#augurai

[nosnet]

Sunshine, Riptide

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period:  August of 2030

Perspective: Vyx, Flidais, Vince

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: Blood! Holy shit a lot of blood, general mentions of the demonic, vomit, a guy getting kinda dismembered. Plus extremely cute dorks being extremely cute dorks.

Word Count: 15,636

Comments: I… I have to be honest, here. When I made Vince, as a PC the first time, he met a girl, and he fell in love with that girl instantly. That girl was Flidais, and she was vibrant, and kind, and maybe a bit manic, and spoke in riddles and smiled when my dork did dumb shit and I knew from that first arc that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for the woman. And then she was taken from him, sired as a Tzimisce, and the bright, vibrant woman she was, was lost. Part of that was, in fact, the DM trying to punish me, the player, specifically - because she liked to do that, ‘cause, y’know, really well adjusted DMing here, right? - and part of me has always hated what she did to Flidais just to upset me. It felt unfair to her, and unfair to him. But now Flidais is mine. The DM is gone, off to go ruin more of her life on her own terms, and I’ve made off with the spoils. So I’m making right what was otherwise ruined out of pettiness and narcissism. I’m making my idiots whole people again.

There was something summoning a demon in the Chantry that made it feel… weirdly official.

Vyx had summoned demons before, of course. This wasn’t their first, though they were starting to think it might be their last. But before, when they’d summoned them, they’d pulled them from Hell in the most random places; the attics of old buildings, the bottom floor of abandoned warehouses, and at least once in the horror-scene of a late night, hole in the wall, drunk’s best friend kind of eatery, the demon appearing in the cracked bathroom mirror to answer a question they needed answered pressingly. It was about their food order, but that was still pressing.

Now, they stood in the middle of a room larger than any they’d summoned things in, and for some reason they were uncomfortable. It was a large space, roughly the same size as a three-hundred seat college classroom but without the stadium styled, angled seating, the floor empty save the necessary accoutrements required for demon summoning. Candles lined the walls, so evenly spaced that Vyx was fairly sure they’d been spaced with a ruler, down to a sixteenth of an inch, and they flickered with fire that they could tell was magically made. No matches were harmed in the summoning of the demon, apparently. Beyond that, there was a circle in the middle of the room, lined with runes and drawings, proper alchemy in a way Vyx hadn’t ever quite mastered. They’d drawn the right runes, of course, and they’d done all the art, and they’d even made a decently shaped circle, but they hadn’t gotten so precise with it all; the lines were as straight as a college frat boy who shotgunned PBR like it was liquid gold, and the runes and art were so precise it looked like they’d been drawn with an extremely fine paint brush. Further circles, alchemic in nature, lined the walls, scrawled on the windows and doors with a steady hand. Those weren’t circles Vyx had used before, but they knew the purpose was to keep whatever the hell they summoned inside.

Vyx knew none of the accuracy was necessary, or, at least, not as far as they’d witnessed. They’d done the whole thing, from start to finish, with wavy lines and runes written in a half-drunk scrawl, and they’d managed. Mostly with lesser stuff, of course; there was something in their head that said that was why they’d gotten away with sloppy work, but somehow, the accuracy and the seriousness by which the things had been prepared had them almost a little afraid. They’d gone from batting in the Little Leagues and kicking ass against ten year olds who’s attention span was only a quarter of the game’s time to swinging against professionals. And the only professional baseball player they knew was the kind of guy who could throw an eighteen wheeler without blinking.

They stood in the middle of the room, in front of the circle, a large tome in their hands. This book belonged to the Chantry, and specifically to the man who ran it - Regent Damon Wellington, former friend of their twin, Vince, former combatant against the evil that was the bitch who tried to summon Lilith, and former Tremere. Most people didn’t know that last part, and he liked keeping it that way, but Vyx had learned from demons in much the same way he had, and he knew better than to be that much of a bitch to the one person he could talk to demon stuff about. The only other person with that kind of association wasn’t exactly the kind of guy to make social visits just to chat about the demonic; he’d only learned what he’d learned so he could throw fire. He was on the National Arsonists list for a reason, after all.

They took a deep breath they didn’t need, putting a finger to the text in the book, marking their place to start. They’d read the text before, but not from the pages of something the size of a math textbook; they’d had the text on their phone, or, in one instance, a slightly smaller version of the book. Damon had insisted they use the full sized book, partially because the translation was more accurate, but also probably because he didn’t trust them to have their phone on during the ritual. He was a former Technomancer, and he still had control over technology, which meant he was entirely too paranoid about the whole thing. It was easier, reading from their phone, of course, mostly because they didn’t have to hold several pounds of proper parchment and leather in one hand.

“Daemones circulorum sacrorum, ad aures vestras loquor. Tremite et ad sonum vocis meae apparete.” They started, reading off of the page. They didn’t speak Latin, but they sort of understood what they said. They quickly stepped forward, using their own vampiric abilities - they’d learned the ability to throw fire, mostly because it was damn useful - to quickly light three things of incense around the outside of the circle. The smoke began to rise in thin, gray streams, and the room smelled, faintly, of jasmine - for protection, the book said - cinnamon - for luck - and rose - for enhancing their awareness of the space - the extremely floral combination rising into something that smelled, faintly, like a funeral home. Or like grandma’s house right after she’d baked cookies, which was roughly the same kind of thing.

“Spatium adventui tuo paratum est. Thus accensum est ut te ad hunc locum ducat. Candelae accensae sunt ut te ad hunc locum ducant. Coram me apparebis sicut rogavi, et intra circulum quem designavi apparebis. Haec non est petitio.” They read, further, watching the incense begin to come together in the middle of the circle, the three thin streams bending in a way that didn’t seem natural and collecting in the middle, twirling around each other to create a larger pillar of smoke rising from the middle of the circle. They emphasized their last line, as Damon had told them to do so - apparently, it meant something like this isn’t a request, which felt bold and maybe a bit much for them, but they knew better than to lose their nerve half-way through. They had to finish things out now, and they had to do it with their full chest.

“Sanguinem meum do ut sitim tuam sedem, et ita faciendo, te obligo ut facias quod tibi praeceptum est.” They read the next line, before setting the book down and approaching the circle. The incense had created a veritable tornado in the center of the circle, spinning around itself until there was little distinction between the streams, the smell of cinnamon growing steadily as it spun faster and faster. It was spicy, and there was something that tickled their nose with it, but they ignored the smell, instead, pausing just outside of the circle. There was a small triangle, right at their feet, surrounded by runes, and they knew what they had to do. They had to offer their blood, and they knew their blood was the potent attractant that would actually get the demon there, but that had them, briefly, hesitant. They hadn’t needed to offer anything, for the others. However, the words they’d used - Damon had at least explained this - meant that the demon would be bound to them if they drank of the blood, which was meant to be protective. It meant that whatever they summoned couldn’t just eat them all willy-nilly, not without a lot of effort. He’d recommended a dagger, and he’d left it with the book; they ignored it, instead taking their wrist in their own teeth and splitting the skin there, letting the blood splatter onto the floor. Most of it went into the triangle, splattering around the outsides - but then, suddenly, it was gone, sucked into the triangle like there was a drain at the bottom. They licked their wound, closing it, before reciting the last line, which they didn’t even need the book for.

“Nunc, appare Forneus!” They lifted both hands, stepping back quickly from the circle as the incense suddenly grew hotter, more intense, the level of smoke tripling as the tornado grew into a proper, threatening thing, the cylinder of smoke shifting until it was a full column, reaching from floor to ceiling, thicker than a man and much taller. Inside, Vyx could see a shape start to form, first a shadow of a thing, misshapen and twisting, too many dark limbs and too many dark heads and too much body for the shape of the thing, and then it seemed to collapse as a figure stepped from within the smoke. They were tall, taller than Vyx, and they carried themselves like they owned everyone and everything in the room. Their face was androgynous, a strong jaw and hard eyes set against soft cheeks and soft lips, their dark hair short and styled in a way that could have been butch or masculine, depending on who described it. They were dressed, at least, a dark, silk shirt, open in the front just enough to see their bony sternum and ribs, and dark pants, with dark shoes that could have been hooves as much as loafers, and there was a visible tail, black and serpentine and finned.

“I am Forneus.” They said, their voice soft and melodic; they sounded like water moving over rocks, a burbling, shushing thing that was almost soothing. Vyx took another step back from the circle, never taking their eyes off the demon, pulling up a chair and settling into it. They knew better than to look away - that was when shenanigans happened. They’d learned that one the hard way, the first time, when they’d turned away from an Imp they’d summoned and found the little guy frantically scrabbling at the runes on the wood, trying to destroy the circle. They’d eaten him, for his trouble, and they’d also learned that demon blood tasted like burnt plastic the hard way, too. Forneus, for their part, took a quick glance around the room, turning their back on Vyx for just a moment to scan the runes. “I see you’re well prepared.”

