who: @frnoialles . ♡
where: Outside . / when: Day One, Hurricane Jac .
one day is almost nothing when it comes to preparations, especially given how deeply pathetic everyone is being about it. that frantic kind of panic is what gets people killed, not keep them alive. when you’ve prepared for years for the worst, it means hardly anything when it finally comes for you. and so, one day is nothing, but vera’s been stockpiling, locking down, and preparing long enough that their safety inside their apartment is uncompromised. however, the onslaught of weather grows unpredictable, ravenous. one day is long enough to gather five different ways to track a hurricane, brightly colored displays flashing with each change. vera’s working on a sixth, combing through a computer program that a college friend had made, something with satellites, when their finger brushes up against something in their desk drawer whilst looking for a pen.
vera finds the plastic edge of film, a polaroid picture shoved- out of their nature, character wise -out of the way. she doesn’t have to flip the photo over to know who it is. the flash burns into their mind, and vera remembers francoise’s dark eyes and wild curls. they close the desk drawer, firm, rising to their feet. she also knows of her impulses, the way she chases desire masqueraded so loosely as grand ideas. planning isn’t in the older vampire’s nature, critical thinking even less so. in this storm, in this hurricane, vera expects nothing less than her worst behavior.
it takes a single polite knock on the door of a downstairs neighbor, and vera’s invited in. the human inside is given specific, compelled instruction, and sent on their way. it allows vera to go back to their watching, and waiting, and observing.
vera watches through the exterior security camera footage as the human returns back to their apartment, and this time, they are there waiting for them. vera had sent them as a mobile set of eyes in a storm where they’d rather not be; compelled to locate francoise noailles, and report back, in detail, of what exactly she’s up to.
but they shouldn’t have asked, they shouldn’t have let concern for francoise and her wild parade of madness into their mind for even a moment because now … they can feel her. she’s tearing the control away from their hands, ripping it up into shredded, ugly pieces that scatter the ground like glitter. twinkling even under the storm, laughing. she’s laughing at her. she’s dancing in the fucking rain, under uncertain clouds that have no reason to hold, to hell with all and any consequence.
the compelled human is dead, body having fallen to their feet and a bloody heart in their hand before they’ve realized what they’ve done. vera’s hand clenches once, and then lets go. the fury envelops them, and their response is immediate. they leave the apartment with nothing but a black, heavy umbrella to shield themself with.
with a location, francoise’s not hard to find. she never is. wild curls, dark eyes, she dances under the sun like there’s nothing to fear at all, nothing that will burn, or swallow her whole, or suffocate her under the press of its waves. it’s completely out of their control, she’s completely out of their control, and they can’t have it. they won’t. so, they don’t. even in their anger, they’re fast, and exacting. they take her shoulders between their hands, a grip like a vice as they press her against a nearby wall. it’s not delicate, this violence. it’s not carefully crafted or intentions buried, gloved in leather. it’s savage, it’s real, it’s terrifying and vera has no problem with it. she has a problem with francoise. a very, very big one. in slamming her back against the wall, keeping her there, vera thinks they may have hit her head, too. good, so be it, maybe this will finally be the punishment that she learns from: a concussion that lasts all of two seconds, a momentary glimpse of dizziness. vera doubts it, so they push harder with tension held in their teeth and jaw, eyes harboring a storm of their own. they manage only one sentence without growling. “ what the fuck do you think you’re doing? ”
