S A L I T T E R

Ezra Cooper 36 | Captain/Pilot I stood in the gun-metal drear of dusk and felt the bulwark of the earth tremble beneath me. We were the forgotten, the godless, the punishable. We were the last men.

[empyrhien-blog]

merriment for the macabre | hellmouth au ; [ last exodus cast + text memes 1/? ]

[icarianezra]

up the stakes (open)

[icarianezra]

THE MARTYR.

Lucas had no qualms about wandering around alone, his mind travelling far from his path while a nameless tune slipped from his lips as he quietly hummed to himself. He was more than capable of protecting himself should something jump out at him, no matter how unarmed and distracted he appeared. 

Before long, he came back to himself as he rounded a corner and came to the realisation that he had no idea in hell where he was. Granted, he hadn’t been in town long to know everywhere, but he thought he’d done enough exploring in that short time to at least have his bearings at a time like this. Sighing, he tried not to think anything of it and continued to wander, unsure of where he was going or where he’d been. 

As if by magic, Lucas ears picked up the sounds of what seemed to be metal against wood if he was not mistaken. It didn’t take him long to locate where it was coming from. The young witch found himself watching the scene he had stumbled upon with keen interest, carefully curious as the wood was pared back into thin, deadly-looking stakes, and the knife was set aside… and eyes turned to him. 

“Hmm? Oh, no, uh, I was just watching is all.” He beamed, ever friendly. 

Normally, Ezra kept to the fields west of Colorado Springs for alone time. He’d always had an obsession with open sky, and there was no better place to really take in the vastness than Colorado farmland. In another life, he imagined he might have been a pilot, or at least taken up flying as a hobby. There was something about the stars and the vacant white-blue of high-noon that called to him, so he found time to tilt his head back and just imagine what laid beyond the atmosphere’s curve. That sort of thing was left to greater men, he imagined.

He didn’t expect to find a straggler wandering out of the woodlands at the base of the mountain, especially at this hour. The daylight had dissipated and the long shadows had drawn inward, chasing out slants of light and adding to pools of darkness. “Lucas?” he asked, half-laughing the name. “What the hell are you doing out here?” he tossed the finished stake behind him, and jumped out of the bed of his truck to greet the witch. 

As a hunter, he had been introduced to witches at a young age. His first tattoo at age eight had been given by a blood witch, and all the ones since. He’d worked closely with witches who predicted the future, and read the past, whose peasant hands could churn an elixir of protection, or a poison out of sprigs of plants and pinches of earth. Others who breathed fire as easily as he breathed air, who sculpted the earth with a thought. He had a great respect for them, but, as a hunter, he also knew that anyone capable of such greatness was also capable of chaos.

Ezra didn’t see Lucas that way. He saw Lucas just as he was. After taking him by the shoulders, he gave him a crooked smile. “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

[icarianezra]

up the stakes (open)

[icarianezra]

THE EMPYREAN.

In the stark stillness of the night that seemed to settle like held breaths around her– -as if the night itself could feel something devoid traversing through its folds and wilted under falling footsteps- –the beat of his heart was the only pulse steady in her ear. ( It was sturdy, surmising a sturdier heart. )

Her gaze remained sharp on him, even as she stood still as no breath, breeze sifting through the locks of the hair the waved gracefully over her cloaked shoulders. His words sounded a threaded echo, thin enough for her to pay them no heed even as she considered him with a tilted head, and a gaze that flashed in assessment– -and did not hide her intentions as so.

He was mortal. A face of sharp edges dulled by something rough, she could see it in the way the light reflected off of him in ways some slightly curved; like it was grating upon tattered, frayed, abrasive. This hunter smelled as she had come to know him– -of rarities. AB negative, which wafted in essence much like honey seasoned by sunlight, rubies on sun-rusted metal, curl of iron doused with absinthe until it burned the tongue in all ways satisfying. ( A rarer thing, for a rarer love– -she’d said, once. ) He stood tall with squared shoulders that appeared softened under some jacket of cargo and leather, carried himself with a gait that spoke that he knew of ways to meld his body under iron hands trained to kill. ( Kill the likes of her, no less. ) Not a disappointing candidate, though for it all, this hunter who had captured her brother’s heart was still…alarmingly mortal.

( Eva could never understand it, no. Time had laid its path upon her with ivory insistence and carved away whatever this man had alighted within her own darling brother. It seemed largely unnecessary come her ways, because for the life of her, Eva could not tell what it was about some mortal flesh that could please the eternal so.

Es, however, seemed delighted of it– -bathed under the adoration of this hunter’s hand in ways alight as she had never seen him before. This brother who crystallized into the pin point focus of but all she had to claim as her own in this world was mesmerized, roped along whatever play this hunter’s hands threaded.

It was a precautionary tale in the making, though it would have no chance for so under her watchful gaze. )

His words formed some taunt, some prompt, though Eva ignored it as her steps carried her forward from the shadow and into the light of the moon that doused her with its blessing.

“It was time I put a face to the name.” The words carried on the lilt of daggered chimes, gait a meandering thing as a hand reached out to trace the axis of the axe that lay sputtered off to the side.

“A hunter and a vampire. Your brethren must be turning in their graves, hunter.”

The freshly shaven wood was smooth and dusty in his hands, and his weathered skin upon it created a soft sighing sound, almost like that of a page turning. The sensations associated with the act of shaping the stakes were calming for him, and thusly, the necessary task had become his meditation. Ezra imagined that even if he left slaying behind, he would continue to make stakes if only for the reprieve it offered him. His thumb brushed over the crude end of one of his deathly creations, and caught a splinter. It dug deep into his skin, and he hissed sharply. The pain was familiar. Working with raw wood was bound to leave the skin of his hands haggard and riddled with scars, and so it was. 

As he stuck his bleeding thumb into his mouth to soothe the puncture, the woman’s words brushed against the cuff of his ear. Muscles loose and relaxed from an hour’s worth of silent meditation stiffened almost immediately. His thumb left the cave of his mouth, and he turned as he brought life to the elegant syllables of her name. A name that had lived solely on the tongue of his lover, a name that represented another link to the world of vampires, one Ezra was happy to keep buried. “Eva,” he said, his voice steady and unforgiving, as if knowing her name gifted him some degree of power in the exchange.