“Eh, I thought it was being paranoid, but better to be paranoid than dead, am I right?” Vyx chuckled, the kind of laugh that said they knew it kind of sounded a bit like a Dad-ism, and that the Dad-ism vibe of it was honestly where they wanted to be; not particularly threatened, even if the situation was a bit… hairy. “Regardless, I know your time is probably precious to you, and I honestly have stuff to get to, so let’s get down to brass tacks. I want to make a deal.” They said, quickly, and that had Forneus’s attention.

“A deal?” They asked, and they reached behind themselves, pulling a folding chair from the fabric of nothing behind them and flicking it open, setting it down behind them and settling into it. They crossed one knee over the other, leaning back on the back. “I’ve been told you’re not one to deal, not in anything serious.” They paused, looking over the Chantry again, their brow furrowing as they thought. “I was honesty certain that your friend was summoning me. He’s more apt for deals, as far as the others say, and isn’t this his house?”

“Yeah, he’s the paranoid one.” Vyx shrugged. “The others don’t know what they’re talking about, anyway. I only summoned who I did because they were easy. I wanted the practice on stuff I could destroy without effort.”

“So, I would take effort?” Forneus asked, raising a brow. Even when they were thinking, their face was placid, calm, even, almost forced as such. Vyx snorted at the comment.

“Minimal, but enough.” They shrugged again, before shaking their head and leaning forward on their knees. “Anyway, the deal. I’ve got a friend, and she’s… I can get into the details after, but she’s in a bad way, and I need your help to fix her. Less fix and more… participate in the act of creating something new. I’ve got an idea on how to swing this, but I’m not giving you the details until you say you’re in. I’m not here to have my homework copied without getting what I want out of it. So - fix a girl and make her better, which she has more or less agreed to. You in?”

“I think I can manage that.” Forneus chuckled, reaching out to hold their leg with their hands, twining their fingers around their knee casually. They almost looked sheepish, like the idea that they couldn’t manage the deal had been on the table until they gave the quick and dirty version. “I imagine you know this already, but I’m not exactly a demon versed in destruction. If you’d asked me to level a city, I wouldn’t really be able to help you. But creation, well. Everyone is capable of a little creation, here and there. Even Lucifer.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda why you were the one on the docket. I figured I’d rather summon someone who’s a bit more scholarly for this than someone’s who’s whole persona is smash and burn. Trust me, I know plenty of people who’s main skill set is breaking shit; I don’t need a demon to do that bit for me.” They chuckled. They were thinking, specifically, of a Brujah out of New York, the grand sire of one of their paramours; his name was Ray, he’d died during a baseball accident, and he’d been turned into a vampire who’s bread and butter was, explicitly, Hulk-like. “I do need to hear you agree, though. I’m not a novice, I know what you have to say.”

“I agree to assist in your creation, Vyxen Riviera, in whatever ways I am able, and for whatever payment we decree to be acceptable in our further negotiations.” They said, and their voice seemed to echo when they did, the softness vanishing to fill the whole room like a wave had crashed into the space. Vyx sat up, nodding along at the words. It was… well, they’d planned on paying, sure, but they were still a little grumpy that the payment had been intoned so early in. Forneus, for their part, noticed the expression and snorted. “You think I’m not asking for payment in my agreement, considering I can’t know what I just agreed to?”

“No, I was definitely planning on paying you; you’re just so upfront. The others tried to swindle me into payment without agreeing on anything, or honestly forgot to even ask for payment. That guy was kind of an idiot, though.” Vyx shrugged, shaking their head and moving on from the moment. It didn’t do them any favors to get into long conversations about nothing. “But you’ve agreed, so it’s official.” They paused, briefly, trying to figure out how to word their request; Forneus waited, patiently, as they thought. “Okay, a knowledge check in, here: how familiar are you with Baali?”

“The vampires who worship and summon demons; yes, I am familiar. Are you not one?” They asked, quirking a single brow at the question; Vyx understood, at least, and waved their hands, dismissing the idea.

“Nah, just a fan of the powers they use. To be fair, the only guy who would turn me is a giant asshole, and the other two with the ability won’t. One ‘cause he’s lazy, the other ‘cause he likes being the Special Snowflake with the big bad secret.” Vyx rolled their eyes, looking briefly up to the ceiling; they were certain the room was bugged, probably with cameras and definitely with audio, and they stuck their tongue out at the ceiling as though to indicate that they knew Damon could probably hear them and they didn’t care. “I ask, ‘cause I gotta know, do you know how they become Baali?”

“They’re re-embraced, if I recall the terms. They eat a heart with the blood, and are thus made into Baali.” Forneus nodded, and Vyx appreciated that he understood what they were talking about.

“Yeah. Essentially, all Baali were, at one point, other vampires. Or, most. I don’t know if you can just sire a person the way they do, but that’s unimportant. What’s important is that we have a proof of concept that re-embracing someone is possible. That with the right magics, you can take a vampire that’s one kind of vampire and paint over the broad strokes to make a different kind of vampire.” They paused, making sure Forneus was following, before they steepled their fingers. “I want to work on a different kind of re-embrace, but not as a Baali. I want to re-embrace people as my clan, which are Malkavians.”

“Are you intending on fixing your friend with this re-embrace?” Forneus asked, and Vyx snapped their fingers, giving the demon a sly smile.

“See, that’s why I like you.” They chuckled. “Essentially, yeah. She… the whole story’s a long one, and I’m not out here to tell it, but to make it short, she was a Malkavian, like me, more or less. A ghoul, if you get what that means, but if you don’t, it’s not important. What is important is that she was… different.” They tried not to close their eyes, so they didn’t look away, the images of Flidais in their head faded and old and hard to access. They remembered a fence, and a bright smile, and some slushies from a gas station, but it was jumbled and distant and vague. They sighed. “She was… coerced into being kidnapped and turned into a different kind of vampire, more or less against her will, and it… changed her. She went from peppy and happy to cold and bitter, and… I asked her, once, if she liked feeling like that, and she… she didn’t say yes.”

“You want to return her to where she was before, then?” Forneus asked, sitting forward on their knees, and Vyx nodded, glad they were following still. “And you want to use the Baali re-embrace as a blueprint to do so, but replace the details with the clan of your choice. Are there any other factors you’re thinking of?” They asked, and Vyx put a finger to their lips, thinking.

“I mean, the Baali one is super non-consensual, so like, a more… active choice would be nice. Like, if she decided she didn’t want to, she should be able to walk away before biting the bullet, y’know? I don’t want to force anyone to turn. And they don’t have to have like… all of the blood. Malkavians are… we’re a weird bunch, which is kind of an understatement, so it doesn’t have to go all the way, just… enough. I just want to see her smile again.” They said, softly, and Forneus nodded, understanding. “Do you think you can help me with something like this? A Malkavian re-embrace?”

“Yes, and I believe I know my payment, as well.” Forneus pushed themselves up from their chair, which vanished almost as soon as they stood, pacing around the circle. Their tail whipped back and forth as they walked, the sign of someone thinking very hard. “Like with the blueprint, as you stated, there will be a heart with blood in it to be consumed. I have not engineered a re-embrace myself, but I know the process by which that was made, and a heart is a key ingredient to the ritual. But, you will offer your friend two hearts.” Forneus stopped, turning to face Vyx with their hands behind their back and a grin on their face that was nothing if not wicked. “One will be filled with your blood, which will become the blood of this new Clan you are creating. It will not be Malkavians, as you say, but a bloodline of them, thus capturing the distance between what you are and what you are asking your friend to become.” They paused, checking in that Vyx was okay with that; the seriousness on their face said they were following, and that if they had protest, it would be at the end. “The other heart will be filled with the blood of a Baali, or the demonic equivalent if you have no Baali around to donate blood for the cause. Your friend will have to choose which heart, but no one will be allowed to tell them which is which.”

“And what do you get out of this?” Vyx asked, and the grin on Forneus’s face only grew more wicked.

“Baali are well known among demons, and to serve one is covetous. Most ask for destruction and death, which many demons would give plenty for; most are egotistical, easily goaded, and easier still to mislead. Further, many young Baali are lax about their rules and their wards and their rites. Many demons want to be summoned by a young Baali, hungry for power, as they can likely get much out of it at worst, or consume the fool for their insolence at best and then be free to walk the earth as others do.” They paused, giving the room another quick look, clearly indicating that the paranoid warding meant that Vyx didn’t count as a fool. “To be a demon who assisted in creating more Baali, well...” Forneus left the sentence unfinished, their indication clear - to be someone who made more of a coveted thing was a good position to be in. “But that is why the contents of the hearts must remain secret - it would not be fair to me, if you instructed your friend on which heart to take, as the gains I receive are the potential; it would be unfair to you if I did the same, so both remain hidden until one has been consumed.”

