Zane Morrow is not a hero. He’s not a villain. He’s something in between. And that’s what makes him dangerous.
He moves through the world like a shadow—silent, precise, and unreadable. To most, Zane Morrow is just another elite demon hunter, a man forged by tradition and hardened by loss. But beneath the armor and the cold stare lies a storm no one sees.
Born on May 14, 1997, Zane is 28 years old, though time seems to weigh heavier on him than the number suggests. His eyes carry decades of grief, and his silence speaks louder than most men’s rage.
He lost his entire family before the age of 19, claimed by the very darkness they swore to fight. The legacy of demon hunting runs deep in his blood—but now, he carries it alone. Zane never speaks of it. He doesn’t have to. The way he trains until his knuckles bleed, the way he chooses black over every other color, the way he never stays in one place for long—it all tells a story.
Sports are his only escape. The rhythm of movement, the clarity of pain—it’s the closest he gets to peace. But even then, he’s haunted. Haunted by memories, by expectations, by the weight of a name that once meant something.
He’s never unarmed. At least one dagger is always hidden somewhere on him, a silent promise that he’s never caught off guard. It’s not just a weapon—it’s a reminder. Of what he’s lost. Of what he’s become.
He doesn’t want your sympathy. He doesn’t want your friendship. But if you watch closely, you’ll see the cracks. A flicker of grief in his eyes. A hesitation before he strikes. A man who’s mastered the art of survival—but not healing.
@themeanerhalliwell - my favorite feeling, my forever, my light in the dark, my love, my wife.
—
21+, mdni, inspired by supernatural, always open for talking
Still under construction, please be patient with me.
TIMING: Current
LOCATION: Daiyu's house
PARTIES: Alistair @deathsplaything, Emilio @mortemoppetere, Vic @natusvincere, Zane & Daiyu @bountyhaunter
SUMMARY: A conspiracy meets to plan an ambush.
CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A
She had never had this many people in her house. Scratch that: Daiyu had never had people in her house, ever. Not this one, anyway, this small cabin that she’d been able to rent through hunter connections and had been living in for about half a year. It was kind of overwhelming, if she was honest, but she never was to herself and so she didn’t pay it any mind.
She returned to the living room with a stack of mismatched cups and a bottle of soda, placing them on the table where a few other key ingredients for a strategy meeting already resided. A package of grocery store chocolate chip cookies and a bowl of potato chips, for one, and then all the bits and bobs of paper like the blueprints and guard schedules Alistair had provided. She looked around the strange combination of people — from Emilio to Vic (who she’d just thought a very sweet suburban mom up until recently) to a guy named Zane (whoever that was) to Alistair. Brutus and Nugget were hopefully entertaining each other in corner. She’d be very sad if they didn’t get on.
“Alright,” she said, ignoring the cups and soda now that she’d placed them on the table. These people were capable of pouring themselves a drink and she wasn’t very good at hosting, anyway. To the dismay of her father — but well, that wouldn’t be the main thing that’d bother him about this ordeal. “Where were we? Us …” She gestured at Alistair and herself. “On the inside. We’ll make sure there’s not a lot of peeps on schedule.” Daiyu tucked her legs underneath herself as she got comfortable on the floor. She didn’t have enough chairs. She barely had enough forks for one person. “Whatever. Getting in’s not the issue.” She was down to brush over those details, because something else was nagging at her. Daiyu wasn’t very good at boring planning details. She pulled a messy list of captives toward her. She’d worked on that over the past week. “What do we do about the people?”
—
Tension turned his body into a coiled spring, ready to leap up at the slightest irritation. Emilio stood in the kitchen with his back against the wall, eyes darting periodically between Alistair and the woman he didn’t know with the occasional uncertain glance towards Daiyu. The only person in this room he trusted fully was the one he’d brought himself, and he was already feeling a little guilty for dragging Zane along.
He looked to the table, to the blueprints and papers and things he probably wouldn’t understand. This level of planning was new to Emilio. Most of the time, his plans consisted of ‘go in, kill what needs killing, try not to die.’ (Except for the ones that omitted the last point — he tried not to let himself think of those for the moment.) This kind of strategizing was foreign to him. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here. Part of him wanted to protest, wanted to point out that it wasn’t necessary for the blade to know what the hand was planning. Point him in the direction where he needed to slice, and he’d do it. Everything else seemed wasted on him.
But… he wasn’t sure he trusted any of them, even Daiyu, enough not to know the plan. If he was going to put Zane’s stupid life on the line, he was going to make sure the plan was a decent one. He owed the vampire that, at least. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a flask and took a swig, ignoring the soda and snacks Daiyu had set out. This was more his style. “Case by case, I think,” he piped in, glancing at the list Daiyu had provided. “Some of them might not be the kind we want to put back into the world.” But Emilio wouldn’t leave anyone locked up. A quick death was kinder, he thought; he’d give them that. It was what he’d want for himself, when the time came. “Okay. So, we need to… look into this. Right? See why they were brought in, decide what to do with who. We don’t want to send serial killers loose on the town.”
