#ricposts

[frankenvamp]

Exams are the bane of my existence.

[frankenvamp]

white flag || rebekah

Stealing Damon's cell phone long enough to grab Rebekah's phone number had been easy enough -- the big baby had given him plenty of opportunity while he was busy getting drunk and bitching about... well, various things. Now, thinking of what to send to Rebekah to make sure she'd actually show up...? Eh, well. Ric figured seeing an unknown number sending anything at all would be enough to garner a thousand-year-old's curiosity, but if worst came to worst, she shouldn't be hard to find for himself.

Meet me @ the Grill, there's something you should know.

Next step was letting Damon know he had to bolt, and voila. 

While he was all for up front bluntness these days, he was thinking a truce wasn't exactly what anyone else on the A Team was all for... seeing as he hated the thought of it, himself, too. If all went well, he'd skip the part where everyone bitched and criticized and blah de blah, and let 'em know this was what they were doing in order to protect the recently revived and that was that. (And hopefully... Illyria would back him up on this if need be.) 

But this right here:  this was the hard part. Getting Rebekah to show up and actually listen without bolting and running to tell Klaus before he got a word in. Damn it he hated his alter ego -- needed to be said again.

It wasn't long before he was there, in his stool though, figuring if he was just... sitting there, inoffensive posture and drink in hand with one waiting  for her... maybe she'd get the hint? He couldn't picture his alter ego, from all he'd heard and the bits he could remember, sitting down to have a drink (which was strange and creepy.)

Alaric waited on baited breath, running over what he oughtta say in his mind, over and over again, and wishing and praying that for once, he could say the right thing and maybe, y'know, not screw up completely and endanger everyone he loved.

[frankenvamp]

Although Alaric was always scarred -- a small, barely noticeable indent on his face from a baseball incident when he was a child, one on his knee from a fall while hiking in his late teens -- when the Gilbert Ring began malfunctioning, he soon bore larger, less insignificant markings.

In total, Alaric died eight times. Unbeknownst  to anyone, the ring began malfunctioning after the third -- when his neck was snapped by his best friend in front of the Lockwood mansion. Since then, Alaric was hit by an SUV, causing minor scarring along his back, shoulders and elbows; stabbed himself, which caused an ugly and messier rope thanks to the confusion that night; stabbed by Elena, in order to save him; then had his neck snapped by Klaus. The staking that initiated his transition was healed fully thanks to the process of becoming a vampire, but because previous wounds had long since healed and had nothing to do with it, they were left.

Alaric has acquired one scar since becoming a vampire due to the superior and ancient properties of the inflicter; Illyria's crystal was placed near his heart.

[frankenvamp]

beaten || flashback

I’ve become a simple souvenir of someone’s kill, & like the sea, I’m constantly changin’ from calm to ill. Madness fills my heart and soul, As if the great divide could swallow me whole; Oh, how I’m breakin’ down.

Alaric wasn’t sure when exactly it happened. He was hungry — so he’d wandered into the kitchen. First, he’d opened the freezer door, checked for chunky monkey. Disappointed, he then turned to the cupboards, chastising himself for not keeping on top of the groceries for the kids… at some point, vertigo hit him like a freakin’ landslide. He’d held onto the counter, white knuckled. Something itched, inside — really on the inside. In his brain, something was there, where it shouldn’t be. It was hard to describe; but Alaric had brought a hand up to his head in confusion, before he stumbled over to the sink a millisecond later, thinking he was gonna hurl. 

And yet, nothing. But nothing changed, either. 

He could feel his insides buzzing, something… almost tickling his mind, brushing against it. A sick feeling knotted in his gut again, and he leaned further over the edge of the sink. A wave of — something — enveloped his mind, then. Like something was trying to push him out of consciousness... like he was drugged with some strong sedative, except this was all jagged edges and his heart felt like it was gonna bust, his chest felt tight with worry and pure, horrible panic, and an overall sinking feeling that was enough to have him gripping the sink for support just to stay on his feet. 

Anger. It was his, but it wasn’t. He was getting furious and he had no idea why… 

"Keep it together," he muttered to himself, and he was shocked to hear the strain in his voice. As he spoke the words, a migraine hit him so suddenly and horribly that it was enough to cry out in pain. He blacked out for two seconds, but he wasn’t going without a fight. Whatever this was… 

It was alien. It wasn’t him. 

The nerves in his hands felt fried somehow, numb, and Alaric had no clue that he even had something in his hands until he saw it through blurred vision when he came to again moments later: to his shock, upright, and clutching the meat cleaver from the kitchen knife block. He meant to put it down immediately — but then something inside stood, rose up, did something! — and it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was horrible. Empty and… evil. 

And a pained sort of panic, Alaric had no idea what was going on, let alone what he was doing. He could barely see, struggling for consciousness as he was, but he knew whatever it was that was trying to take control... It had to be stopped. He — no, it — took a step. ”N—” he ground his teeth so hard his jaw clicked, his temple jumping. “N-no.” The force pushed back, insistent, and beyond powerful. He did the only thing he could. Gathering all the control he possibly had… his fist snapped back to his torso; the one clutching the meat cleaver. 

His first thought was that it was cold. The blade was cold. 

Then he realized what he’d done as he spit up blood. “Wh…” He looked down at the knife before his eyes rolled back. 

Alaric was only out for about a minute before something in his brain kicked in, realizing that he was dying. It provoked consciousness, or at least some semi attempt at it. The blood loss was tremendous… pressing a hand to the wound, Alaric struggled to make his way upstairs to his cell phone… he didn’t remember much of it. He knew that at some point he’d realized the power was out, and wondered when it’d done that, or why, as he felt along the walls, trying to stay on his feet. 

God, this wasn’t like any of the other ones. He wasn’t coming back from this, was he? He was gonna die with a knife in his gut, trying not to slip in his own blood as he practically crawled up the stairs just to get to the goddamn phone to call for help… at the top, he wasn’t lying to himself any more. His limbs were the heaviest things he’d ever lifted. His eyes were refusing to stay open, and this creeping frost bite-like chill was slithering along his veins, making everything hazy and distant. He was cold… he wished, ridiculously, he had his jacket on. 

Halfway across the hall way he fell. “G-ahh!” The knife jerked inside, ripping a blazing fire through him, tearing tissue and slicing him into ribbons and everything was agony. He wanted to yell, scream for help, but the fall had stolen the use of his lungs, breath. In the doorway to Jenna’s bed room, he peered through blurry eyes into the darkness, seeing the outline of his cell phone beside the photo of himself and Jenna on the night stand. No matter how much he wanted to reach it… a part of him was okay that he wouldn’t, he thought. 

Then it was just a fight to stay alive. Drifting in and out, the warm blanket of death all too welcoming in this chilly hallway, his blood betraying him, leaving him, leaking between his fingertips so freely… 

[frankenvamp]

The party really never ends in this town, huh?