Vyx let that sit a second, thinking about the offer. It honestly wasn’t a bad one - the ritual was much less violent, and much less likely to cause pain to the person being re-embraced. Not to mention, the fact that both were secret wasn’t actually a detriment, either, as Malkavians were often good at seeing what the truth of things were. Like, for instance, Vyx was fairly sure the tail wasn’t something the demon had put on, as it didn’t match their aesthetic even a little, and that told them something true about the demon’s nature, and their connection to the sea and to serpents. Someone meant to be a Malkavian, then, would likely be able to predict the right heart; it felt a little odd, to say it like that, considering they wouldn’t be a Malkavian at the time of the re-embrace, but that only made it make more sense. Nonsense was a Malkavian’s specialty.

“Yeah, that sounds chill to me. Two hearts, one Baali, one mine. The choice is the kicker, and then they’re… whatever the hell they become. I can dig it.” Vyx pushed themselves to their feet, crossing their arms. “So, then, the full terms: you’ll teach me what I gotta do in order to make the hearts a vessel, and not just a tasty snack. Once we get these first hearts prepped, I’ll be calling my friend in here and we’ll do this first pass with you present. If she turns into something, Baali or otherwise, then we’re good. If anything else happens, or if I find out you tried to pull a fast one on me, you’ll be history. Kaput. Dust. You feel me?” They raised an eyebrow. Forneus held back a snort at the concept of getting dusted by Vyx.

“How do you plan on enforcing such a rule?” They asked, and Vyx didn’t waiver, which was… almost a little scary. Forneus had tried to call their bluff, and found the bluff apparently wasn’t one.

“I’m in a Chantry with a proper Baali in charge, and a bunch of vampires who think demons suck donkey-cock and need to be eliminated at every available turn. Plus I can name like… six? I think like six different Kindred who aren’t in this room who would kill to be able to turn you into a smooth and silky paste on the floor. I didn’t say I would dust you, dingdong. That’s effort.” They didn’t so much as flinch at the idea, their hard expression driving home the fact that they were serious. Forneus nodded, realizing they’d been outplayed, just a little; Vyx apparently made good friends. “So, that’s the deal. You teach me the process as we discussed and agreed; your payment is part of that agreement, and if anything goes a little squirrely - besides her becoming a Baali, I know that’s part of it - you don’t get to breathe the air of a free person again, which we both know is a metaphor since you can’t breathe and neither can I. Are we in agreement? That sound solid?”

“We’re agreed, Vyxen. It’s honestly refreshing to meet someone who’s as methodical as required for this kind of thing. While I do enjoy being summoned by a young moron with delusions of grandeur, it does get tiring to have nothing but idiots at my doorstep.” Forneus laughed, and it was a soft thing, like a ship’s bell on the breeze. “Provide me two hearts, as fresh as is available, and I will teach you the incantation required to turn them into vessels. My example will be yours; you will need to provide a Baali’s blood for the other. I imagine you have access to such.”

Vyx wasn’t paying much attention anymore, already typing on their phone. They clicked send, giving the device a decisive nod. “Done and done. My Baali friend is on the way down with some hearts and some tools, and I also just texted my friend who’s taking the plunge to meet me here. It might take them a second - she lives across town,” They paused, their phone dinging repeatedly, one after another, as a slew of texts arrived, “and I’m pretty sure that was just a bunch of complaints about how hard it is to get a fresh heart on short notice, so I can’t speak to how long he’ll take. Until then,” They paused, grinning, “You wanna help me name this new bloodline?”

~*~

They were on their third cigarette by the time Flidais arrived at the Chantry.

It had been a long, long time since Flidais had been in Winston proper - it had at least been since the rename, at minimum - and longer still since she’d been to the Chantry. The Tower - Wellington Tower, as the Regent had renamed it; it had been Winston Tower beforehand, but the man that named it had died and was also mostly an asshole, so the rename had been apt - was tall, dozens of floors full of glass windows and steel siding rising up and out of the city, looming over the space as the tallest building in the area. Honestly, for all it was a Chantry, it was fairly subtle, nondescript and unassuming as an office building, with one singular exception - Wellington Tower was splashed across the top of the building in large, bold, light up letters, making it extremely obvious who owned the space. Flidais didn’t blame Damon for that, to be fair - it had the letters before he’d taken over, and it made sense to remove the name of his dead-sire from the building’s facade before he inherited it - but she did still find it egotistical and trite. She’d never felt any need to visibly claim whatever space she’d lived in, but she also didn’t often find herself having to justify her existence to her clan, either.

She parked her bike just out front, and she could see Vyx standing there, smoking, their knee bouncing rapidly, like they were nervous, and something in Flidais hesitated at the sight. Maybe it was the fact that Vyx was rarely nervous, honestly; they were highly confident, which came from the lack of personal experience in most things, and even in the face of certain death, they weren’t really particularly flappable. But now their leg was bouncing and they were chain smoking cigarettes like they thought that counted as breathing, the butts littering the ground by their feet, and there was something off about the whole thing. Or, maybe, Flidais thought, staring up at the tower, it was the memory of her last visit, standing in the exact same spot, Vince at her side, staring at the building and knowing, truly and fully, that something lurked in the stairwell that would have ended their adventures prematurely. She’d called it the spider; she hadn’t known she’d sensed the Tzimisce Antediluvian, Eldest, lurking in the shadows of the stairwell. But Vince had believed her without question, and if she’d ever doubted his love for her, that moment was a constant reminder that there was never a moment of doubt. She asked, don’t go up the stairs, and he’d responded, sure.

But, fortunately, her status as Kindred had all but shot any actionable hesitation in the teeth, so while, mentally, she stalled, her body moved anyway, guiding her over to where Vyx stood. She hadn’t been sure what Vyx had wanted, so she’d dressed casually, a partially open, red-brown button up and dark slacks; they were wearing a crop-top, jean short-shorts, and a green plaid flannel, so while Flidais still wasn’t sure the purpose of the meeting, she could at least be assured she wasn’t either over or underdressed. It was Wellington-Salem; Damon’s involvement could have meant anything, clothing wise. “Evening.” Flidais greeted, and Vyx finally looked up at her as she approached, a worried smile breaking across their features. Yeah, this was going to be something. Especially as the test that had summoned Flidais had only read, meet me at the Tower; got you a wedding present, but you have to accept it first. Might as well get to brass tacks. “What’s this about a wedding present?”

“Ha, okay, so.” Vyx started, and they started in the slightly agitated way that said this was about to be a very roundabout, partially nonsensical conversation, and Flidais would have to follow as best she could. Luckily, she had experience with that kind of thing - both from being a Malkavian herself, before, but also from dealing with her domitor, Glamis, who was about as batshit as Malks came - but even if Flidais didn’t, her face wouldn’t have changed expression from the slightly skeptical, slightly dour frown she’d adopted the moment she’d arrived. Inside, she was curious, and concerned, and screaming a little at the difficulty it took to get that across, but that last one was a normal thing for her those days. “I’m gonna ask you a couple of questions first, and then if you’re cool with that stuff, I can explain myself.” Vyx said, and Flidais lifted her shoulders in a shrug. It was the best she could do.

“That’s fine.” She said, and Vyx nodded, stubbing the cigarette out on the bottom of their boot and tucking it behind their ear. They cleared their throat, and Flidais could tell that something about their person feared her no thanks as much as it feared her anger. Of course, that was fairly reasonable of them, considering they hadn’t actually really asked Flidais if she would want to change back; they’d gotten a probably-yes earlier, in different words, and they’d launched into their plan before they could really confirm better. Now, it was all ready - Damon had found the hearts, as well as a snack for her, for after - but there was a fear in Vyx’s heart that they’d misunderstood. That she’d be okay with a hypothetical, but not the real thing. They shifted.

“First… Are you happy like you are, Flid?” Vyx asked, and there was sincerity to their voice when they asked; they really wanted to know, down to their core, whether or not Flidais was happy as she was. Flidais didn’t answer for a long second, considering the question with the gravity it had been asked; was she happy? It wasn’t an easy question, because, while she still had her internal thoughts and feelings, her outer countance simply couldn’t portray it. When she was happy, she couldn’t show it, so did that mean she ever was? What was being happy if not showing your happiness? But then, of course, that begged the question of whether or not Flidais was happy not being able to express herself in the way she used to, and that was at least an easy answer, if not quite the question at hand.

“No.” Flidais stated, plainly, her tone unaffected and flat. It was the most honest answer, as far as she figured - even if happiness wasn’t necessarily dictated by whether or not the visible happiness was shared, she knew she’d wanted to share her emotions more than she was able to, and that was frustrating. She spent most days inside herself, screaming to be let out, and there was nothing about that which she’d consder happy. Vyx nodded, like the answer was what they were hoping to hear from her, which it was; the present would have meant nothing had Flidais been delightfully cool with being so cold most of the time. They shifted again, like they were trying to work out the way to word the next question, before they spoke again.