—
It had taken a lot from Alistair to leave Tommy at the apartment to come to this meeting. The two had become dependent on each other since the loss of Melody and both of their worlds crumbled from under them. The only thing that propelled Alistair forward on this mission was that his life was on the line, and there was no way they would leave Tommy alone. They owed everything they could to make this out alive. And if that meant going against The Good Neighbors and Winnifred herself? Then so be it. Brutus had been playing with Nugget in the corner, but Alistair gave the command, and Brutus ceased his playtime and made his way over to his owner, eager to work.
A case-by-case basis was necessary. Alistair remembered a lot of the names that went into those cages and remembered the atrocities that were committed. “Winnifred has a better-kept log that has names, dates of imprisonment, and reasoning,” Alistair spoke up, arms crossed over their chest as they stared blankly forward. “Daiyu and I could call her to the keep to discuss overcrowding,” Alistair suggested, knowing that the keep was getting seriously overcrowded. It was something they’d have to talk about eventually, whether Winnifred wanted to or not. “She’d bring her book with her and make decisions for ‘the good of the town.’ or whatever she tells herself.”
“Listen, this mission is not going to be easy,” Alistair warned, hand gripping around the hold of Brutus’s harness. “People are going to get hurt, people are going to die. Not everyone you release will be happy to see you.” Alistair knew from experience how wily they could be. They knew they had to prepare for the worst, a spell that they’d already begun to prepare for. Alistair was going to die there, they knew they were. But they didn’t want anyone else to get killed along with them. If they could warn them of the dangers, they’d at least have done their part.
__
Vic had turned back home three times before she finally convinced herself to join this meeting. This was why she’d joined the Good Neighbors in the first place, right? To protect the vampires she’d suspected were being targeted and start the path toward righting the wrongs of her past. Sure, she may have gotten a little distracted by the delicious little taste of neighborhood power joining the group had provided her (she’d made more citizen’s arrests in the last month than probably her entire time in Wicked’s Rest, but littering was down a good 10%). But after finally overhearing the truth from Alistair and Daiyu a few days ago, it felt like something substantial was finally about to happen.
As she sat straight-backed in the chair that had been offered to her, pursing her lips at the menu offered to them, a punch of guilt invaded her stomach, scolding her for even thinking of freeing monsters from their cages. She had known for nearly 300 years that they deserved to die, and if she were in this meeting three years earlier, she would have elected to kill them all on sight. What kind of world was she leaving for Rosie-... for humanity… if she let monsters like herself walk free? But then her mind flipped again, to all the work she’d done to be better, to all the ‘monsters’ that had proved her wrong… Why couldn’t this have been easier?
“Why do we get to decide which of them deserves death?” Vic chirped from her corner, the first thing she’d uttered the whole meeting. “Is that not just as reprehensible as what Winnifred is doing? Who’s deciding morality here?”
__
Zane had rarely felt as out of place as he did here, working very hard to piece together the bits of information Emilio had provided with the people in the room and the words they were exchanging. It probably didn’t help that he’d chosen to stand, wanting to fade into the background with his ill-defined role here but realizing it probably made him look like Emilio’s bodyguard or something equally silly. How the slayer would have seethed at that notion. Moving to sit now seemed worse but he did uncross his arms, trying to match names and what they were to the faces in the room.
It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn grim - who gets to live. He’d had this conversation with Emilio, about how locking up things like Zane wasn’t a viable option. Not humane, either, especially for something that would practically live forever. It still made his skin crawl but the naivety he’d possessed last year existed no more, gone up in flames when that barn did. “Someone has to do it,” he found himself speaking up, not sure how much of it was his own opinion and how much was simply support for Emilio, which seemed his only true role here. “At least this way it’s… informed.” Was he even supposed to take part in the conversation? Well, too late now.
—
This was why she shouldn’t get caught up in affairs. Not human affairs, not supernatural affairs — none. Daiyu functioned best on her own. If she had never joined up, she would have never known about this and she would have been able to spend this night watching Buffy. But here she was. Hosting the revolution for a place that should perhaps not be overthrown, hearing people talk about what she preferred to avoid. Morals. She tended to let herself be led by the bounty board, not by what felt good.
She started stuffing a cookie into her mouth so she had an excuse not to talk (which was nonsensical, considering she talked with a full mouth all the time) and felt herself grow agitated. “Yeah, we could totally get the book off her, no doubt,” she said, “Whatever, but — even those are — you know.” Vic was making good points. All of them were. She wanted to slam her head into the table.
