displaced from her usual self to manage such a thing. So she kept dancing, and royally messed it up. Well, not royal- ha! But yes, royally. She was royal, after all. In terms of mistakes, it was small, slight, miniscule, tiny. The killer still landed in a little heap on the gravel, this close to passing out right there. She would not allow for such a thing, though, and forced her unfocused gaze to move, locating the nearest path out. But then Show-velle was in her space, in her bubble, offering his hand. She cocked her head, confused by the motion. He was not a nice being, but here he was, ‘helping.’ The ivory fae wondered just what the tactical advantage to assisting her was… and decided to give it anyway. Her pale fingers slipped into his larger hand with ease, and he lifted her a bit, daring to look right into her electric-green eyes, fearless. Maybe curious. But then the power hits his nerves, and he pulls away. Scared immortal? Now she knew, of course. That he was immortal. Not actually scared though. Daphne stumbled a little at the sudden loss, and lurched away from him with a cheeky grin.

’Natural reaction. Chemical flux?’ She giggled for a moment, finally escaping that last, dreaded train. It was not far enough to feel better, but far enough that she could breathe again. Another glance at him went over her shoulder. He really didn’t know. ’Wanna know? Wanna play? Catch me.’ Lithe fingers stroked his hand again, jolting him just a little to amplify and feel good. Could've done it from a distance, but this was more fun. Daring. She knew what she did to people. ’Tag!’ Her strong legs pushed her away from the train yard with an excited laugh. She needed out of here, but didn’t want to lose the playmate. He might come in entertaining later, when she was feeling a little stronger and vicious. To get there, though, she had to get away from here. Two-fer bonus. She didn’t even bother looking back, until she heard a sound that made her risk the briefest look, and sent her into another peal of laughter. Perfect.

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

We noticed that something was... off about the faerie. Her colors were dull, well – more dull, because usually they were so vivid. Vibrant, like the lime green of her eyes. While we didn't always understand the raw interpretation of the colors, we did understand that dull meant that something was wrong, somehow. Dissipating, like adding water to a substance until it diluted, again and again. It was even more dull now than it when first she crossed our path. Yet, even with the lack of vivid color, she was still talking to us. Still intrigued, or so it seemed, by our presence and talk of burying our 'dog.' The fact that she stayed on the subject for so long almost made us wish we had just told the truth – the faerie was a wicked thing, we knew, and if anyone would lack judgment for our crimes, it would be this very creature. Yet, there was no trust. We know better than to trust anyone. It's why we've been so successful with our kills, with our captures, because we ensure they cannot know our face, or end their lives before they could ever speak of what we've done. ”Do you understand animals? Speak to them or something?” We knew that she likely considered herself to be somewhat like an animal because of her 'other' form. The form that was significantly more grotesque than the striking visage that she currently presented. Or, at least, grotesque to the average eye – we don't consider things to be 'grotesque,' especially when they are part of nature. While she might have been born with a form that would be considered monstrous by most, we were born into a body that earned up an interested eye from men and women folk many, many times over the years, yet our insiders were monstrous. So we could not and would not judge the little faerie. However, we couldn't let her know that we already knew what she was. Already knew of her animal. Had seen her 'other' form, more frequently when she was younger, so likely it had grown and changed with the rest of her body. ”Probably weren't taught better. Just have a better sense of yourself, I'd say.”

We hate having to speak in 'normal' words whilst in mixed company. It just seems so... unnatural, when we're dueling with the doctor and the monster in our head. Yet, we cannot speak in our true voice when we are outside of our room. Our special room is our sanctuary, and in there, we are God. Well, we've never much believed in God, but there's a saying that speaks of 'playing God' when you hold life and death in your hands. By that standard, most surgeons would be God, but we've strayed far from that path. Still hold the knowledge, but are no longer bound to any oath that would keep us from doing everything wicked compulsion that passes through our head.