“Second, if… if, hypothetically, you could be how you were before the embrace, though maybe less alive, would you want that?” Vyx asked, working around the caveat quickly; whether or not this hypothetical was based on something real, or not, Vyx clearly couldn’t make Flidais more alive than she was right then, and that was clear. Flidais narrowed her eyes, because the question was extremely pointed, and there weren’t answers that she could ask for that wouldn’t make her more concerned about the present in question. But Vyx smiled in a way that was sheepish, understanding that the question was definitely way too much of a tell but not really able to dodge that much, and Flidais sighed at the face.

“The details matter, but broad strokes, yes.” She replied, raising an eyebrow. “What are you getting at, Vyx?” She asked, the only question she really could ask that wouldn’t just blow the whole charade out of the water. Clearly, Vyx wanted to do things a certain way, and Flidais wasn’t going to begrudge them that, but they were also hinting at impossibilities like they were real. Vyx chuckled, pulling the cigarette from their ear, putting it between their lips, considering lighting it, only to recall they’d just put it out and tucking it back behind their ear, a nervous series of motions that said this next question was going to be the kicker.

“Last question, then I’ll explain myself but maybe inside? So we don’t get overheard?” They raised an eyebrow, but it did nothing to remove the skepticism from Flidais’s expression, so they just went for the question anyway. “If, maybe, I had a way where I could, say, walk back some of that coldness and get you closer to being who you used to be than you are, right now - without making you alive again, I’m not that good - would you take it?” They asked, and Flidais simply stared, her brow furrowed at the question. It was definitely a doozy, but Vyx also didn’t let it sit long. “That is to say, this is a thing I can do. Like, right now. We can do that. But I don’t want to explain how until I know you’re down to actually do it.”

“It’s demons, isn’t it?” Flidais asked, and it wasn’t really a question, but the way Vyx’s face went a little pink at the words and the way they chewed on their bottom lip said she’d hit the nail on the head.

“I don’t wanna confirm or deny anything that would get me or Damon into loads of trouble without your commitment to the bit, here, Flid.” Vyx chuckled, but that was as much of a yes as an actual answer; it wasn’t like they were being particularly subtle, standing in front of the house of one of the only people who regularly summoned demons and who they also had regular beef with, and Flidais sighed at the confirmation. On one hand, the answer was kind of obvious - yes, yes, a thousand times yes, because she missed, desperately, everything she was before she’d been sired. She missed being expressive, and feeling silly, and finding hidden meanings in mundane things; she missed feeling like she could play with the world, and she missed the way people would smile at her like they understood her place was to be strange as much as it was anything else. In some ways, the forced coldness was not unlike growing up, but she’d never really had a childhood without the blood, so her experience with Malkavianism was as close as she could get, and she’d been forced to leave that behind. On the other hand, however, trucking with demons was territory she wasn’t entirely familiar with, but she knew that it was generally frowned upon. Otherwise, they would have needed to find a new Brujah to be Primogen, considering Dan would have likely outed himself the second he could; keeping up the lie was effort, and Dan was as adverse to doing things as most Kindred were adverse to frenzying; when it happened, it was annoying as hell, but there was usually a good reason, at least. But, at the same time, Dan had hidden himself from most people without issue, or really active participation in the act, and no one within their old coterie seemed to give a shit, so with a reasonable explanation, she could have likely passed along without too much consequence. Whatever the hell demons were doing with things, she could probably get away with it.

Vyx shifted, the silence long enough that they were starting to get worried. “So, what’s the verdict? Would you take it?”

“Yes.” Flidais said, finally, and Vyx brightened at the words, like they were certain there was a no hiding somewhere in there and hearing the yes was the only thing to dismiss their anxiety. Flidais sighed. “But I reserve the right to change my mind.” She added, though Vyx didn’t seem to hear it, too busy reaching out and taking Flidais’s hands and all but dragging her to the Chantry doors, pulling her inside and past the front desk ghoul to the elevator. Flidais let them, only sort of resisting as a means to let them know they weren’t entirely enthusiastic about the situation, though, internally, she was all but throwing herself after them to find out what it was that they could do. If there was a way, really and truly, to get her to be anything but cold, she was all for it, demons be damned - even if damning them was maybe a bit late.

Vyx didn’t speak again until they were in the elevator, going up. It was private, which was what Vyx was hoping for; they didn’t know who knew what Damon was, and they hadn’t wanted to talk in front of anyone who might not have been in the know, like the front desk ghoul. “Okay, so.” They started, animated and excited and not letting go of Flidais’s hand, “I asked you a bit ago if you were happy, right? And you were like nah, not really, which is sad. And I don’t want you to be sad, y’know? Even if we’re not dating, you’re not allowed to be sad on my watch. So I had a thought, and that thought was that the only way I’ve ever heard anyone changing their clan up after the fact was through the re-embrace. And so I did what any self-respecting person would do when they want to know more about the re-embrace, I went to our local Tremere and Infernalist.” Vyx gestured to the general area, and Flidais rolled her eyes. Damon was no Tremere, but that wasn’t the point. “I also may or may not have spoken to everyone’s favorite lopsided demon-summoning dickwad, just to cover my bases. But Damon helped me figure out how to summon something, and now I’ve got a guy upstairs who’s agreed to make a deal and turn you back to what you were.” They explained, the elevator going up and up and up, racing through floor after floor. It felt impossibly long, but that was the Chantry for you - most of it wasn’t even in the physical building, especially after it had gotten blitzed to hell and back not too many years previously.

“What’s the catch?” Flidais asked, because that was the thing her logical, thinking, clinical mind wanted to know, even if the emotion in her body was bouncing around on the inside, itching to get out. It was a thing with demons, there was always a catch. Vyx looked up, and it was through their eyelashes and with a guilty looking expression, which said enough. Whatever the catch was, it wasn’t a fun one.

“Well, so, I talked the guy into doing something not violent and much nicer than what the Baali do, but… his payment is also kind of the catch. You know how the Baali make you go after a heart full of their blood and either you get it and live or you don’t and die?” They asked, and Flidais nodded, the elevator door opening, letting them out. Vyx paused in the hallway, the door to the Chantry floor they were using just ahead of them. “You’re going to get two hearts. One has my blood in it, to make you… a bloodline, I guess? We’re pretty sure it has to be a bloodline, considering. Name’s in progress, but the important part is that you won’t be a Malkavian, straight up and down, but you’ll still have Malkavian blood, so like, its kinda the same difference. But the other heart is, uh. It’s a Baali’s blood. I think this time it’s Damon’s.” They grimaced, knowing that was the nasty part about the whole thing. They tried not to pause long, because they knew that would be the place Flidais found a no within all of the agreements; drinking Damon’s blood wasn’t on anyone’s short list. “The idea being you have to pick one blind, and there’s a fifty-fifty shot you don’t end up a Malk and end up a Baali instead. Which sounds really bad, except… it’s Malk shit, right? A Malk that’s meant to end up a Malk is going to know the right heart to pick from the get-go, even if they don’t know they’re going to be a Malkavian, because they’re going to be a Malkavian, y’know? The future wills the present towards itself, by nature of being what the present becomes. It’s cyclical. And especially considering you were already a Malk, I don’t doubt you’ll pick right.” They reached out, taking Flidais’s hands in their own. “And imagine, being a Malkavian again, ahead of your wedding?”

“Vyx, I said yes, you don’t need to tempt me.” Flidais chuckled, lightly, shaking her head. Sure, was it a mess? Probably. Was there a risk? Yes. But a Malkavian had said that she, as a Malkavian, would know what to pick, and there was something about just knowing that seemed to almost be a guarantee. Like the idea that Vyx’s certainty was their insight into the future and not just a guess, even though it was, in fact, just a guess, and there was no guarantee; something in Flidais just said things would work out fine. The same part of her that had always insisted her foray into the cold and emotionless would be just as temporary. “You said now, though? Because I think I’m ready.” She added, that feeling of confidence bolstering her resolve, and Vyx bounced on their toes, dragging Flidais into the Chantry hall by the hand.

Damon stood, clad in a black and red suit, next to the demon, Forneus, who had not changed. They considered Flidais with narrowed eyes, like they were trying to determine if this would be their new Baali friend, and Flidais returned the steeled gaze the only way she knew how - by matching theirs with her own. Forneus didn’t flinch away from the stare, and neither did Flidais, briefly locked into each other’s eyes in a contest of wills. Vyx, helpfully, ignored that, heading over to Damon with a grin on their face; this only made Damon’s expression sour more, likely because he wasn’t exactly thrilled about their task that evening. He’d arrived first, with the two hearts, and Vyx had explained the situation to him, and he’d reacted as expected; surprise, no small amount of horror, and a general sense of agitation that they’d thought of making a bloodline first. They weren’t sure why he was surprised - this was always where things were going - but the other emotions tracked, at least.