The lilt with which she spoke reminded him of petals drifting from the white boughs of an ancient tree. Poisonous, but beautiful. A threat wrapped in silks. What does she want with me?

Ezra Cooper was living two separate lives. On one side of the mirror, one cast in shadows and hidden from the world, and yet (arguably) the one he preferred — he was in love with a vampire. On the other side of that mirror, in the obliterating light of day, without secrets and without mercy, he was a hunter who specialized in tracking and terminating the vampire species. It was only a matter of time before they began bleeding into one another, until the stark wall he’d erected to keep them separate was felled. He knew it was foolish to believe he could carry on the charade until the end of his days, avoiding the serious questions, not reconciling his mind with his heart (which was beating at a steadily rising pace as the minutes droned on).

“Here I am,” he said, holding his arms out in mock fanfare. Because of the loss his family had faced, the part of him that feared death by a vampire’s hands had atrophied over the years. Facing off with one of them made him feel alive, and whatever fear remained untapped in dormant reservoirs never caused his lip to sweat, or his heart to race. But now he had something to live for other than vengeance. He had Esca. And because of him, waves of fear had pummeled floodgates.

“I can’t imagine your kind would be too happy about it either. Lucky for us, dead men tell no tales. I’d like to keep it that way.” 

[stargazerxzoe-blog]

Whisperings { open }

[icarianezra]

THE STARGAZER.

Zoe could count the number of times she’s been into a bar on one hand. She’d never been drawn to them the way so many others seemed to be - hurting souls, desperate for the dulling mercy of liquor to ease the burden of their misfortunes. Relief, courage, escape; the reasons for them to come here were endless, and she felt them all heavy on the air like a despairing fog. 

She sat alone, at a table against the window, enjoying the way the moonlight diffused through the glass to reflect against the smudged table before her. In her hands were seventy-eight of her closest friends, seventy-eight unique whispering voices, the familiar weight of them like a living pulse against her palms. Her fingers moved through them with a loving ease, shuffling them idly as her mind wandered an array of various, aimless directions. Twisting paths, leading nowhere, but somewhere sometimes, to years that have long since past, to encounters she has yet to still have, returning every so often back again to the dull mumblings of those sharing the bar with her.  

And then, she felt it - that distinct tickling of another’s gaze falling upon her. Blue eyes, her two cold, twin glaciers, fluttered upward to find the one whose energy called for attention. “Greetings,” she welcomed, her tone as sweet as fresh honey. “You have something you’d like to know, don’t you?”

The weight of the upcoming raid loomed over him as the day began to eclipse, and the gloaming set in. Though he never felt that he had anything to prove to his fellow hunters, he hadn’t felt like he’d belonged among their number since his grandfather’s death, and his father’s subsequent retirement. The Coopers bulb was growing dim, and their short-lived legacy had been contested since the beginning. If Ezra put one toe out of line, it would be the end of it. That was assuming no one uncovered his love affair with an ancient vampire who was likely taking refuge from the scalding sun beneath his very roof. 

Suffice it to say, his spirits were frayed, and all he could think about was soothing the incessant worry with the dulling effects of whiskey. The bar welcomed him, as always, a favourite spot of fellow hunters, though it was rare to spot them when the sun still lingered in the sky. The exchange with the bartender was wordless, a practiced dance they had performed an infinite number of times. A bow of heads, the trade of sour-mash for paper; what more needed to be said?

As Ezra skirted the edge of the room for a place to rest his bones, he found himself caught in the tractor-beam gaze of a blonde woman. She occupied one of the booths near the window, a prime seat in this joint (as it tended to be dim and musky like a cavern), and he considered asking her to share. Before he could shake that idea free from the rafters, her voice had snagged him like a hook and he followed it forward. Heavy black boots rolled over the creaking floor, and he considered the riddle she posed. “I suppose most people do,” he answered. His cup of whiskey was cradled against his sternum. “Why? You got answers?”

[icarianezra]

THE WRAITH.

He’s alive, the rush of Ezra’s blood whispered, you’re dead. 

His knuckles brushed against the prominent blue of a summoning vein. The stiffening of his frame was impossible to overlook; the vampire had seen it in each of his prey of the past. There was a restraint he had been forced to procure in order to keep Ezra’s favor, and it gnawed at his nature with reckless abandon. The chill of refrigerated blood bags did nothing to quell the eagerness in which he wished to sink his fangs into the warm flesh of his forbidden lover. He was weaker for the show of humanity; his strength edged away when fresh blood was stolen away.

Yet his fangs remained sheathed, and Esca removed his hand from the promising warmth Ezra’s blood swore to provide. The scent of iron was constant, overpowering, and kept him in pursuit of sanity. He recalled when Ezra sliced his palm with a kitchen knife, and how he, prone to murder, nursed and wrapped the wound without a single swipe of his tongue. It had been an early stage in their hidden pleasure– had Ezra thought that the end of him then?

He grimaced, and a hint of dark amusement hung at the edge of his tone. “You’re asking me, a vampire, to spend a day in the sun.” The fiery globe was meant to be a curse, and his kind were not meant to defy it. Witches, however, had at least defined a trick of their own. The ring still astonished him. Did Ezra truly not wish to keep him in the dark? Then again, his palm burned far more than the sun could manage, as Ezra’s lips caressed frozen skin. “What I am..” Demon. Creature. Abomination. “You are asking me to be much different than I am. And, believe me, it is not without its severe difficulties.”

Esca allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His arms wrapped around the man’s bicep, and his chin settled atop his shoulder. He was acutely aware of simple it could be to crush the limb, and turn structured bone into fine ivory dust. There was a part of him that dared to do it, but he knew how to smite it with the mere thought of Ezra’s existence. Emotions vanished when you turned, but he’d found an inkling of something distant that Ezra had unburied. They threatened to drown every second, leave the shallows, become out of reach. When he wasn’t with Ezra, they did just that.

His grip tightened, but no more than if he had a human’s strength. “I haven’t stood beneath the sun in more than a thousand years.” And the idea of doing so now did not pike his interests, yet Ezra’s wish for it did. “Lead me. At least you will be the last thing I see if I burn.”