Her color changed again, bleak. Weak. We blink, watch her walk away, still talking, so we have to follow. Well... we don't have to follow. We don't do anything we don't feel a driven need to do, and frequently, we feel no need at all. Compulsion. The mind's inability to focus on anything else until a specific task is accomplished. Compulsions were originally designated to the insane, the truly mad, the psychotic – perhaps we are all of those things, and even so, we do not care. Currently, we are compelled to follow, and we do. She didn't force us to do anything – our brain did. Our curious need to learn more about the owl, to spend time with the little faerie when we are actually allowed to look upon her without any concern of being caught staring uninvited. ”What did the owl do to deserve its slow decline?” It's no concern of us to what she wishes to do to any living specimen. We've seen her kill before, found beauty in it, and even enjoyment, once upon a time before we lost that ability to enjoy a good kill. There's artwork in what she does, and it reminds us of our own masterpieces. Not the same, of course – while the little faerie is skilled, she has much to learn and more practice before she can be on our level, but someday. That thought amuses us; we've never considered the thought that any living being would have the ability to even approach us on an equal level. Perhaps she'll reach where we are now, someday, and by then, we will have surpassed her still.

Through the forest we continued, driven by our compulsion and watching those colors pulse, like a heartbeat – a dying heartbeat, slow and strained and staggered and starving for strength again. She fell, and a new compulsion developed, so we reached out our hand to help her off the forest floor and were shocked. Jolted into... attention? Into a feeling like our heart could actually beat in a way that we could feel something other than a mechanical movement that didn't even serve the purpose of keeping us alive anymore? We were just gears and cogs now. Immortality. We'll live forever in our brilliant, fragmented mind with clockwork pieces on the inside, turning and turning away to keep us in a constant state of motion, compelled to continue our wicked ways. Once upon a time, that thought had been bliss. Now, without the feelings of joy after we completed our dastardly tasks, it seemed like punishment. Like trickery. The answer she gave when we asked about the response our skin touching hers got intrigued us. ”Chemicals? Poisons?” We doubted poisons. We're familiar with most of them, and as she is not a poison arrow frog, it's unlikely that we could be affected through a skin transfer of poison. Especially with our body's regenerative properties.

We wanted to know, so we chased her. She was fast, on those strong legs, like a gazelle, and we wouldn't catch her. So we called out something that might interest her.

”Faerie!”

She turned, just a moment, and the slight slowness caused us to catch up to her, darting through the forest and bounding over tree stumps to get there, where our arms caught her around her tiny waist. ”Tell me more about the poison?”

[/justify]

[DAPHNE SASHA ASTOR]

Sometimes, his speech patterns hitched a little, like he wasn’t comfortable with the words he was saying. Weird, that Daphne found it cute? He wasn’t awkward, exactly, but he certainly wasn’t normal. And the faerie had a supreme appreciation for things outside the norm. If they were in it… well, she liked to remedy that as soon as was possible. She was even occasionally patient if the case seemed particularly promising. But the shovel man was already odd, and that worked for the ivory fae rather well. Even with all his silly questions. Her giggle in response to his ‘animalistic’ question was bright and sultry, a little growly, to emphasize, and slightly mocking. How could he think-? Aw well. Maybe he was a little more on the super side of the abnormal scale… probably was, actually, now that Daphne decided to consider it consciously. Other parts of her brain had already been running through that process of elimination a while ago. She just didn’t know what he was. Well, she probably did, if she’d just bother to collect her scattered threads and braid them back together… like a basket or her hair or… um. Not that she cared, really. He obvs wasn’t a faerie though, ‘cause he wasn’t just crumpling under the weight of the metal that was around them. And really, the only person Daph had ever seen ignore metal to the level that she could and did was… well, herself. So. And no purple eyes and no… Well, there was time for that later, after she answered his question.

’No, ya big dummy. We’re all animals. Pretty much every sentient creature on the food chain. Ya know? All animals. Why? You don’t speak to them?’ The ivory fae grinned, teasing and possibly throwing him off again as she continued her slow- for now- trek through the train yard. She’d started so far away from him, but now she was close, and she had to leave. Hulking trains weren’t good for her light disposition. But he was, actually, giving her a compliment like that. And it was a compliment, no matter what you say. Her soft white hair jingled again as she shook her head, and chuckled. ’I don’t know about that… but I do know me pretty well. You could ask me anything about me, and I’d know the answer, certainly. Not that I’d tell you. Certainly.’ Her eyes twinkled and her bright pink tongue darted between her lips in a teasing expression that sparkled with mirth that just wouldn’t die in his company, despite the way he was so serious. But they were actually talking about topics she liked, like killing the owl… yeah. Oh, she was so enjoying that. She’d like the look on Karson’s face too, when it finally had its last gulp of oxygen that would keep it alive. Ah yeah. Still, the faerie shrugged with a small smile, twirling and roaming away as he followed her, curiosity perhaps a bit piqued. Good thing too, because she just… ugh. No. Not the metal anymore. ’Existed, I suppose. Sometimes, that’s more than good enough. For me.’ Daphne’s breathing hitched then, and her eyes widened the tiniest fraction, and she moved, dancing away on limbs that shouldn’t have been able to hold her up. And didn’t, ending in a failed maneuver that got him close to her, pulling her up with an expression that spoke to volumes of confusion. It made the ivory fae smile, because she had something to inspire his accompaniment, rather than just her infinitely sparkling personality.