“She’s down to clown. Though, less literal clowns? I mean, I think one’s probably going to her wedding, but everyone is going to her wedding, so that’s not that much of a surprise.” Vyx shrugged, and Damon took a moment to let some of the steam out of his ears; interacting with them, especially after everything, was not his favorite daily activity. It was half the reason they kept stopping by - if their existence was his punishment, they were happy to dole it out on the daily. “But she’s cool, and I’m cool, and you’re cool, I bet, and I know that guy’s cool. So, can we do this, oh Master of Ceremonies?” Vyx asked, batting their eyelashes. Damon sighed, long and low and dramatic, mostly for the ability to say he did.

“Should she not change into something more symbolic?” Forneus asked, but their question was directed at Vyx, and that meant breaking eye contact; they didn’t acknowledge that they’d lost the contest, of course, but the slight smile on Flidais’s face said she was very aware of who’d won the exchange. Something in her began to bubble, boiling, something like hope; maybe it was the Malkavian blood still in her, but winning a staring contest against a demon had emboldened her to the point of near recklessness. Vyx took the question and looked to her, raising their eyebrows like that was her choice.

“She will likely become messy.” Damon added, already setting up the choice in front of him. The hearts had been filled before Flidais arrived, one with his blood and one with Vyx’s, and he had set both within dark green jars, like they were containers for wine. Both jars were then set within dark boxes, and those boxes had been placed on a low table in front of him. He quickly checked that both were entirely closed, and that the jars were still contained, before standing behind it. The logic, he’d said, was that the boxes were warded against vampiric sight, and the jars would keep the blood from congealing once they were removed; blood, like wine, wasn’t a big fan of the sun. He’d explained, however, that the precedent of a warded box would mean that there was a guarantee of actual, free choice, and no demon would ever accuse them of trying to pull a fast one. Forneus had agreed, as had Vyx. “I could find you one of Sven’s old shirts, it would likely cover everything.” Damon offered, on the idea of changing. Flidais turned her steeled gaze to him, before simply unbuttoning her shirt, pulling it off of her person, folding it carefully, and setting it aside. He looked away as she did the same with her pants, though Vyx watched with no small amount of delight.

Naked, and unashamed, Flidais approached the boxes. Something in her said that being naked was right, that there was something about her original bloodline, her sire or her sire’s sire or even in relation to those that were born of the same sire, that said there was nothing more right to being a Malkavian than standing, naked, unashamed, with her long red hair and dark eyes. That there was something correct, that in another body, another life, another world, there was another naked Malkavian guiding her steps forward. Damon didn’t look at her, averting his eyes from her body; he had his own issues with the human form, women more than most, and it meant he found looking at what Flidais had become almost a little gross. Vyx sighed, shoving him physically out from behind the boxes.

“If you’re not going to do her the fucking kindness of looking at her when you turn her, the get the fuck out of the kitchen, asshole.” Vyx snarled, and Damon raised his hands, stepping away and turning his back on the situation so he didn’t have to look any further at the errant titties on display in front of him. Flidais was, of course, physically perfect in most capacities, except for the parts where she’d fixed things herself; for instance, her freckles were across her body, but uneven, splattered over her shoulders and arms and legs in constellations of patterns, and there were a few scars she’d kept that Konrad would have otherwise smoothed over. She had never liked the perfection he’d strived for. Vyx stood behind the table, short enough that it wasn’t really a low table for them, their hands on both sides, straddling the boxes. “Okay, Flidais. Put your hand on top of whatever box you wanna pick, I guess? We’re doing this one live, but I figure a non-verbal answer is a good thing. Can’t get mixed up in your words, right?” They shrugged, and Flidais didn’t respond, staring at the boxes with intent. She couldn’t see into them; she couldn’t smell anything, couldn’t feel anything. Her senses were all but gone, the choice truly and fully concealed.

She let herself sink into herself, into the part of her trapped behind the facade of cold, the part that still felt the call of the blood the way she had before. She sunk, and she could see the colors behind her eyes and feel the fire trying to reach the tips of her fingers, and she asked herself to choose. Not her, the Kindred, sired, cold, dead fish, too much salt baked into her skin that was shaped by other people’s hands, but her, the ghoul, the bright sunflower in a pageboy cap sitting on a fence, the girl who saw fire and poured slushies on it, the one who talked about spiders and pigeons and played Fallout poorly. She reached down, touched that girl’s hand, pulled her to the front for just a second, and asked her to reach out, take the right hand and just choose, just the once. Let the blood do what it was always meant to, and let it know.

Her hand landed on the box on the right. She opened her eyes, almost surprised at her own choice, having done so subconsciously. Vyx nodded, and their face was so steeled and something about that told Flidais she’d chosen right, because Vyx was much better at hiding a bad result behind a smile than hiding a good result behind a frown, but she couldn’t be entirely sure and the thrill of fear in her chest almost surprised her. She wasn’t aware she could feel emotions that intense, but her connection to the blood was starting to win over the coldness of her countenance, just a little. Vyx didn’t wait, popping the box open and offering Flidais the jar with the heart in it, holding the green thing with both hands to support the weight. Hearts were not small, and Flidais knew this; she’d taken several out and inspected them personally, over the years. The one in question looked a little like the victim had suffered from an enlarged heart, or was, at least, of a particularly robust stature, as it was decently bigger than the size of her fist and difficult to get out of the jar. Once out, however, she realized half of the size was simply due to the fact that it had been sealed off, the arteries coming off of the structure fused with what looked like heat, and stuffed with blood like it was an eclair filled by an overzealous baker. It jiggled in her hands as she stepped back, giving herself and everyone else space. At minimum, she knew the thing would pop the second she stuck a fang in, and she didn’t know where the blood would go once it did, even if she attempted to mitigate the mess.

Vyx watched with something like attraction and something like fear as Flidais made a decision and quickly unhinged her jaw large enough to stuff the entire heart inside her mouth, closing her mouth around it like she was eating sushi in one bite.

“That was disgusting.” Damon hissed, standing next to Vyx as Flidais processed the heart in her mouth. Vyx looked up at him with a face that said he was the disgusting one, raising an eyebrow.

“No wonder you’re bad at being poly, Damon, ‘cause that’s hot.” Vyx shook their head, ignoring Damon’s retort that he wasn’t looking, thank you, so he didn’t need to consider eating a heart like a snake eats an egg hot, instead, focused on Flidais. Damon’s focus quickly shifted her way as well, mostly because it was suddenly and abundantly clear when she swallowed the heart and all of it’s contents; she tilted her head up, forced the whole situation down her throat, and then suddenly, she was doubled over, clutching her stomach, before whatever she was feeling pushed her to her knees. Vyx stepped forward, but Damon held a hand out to stop them, turning, instead, to the demon with a furrowed brow and a question on his face.

“Don’t look at me.” Forneus said, their hands in their pockets and a shrug in their shoulders. They, clearly, didn’t know what the hell was going on, either, though that was also not a surprise; everyone in the room was making a new ritual and a new bloodline on the fly, and there was no instruction manual they could follow. They were truly within the moment of invention, the space where they had to determine if the thing they tried did what they wanted. Flidais let herself sink forward, arms wrapped around her stomach, teeth clearly grit and bared in what looked like an expression of pain - which was still more expression than she often showed - letting her forehead hit the floor in front of her, curled almost in a fetal position. The demon watched her, fascinated. “I’ve never done this, either.” They shrugged, again, this time turning back to actually look at Vyx with a face that said that, while they hadn’t done this before, they had an idea of the problem. “But don’t you normally drain your childer before you sire them?”

As though to emphasize their point, Flidais’s arms shot out to the floor, pushing her up from her fetal position to give herself space, before she threw up, rather violently. The contents were all blood, and the amount was intense; this wasn’t the kind of thing one would see outside a bar at two in the morning as the blitheringly drunk emptied their stomachs of the toxins they’d ingested over the course of the evening, but instead, it was more apt to compare it to the elevator sequence in the Shining, where the doors of the elevator opened to the hall and blood poured from within, clearly too much blood to come from the one, single elevator cab. This, too, seemed to be true for Flidais, as she continued to purge herself of blood, unit after unit of vitae leaving her until she collapsed in the puddle of her own design. Vyx stepped forward, and this time, Damon let them; they took the cue to race to her side, turning Flidais over and trying to see anything concrete through the blood. It wasn’t like they could check for pulse - she was dead, and she’d become a different kind of dead, which didn’t mean her heart would have gotten any kind of spicy and started going - or breath, but the way her lips parted lightly when they turned her over said she wasn’t developing rigor mortis, and that wasn’t a bad sign.

“Okay, so. She’s out. I think she’s still undead.” Vyx turned back, trying not to kneel in the pooling blood, trying to keep it off of their fishnets even as they left boot prints in the slowly congealing fluid, the blood snaking up their shoes as they splashed through it. They turned, looking to the demon, who widened their eyes like they weren’t sure any anyone was looking at them. “What’s next, then?”

“Well, you’ve made a new vampire. I’m not versed in your processes, but I imagine next is whatever usually happens when you make new vampires.” The demon shrugged, and Vyx quickly turned to Damon, who nodded. While he hadn’t been the most versed in the Baali re-embrace - Illya had hedged the process for him, considering he would have outright refused to crawl through a pit of bones for any reason - he did recognize that Flidais would need something to consume after the ritual and had come prepared.