After centuries of possession by a vampire, the ring had come into the hands of the hunter that’d killed her. Though Litha had been a particularly high-profile foe for one hunter, Ezra had managed without winding up dead by exercising sheer bullheadedness. It was his first major accomplishment as a hunter, and it had garnered him some acknowledgement from the others in the guild; the elders that had looked down on Coopers since they had joined the legion of supernatural wardens sat up and paid attention. By putting an end to Litha, he had closed the chapter on a string of heartless reapers bent on destruction.

Research had always been his least favourite aspect of hunting, but the dull work had saved his life a time or three, and now he depended on it to save Esca’s. The ring’s power had been documented in chronicles dating back to the Roman era, when the songbird Litha had been given by the Emperor Nero to a reigning gladiator. The gladiator was known as the Divine Arm at the time, a sword of the gods, but his real power had been a darker gift. Vampirism. The power of the silver ring had given him the ability to fight in the Colosseum with the sun on his shoulders. He cut men down with fanfare for nearly a decade before Litha took his magicked ring from him and left his cage with the gift of immortality. 

When she fell, her bones a fine, white dust in her silks, Ezra pocketed the ring for himself. It never occurred to him it might find use again by another.

Their affair (he refrained from calling it a relationship for fear of dredging up the questions that lingered unaddressed in both of their peripheries) had a way of pushing them each beyond their limits. It was against Ezra’s nature to be involved with vampire if it didn’t involve a helping of vervain, or the sharp end of a splintered stake — and it was against Esca’s to walk with the sun on his skin on a hunter’s arm. It seemed they were cursed to drag one another through life-threatening situations, but it had yet to stop either of them. The connection they were nurturing went beyond the dark humour with which they had armoured themselves (a good way to deflect from important questions their predicament posed). Though it was a tentative bond, it ran deep and threatened to dismantle them at their core and outward.

“Think of it as an umbrella,” he said with a bit of a smirk; he found the metaphor clever at least. “And I’m just talking a walk around the park, Esca. We’re not sunbathing. If you start to feel drained, we’ll come back in.” Ezra wasn’t afraid that the ring wouldn’t work; his research was fool-proof. He’d also made his own modifications, and consulted fellow witches to do the same. The magick was in tact and infallible, but he did worry of the psychological effect it might bear on Esca, and the physical drain. His advanced age made his situation more precarious, and potentially made him more vulnerable to certain elements — where in other ways, it made him stronger. 

The hunter was nearly ready to throw in the towel when the lean vampire gave into his tugging and stood, though he wrapped himself around Ezra’s arm as if it were an anchor. Still, it didn’t hurt which was telling. His strength could have turned Ezra’s bones into powder, but he managed a remarkable self-control that even the most ancient of vampire could not recreate. Living in such close quarters with a vampire was forbidden, particularly for a hunter, for this reason. It blurred all of the lines, and created a life-threatening situation where none previously existed. For both of them. They lingered in a limbo together, now, in shadows just beyond the recognition of their peers, but if light was shed on them, everything they had would coming crashing down.

It was a possibility that Ezra was working on accepting. Not just a possibility, but a reality. This could only go on for so long before the cracked foundation gave way.

“You’re not going to burn. If that was even the slightest possibility, do you think I would risk it?” A stern look accompanied his words. 

Ezra laid his hand atop Esca’s and lead him toward the front door which yawned open in answer to their approach. The severe angle of the sun caused a perfect line of shadow just beyond the front porch — a representation of their worlds colliding, a perfect balance of light and dark. When he reached the threshold, he took his sunglasses from their perch atop of his head and offered them to his lover. “Doubt they’ll make much of a difference,” he added with a shrug, turning his back on daylight to inspect the ring and its winking obsidian stone once more time. He laced his fingers through the vampire’s, and kissed him again, perhaps showing a sluice of his own worry. 

“If you start to feel faint, or your skin starts to burn, tell me right away. All right? This ring could save your life if it works — no one expects to find a vampire hiding in the broad daylight. But if it doesn’t ..” He trailed off and took a step backwards toward the glaring sun.

[icarianezra]

up the stakes (open)

[icarianezra]

THE EMPYREAN.

The world had changed into the unrecognizable. Time had crashed upon the shores of earth unendingly, with all the wrath and fury of its unforgiving hand. The world had changed into the unrecognizable, but there were some things that never changed: the greed of men and the way their hearts flickered under the paper thin vessels of their flesh, the fresh smell of earth and the way smoke settled over it– -suffocating, the painted harmonies of the sky as they bled into the ground they walked upon, & the cut of the blessed blade that rid the earth of the undead like her and the hands on which it was embraced.

( In another world, the blade had been her own. The blade had been Euna’s– -the daughter of the revered, the honor of the beloved, the promised and the chosen one bestowed with faith and destiny.

Alas, Euna had died– -perished under the very hands of those she swore to protect from, protect for.

In this aftermath was left: she. Not a goddess, though a far more insidious deity of time. She traded time like a merchant who knew the tricks of the trade well enough to win, and it was death that hunted her like a scorned lover even as she evaded him with every day that the sun rose and she rose with it, breath agape– -breath agape. )

Eva had appeared as silent as the wind, not a leaf disturbed in the one moment that she was not here, the one moment that she was. It had been an inevitable, her path to meeting this beloved hunter face to face. She had heard enough of him, smelt enough of him to feel she knew him. But this knowledge came second handed, bestowed by the tongue of a brother in love, a brother loved. She must see for herself with her new revelation in tow.

“I am not here for your beer.” The words carried with the breeze, even as she stood unearthly in her stillness. Eva had learned to mimic the humanity that had been taken from her ( in her own calculated trade for life ), but she felt no need to play upon its pretense in the company of someone who knew her kind well enough in currency of death.

The gloaming was over, and the pregnant belly of mother moon hung in the sky. Tonight would be the night that the small legion of hunters to which Ezra belonged would bring honour to their forefathers, and exact revenge on the wayward vampires cloaking the hills in grim shadow. 