’Do do that voodoo, that you do so well. For you do something to me that nobody else could do..’ Her singing trailed off, a soft whisper of non-answer. It was accurate, and not. She wondered that he couldn’t puzzle it out, having questioned her about poisons and chemicals. Not that that was his fault either, since she’d sort of suggested such a thing… But it was just Daphne being Daphne. The faerie being fae. The troublemaker causing unintentional trouble. The second time she did it though, entirely purposeful. The second time she did it, it was a challenge, an incentive, and it worked. She ran like a nymph through the trees before his shout grabbed her ears and her brain and her eyes, pulling her being back to him for the briefest second, allowing him to catch her while she laughed. So he did know then! Well. Silly Daphne. Should’ve known. Alas, such was not the case. He’d acted so mystified. Maybe it was just… who knew? But suddenly he was holding her. And it… it was nice. Her breathing hitched for a different reason as she looked up into those voids, fascinated. Yes, well and truly. She wanted… oh she wanted a few things. But he was asking her about the poison again, and her brow furrowed as she huffed. Why the hell did he want to know about the owl some more? They’d covered that already. Really, he felt the need to return to it? why?

’It’s just working its way through the system, slowly eating the feathered pest from the inside out.’ Her mouth thinned just the slightest bit. He should’ve been focused on her, not the owl. Darnit. Because he’d taken such care, she’d thought he might be interested in her. But if he wasn’t, she didn’t wanna play this game anymore. Why take a chance at letting momentum knock her over when it clearly wasn’t working on him? She’d given him opportunity to do just that, and he’d been surprisingly gentle with her. Now, ferget it. No more chances. Things were boring when they weren’t about Daphne.

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

We had always valued intelligence in other beings, although it seemed to be becoming more of an extinct trait as years passed by, ticking like the hands on a clock while we just stood, watching it happen. Daphne had always been intelligent, both when she spoke and when she was silent, and it was another reason to consider her special. Precious. She was a delicate flame that burned with envious ferocity, and even though we could not envy, we did recognize a brief flicker of shame that we would have to snuff it out. Shame, and then perhaps what could be pride, if we could recognize emotions as we used to. Even though they were not there any longer, our body housed the memories of what used to be, once upon a time, like the beginnings of a macabre fairy tale, the way the brothers Grimm had always intended their stories to be told. That, along with intelligence within existing creatures, had also become bastardized and forgotten – there was very little that echoed the old ways, but her... she did, from time to time. We watched. We knew. ”I wasn't aware that people could speak to animals. Can you? Speak to them, that is.” Now we were playing her game. Making it known that our disguise was intent to be oblivious to the world of supernaturals. Until, of course, we decided to make our true presence known, but then it would be too late, and her days of burning bright would come to an end. We felt the memory of shame again, knowing that it should have taken its rightful place within us... but could no longer recognize it outside of what used to be.

Riddles. She spoke in riddles to us, and we could understand some of it, but not all. However, deciphering the riddles would be part of our process during this little unexpected interaction, and we intended to make the most of it. For us, this time was... almost like a gift, because the next time we would be in her company, she would be shackled to the wall, with metal to keep in her place and drain all that lovely faerie magic before we ripped it out of her and turned it into our cure. This time, however, we could appreciate her to the best of our ability, and enjoy the flame, testing it in our hands and letting it burn us, just a little, without getting close enough to be damaged. There was a danger in faerie magic, we knew, although we didn't know what it meant. We wanted to ask, and then considered it when she began talking about poison – the owl, which seemed to be a pest, and answers that she had which we did not know. Things about herself, which made us wonder if she didn't know how curious we really we were about her and her magic. ”Why would you tell me anything? A clever girl knows not to talk to strangers, I'd think. Yet here we are...” Our voice took on a slightly menacing tone that we'd meant to hide: she wasn't supposed to know that side of us, not yet. Someday, little treasure, you will know us and see us for who we really are. But not today, no.