“I have Caul waiting in a different room with a meal and a change of clothes.” Damon said, stepping over to Vyx and looking down at the woman he’d just re-embraced. Flidais was splayed out like some kind of Renaissance painting, perfect and beautiful and with way too much titty for his taste. “He can carry her there, or bring them in here, depending on your preference; I’ll call him in a moment. In the meantime, Vyxen, what would you like to do with your demon friend?” Damon asked, gesturing back to the demon as he typed on his phone with just one thumb. He was still quick, the text sent without having to look, only waiting on their choice to be voiced. They weren’t even sure he needed to type, and that it wasn’t just showing off, but Vyx didn’t think about it too hard, too consumed with concern over what they’d just done. The idea that Flidais would become something other than a Malkavian loomed heavy over their heart.

“Have Caul bring them here. I think it’s only fair Forneus sees her wake up, too.” They said, pushing themselves up from their knees. Damon nodded, adding a further text, before pocketing his phone, taking a step back from Flidais’s form. Vyx did the same, giving her space; nobody wanted to be right next to her when she woke, because she wouldn’t have been able to pick a target from a lineup if she wanted to. Caul appeared only a moment later, an unfortunately member of the masses tossed over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He set the body down, gently, the gentleman unconscious but otherwise still very much alive; part of the gentleness was not splattering the pooling blood. Caul considered the situation, the ritual, the body, Flidais, the demon, and Vyx watched him quickly decide he didn’t want to know, backing up and out of the room before he felt pressed to ask questions he didn’t want answers to. It was better for everyone if the Chantry simply ignored Damon’s extra-curricular activities. “After, though?” Vyx added, taking another full step back, so the only thing Flidais could see when she woke was the body Caul had dropped, “You can do whatever the hell you want, I don’t care. I’m not going to need them again.” They shrugged, and they didn’t look over their shoulder to see Forneus narrow their eyes at them; what happened after wasn’t discussed, but being one of Damon Wellington’s playthings hadn’t been part of the deal. Not giving them over hadn’t, either, unfortunately for the demon.

“Noted and appreciated, Vyxen.” Damon actually sounded delighted, which seemed to only make Forneus grumpier; clearly, Damon had plans for the demon, and they weren’t likely the fun kind. Vyx didn’t care - they’d gotten what they’d wanted, and sure, maybe it was a bit callous to turn the demon over to Damon’s whims like that, but they knew Forneus would have sold them to the devil for a corn-chip if given the opportunity. They were only doing what they’d expected in return. They were hardly focused on the demon, anyway, as it was then that Flidais began to twitch. They took another step back, making sure Damon was a few inches closer to Flidais than they were, just to be safe.

“Y’know, last time she was sired, she ripped Konrad’s throat out with her teeth.” Vyx supplied, watching Flidais begin to stir. It wasn’t that Vince had actually seen her sired, of course - that had been done before he’d arrived, as he probably would have died trying to stop Konrad in the first place - but after, she’d lost her shit and killed Konrad in an act of frenzy due to seeing Vince almost die. Regardless, the phrase did what Vyx had hoped it would, cementing the idea in all of their heads of what Flidais was capable of, as a warning.

They watched her twitch, first her fingers and then her toes, then her knees, her joints and limbs jerking slightly as though her muscles were trying to reconnect all of the nerves one at a time. It was like she was internally plugging things in, and the twitching told her what things responded to what plugs. Eventually, though, one solid jolt had her flipping over, landing on her stomach, her arms and legs only just barely underneath her, her fingers splayed like she was a lizard on a wall. She was instinct personified, her face twisted in a deep snarl, her pupils so heavily dilated that there was no color left behind them, just white sclera and black pupil and nothing else, her fingers digging into the bloodied floor like she could tear it apart. She sniffed, looking first at the floor, taking a quick lick - and making a face; apparently one’s own blood wasn’t particularly tasty - before her nose turned her towards the human body next to her. Even Vyx could feel the man’s heartbeat from a distance, sluggish in his sleep; it was the supernatural predatory sense that came with being a vampire, sensing the pulse in a living thing. Flidais considered the body as well, but she didn’t immediately bite, sniffing around his form like she wasn’t entirely sure he was food. Damon sighed, stuffing his hand in his pocket to muffle the snap of his fingers, and Vyx watched the man receive a tiny jolt of electricity to the sole of his foot, a quick pop from Damon’s magic to shock the man awake. It was enough to make him stir, and they could hear his heart rate pick up as he did, which was apparently what Flidais needed to feel.

Vyx turned away when she all but ripped him apart. They felt little guilt in eating people, of course; they were a survivor, and to make it in the world, they had to drink blood of the living, and there were no bones to pick about it. But there was still something about watching Flidais all but shred the man to get to the blood under his skin that still almost turned their stomach. If they weren’t sure Damon’s sources were often those that deserved it most - he was a bit too squeamish to just go out onto the street and snatch a guy - it would have made them even more uncomfortable, but they could at least revel in the idea that the guy deserved to get eaten by some metric.

The floor was a sea of red, both dead and undead, by the time she was finished. Flesh and limbs lay in a pile that no longer resembled anything human, Flidais bent over the remains with her back arched away from the floor and blood all over her face and chest. Vyx hesitated, stepping forward, expecting to see her sit up, turn to them, something infernal in her face, the fear that it hadn’t worked building and building in them, but then Flidais sat back on her calves and laughed. The laugh started in her stomach and built up through her chest until it all but exploded out of her, her shoulders shaking as she threw her head back and cackled like she hadn’t cackled in a thousand years. If there hadn’t been blood already covering her face, the bloody tears that streaked down her cheeks would have been more noticeable. Vyx paused, unsure if the laugh was a good thing, but then Flidais turned, and she smiled, a thing of delight and surprise and sweetness, and they knew. They knew, immediately, that she wasn’t a Baali. They didn’t know how, but the blood recognized it’s own, and they just knew. Maybe it was the blood under Flidais’s eyes, the evidence of her emotions finally allowed to exist; maybe it was the fact that her eyes had changed, one the same dark color it had been before, the other a paler, lighter blue color. Maybe it was the fact that she was smiling for the first time that Vyx had seen themselves - they didn’t know, but they had no room to doubt themselves.

“You good?” They asked, stepping over to Flidais, one footfall at a time, like they weren’t one-hundred percent sure she wouldn’t turn and swing at them the second they were in reach. Flidais pressed herself to her feet, wobbling slightly on weak legs, staring at her hands with a breathless, delighted smile on her face, her hair falling into the blood on her cheeks and sticking there, before she reached out, grabbing at Vyx’s arms with a grip that was maybe too hard, leaving bloody hand prints on their arms. Her expression was wild, delighted, uncontained, but there was a smile there, and her grip didn’t hurt, tight though it might have been. Clearly, there were things in there that had been begging to get out and she was still figuring out how to moderate them.

“Vyx, I haven’t felt anything like this in fourteen years. I feel amazing.” Flidais said, and she grinned, and she chuckled, and she realized her grip was maybe a bit tight and loosened her hands, and that was enough proof. She wasn’t a Baali, she was herself. She was everything she had been, though maybe dimmed, just a little, the delight fading into something reasonable and bright but not quite manic as the blood finally started to settle in her veins. “I would have probably protested getting the help of the White Wizard if I’d been part of this plan, but if this is the result, I’m alright with his help. Just… don’t make this a habit, alright?” Flidais nodded to Damon at the words, and if her smile hadn’t been the biggest clue, the reference to Lord of the Rings would have done it. Vyx let out their own laugh, throwing their hands up and giving Flidais a tight hug, and they felt the squeeze returned two-fold and squealed with delight at the feeling. Flidais hadn’t ever hugged them before, not that hard, not like that, always so distant, but now she leaned in, and even though Vyx was mostly covered in blood, they didn’t care. They reached up, putting their hands on her face, ignoring the fact that they were smearing fresh blood all over her cheeks, ignoring the stuck pieces of hair or the way her eyes sparkled in their strange, heterochromatic new way.

“Alright then, Madame Amazing. Let’s get you cleaned up so you can go inform a certain someone of your return.” They said, and Flidais laughed, a beautiful sound, and for a moment, the world felt right. Bloody, maybe, and messy, but right.

Maybe, Vyx told themselves, the demon shit was worth it.

~*~

She’d left him a note, like she had many times before, with very similar wording: Meet me where you lost me. I have a surprise for you, featuring a winking face and signed with her initial, a curling, cursive thing with flourished edges.