For nearly six months, the town of Colorado Springs had seen a rash in disappearances, mostly of young children, and a spike in crime against the supernatural community as a whole. As wardens of the peace, it had become the responsibility of hunters to champion order, and maintain a semblance of peace — when those boundaries were crossed, they upheld their oaths, and took up arms against those that threatened to bring down the tentative bulwark. Ezra had never been able to keep a neutral stand on the situation. His mind had adopted such a slant regarding vampires, he would never see reason when confronted with it. But time was changing him. A vampire was changing that.

Despite his improving tolerance, there was something dark that had bloomed within him at the idea of a proper raid; it had been years since he’d been a part of one, years since his fellow hunters had trusted him among their ranks. He had never put them in danger, but his tendency to go dark and go rogue didn’t help solidify his position as a trusted member of the collective. The elders and the elite among them viewed him as a mascot for his family line. The Coopers had notoriously been lone wolves, focused on their own vendettas, made liabilities by their stubbornness and pride. Tonight, however, he would storm the nest with them; no one could argue with his head count, after all.

“Don’t blame you,” he offered as muddy eyes scanned the alabaster planes of the woman’s face. “It’s good to have standards.” 

He shoved off from the tailgate, and dusted his hands clean on the thighs of his jeans. His clothes always smelled of saw dust, and wood shavings. “There another reason you’re here?” As he turned to address the scattered supplies in the bed of his truck, he shot her one more glance over his shoulder — a quick but conspicuous up-and-down appraisal to size her up. Frankly, she looked out of place. Too regal, too delicate to be out in the dust-riddled edge of no where. “Directions, maybe?”

[icarianezra]

THE WRAITH.

“It’s no lie?” Esca repeated, a smirk disrupting the stoic expression he was prone to adopt. He leant forward as the Hunter’s hands curled beneath his knees. The firm touch brought forth strong promises, and no threat of vervain or splintered stake. A finger tilted his chin upward, and his mouth claimed a brief residence upon the other’s.

Sometimes, he’d catch himself lingering upon the veins of Ezra’s neck, and the pulse he felt at the man’s throat. It often struck as a hard reminder of their lethal predicament. Though the vampire could swear time and time again that no harm could befall Ezra of his doing, he did not trust his forced nature. Knowledge of his uncertain control, however, had not stayed Ezra’s trust. Instead of feeling relief in this, there was a fear that the vampire had never been privy to throughout the ages.

He tore his eyes away, hoping to quell animalistic thoughts in the process. “It isn’t real, and that is the definition of a lie, is it not? It masks me from the pain of the light. Without it, I would die. It gives me a false sense of ‘living’. It’s a lie.” Esca’s back met the remedial comfort of the sofa. More often than nought, he wished himself naive to an earth filled with supernatural hysteria. He wished, too, that he were younger than his thousand plus years. Truly younger.

He frowned, his gaze flickering from Ezra to the window. “I cannot remember it to miss it.” he revealed. As for the shadows, he thought, those are what I know to be safe. He knew it was a difficult concept to understand– explain more than anything. No day released him from the clutches of mental depletion. He was constantly facing an onslaught of depressive exhaustion; facing a tsunami of mentally draining annihilation.

Lifting a hand, Esca’s fingers drifted through the darkness of Ezra’s hair. Like the shadows, the action promised comfort. “I trust you. And I will always follow you, even where my kind is forbidden.”

Dark lashes fluttered closed when his lips were taken captive. Though Esca’s mouth was cold, his kiss still managed to incite a warmth that drew up Ezra’s spine like a spreading wildfire. The part of himself that had demanded this intimacy was wrong had long ago died in the vibrant fires, and all that remained was ash and ruin where pillars had once stood. What he had with Esca challenged everything he’d ever known, toppled beliefs he’d held as lofty torches his whole life. When he looked into moss and ochre eyes, he didn’t see a monster. He saw the man he’d fallen in love with against all odds and better judgement. 

It would cost him his relationship with his father, but that was a bridge he was keen on avoiding at the moment. 

The hunter wasn’t a fool, even if he’d thrown himself down a perilously narrow chasm. When vampire eyes lingered on the tendons of his neck, and the pulsing carotid roped neatly within them, he visibly stiffened. They were one another’s predator and prey, and perhaps that was the real reason for their infatuation, but Ezra trusted him regardless. There was something to be said for his instinct, which had been lauded as sharp and infallible in the past. It had guided him toward a darkness that brought him immeasurable comfort. It had guided him to Esca. So, when he laid his head down at night, his arms woven around the cold bones of his lover, and lost himself to the suspension of slumber — he was declaring his trust wordlessly. If it would be his undoing, he welcomed such a fate. He deserved nothing less.

“I’m asking you, a vampire, to put on a ring that will shield you from the sun,” he countered. “I’m not asking you to be anything other than what you are.” The frown on Esca’s face was disheartening, and the admission was even moreso. The gift hadn’t worked out as he’d planned. It had been his intention to give Esca something that he might have missed, but it hadn’t occurred to Ezra that he might not miss the sunlight at all. That he might not remember it. He felt stupid, and human, for having such short-sided expectations. 

He leaned into the hand that stole through his unkempt hair, then kissed the meat of Esca’s palm when it brushed his lips. As he stood, he captured that hand, and gave a gentle tug. “You know I’d never let anything happen to you,” he said softly, eyes searching those opposite. “I will always protect you.” And I will always challenge you to test the boundaries of your nature. “If you trust me, trust me. Come on.”

[icarianezra]

up the stakes (open)

The pulp of the wood sloughed off easier when it was wet. It was a trick his grandfather had taught him, sitting in the back of an old Ford under their oak tree. He was young to hold a knife so big — as long or longer than his whole arm — but he was strong for his age, they’d told him, clapping him hard on the back and thrusting the sheathed blade against his chest. The hilt cramped his fingers, and the strenuous motion of scraping away the wood burned his biceps, but he kept going. There was one thing the men in his family couldn’t abide, and that was weakness.

If he could avoid having that disappointment directed at him for as long as he lived, he imagined he’d live a long while.

Ezra pulled the cigarette from between his teeth, and finally looked up from his work. He’d gotten through two dozen in an hour; not mad. As he exhaled a plume of smoke, he set his knife aside and exchanged its weight for that of a long-neck. Pale, piss-flavoured suds lingered within. Hunting didn’t pay for the good lager. When he noticed someone eyeing what was left of his six pack, he spoke up.