The weakness in her was something we could see changing in the colors of her aura, and even though we could have taken the opportunity to leave her side, to end this little meeting, we followed her deeper into the forest. For a moment, we considered the fact that we were putting ourselves closer to the magic, to her powers that were starting to grow again, and could be ensnared, but then again – hadn't she already ensnared us a little? Even as a babe, we had been captivated by this white-haired being, this little bundle of precious, precocious energy that kept us watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. A moment when Jayne wouldn't miss her, wouldn't think to watch. We were fortunate in that he was the only one who seemed to care, and yet even he in all his due diligence gave her freedom to roam. Probably because he didn't think there was a larger predator out there than she – which gave us more reason to respect her. She would be our greatest kill, our most cherished victory, our little prize. Her voice washed over us and caused goosebumps to glide over our skin, even though we did not feel music the way we used to; it was still something to be appreciated, and the eerie, ethereal sound that came from her was a whisper of smoke that got caught in our system, under our skin.

Then the games began, and we chased her, catching her and holding her in our arms, unprepared for the spark and gentle twist of emotions that followed. We were quick to release, shock flooding through us like an unexpected poison, which was the one we cared about now. Not whatever cocktail she had given to the bird. ”Not the owl. You. What did you do to me?” Us. It almost slipped, our mask, it almost uncovered us and allowed her to see what we really are. Not yet, not yet. Too soon, precious one, too soon. ”It's you that I'm curious about.” Our eyes traced her form, small and strong and wonderful, and our voice was quieter, perhaps betraying some of the awe and appreciation we did have for her, and always had. But she couldn't know that. To her, we were just a stranger. For now.

[/justify]

[DAPHNE SASHA ASTOR]

He was such a silly creature. Whoever he was. Confused about her references and statements and ways of thinking and speaking. It should have been a hint for her to let a different part of her take over but… well, this one still had the lead. She liked speaking to him this way, she found. She liked the confusion. Mayhem and chaos were some of her favorite pastimes. Though she wasn’t being particularly chaotic at the moment, she was, clearly, being a puzzle that he couldn’t quite figure out. It made her smile, a lively thing that shone brighter than the moon above them. The fae was tempted to reach up and stroke his jaw, teasing the hell out of him. But he looked ready to snap as it was, poised like a spring or a tiger or a mousetrap… And Daphne had no wishes to be the mouse this evening. She only played mouse when it would set her up to play cat. At the moment, well, it just wasn’t wise.

’I’m speaking to you, aren’t I?’ The ivory faerie chuckled, amused with herself. ’You seem so very intelligent, why are you not grasping this concept? We’re all animal, gorgeous. Perhaps you is just another pretty face. Unfortunate.’ Playing. Traipsing on the high wire like an acrobat… She actually was acrobatic, but that wasn’t the point, at the moment. It was all metaphor and simile, literal and figurative. A high-stakes game. Daphne tended to like games, as long as they were played by her rules. Rulers of the game. Players on the board. Pawns made queens and kinged alike. Was he a pawn or a king? He looked kingly enough, but he played like a pawn, one slow step at a time to make any kind of progress. A clever deception, that. But not quite perfected. The joke, the show, never reached his eyes. Pretty dead eyes. Poke them or meet them? Meet them. Meet him. See him for reality. Dangerous. She sighed and wandered, bobbling and twirling like two kinds of doll. He followed her, drawn by what, she didn’t know. Maybe she was a curiosity, like an artifact at a museum or a side show freak. Hee. Freak. The ivory fae giggled, tickled by her own mental wanderings as they steadily wandered farther away from the source of her waning strength. And just as she’d insulted his intellect earlier, he proceeded to return the favor, and rather than be irritated, she was entertained, which certainly said something for him… How odd, that someone could insinuate she was anything less than clever, and make her chuckle in response.