This was not the first time Flidais had left Vince a note that started that way. Honestly, it wasn’t even the second, though it was definitely the second to use that exact wording. The first had been a different kind of note, more of a breakup than anything else, a dismissal of his love at the idea that he wouldn’t like her as she was then; this had been proven to be factually and categorically false, if Vince’s ability to attach himself to her hip after his resurrection said anything. The second had used those words, though, a note delivered right before the start of the war proper, where she’d met to tell him not to tell Konrad Varnhagen yes, because it would kill him. Of course, he hadn’t gotten that choice, and she had been right, and he hadn’t forgotten that. So, met with the same words, a little note on a pad left on their kitchen counter in their apartment above Geometry, Vince could really only roll his eyes. Whatever it was she had to tell him, he was sure it couldn’t be nearly as bad; the trend seemed to be on an upward swing, if he compared the three across time.

He was glad he had the forethought to flip the note over, as there was a small Dress nice! included on the back, like she had the thought just as much after the fact as the thought of flipping the note over. Vince paused, reading both the front and the back a second time, noticing the use of exclamation points and little doodles and finding that… strange. Flidais was, those days, very straightforward, and not often the kind to leave doodles or scribbles behind. That was his job as the note-taker; his notes from the war were half actual notes, a quarter personal notes, and the rest all drawings and doodles and attempts to translate sight to text via art. One, he’d gotten framed - a little drawing of a dragon, featuring the text, My name is Konrad Varnhagen and I’m a DICK as though it were a speech bubble. He had the doodle in a frame by his bedside, a small thing, hardly noticeable if you didn’t know to look. Ultimately, though, something was odd about the note, but that only signaled the idea that someone else was involved - maybe Vyx, they were often the source of problems, or Al - and didn’t linger as a worry in Vince’s mind. Not many things did, those days; dying certainly put a lot of things into perspective.

He quickly changed, his normal clothes - mostly t-shirts with stupid sayings on them, one of two pairs of ratty, tattered jeans, and sneakers with no socks - too informal, though he worried the rest of his formal clothes were simply too much, too. He decided to split the difference, grabbing a collared shirt with large blue and white stripes, pairing it with a pair of khaki pants and dark shoes. It was one of his work outfits, things he dubbed just nice enough to be talking to other Kindred worthy, without being too stuffy. It helped that he only buttoned the bottom three buttons of the shirt, leaving the collar wide open, and rolled up the sleeves. Something in his head said wait, and he followed the impulse, grabbing the small ring box he’d stuffed inside a pair of socks in his sock drawer; the socks were a nasty, dingy gray, white once and over worn, but he knew they were clean and just extremely old, making them a solid hiding place for anyone that didn’t want to root through his dirty socks. He checked that the ring was still there - and it was, just as he’d left it; he’d gone out with the only real remaining people from their original coterie, Dan and Kana, and they’d helped him pick the thing out. It was copper, sweeping branches around the outside of the band circling a hexagonal, green and white marbled stone, and he’d gotten fairly close to what he was sure her ring size was. He knew she could fix it if needed, of course; the size of her hands was only as permanent as her will to change them.

Pocketing the ring, he grabbed his leather jacket - he still rode a bike, so he needed something to protect him - and one of Vyx’s helmets, heading out the door and for the only place he knew to go look that would be where you lost me - Quanta Basto, an eatery only an hour south of them, and the last place he’d seen Flidais as she had been, before she’d been sired.

It was a packed house when Vince had arrived, and it means he’d had to use his abilities to disappear to sneak his bike past the waiting line of cars in order to snag a space. He could have let the other cars go first, probably, but he knew Flidais was probably somewhere, waiting for him, and he wasn’t about to make her wait any longer than necessary. It had already been an hour on the road, and that didn’t include traffic getting into Charlotte, which was a nightmare of a town even on the best of days. He parked, waving an apology to the car who suddenly realized he existed in the space they were waiting to get into and honked out of surprise, hopping off of his bike and locking the helmet to the bike the way he’d seen Vyx do many times before, running the lock through the visor to keep the thing from getting stolen. He wasn’t about to carry it inside, after all.

When he looked up, however, he didn’t see Flidais where he expected, and his heart sank into his guts as he looked for her. She wasn’t at the front doors, waiting for him; she wasn’t inside, as far as he could see, though he couldn’t see the whole venue from the front windows. She wasn’t on the street corner, or down the street, or just off to the side; he spun, turning circles on the sidewalk just outside of the restaurant, looking, until something in him said up, and he looked up and across the street. There, standing on the roof of the building opposite the restaurant, he saw her, and he saw her hand wave him up. He chuckled, looking both ways quickly before jogging across the street, finding the stairwell that had taken him up and then down again the first time with ease. It was funny, honestly; he hadn’t realized she’d meant the exact place where he’d lost her, but it didn’t feel incorrect, really. She’d been sniping, rifle to her eye, and then she’d been gone, the last known location splayed across the concrete roof of the building, her last words to him still faintly visible on the walls of the stairwell as he climbed them - Don’t Follow. The paint, clearly, had stained. The blood, which designated the first F and then the first L, had stained worse. He shook his head, trotting up the stairs and finding himself standing on one end of the roof, Flidais standing on the opposite side, facing the street.

She turned, and for a moment, neither spoke. She was in a skirt, the length down to the knees and a mossy green color, with a white, lacy blouse and a floral jacket over the top; her hands were clasped in front of her, knuckles white with her grip. Her hair was braided, up and curled around her head, a flower tucked in between the strands, and there was something about her face… Vince didn’t need to ask, however. He hardly needed to see, because he just… he knew. He felt his face split in a grin, seeing her, seeing her smile at him in return, and his heart thudded hard in his chest, because he couldn’t put words to it but he knew. He knew she was different, something had happened, and she was happier, and it made his heart soar to even feel that much, explanation be damned. He stared, breathless, mouth open, and she smiled back at him, and they stayed that way for a long, breathless, hopeful second, two people so desperately in love with each other that the distance was somehow far too quick to cross while being still unfathomably long. That every moment they weren’t hand in hand was the beginning of an apocalypse, even if it would only take a handful of steps to fix. The moment lingered, and Vince grew more and more certain of what it was that he knew - and god, he wished the blood would tell him what he knew, that would be so great, because he felt the welling in his heart that said he loved her more than life itself and that he was about to be given the greatest gift he could ever give, but he had no idea what or why or what happened to make such a thing be true. Sometimes, the blood was an asshole.

He did figure one thing out, though.

“What did Vyx do?”

“So, Vyx did something.”

They spoke at the same time, and then they both laughed, because they’d both said the same thing at the same time in different ways - and this time Vince registered that she had laughed, that she’d actually laughed out loud and fully, which wasn’t a sound he’d heard in a long, long time. He perked up, the sudden realization of what the blood could tell him settling in home, and he watched Flidais take one step, then another, her skirts swishing around her thighs and a smile on her face like he hadn’t seen in years. “I don’t want to bore you with the details,” Flidais said, and her accent had tone to it again, the lilt rising and falling lightly as she spoke, the smile never leaving her face to the point where it almost looked like her face hurt from having smiled so much. Vince stepped forward, drawn to her, curious and hopeful and something deep in his guts terrified to think too far ahead, to try and guess and be wrong, because he couldn’t get his hopes up and get crushed one more time in his life, and she chuckled at the intensity of his expression, his confusion, his hope. “But Vyx… Vince, Vyx did something I didn’t think was possible.” She said, and she reached him, and he looked up at her face - she was always just a little taller than he was - and saw her split eyes and the flush to her cheeks and the way she smiled, broadly, and he couldn’t fight the grin that bullied its way onto his face, painfully large.

“You’re not a Tzimisce anymore.” He said, and it was proof enough that she laughed at the way he said it, the certainty with which he intoned it, like he was bringing it into the world by saying as such out loud, like it wasn’t true until it left his lips. She reached down, taking his hands, and hers were still so cold but she hadn’t been that affectionate since he’d come back, and he squeezed her hands and tried not to let the tears leak from his eyes at the sudden rush of emotion that tried to push its way through his system.

“No, I’m not.” Flidais said, and her grin was contagious, as was the intensity of her feelings, both almost at crying from the elation they were sharing in that moment, even if Vince hardly knew why. Flidais took in an unneeded, shaking breathe. “The details aren’t important, but they… re-embraced me.” Flidais paused, and Vince’s brow furrowed for just a moment, confusion there, because re-embrace meant Baali, as far as he understood, but this only had Flidais giggling, which immediately told him that had to be wrong. “Vince, they created a bloodline. I’m about as close to a Malkavian as I’m going to get.” She said, and she revealed the truth, the truth he knew to be real, the thing he’d sensed from the moment he’d gotten up the stairs, and she felt his grip tighten on her hands as he processed the words.

“You’re… you’re back?” Vince asked, because he had to hear her say it, and she could see the tension in his shoulders, the spring loading of his body as he waited for her answer. She couldn’t voice it, however, as she opened her mouth and felt her throat lock up with half-buried tears, because this had been the thing she’d wanted for so, so long, and now it was here and there was a level of joy she was able to experience that she simply hadn’t been able to before. Instead, she nodded, the flyaway locks of her hair falling over her face, and Vince only hesitated the second it took for the words to cross all the way from his ears, through the blood-brain barrier and settle into his head. As soon as it did, he reached out, throwing his arms around her waist and lifting her into the air, spinning her around as he all but screamed.