“You want one?”

[icarianezra]

THE WRAITH.

@icarianezra

He could almost pretend.

His hand toyed with the light– or perhaps it toyed with him.

He stood to the left of drawn curtains, their dark silk much like the night he preferred to this flittering sunlight. It filtered through the blinds, colored his flesh, would have heated it if he could feel it, but did not begin to burn him with its immense intensity.

He could almost pretend.

That the ring he now bore was just a sweet token from Ezra, and not the reason that the light did not threaten to set him aflame. That the ring was not just a trick of a witch, but a gift that human lovers might exchange.

He could almost pretend.

Almost.

Esca drew away his hand, and sunk back into the shadows of the room. “You are a lie,” he told it, studying the silver ring beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. Its black stone, at least, mirrored the look of his decayed still heart. He twisted it upon his finger, rolled the aged band over and over, and the obsidian jewel winked when hit by a flash of bright rays.

For a second he stood, and in the next he was seated on a leather sofa; an item which existed across the room’s threshold.

“This is mad.” Esca reminded, peering over at the Hunter. He moved to fast, sensed to much, breathed none. He had a knack for compulsion. Then there was that one comical bit: draining a human of life. The list streamed onward, and was rather daunting when he cared to make a tally. He’d long forgotten how to act human. “Ezra, what is there for us to do that’s remotely normal?”

Before the ring, even the dim-lighted lamps about Ezra’s house pestered him. The ill fluorescents of his lights were minuscule flames playing beneath his skin. But he never mentioned it. Never complained. Esca knew he was trouble enough.

The light was golden, and it gilded the edges of the shadows that were brave enough to meet it. It was the kind of day he wanted to spend outdoors, speckled by the shadows of leaves in a groaning tree, eyes squinted by shafts of light determined to touch his skin. It was the sort of light he could only imagine on Esca’s skin, illuminating the many facets of colour in his hazel eyes, adding depth to the shock of his black hair — perhaps it was wrong of him to want such a thing. Did it make Esca feel like he wasn’t good enough just the way he was?

The black thought departed on arched wings as Esca spoke to the band of silver. The hunter couldn’t help but smile, reminding himself that long ago, Esca had been a human, and he had perhaps enjoyed the feel of his skin flushed by the heat of the sun. Maybe he was just as hopeful, but too much time had separated him from wishful thinking. 

“It’s no lie,” he said, muscled arms curling over his chest in arrogant defense of his gift. One moment, the lean image of the vampire loomed by the window, then next, he was deep at the darkened end of the room, illuminated only by the soft, yellow glow of a lamp. Ezra crossed to him, and crouched before him — weathered hands curled under the crook of the vampire’s bent knees.

“I don’t give a damn what we do. I’m just tired of hiding in the shadows.” He watched the familiar planes of Esca’s face, trying to decipher what went on in a centuries-old mind. It was deceiving, sometimes, how young he looked; the hunter had to sometimes remind himself that he had lived merely a fraction of the life Esca had. “I don’t want you to have to hide in the shadows anymore, either,” he tacked on, his voice a bit softer than it had been. “Don’t you miss the sunlight?” He paused, and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you trust me?” 

Trust was a constant battle between the two of them, but they had come so far. Hadn’t they?

[icarianezra]

Ezra Cooper, vampire hunter

It began the evening Ida Cooper was murdered in the presence of her husband and young son. The attack had been spontaneous and senseless, instigated by a coven of Machiavellian vampires known for their cruel trickery, and cunning games. Ulysses Cooper watched as his wife’s skin grew dry and papery, as her small frame crumpled in the arms of razor-fanged beasts — but he didn’t weep. Hidden in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink was Jack, the couple’s young son. His breathing caught like hooks in his chest, but he didn’t make a sound as the vampires turned their attention away from his lifeless mother and onto his brave father. Ulysses was drained within an inch of his life, but he survived, born anew with the spirit of vengeance.

Ulysses had quickly become a prominent name among hunter circles in the area, though his meteoric rise was often contested by elders and well-established families. His mind was bent on the thought of revenge, and his tactics, though sound and often well-executed, pushed the envelope of a centuries-old norm. His son, Jack, was brought under his wing at a young age, forming a father-son duo that whose accomplishments rivaled others swiftly. This trend continued on as Jack grew up and began raising his own boy, Ezra.

However, the reign of the Coopers among the hunter circles would come to an end when, tragically, Ulysses and Jack’s wife Josephine were taken in a bloody power-play to show dominance. Rumours spread among others that it was exacted by the same vampire who’d taken Ida all of those years ago — a twisted and devilish fiend come to collect on a debt unpaid. Jack, unable to cope with the loss of three loved ones in such a short span of life, caved in on himself and gave up the trade in a flourish of immobilizing depression.

Ezra Cooper took on the mantle of full-fledged hunter in the wake of his family’s demise. It was his dream to wipe out the monstrous hordes, and fell the ancient capitals where councils of vampires still reigned supreme — if only to unearth some justice for the wrongs his mother and father had suffered. But it wouldn’t be justice that found him. 

It would be another vampire.

Despite a life built around the unequivocal fact that vampires represent the darkest potential of the human body, Ezra has fallen deeply in love with one of them. He lives in a mad cycle of cognitive dissonance, now, struggling with the only identity he’s ever known, along with the only love he’s ever known. Together, they live in a rift, hearing echoes of ‘Traitor!’ and ‘Betrayer!’ and yet unable to walk away from the other.

[icarianezra]

THE WRAITH.

Esca wasn’t positive why a bout of elation coursed through him at the exchange, but Lucas had begun to teach him to embrace it (though smashing emotion still seemed his cautionary path). He wasn’t positive how trust could bind him so intimately to Ezra Cooper, but he was no longer combatting its existence.

The Wraith expelled a trace of laughter, its volume muddled by the passing of the shotgun and its condemning concentration. Lifting his chin toward a crudely manufactured table, Esca carried the weapon across the threshold and set it upon the rusted metal alter.

“Don’t worry,” he voiced, his eyes catching the gazes of curious onlookers, “they already see you stupid for speaking to me.”

