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fandomweekly2016-05-15 07:35 pm
sealrat) wrote in fandomweekly2016-05-15 07:35 pm
Entry tags:
[#013] Exception to the Rule (Original universe)
Theme Prompt: #013 – Superstition
Title: Exception to the Rule
Fandom: Original universe
Rating/Warnings: PG-13? Captivity, discussion of murder, mention/implication of torture
Bonus: No
Word Count: 999
Summary: He displays some strange and unexpected behavior for someone held captive.
He’s awake, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, he takes the time to assess the situation with his other senses. His hands are bound by heavy chains – not warded, he notes. They might hold him now, but all chains were eventually breakable. They did secure them above his elbows and at his wrists, suggesting they do have some measure of professional skill. His legs are similarly chained to the cold, metal chair he’s sitting on.
The room: concrete, with reinforced one-way glass. He can tell by the faint echoes of his breathing that it’s little more than a prison cell. Something odd about the ceiling, though. The vampire frowns, and finally lifts his head from his chest to examine his surroundings. Ah – there’s a narrow tube with a removable cover up there. A skylight, he presumes. Failing the availability of sunlight, there are ultraviolet lights up there as well. They must operate interrogations at all hours, then. Strange for a group of hunters to be so interested in preserving their prey for questioning. They may be quite organized, he speculates, more so than he first anticipated. It’s good news, if it’s true.
The Brit’s musings are cut short by clanking from the metal door, which opens to reveal the man called James, and another he doesn’t recognize. The stranger is cut from the same cloth as James – younger, less hardened by time and trauma, but he still moves with the gait of a hunter. The vampire greets them both with a warm smile that utterly fails to reach his eyes.
“Good morning. Or is it evening? I’m afraid I can’t read my watch, since you’ve taken that from me. Along with my shirt and jacket. Your hospitality could use some work, James.”
“Who are you?” James asks, not rising to the taunt.
“That’s an interesting question. I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out.”
“Your name. Now.”
“Ah, but you already know my name. The council was so kind to introduce me; don’t you remember?”
“I don’t believe for a second that you’re ‘Lord Dudley’. I can get the answer out of you in more creative ways if I have to.”
“Now, now. There’s no need to threaten me with violence. I think we both know you couldn’t get anything out of me by using torture. How gauche.”
The man called James glares at the vampire for a moment, then turns to the unnamed hunter and nods. The younger man leaves, presumably to retrieve thumbscrews or something similarly antiquated.
“We’ll see,” he says tersely. “Why did you help us?”
“I told you,” the vampire replies innocently. He grins wolfishly at the man, showing his fangs. “It was useful to me that you succeed. That, and I needed the entourage. Lord Dudley has a reputation.”
“Did you kill Dudley, too?”
“Certainly. His entire household, in fact,” he replies placidly. “My dear James, you look stricken. Surely a vampire hunter like yourself doesn’t feel sympathy for the children of the night?”
“Vampires have entourages, like you said. How many humans did you toss out just as carelessly?” It’s a rhetorical question. “You don’t care about any of us, do you? Everyone is a target.”
The nameless vampire smirks at him.
“A bound human is nearly as bad as a vampire,” he says coldly. “Many of them are turned, and those that aren’t become little more than blood bags. Reversing the process is nearly impossible.” He tilts his head, almost curious. “You know that. Killing them is a preventative measure, a mercy.”
“And you actually care about mercy? Please.”
“You are determined to remain unconvinced, I see.”
The younger man returns with a small cart; there’s a tray on it with syringes and several bottles of liquid.
“My, my, how far we’ve come from garlic and sodium thiopental,” the vampire comments amicably. “What is it to be today, then?”
“Oh, a little silver nitrate, maybe the blessings of a priest; something like that,” the younger man says, finally speaking.
“Good luck with those. They’re all superstitions, where I’m concerned,” the vampire offers. “None of it will work.”
The younger hunter glances up from the vial, hesitating.
“He’s lying. Do it,” James orders.
“A moment, if you will?” the Brit interjects. “If you would be so kind as to turn on the lovely purple rave lamp you’ve got up there, you’ll see my proof.” The two hunters look at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “And if you trust me enough to fulfill this request rather than attempt to cause me agonizing pain for days on end, I’ll tell you my name, and how I came across your band of merry men and women,” he adds sincerely.
The men exchange questioning looks.
“I promise not to bite,” the vampire says with another toothy grin.
“Hit the lights,” James finally allows, holding the icy blue gaze of their captive.
“James, that could kill him if we’re not careful,” the other hunter says lowly.
“No, it won’t,” the vampire assures him. “Like I said. Superstition, when it comes to me. Other vampires would fry, yes. But not me.” Again, the hesitation. The vampire is almost annoyed they aren’t enthusiastic about maiming him. “Go on. I’m feeling lucky.”
With another nod from James, the second hunter goes to the door. The ambient lighting dims even further, and after far too many seconds of waiting, he flips on the ultraviolets.
The hunters stop short of gasping, but both pairs of eyes widen in shock. James blinks several times to make sure he’s not seeing things.
The vampire is covered in glowing tattoos – the cross, the Star of David, symbols of every major religion across the world, past and present. He should be screaming, and his skin should be burning from the symbols as much as the light. But all he’s doing is smiling.