’That would imply I found you strange, wouldn’t it? Perhaps you are incredibly domestic and terribly mundane, run of the mill, average and unspectacular…’ The humor in the tinkling laugh that followed- making it obvious she believed none of those things- would’ve been infectious with anybody else, but he simply seemed distanced and distinctly unamused. Just made her smile, and continue the walking. Rarely did she delight in such non-responses as he was giving her, but at least he answered. At least he continued to play along, though to what end, she’d not yet figured out. Perhaps she was just entertaining him for the moment, even though he seemed particularly disinterested in some of her behaviors. Although rather interested, in contrast, in some of the others. Like her dancing out of the yard, her falling, her speaking, her singing, her touching, and her running. And for a moment, she thought he was interested in something that wasn’t her, which, surprisingly, stung. Especially when the way he grabbed her was surprisingly pleasant and gentle, making her tingle and pine. Rarely did Daphne experience such things, and liked to savor them when she could. But no. Nope. All the playing and banter, and he was interested in an owl. Boo. Hiss. Her face contorted to say as much as she explained, once more, about the ridiculously feathered creature. The bird. But he wasn’t talking about the feathery fiend. No. A much more dangerous fiend. The one he’d had in his arms. She smiled and ducked her head, flattered and sweetened like a candy. There was a hitch in his voice that she didn’t quite understand, but would bear further investigation later… For now though, Show-velle was inquiring about her, raking those empty eyes over her petite-ish frame with something closely akin to appreciation, making her feel valued in a way that most dared not do.

’Oh. Me. Do you believe in magic, puppy killer?’ Her unusual green eyes sparkled with mischief, giddy and spoiled. She had no proof of his murdering status, certainly, but she had already blamed him for the death of his imaginary dog, and had nothing else to call him, so why not? ’Not that anything I’ve done is magical, just curious. ‘Cause I didn’t actually do anything to you… So maybe it was a magic trick. A trick of sight and sound and touch.’ A happy sound burst out of her, silly and troublemaking. ’Maybe I’m just the first woman you’ve touched?’ It was a rude question, and offensive, given how attractive he was… But no one had ever put Daphne under the ‘tactful’ column of life. Columns like pillars. Stone and statue. Maybe that’s what he was… Carved statue made flesh. Would explain dead and eyes and perfect proportions alike.

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

Her compliments always seemed to have some sort of barb or insult following closely behind, but we appreciated that. There was a lost art in those who could spin a good sentence and be threatening or completely debilitating with just words. We had seen Daphne in her moments of ferocity, and respected those moments that we got to witness like a spectator at some macabre theatre production. Yet, she spoke to us in a way that made us wonder if she was genuinely curious about us, or trying to get some reaction that we could not give her. Outrage. To act as if we were insulted or put upon by the careful words she strung together and hurled in our direction. But we could not – those, we could barely even fake, because we truly believed real anger to be a waste of time. Messy, sloppy thing, anger. However, we understood its existence in the world, and in people who did experience emotions. We understood it from a scientific level, from the animal inside every man, woman, and child – from the animal that used to live inside us for a brief period of time before we lost our ability to feel. Yet, even without that animal nature making our decisions sometimes rash and inexplicable, we were still a predator. The years hadn't taken our predatory instincts from us, and for that we were glad – if we could be glad. Appreciative, perhaps, would be a better way to describe it. ”Forgive me if I'm still uncertain as to why you've chosen to speak to me. Most wouldn't in a place like this or on a dark, stormy night.” The description was a bit exaggerated, but we knew that 'normal' people frequently used hyperbole or sarcasm to get a point across. The night was dark, but not so pleasant as to be stormy. Disappointing. ”Some people aren't as animal as others. The world is full of both predators and prey, but the predators stay firmly seated at the top of the pyramid, going after those who perhaps are either less animal or more victim. But that's only my opinion.”

We made our way from the trains when we noticed that the little faerie was becoming unsteady, and started to follow her out of the yard toward the forest, where blankets of trees awaited all of us, lit by moonlight and nothing else. Her comment about being 'strange' was something we knew to be the dictionary definition – the exact description of such an adjective, and our features softened ever so slightly. We could appreciate intelligence, and never doubted that our faerie possessed such a thing in spades. So few people actually had intelligence enough to be impressive, from what we could see, which was why there were so many more victims that made themselves available than challenges or equals. For her to describe us in such a way was untrue, but we got the impression that she didn't believe such a thing, either. She was being flippant, clever, clever little treasure. ”Perhaps I am all of those things,” we replied with a small shrug of our shoulders. It would be safer to let her go on thinking that we were closer to average than the alternative, because we tried our best to blend within the shadows. Did our best not to stand out and become a face to remember – sometimes, we didn't always kill, sometimes we played with the memory, did our experiments on a body that perhaps wasn't always so willing, but ended up on our table anyway. Daphne wouldn't survive her next encounter with us, and for a moment, we wished that we could be sad about that loss in the world – if we could have felt emotions, there would have likely been the existence of sadness within the conjuration of the thought of a world without the white-haired faerie in it. As it was, we still felt nothing.