An unruly kid tramping their way through a candy shop couldn’t compare to the thrill the sniper received when submersing himself with a weaponized presence. His eyes were alight, already picking their way through known crevices. Deft fingers dismantled the item into precisely placed piles. Each part was handled with a whispered touch, and studied with the diligence he treated his own rifle with.

Eventually, the Wraith produced a bent firing pin, its silver body held before the scrutiny of his stare. Dark brows furrowed. “What do you do? Shoot it, or use it as a baton?” When out of shells, surely. When an enemy ventured too close, positively. As the disassemble continued, more, infamous damage became unearthed. He made a mental list as he scoured the shotgun’s carnage. Luckily, the pilot wouldn’t be trading his life’s blood for the parts Esca could collect for free.

Maybe he’d charge a kiss. The thought caused his lip to quirk and unleash a smirk across his features. Oddly, he did not care if Ezra caught it. His mask had begun to crumble at an accelerated rate post their Undercroft excursion. He caught himself steal a glance at the pilot’s mouth before focus reclaimed him. “The finish is a mess.” he muttered offhandedly while chipping away at a patch of dried blood. “You’ve got more than one issue,” he concluded, “you need more than one part if you want it to last. It isn’t a simple firearm malfunction.” It would be far less expensive to jam the shotgun into someone’s ribs– if he were forcing the man elsewhere. “But I can fix it.” I will.

The laugh was surprising, and rattled a chuckle free from his own throat. He found himself watching with slight awe as the younger man smiled, plucking the busted firearm from his hands. It was hard to give it up, but he knew if he ever hoped to wield it again, it would need some attention. And who better to give it than Esca? Trust was hard-won in this savage world, but not with him. With him, it was as natural as breathing. While Ezra felt the curdling notion in his stomach telling him this is too good to be true, idiot, he ignored it. This felt right, and when Esca smiled at him, it was as if he’d uncovered something precious. A vein of gold in the dusty mantle of the earth, a sliver of moonlight in the black night. Whatever this was, it felt like a risk worth taking.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he followed Esca to the dilapidated work bench. Though stained orange from rust and leaning heavily on its right, back leg, it had proven indestructible. On its surface, Ezra had seen a gangrenous leg sawn off, and watched a metal worker pound a machete out of nothing but glowing links of chain -- among other things. Seemed fitting his shotgun would wind up there for a prognosis, and an overhaul. “Pretty sure they already think I’m stupid,” he muttered. “Or maybe they’re just interested to see what sort of trouble a traitor and a wraith can get up to in a gun shop.” Ezra imagined quite a bit.

Brown eyes focused on the bent firing pin produced, and he gave a sheepish grin.

“Uh, both?” he answered honestly. “When it stopped firing, I was down in the Undercroft, and I had to fight my way through with something.” He gave a little shrug, and crossed his arms. “Worked well enough in lieu of a shell.” His eyes flicked up to watch Ecsa’s face as the gun was dismantled, piece by piece. Ezra had tried to pull everything apart and put it back together, but it had done little for him. Plus, it’d taken him a hell of a lot longer. Embarrassingly enough. Because he was watching the planes of the sniper’s face, the flash of a smirk wasn’t lost on him, and he gave a playfully suspicious look in response. Subconsciously, he moved a step closer. 

“What’s the verdict?” 

As Esca explained the extent of the damage, his crossed arms fell to his sides. “More than one part?” he repeated somewhat hopelessly. Immediately, his eyes scanned the disassembled shot gun, and his mind tried to calculate just how big of a bottom line there would be. The pilot was considering selling it for what parts were left when Esca tacked on: “But I can fix it.” His eyes flicked up. “Really?” It sounded a lot more hopeful than intended, but then he recoiled from the offer a bit. “I mean, only if you let me get the parts and pay for the labour. If it’s even worth the effort.” It was unlikely he could come up with the parts necessary. If the gun wasn’t such a sentimental piece, he would have dismissed the diagnosis in a second. At this point, he figured it might be easier to storm a nest and kill a raider for a new one. Plus, there was always that sawn-off he had been working on. He hadn’t blow his head off yet which was promising. 

“How much?”

[icarianezra]

The Burden of the Truth

[icarianezra]

THE PHOENIX.

“Poor choice of words,” came his attempt at an apology. But Dorian had picked up the edge in Ezra’s tone and knew better than to go on about it further. He may have not known Ezra as well as Gwen had, but it didn’t take much for him to figure out that he was passionate about flying. Hell, he was a pilot, of course flying would have been a touchy subject, given that was how their last hope of getting off Earth was, and the fact that there were no more shuttles to fly. No functioning planes; people were lucky to have vehicles that ran at all. “Sorry.”

An amused snort escaped the older man as he finished smoothing out the main stick of the spit with one of his own knives. “Very useful. Best way to get a decent rep around Springs and keep everyone afraid of you.” There were plenty of rumors about Sellgraves, especially around Fervention, that stretched out to the Markets in Colorado Springs. Dorian avoided Sellgraves’ tent like the plague, not wanting to owe a single debt to the woman in case the rumors held any merit. Last thing he needed was to wake up in the middle of the wastes because he owed someone a debt.

Once he had carved out fastening points for the makeshift skewers, Dorian looked to Ezra’s bloodied hands at the meat left from the skinned rabbit. “I can slip it on the spit,” he offered.

Dorian lifted his head to meet Ezra’s gaze briefly. It wasn’t hard for many people to have a target on their back; didn’t take much to piss anybody off now days. Still, hearing that either Ezra or Lucas could have been at risk for anything, didn’t sit well with him. “I offered o make some traps for you guys to set around the base,” he explained, slipping the meat onto the spit before he would use smaller spokes to keep the meat in place on the spit. “A little added protection from raiders or whatever the hell’s out there. Might help you guys get some extra sleep at night.”

The crow’s caw above them was lost on him, just another sound out in the wastes to ignore. He would have been more concerned if there were footsteps or voices in the air. But aside from the crow, it was quiet. If either of them were paying better attention, it would have been far too quiet.

“No,” he replied, “I left after… everything. They still offered me a place to stay if I decided to go back, but I’m not sure about it.” He gave a slight tilt of his head, the corner of his lip twitching downward. He had toyed with the idea of going back to Springs, had been comfortable enough going to the Markets at least. But actually staying with the Rebels again? He wasn’t too sure how that would go. But he wouldn’t know until he tried, right?