“THAT’S MY GIRL!”

There would be no greater moment than that for either of them, and they both knew it. Flidais, supported in Vince’s arms, her hands pressed to his shoulders, delight on her face, and Vince, elated, beyond a level of happy he could have ever had, spinning her in circles as she laughed and laughed and he laughed and laughed and both of them crying from the sheer joy of it. The moment of their wedding would be great, sure, and every moment after would be just as good, but then, right then, would be what Vince would have called the happiest moment of his life.

Eventually, he set Flidais down, her skirts still swirling with the momentum, and she pulled him around with it, spinning him in a light sort of dance on the roof. He laughed, pulling her in for a tight hug, and their lips met this time, the kiss the kind that could have started a fire if given half a chance. He didn’t linger, pulling away, his hands cupping her cheeks and jaw, thumb running over the bloody tears that has streaked down her face, laughter still in his voice. “God, Flidais, I can’t—I didn’t think—how did they—-”

“They copied what they saw other people do, as far as I understand.” Flidais shook her head, her arms looped over Vince’s shoulders, hands clasped behind his back. She fiddled with the clamp he’d given her, not too many years ago, her first engagement ring, and she giggled, finally able to express how funny she thought the whole thing was. “They saw Illya re-embrace people and thought, I could do that. So they did. Best you ask them for the details, I don’t know how far they want that to spread.” She added, and Vince nodded, pulling her into another long hug before pulling back a little further, giving her a moment of space. It was space neither wanted, but if they were going to go anywhere or do anything else, they needed to not be linked at the hip.

“And you’re happy?” Vince asked, a real question, and Flidais nodded, furiously, her hair nearly shaking out of the braids at the intensity of it.

“Vince, I spent fourteen years trapped inside that cold shell Konrad gave me. For all that he perfected my gender, he ruined my ability to feel. I’ve been screaming behind that face he gave me for years, and the only thing that would make me happier is you.” She laughed, and it was a sweet thing, bell like and clear and so powerful Vince almost felt his heart beat in rhythm with it. She shook her head, letting herself still; for all she was better, energetic, emotional and bright, she wasn’t quite the same. It was like she had gotten older, but there was still something of a kid left in her, too. “Are you—-are you happy with this? They didn’t ask, before, and I—-”

“Flidais O’Riordan, I don’t want to be mean here, but I have missed you every second you’ve been gone.” Vince said, breathless in his attempt to stop her. Flidais let the worries inside her fall away with his words, even if he was right and it was a little mean. “I… I don’t… god, Flid, look, I love you. I love you for everything you are, everything you were, and everything you will be. I loved you the moment you appeared on that fence, and I loved you every second you were sinking to the bottom of the Gulf, and I loved you every moment I’ve been back from the dead. You said I wouldn’t love you as you were, and you were wrong, but… I could tell you weren’t happy, with that. That there was a you in there that couldn’t get out, and while I loved you and I was happy and willing to love you every second you were Konrad’s childe, I prefer to love the you that wants to live in the skin you have now. I love you when you’re sad and I love you when you’re happy, but you know as well as I do that we both prefer you happy.” Vince chuckled, a little awkwardly, because it wasn’t an easy thing to admit; finding distaste in someone’s personality wasn’t really a thing he wanted to admit out loud, but it was true. She had been diminished, and he’d noticed, and he’d loved her for all of her faults, but getting herself back only meant he loved her all the more. “What matters to me is that you’re happy. Which, you are, right? Like, I know I just asked, but—”

“Vincent Renato, you make me the happiest woman in the damn world. You don’t need to worry about a thing.” Flidais replied, and she laughed again, and Vince pressed a kiss to her lips as she laughed and it only made her laugh harder, almost collapsing into his arms. She hadn’t laughed properly in over a decade, and now she felt like she was making up for lost time. Vince didn’t hesitate, pulling away but never letting go of her hand, leading her, instead, to the stairs.

“I mean, there is a thing I do have to worry about, but it’s whether or not I can sweet talk us past the line of reservations and get us inside for a bit of dinner, not anything to do with you.” Vince elaborated, leading her down the stairs - pausing only briefly to run his fingers over the fading FL on the wall - and then out onto the street. He only briefly waited for the cars, pulling her along at a half jog and making Flidais laugh again, even as a passing car honked and she felt the machine ruffle her skirts. He paused on the sidewalk, the people milling around nothing to him now that she was there; they were simply bodies, unimportant, the sun in front of him too bright for him to see. “I mean, unless you don’t want to get dinner?”

“I’d love dinner, Vince.” Flidais said, and he grinned, pulling her over to the host at the door. He straightened himself up, cracking his neck slightly, before smoothly rolling over to the host stand and leaning on it. The host hardly looked up, until Flidais felt Vince turn on some kind of supernatural charm, and then the host acknowledged him, looking at him like a celebrity had wandered up and she hadn’t noticed. He put on his best, least sleazy grin, even as he knew he was about to be the most hated man in the room, if the line of people waiting to get through their reservations said anything.

“Hi, I’m so sorry, I think I made a reservation for nine-thirty, but I didn’t get any confirmation email? It should be name of Renato.” Vince said, and he was smooth, charming, flirty, and Flidais found herself wanting to pull him away and kiss him again; she wasn’t surprised at the supernatural edge that he’d popped to get the host to agree with him, however, as she was aware he’d been taught such by the Prince. She was surprised at how little it affected her, or, at least, how little it seemed to matter, but clearly, her attraction to him superseded the blood. The host, thinking Vince some kind of powerful person they’d almost snubbed, quickly checked the books.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t have that name down.” They said, quickly scanning the line, panic on their face for a moment. Flidais knew they were doing the math, and the supernatural miasma that Vince was putting off wasn’t helping them make the numbers work. They sighed. “If you don’t mind a table towards the back, I could get you seated? We have a two-top by the kitchen; it’s likely not up to your standards, but…” They offered. Vince smiled, the kind of smile that said he was the easiest person to please and the host had no reason to worry.

“That’ll be just fine, and I’m so sorry if the mix-up was on my end.” Vince said, and he ignored the faces in the crowd and the looks of disgust or surprise as the host led him to the door, passing him off to a server just inside.

“No worries, sir. Now, Heather will take care of you for the evening, and if you have any questions, let us know.” The host dismissed them, and they followed the server through the restaurant; Vince looked to the bar, where he’d sat the first time he’d been inside, a walkie in his ear and a powerful vampire wanting to kill him at his back. He remembered, briefly, the fire, and the zombies, and he felt Flidais squeeze his hand in response; they weren’t there, anymore, and the woman who burned things had gone up in flames herself, while the man that had sent them was now one of their best friends. Or, at least, that’s what Vince thought. Konrad probably didn’t agree.

The server sat them, and Vince quickly ordered a bottle of wine, V label, his own pride hard to contain at the fact that his brand of blood was featured in the restaurant. It was a Kindred venue, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise, but he was still elated as they were sat and the server went to fetch the bottle and glasses. Vince didn’t hesitate, scooting his chair in so he was as close as he could be to the woman across from him. “Okay, so.” Vince said, softly, having to speak up a little to be heard, “I… I didn’t really plan this. The blood sort of pointed me in a direction and I followed, y’know? But… back on the road trip, back in Texas, you said you wanted to get married, and I absolutely said yes. I’ve wanted to marry you from nearly the moment we met, because you make me the happiest man in the world. But I wasn’t ready, then, and I think… I think I’m ready, now.” He said.

He pulled the ring box from his pocket, holding it across the table for Flidais to see. The copper and green glittered in the yellow light of the restaurant, and Flidais beamed at the sight. She slowly, carefully, pulled the clamp from her finger, setting it lightly on the table with a level of reverence that was not becoming of the used car part, before Vince pulled the ring from the box. “Flidais O’Riordan, I know I’m a mess, and you’re a mess, and everyone and everything we love is a mess. But I want to be in this mess with you for as long as I’m allowed to draw not-breathe this second time around, so, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” He asked.

Flidais let him slip the ring on her finger, and it glittered in the light. “Absolutely, Vince.” She said, and she grinned, and he grinned, and the waitress grinned as she approached with two glasses and a bottle of wine, clearly able to see for herself what had happened. Vince pulled back, a little embarrassed in being caught, but Flidais just grinned up at the waitress, far too happy to hide it any longer.

“Congrats, guys!” The waitress served the wine, clearly trying not to turn her nose up at the weird, rich people wine she had to pour. “When’s the wedding?”

“September!” Flidais said, and she laughed when the waitress balked, because September was only a month away. She laughed, and Vince laughed, and even the waitress managed a chuckle as she left them to it, which was good enough. It was only a month away, now, so close and yet so far, and for once in fourteen years, Flidais felt real excitement for her future.

Mostly because she knew Vince would be in it for the rest of their lives.