danger (brings people together) || mara & juliet
Curiosity often drew the redheaded vampire to large crowds, and unsurprisingly, the Halloween Block Party attracted plenty of townsfolk. More than half of whom Juliet had never seen before, and she couldn’t help but wonder where they all hid in the daytime. There were a few faces she recognized from her lectures, a few of them even offering small nods when their eyes met, and she found comfort in the familiarity.
She hadn’t bothered with a costume this year, opting instead for her trademark black slacks and a loose-fitting white top. It had never been her thing, and even when she used to dress up, it was mostly to appease Sofia and the tiny house guests that came by for trick-or-treating. Human children, apparently, had certain ideas about vampires, and were not satisfied with her answer of, “Well, I’m a vampire, obviously” - because that’s not what Count von Count looked like on Sesame Street. (She had, naturally, started dressing up as the purple Count for subsequent Halloweens, much to the delight of many three-year-olds.)
She was nearing the end of Main Street, where the crowd had tapered off to a couple of people here and there, when she heard someone call her name, clear as day. When she looked up, however, she couldn’t see anyone she recognized. And everyone around her seemed preoccupied with the Block Party events: be it pumpkin carving or chatting by the stand that declared in large block letters: PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES HERE! $1 PER CUP!
It was only when she was passing a coffee shop when she heard it again, louder this time: “Juliet!” It was almost the way a friend, or perhaps a more familiar acquaintance, would greet her, except that she didn’t recognize the voice. She paused in her step anyway, glancing in the direction it came from - which, of course, was an alleyway. Far enough away from the main crowd, but brightly lit - the latter perhaps just to offer something different from a typical murder mystery.
“That is your name, isn’t it?”
Juliet narrowed her eyes at the man who stepped out from behind a dumpster, crossbow carefully trained on her. She suppressed her basic instinct to snarl at the open display of hostility, body already tensing, mind running through a million different scenarios in which she would show this man how sorry he would be for pointing a weapon at her unprovoked. And then she would get answers from him: why he thought he knew her, what he wanted from her - if it was truly her he wanted. She took a step towards him.
“Ah-ah,” came a voice from behind her, and she stopped when she felt the cold press of metal through the thin fabric of her shirt. “This thing’s laced with vervain.” The arrow dug into her skin, and she hissed. She should’ve paid more attention; then she might’ve caught this coward sneaking up behind her. “You know what that is, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer him, instead training a furious gaze on the man in front of her. Ten paces would be all it took for her to be standing in front of him, ten paces and she could snap his neck, and she might be shot with the vervain-laced arrow before all that, and it would hurt like hell, but it was far from being staked through the heart. Before she could put any of that into action, however, her attention was diverted by a noise from the other end of the alley.