“One of the rebels, Eva, mentioned something about giving some of the new members pointers. Help with the basics with making traps. I might at least visit and help out.”

“Nah, don’t be,” he answered, blanching slightly with shame. Ezra was never quick enough to keep his mouth shut, and often leapt off of high ledges first before looking down to consider the crags and broken stone below. His confidence had been shaken when his purpose had been torn from him, and it was as if his wings had been shorn. The bloody patches of flesh on his shoulder blades stung and pinched when he moved, and refused to healed. When someone mentioned flying or space, they often ached, and it was just his unrefined nature to lash out in response. It was all misdirected. A festering hatred warped by a broken sense of self that had no real outlet. It was a shame that those he considered comrades or friends (though few and far between) often suffered the consequences of it. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” He gave Dorian a small shrug; his own sort of apology, before averting his eyes again.

“Yeah, she’s a piece of work,” he agreed with no affection in his voice. Ezra had once held respect for the woman. Even though everyone else in Fervention and Springs proper had turned their back on the youngest Cooper, she had welcomed him into her tent, and gave him her blessing. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to take advantage of him, or just demonstrate how well-informed she was. Ezra’s work with the rebels was extensive, but it was kept under wraps for preservation’s sake alone. He had tried to protect his father at first, too, though that had ended up a fool’s errand. Sellgraves’ knowledge of his ties to the rebellion was impressive. Most people were too blinded by hate, or too foolish to see the complexities of his effort. But she had evolved into something different. A glutton with too much power, just like the corporation they all hated. Ezra had little patience for her anymore.

“That’s good of you to offer, man. If it was just me out there, I’d tell you not to waste your time, but there are a few necks around there worth saving these days.” Ezra finished cleaning his palms, and made his way to the fire’s edge where he sunk down. He propped his elbow on a portion of petrified tree trunk, and uncapped his flask. “Let me know what you need; I’ll help so long as you give me your word you won’t blow me to hell.” A smile flashed to show he was only joking. It felt nice to sit under the open sky with the warmth of the flames, and the smell of fresh game cooking. The company was surprisingly nice, too.

Ezra nodded. He understood not returning. Dorian avoided Springs the way he had avoided Almagre Mountain and the NASA behemoth that lived in its belly. It was a signpost for so much sorrow, so much betrayal, and it was no simple task to face the end of an era, the end of a relationship. The end of a person. “I get it,” he said with some finality, meaning Dorian needn’t feel obligated to expound any further. They were wandering close to untrodden territory. Bringing up Gwen now was too soon; there had to be an easier way to broach the letters in his bag. As light as they were, they weighed him down like a stone.

“Eva?” he repeated. The name sounded familiar, but he was having difficulty placing her. “Hell, they’d be lucky to have you.” He took a deep pull from his flask, then offered it to Dorian without looking away from the fire’s light. “But you don’t owe ‘em anything. The more people that know how to blow shit up, the duller your edge gets.”

[icarianezra]

The Burden of the Truth

[icarianezra]

THE PHOENIX.

The response was sound, even if Ezra had been up there for other reasons. But who was Dorian to question it? Any chance to get at some decent supplies for trade or for even oneself was worth a shot. Being the guy he was, Dorian would offer a hand, but usually kindness was a cause for concern. It meant there was a catch, that something had to be owed. In Dorian’s case, he could have cared less. He simply liked offering a hand. But he figured it was best to let it go, so he merely nodded, “There’s got to be a way in there.”

The knife in his hand was tucked away as Ezra had turned his back to him. There was no animosity toward Jack’s son for what his father had done. For what he let happen. That was plain unfair. Holding that sort of a grudge over someone was simply a waste of energy and time. Both things essential for trying to live through to the next day.

“Time flies,” was his only agreement to Ezra’s comment. Most of the first few months since he left Torchlight, Dorian had been getting drunk at any bar he could stumble in to. Downing anything to try and drown the nightmares and get him some rest. Eventually, he found his way out of it, figured if he believed in something stupid as ghosts, Gwen would haunt him and probably find a way to kill him if she could for wasting his life. 

He scoffed. “Not sure I’d want to find out,” he replied, “I get tense even just passing her tent.” Dorian had been lucky enough to not owe Sellgraves a debt yet. But he sometimes wondered when that luck would run out.

His brow rose and he gave a shrug, “I can give it a try,” he replied, walking over to kneel down next to the fire. Dorian himself wasn’t much of a hunter, but if it came down to it, there had been a couple of occasions where he killed a rabbit or animal to eat while he was out in the wastes. Still, he wanted to at least lend a hand since Ezra had already caught dinner that night. No use freeloading a decent meal without at least trying to help prepare it.

“You out here by yourself?” he asked, using some of the more sturdy branches and sticks near the fire to put together the spit. “I ran into Lucas a while back in the Markets, said he was at the base with you.”

“If there’s a way, the raiders have probably plundered it. God knows what they left behind. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if some unlucky NASA bastards got left behind, and holed up there in the aftermath. Shelter from radiation, generators, dry food,” he meandered, letting out an exhale. “Not a bad set-up as far as the end of the world goes.” Ezra knew that base well; he’d spent hours there in the end doing his best to sway his father away from Valeris’ vice grip on the man’s senses, but it had made no difference. The thought that kept him up at night was of his father, drifting peacefully in the great, black ocean of space, and looking back down at the sodden planet where he’d abandoned his son. Did he feel regret? Was he disappointed in Ezra’s disregard of the Cooper family mantle? 

“It’s not about what’s right and wrong, Ezra. The time for that debate is too late. You’re going to come to space, and you’re going to survive. That’s the Cooper legacy. It always has been. Walking away now would be foolish, not to mention a brazen slight to your grandfather who worked tirelessly to ensure your survival and mine. Your place is on that ship.”

“Okay, you’re welcome to my rabbit — and my whiskey — so long as you never mention flying again.” His voice carried an edge to it that managed to leave the ultimatum in a valley between joke and deadly serious. Flying was what the youngest Cooper lived for, and it was the one thing that was hardest to give up in the end. Every aircraft that had been left behind by Valeris had been destroyed, or stripped for parts. The pilot was convinced it was Valeris’ final Fuck you to him specifically, but he could never prove it. They had one the battle, and the war, and Ezra would never fly again.