“My name is Devin Parker. I’m here to kill the vampires. All of them. And I want you to help me.”
Title: Exception to the Rule
Fandom: Original universe
Rating/Warnings: PG-13? Captivity, discussion of murder, mention/implication of torture
Bonus: No
Word Count: 999
Summary: He displays some strange and unexpected behavior for someone held captive.
He’s awake, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, he takes the time to assess the situation with his other senses. His hands are bound by heavy chains – not warded, he notes. They might hold him now, but all chains were eventually breakable. They did secure them above his elbows and at his wrists, suggesting they do have some measure of professional skill. His legs are similarly chained to the cold, metal chair he’s sitting on.
The room: concrete, with reinforced one-way glass. He can tell by the faint echoes of his breathing that it’s little more than a prison cell. Something odd about the ceiling, though. The vampire frowns, and finally lifts his head from his chest to examine his surroundings. Ah – there’s a narrow tube with a removable cover up there. A skylight, he presumes. Failing the availability of sunlight, there are ultraviolet lights up there as well. They must operate interrogations at all hours, then. Strange for a group of hunters to be so interested in preserving their prey for questioning. They may be quite organized, he speculates, more so than he first anticipated. It’s good news, if it’s true.
The Brit’s musings are cut short by clanking from the metal door, which opens to reveal the man called James, and another he doesn’t recognize. The stranger is cut from the same cloth as James – younger, less hardened by time and trauma, but he still moves with the gait of a hunter. The vampire greets them both with a warm smile that utterly fails to reach his eyes.
“Good morning. Or is it evening? I’m afraid I can’t read my watch, since you’ve taken that from me. Along with my shirt and jacket. Your hospitality could use some work, James.”
“Who are you?” James asks, not rising to the taunt.
“That’s an interesting question. I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out.”
“Your name. Now.”
“Ah, but you already know my name. The council was so kind to introduce me; don’t you remember?”
“I don’t believe for a second that you’re ‘Lord Dudley’. I can get the answer out of you in more creative ways if I have to.”
“Now, now. There’s no need to threaten me with violence. I think we both know you couldn’t get anything out of me by using torture. How gauche.”
The man called James glares at the vampire for a moment, then turns to the unnamed hunter and nods. The younger man leaves, presumably to retrieve thumbscrews or something similarly antiquated.
“We’ll see,” he says tersely. “Why did you help us?”
“I told you,” the vampire replies innocently. He grins wolfishly at the man, showing his fangs. “It was useful to me that you succeed. That, and I needed the entourage. Lord Dudley has a reputation.”
“Did you kill Dudley, too?”
“Certainly. His entire household, in fact,” he replies placidly. “My dear James, you look stricken. Surely a vampire hunter like yourself doesn’t feel sympathy for the children of the night?”
“Vampires have entourages, like you said. How many humans did you toss out just as carelessly?” It’s a rhetorical question. “You don’t care about any of us, do you? Everyone is a target.”
The nameless vampire smirks at him.
“A bound human is nearly as bad as a vampire,” he says coldly. “Many of them are turned, and those that aren’t become little more than blood bags. Reversing the process is nearly impossible.” He tilts his head, almost curious. “You know that. Killing them is a preventative measure, a mercy.”
“And you actually care about mercy? Please.”
“You are determined to remain unconvinced, I see.”
The younger man returns with a small cart; there’s a tray on it with syringes and several bottles of liquid.
“My, my, how far we’ve come from garlic and sodium thiopental,” the vampire comments amicably. “What is it to be today, then?”
“Oh, a little silver nitrate, maybe the blessings of a priest; something like that,” the younger man says, finally speaking.
“Good luck with those. They’re all superstitions, where I’m concerned,” the vampire offers. “None of it will work.”
The younger hunter glances up from the vial, hesitating.
“He’s lying. Do it,” James orders.
“A moment, if you will?” the Brit interjects. “If you would be so kind as to turn on the lovely purple rave lamp you’ve got up there, you’ll see my proof.” The two hunters look at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “And if you trust me enough to fulfill this request rather than attempt to cause me agonizing pain for days on end, I’ll tell you my name, and how I came across your band of merry men and women,” he adds sincerely.
The men exchange questioning looks.
“I promise not to bite,” the vampire says with another toothy grin.
“Hit the lights,” James finally allows, holding the icy blue gaze of their captive.
“James, that could kill him if we’re not careful,” the other hunter says lowly.
“No, it won’t,” the vampire assures him. “Like I said. Superstition, when it comes to me. Other vampires would fry, yes. But not me.” Again, the hesitation. The vampire is almost annoyed they aren’t enthusiastic about maiming him. “Go on. I’m feeling lucky.”
With another nod from James, the second hunter goes to the door. The ambient lighting dims even further, and after far too many seconds of waiting, he flips on the ultraviolets.
The hunters stop short of gasping, but both pairs of eyes widen in shock. James blinks several times to make sure he’s not seeing things.
The vampire is covered in glowing tattoos – the cross, the Star of David, symbols of every major religion across the world, past and present. He should be screaming, and his skin should be burning from the symbols as much as the light. But all he’s doing is smiling.
“My name is Devin Parker. I’m here to kill the vampires. All of them. And I want you to help me.”
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Also, congratulations on a well-deserved win!
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