When we followed her deeper into the forest, there was a stronger pull that we related to her 'magic' becoming strong yet again. We had researched the weakness faeries had to metal, and had prepared for the proper sort of holdings to exploit this weakness. Once we had Daphne for our own purposes, for our cure, we wouldn't want her to escape – we knew how strong she was, and didn't want to jeopardize over twenty years of working just because we didn't have the foresight to look into weaknesses. We were too smart for such a mistake. But, the magic was stronger now, and made us feel... curious. About her. Not the owl, definitely her, and the feeling that we got from her touch to our skin, which was unexpected, but not completely unpleasant. Not hurtful in a way that we expected touch to be – touch wasn't something we enjoyed, and something we only initiated to assert dominance, to capture, or to strike fear in the hearts of our victims. While we could not feel emotion, we could see the beauty in witnesses the existence of emotions in some of our victims. It was a vicarious sort of thrill, and it wasn't enough, but it was something. ”I don't know that it has anything to do with belief, but yes. I prefer to think in terms of logic. Science. Fact.” That was the closest we'd let her to our real mind, at least as far as we thought. Of course, we had already opened up to her more than we should. When we first had an opportunity to encounter her, we should have excused ourselves, but we couldn't. We had to know her, for at least a minute, before we'd have to take her and use her for our cure. Even those like us have the capacity to be selfish, it seems.

”None of that makes logical, scientific sense, so you won't make a believer out of me. I prefer to think of reaction in terms of what is palpable. Concrete.” We opened up a little more, and knew that we should stop, but we continued, especially when she made a comment that she likely thought would be rude. Maybe she was hoping for another reaction, but she would not get outrage from us. ”There is not much use to touching women, when one doesn't enjoy such a thing. I think touch, physical relationships at all, in any form... they are a colossal waste of time.” Another shrug was caused by our shoulders, and we continued to look at her, wondering what she was really doing, what her purpose was here, with us. Why don't you run, little faerie? Why do you stay with someone who cannot care or really enjoy your games? Why do you stay?

[/justify]

[DAPHNE SASHA ASTOR]

Usually, the babbly side was more demanding of death. Usually, she felt herself planning her next move, waiting for an opportunity to slip in under the radar and strike. Maybe over the radar. Above the radar. On the radar. Something about him didn’t inspire the kill order though. Her rambling nature didn’t always wanna kill, granted, but more often than not, it did. Funny honey, how he didn’t make her wanna hurt him. Well… not entirely true. Hee. She wanted to hurt pretty much everything. Maybe it was the big metal trains that had her feeling all mutey. Didn’t feel like it though. Something about him had her curious and a little more… concentrated, rather than scrambly-focused. It was her way, scramble-focus. Multi-part, multi-directional multi-tasking. Just how Daphne rolled and functioned. He seemed much more direct. More straightforward. Maybe that was why her references flew above his head like pretty ravens. Crows. Caw. Caw. Animals. Everybody was an animal. They were qualified as mammals… the two of them. High up on the food chain, taking out other links at will. Talking to him felt like talking to a lion. If lions had thought patterns. More deadly human intellect. The ability to lie. He was animal. And she… she liked it. Huh. She even thought he was amusing. ’Maybe I don’t wanna forgive you. Maybe you can’t make me. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m not like most and this ain’t a dark and stormy night. We’re full of lies and exaggerations and problems. Predators, always faced with the problems.’ She ticked the various ‘maybes’ off on her fingers, entertained by this little game they were playing.

‘Cause that’s what many things were to Daphne now. Games. Multi-faceted games with rules she made up on the fly. People focused more on their hobbies than their careers. And for Daphne… pain was both hobby and career. She didn’t make any money off of it, though she could have. She just- that was to ‘splain her dedication to her wild and dangerous ways. To her playing with fire like this. To her using whatever she had to achieve her end result, though what that was really depended on her mood and her mindset. What they were now, even she wasn’t sure. What was it she was trying to get from him? It was always something. Maybe she was trying to get understanding to dawn in those pretty dead eyes. She pointed to herself, and then him, words- labels- coming out respectively. ’Mammal, predator. Mammal, predator. Animals. That’s it. That’s all. Not about instinct or touch with base. We animal, even though we think.’ Her slim fingers, seemingly delicate, tapped her temple gently, softly jingling the beads in her hair. How much clearer could she make it? Surely he wasn’t this dense. Her head tilted, confused by the fact that he was still making this about their animal natures, rather than their existence as animals. Not all animals were supremely affected by metal like she was though. A nuisance. A bother. A reason for movement. Animals were moved by instinct and stimuli. By reason. Metal just happened to her hers at the moment, prompting her to scamper away, pulling him with her. She was his stimulus? How sweet, for a stranger lion. She giggled at his answer to her claim that he was boring, keeping that one for herself, neither confirming nor denying. ’Perhaps. Would you tell me if you were? But that all depends on my perspective, huh? What I’ve seen… See. Done. Do. Heard. Hear. And how could you know all that? Unless you’re reading my brain, which isn’t very polite.’ Her index finger tapped her lip, contemplating. She should hope he wasn’t doing that. But maybe he was. What would she do about that? What could she do?