“Yeah. She can make a grown man’s asshole pucker without even laying eyes on him. It’s a strange talent, but a useful one around here.” He gave Dorian a look over his shoulder as he finished the task of skinning the rabbit. The pelt would buy him something pretty at the markets, maybe even some rations. “‘Preciate it, man.”

A sling of his hunting knife left a clean, red arc on the dusty stone he’d made his butcher’s block. He wiped the rest of the blood off the blade on the leg of his pants, and sheathed it. “I don’t keep much company,” he admitted. “Hard to when you’ve got a target on your back.” 

As he spoke, he watched Dorian work, cleaning his hands with a damp square of cloth. “He’s safe there, you know? Not that I don’t think he can defend himself on outings like these, but I’d rather not risk it. If anything happened to the kid, I wouldn’t be able to stand myself.” Overhead, a raven cawed at from a dry, spindly branch. A warning lost in translation.

“What about you, Hawthorne? You still running with Torchlight?”

[icarianezra]

walk away now, and you’re gonna start a war

[icarianezra]

THE WRAITH.

The voice tugged his concentration from the ceaseless pummeling. His threatening stance would not deter its carrier, and Esca found that he didn’t mind. Turning from the target, he allowed Ezra to invade the occupied space. The man looked much better than the exhausted state had left him during their underground meeting. Esca expected he himself would recover more if he did as his company suggested: switch off. But that was not an option on any survival docket he ever knew; certainly not his. No demon had taught him to be soft.

“No,” he answered bluntly, expecting Ezra had understood before the question had been posed. Stepping toward him, Esca motioned toward the shotgun sat upon Ezra’s shoulder. “Let me.” The transaction would be swifter than by a soldier of the Bastion, and he wouldn’t have to trade for the service. And his forbidden thoughts felt inclined. Perhaps he was the only one mulling over the Undercroft exchange, and the only one unsure of where to lead himself after. Esca was not new to death, but new to life.

The weary weight of Ezra resting– his back against the Wraith’s chest– still lingered. The safe-house cavern had been damp, and his slumbering companion warm amidst the cooling night. Then, stubbornness, when one watch ended and the next convinced him to stay. He could hear it now: Foolish, foolish Wraith. The kiss had been so simple, unlike the drunken affairs his eyes swept across along Fervention’s pathways. Foolish, foolish Wraith. He’d allowed his head be turned, his mouth enveloped in a brief, satisfying glimpse of time. It had been a first for him, but only him he knew. Foolish, foolish Wraith. Who truly cared about a ghoul?

The room quieted when Ezra didn’t shy away from the Wraith’s warning. He could only imagine what repercussions awaited others who chose to stay put when the smart option was to give up immediately and haul ass to the other side of the room. If anyone made it out of the younger man’s narrow, indiscriminate sights alive, they were due for a bout of counting their blessings later. But it was against the pilot’s nature to tuck his tail and retreat even in the face of insurmountable odds, particularly odds he was hell-bent on beating. 

It occurred to him, as the younger (and taller) man lumbered toward him (leaving the belabored punching bag to catch its breath), that Esca might not have wanted to see him. Weakness and vulnerability weren’t things to share with others in these bleak days, particularly in the sights of strangers. Their dependence on one another in the grim rooms of the bunker was, perhaps, meant to remain there, in the kaleidoscopic and foggy lens of the past. A distant memory, warped by fatigue and fear and all the human things most survivors tried to chisel out of existence.  All he could think about was that kiss, but he supposed it was just brought on by a bout of fever, and would have to remain a bound memory.

Ezra lifted his eyebrows and let out a defeated whistle. “Not sure why I asked.” 

His pump action shotgun was his favourite weapon, mainly because it’d saved his life on too many occasions to count, and it was relatively easy to do a lot of damage without the complication and skill necessary for accuracy. Maneuvering his ship through narrow passages, dodging enemy fire, and outrunning other vessels, he could do with his eyes closed, without breaking a sweat or causing undue damage. Managing a head-shot from anything farther than 30 feet, though, was impossible for him. Saul had been the only one to touch that shotgun since the grid went down, and Ezra was almost reluctant to hand it over, but one look at Esca’s eyes, and his body reacted without his permission. He rolled his shoulder forward, and the weapon clattered upon his open palms to facilitate the hand-off. 

“Not lookin' forward to seein’ how quick you fix this, and how stupid it’s gonna make me look.”

[justanoveralldisappointment]

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[icarianezra]

THE MAGICIAN.

Zelda watched in awe as Ezra managed to incapacitate the monster before her. Despite his shortness of breath and generally blood-smeared appearance, he made the action look easy. Zelda knew she would never be like that. She would constantly need people to protect her in this wasteland. She was pathetic. 

“I’m good. I’m great, really. Don’t worry about me at all.” The overwhelming pain that swelled through Zelda’s leg told a different story. “Or I could be a little delirious from blood-loss. You know, it’s definitely one or the other.”

Before she mentioned blood loss, her rapid speech was ringing in his head like a cracked bell. Not musical, like usual. It took everything in him not to scream for silence. The intensity of the last 12 hours had excavated the human parts of him, and everything had become a moving target. There wasn’t room for conversation in the current chaos. It was kill or be killed, the only logic his mind and body understood. If it was moving, he needed to rip it apart before it could advance on him. 

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat; the foam of a buried monster’s maw that begged to rise, and tried to focus his eyes on her in the grim dark, tried to reign in the urge keep moving. It was Zelda, not a mindcooked raider come for his head. It was someone he cared about, and she needed help.

“Blood loss,” he repeated as if it would help him understand, and prioritize. Ezra pushed away from the slick wall and moved through the sludge to get to her. The soles of his boots dug like weights into the soft, muddy floor, and part of him wished he’d get mired and pulled down in it. He was fucking tired of fighting. When would it end? When he fell on his knees at her side, he wiped the pooling sweat from his eyes and focused. “Let me see.” His voice had lost all softness. “Let me see.”