Who cared, really? He was following her, in any case, letting her scamper away, playing her games and following like a good predator. Answering her questions when she asked them. Why he humored her, she didn’t really know. But she kinda liked that he was such a good sport. Oh, in a boring, logical, blunt way, but she found that inherently appealing. Just like she’d found his touches appealing, his hands on her enjoyable. Though he seemed more than intrigued by whatever she’d ‘done.’ Which, she just wouldn’t say. ’Is magic a form of science then, since you believe in it? Is there a logic to it? A form and a function and fact? Direct cause and effect?’ Daphne knew there was, but she liked to see what he’d say. What he’d do. How he’d react to her and her questions. She was inquisitive, even when she knew the answers, because the answers others gave her could be much more revealing about them than the things they were speaking about. Talking, singing, communicating. Informing about yourself while you thought you informed about something else. It was a fun tactic. ’You do not believe in tricks, deceptions and fooling? Does a more basic and logical concept exist? People fake their way through things to get what they want. Certainly you have partaken of such an entertaining activity? To get a palpable, concrete reaction?’ Like lying to her about the dog. He’d gotten a reaction from her that way. An acknowledgement, at the very least. An interest. Perhaps that had not been his intent, to continue earning her attention, maybe he had just wished for sympathy and privacy, but that was quickly dispelled as she kept being a nuisance and it was soon obvious that they were both playing with a similar form of fire. Hers just happened to lick his skin, causing a firm, real reaction that he hadn’t been expecting. Obviously. Since it continued to earn her his questions. Well, if he didn’t know, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. But tease him? That she could do. Mercilessly. ’You don’t enjoy touching women? Not even me? Methinks I’m wounded. Harmed and saddened by the very prospect that you find me anything short of delightful and delicious.’ She faux-pouted and sighed, feigning pure sadness. ’You don’t think touching even me the least bit intriguing? Not even when it inspires… this?’ Her fingers traipsed over his hand, practically crackling with the natural emotional enhancement inherent in her blood. There were suddenly the barest traces of feeling in his body, and she wondered just what he’d make of that. What she was trying to accomplish, she didn’t know. Maybe just utter and confounding confusion. A riddle that he couldn’t solve. He seemed to pursue fact and knowledge, and Daphne just wouldn’t give. Inspire, but not solve. Poor Lion. She snickered with joy, happy to be a mild thorn whenever possible.

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

Our first meeting with Daphne was supposed to be planned.

Everything, for us, came down to a plan. Months and months, usually, of taking calculated notice of a victim's patterns, their life, their friends, the way they structured almost every single day of their existence so when we took them, we'd be safe. Not that we feared danger, no, we had parted ways with fears many, many years ago, but still, there was a reason to want to stay safe. If we were to be locked behind bars... no bars. No bars ever. We valued freedom, to the extent that we could value, because if we were behind bars, there would be no dealing with our compulsions, and then... oh, and then we'd likely go mad. Our mind was already fractured, like a glass ball had been dropped on the floor and shattered in a thousand pieces, and the three largest decided to work their way back into our head, jamming the broken particles in places that we could not reach. Doctor. Monster. Man. Sometimes, we wondered if it was simple as all of that – the three parts that made up a larger whole, but since we could not take apart our own brain... well, perhaps not without some terrible discomfort, we would never know for sure. Even though we did like to know things, plan things, have a varying amount of calculated risk without much lee way.

Meeting Daphne like this had not been our plan, so we were trying to make the best of it. She was a talker, to be sure, and more talkative than we expected. There was a part of us that wondered if she wasn't being talkative out of necessity because for whatever reason, she was taking an interest in us, and even when we were playing pretend, which we had hoped we'd never have to do with her, we were not so very talkative. It just wasn't in any of our natures, apparently, even when the mask of normalcy was stitched properly in place. Sliding, though. Sliding bit by bit as more words tumbled out of that lovely shaped mouth. Hmm. It certainly was curious the things we noticed, the longer we looked upon that face. There was no denying that we had been waiting for her for a very long time – watching, firmly in the shadows, for the day we had planned, and now that we were taken by surprise (we did not like surprises), we were looking at aspects of the ivory creature that we had never noticed, even though she had been a part of our life in a way nobody else had for twenty years. Special. That's what she was. In a word. Special. ”Predators mostly act on instinct, I thought. Wouldn't the 'problems' be their own fault, then?” A curious notion; had we caused this? Had our thoughtlessness and need to kill something, anything because our experiments had left us without bodies to enjoy led to this impromptu, unplanned meeting? Was that why we were struggling now? This problem... although we did not like the thought that flickered through our head and suggested that Daphne was a problem. Solution. No, she was a solution. Our cure, although it was a shame that we'd have to watch the light dim from those lime green eyes before she left the earth in order to obtain what we needed.

She asked us more questions, which proved our theory about her being interested. It seemed, at the moment, that she was interested in details about us that we could not share, although there was an odd sensation that came over us that made us feel like perhaps, if we did explain secret details about us to the little faerie, she might understand. ”You are a clever critter, aren't you? Why don't you tell me what you've seen or heard about me? Your... perspective.” Was it perhaps dangerous to open up this line of questioning with someone who we later planned to abduct and murder? Likely. But since we knew so much about Daphne, since we had literal years of advantage where it came to learning her, knowing her, forming an opinion and elevating her to a place in our life where she was truly a treasure, we decided that we would allow her to dwell on thoughts of us for a moment, and allow ourselves to indulge the fleeting curiosity that came from wanting to know what she saw, since we had made a claim about us being everything she accused. Strange. Not mundane or domestic, no. We were a creature of habit and shadows. A being of darkness and harbinger of death. We were Jack the Ripper, the Zodiac Killer, Black Dahlia's murderer, and many others that had gone unnoticed, slipping through the fingers of detectives and Federal agents both who thought they were so close, so close to touching us and finding us, but would never be as close as the lovely little Astor was now.

Her fascination with trickery came from an honest place, since she was a trickster. She liked to fool, to rely on games and traps to steal her prey. She relied less on patterns, on compulsion, on calculated risk. Daphne took many risks, we knew, and had more to protect her than we did, which was why she could be less safe about her maneuvers. Jayne, her precious brother, would see that she remained unharmed at all times, and even though we had never been certain how to feel about him, we respected that he had taken such good care of her instead of abandoning her like everyone else who shared her magical blood. We had never abandoned her, but Daphne wouldn't know that... we needed her. We needed her for something much greater than ourselves, much greater than anything in the world, and more than anyone else could give us, so there was value in her ways. Without her trickery and habits, she wouldn't be... complete. She wouldn't be so precious, and likely wouldn't have captivated us the way she had, enough to get us to chase her through the forest when we could have just taken our leave and gone away, back to our cabin and our silence. ”I find lies to be less entertainment and more necessity. But I can see how others might take to enjoying it on some, specific levels. Predators do need methods to ensnare their prey, and some even take enjoyment from the chase.” But we did not. We only took enjoyment from that last, breathy rattle before a body became a corpse. We took joy in the feeling of blood and viscera, slipping through our fingers like liquid gold. Like treasure. We took joy and pleasure from the feeling of power that came from having someone's life in our hands, even before we were a killer, when we were just a surgeon, just a man. But now... now there was no joy.

Until she touched us. Then, there was... interest. A spark. A feeling. A cure.

”I know that you are trying to get a rise out of me by testing me, wanting me to tell you that you're precious and wonderful and special, because you...” Too close? ”You're more interesting than anyone I have ever seen. Special. You're very special...” Intrigue. That's what she spoke to, from her touch, and we blinked twice, wanting to stand further from her magical hands and deny that touch, but wasn't this what we needed? Wasn't this the whole purpose of our years of planning an abduction to rival any other that we'd done? We grabbed her hand with ours, a little rough and desperate, and locked cold eyes to hers. We stared, hard and cold, then soft... a sigh escaped us, and it felt like freedom. ”How could you not see how special you are?” Our voice was soft, and we knew soon that we'd have to leave, or else we could end up falling into her trap instead of the way it should have been. Soon, we would have to leave, or all our plans were ruined.

[/justify]