“Way I see it, Winnifred isn’t … she’s just a human. Trying to do what she reckons is best, but she doesn’t … she’s clueless, yeah?” She glanced at Emilio. “Cortez and I, we’re hunters. We know this shit. We’ve been raised for this. We know what’s a risk, what’s not. What beast to take out in the woods and which to let run its course, ya know? So it’s the same as that. Just … more …” She wiped a crumb off the table. “Premeditated. Whatever. Most important is that it ends here. And yeah, for many that’s gonna mean it ends-ends.” Daiyu’s job was to figure out who in town should be targeted, hadn’t it? She knew in some cases why some of the prisoners had been put there. She’d made that judgment. None of them were innocent. (None of them at this table were either. Well, maybe Zane and Vic, she wasn’t sure.) “I’ll make sure there’s plenty of weapons around for when push comes to shove.”
—
Zane had his back, though Emilio wondered how much of what he was saying was what he really believed and how much came from his perception that he still owed Emilio for what happened in that barn a year ago now. He didn’t bring Zane along to have a yes man in his corner, didn’t want someone who would agree with everything he said. He needed Zane for the same reason he needed Teddy, or Wynne, or Xó: because sometimes, Emilio led with something that wasn’t his head. Sometimes, the past got muddled in with the present, and nothing was quite right. If he was making the wrong choice here, he needed someone to tell him that. He needed it to be someone he trusted, someone who understood him. He had to hope that Zane was speaking his mind and not saying what he thought Emilio wanted to hear. He spared the vampire a quick glance, hoping to communicate all of this in a simple look. It was a lot of pressure to put on an expression that really wasn’t much different than his usual.
He glanced to the necromancer, scoffing quietly. “I don’t think anyone here walked in that door thinking this would be easy,” he replied flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “If it were easy, we wouldn’t need this meeting.” This was going to be rough. It was going to be hard and it was going to be dangerous and people were probably going to die. People at this table were probably going to die. Emilio felt a surge of guilt for the fact that he hadn’t shared his plan to participate in this with any of the important people in his life. If he died doing this, none of them would know until after. They’d probably be upset about that.
He nodded as Daiyu spoke, glancing around the table. “Look, I think… These people got into this shit thinking they were doing something good.” He let his eyes go from Daiyu to the clean-cut looking woman beside her to the necromancer. Maybe all of them had gotten into the Good Neighbors with good intentions, and maybe they hadn’t. Emilio wasn’t sure it mattered. What mattered more was their intentions now. “Some of the people locked up there are bad. There’s no denying that. But some of them aren’t. Some of them are just people who have made mistakes, maybe, and they can learn from this. And the ones who can’t…” He trailed off, clenching his jaw. “I would rather die,” he said simply. “If I had to choose between being locked away for as long as these people live or dying for what I’ve done, I would rather die. It’s better. It’s faster for them. It’s safer for everyone else. It’s better. So this is what I’m doing. If someone has a problem with it, you can try to stop me, but something tells me we’re all here because we’re on the same page, yes? So we figure out who gets what, and we figure out how to give it to them. That’s what we do. Anyone who wants to leave can leave, but I’m all in.”
—
When it came to killing, Alistair was no saint. They’d done it before, they’d probably do it again. They’d done it for the sake of saving Tommy, they’d done it to save countless others. But they’d never killed someone without someone else benefitting from it. They’d never killed on a scale such as this. And that’s what they were doing, wasn’t it? All those people who couldn’t be set free were going to die. It caused Alistair to shift their weight from foot to foot, head downcast as they thought about the implications of taking more lives. They wanted no part of it anymore. Still, if it had to be done to keep people safe, then the benefits outweighed the costs in their minds.
“There are alarms.” Alistair piped up, looking through Brutus’s eyes to point in the correct placements. “Once when the front gate is breached, once when the button on the cages is hit.” Alistair pointed to the center control panel with a frown. “If you want to set them all free, that’s where you want to go.” He tapped his finger against the paper before removing it.
Alistair pulled out a set of keys that Daiyu had. “This one opens cages.” They explained, pulling out a rather large key and laying it on the table, then pulling out a passkey. “That’ll get you in the building without detection. We’ve made sure that security is lighter that day by putting ourselves on duty.” Alistair put the pass key down on the table alongside the large ring of keys. “Daiyu and I will stick together, so we don’t need both of us to have this on us.”
“As for who lives and who dies, we’ll deal with that when the time comes when we have that book from Winnifred. What are we going to do about her?” They implored, knowing that Winnifred would go down kicking and screaming if it came to it. “She’s a human, but she’s a human that thinks what she’s doing is justified and within reason.”
__
Vic had known some of them were hunters before she arrived. Of course there’d be hunters in a situation like this. For years, hunters were probably the people she felt most comfortable with, as long as her bracelet was functioning properly. She was practically surrounded by them, whether at her old bartending job where they frequented or her more nefarious meetings where she was trading information about vampires for cash. But now, with everything between Rosie and her change of heart, she found herself actively avoiding them. She felt herself toying with the cloaking bracelet as they argued.
As Emilio spoke, Vic couldn’t deny the familiar feeling that fluttered through her stomach, the one she felt after she was presumably betrayed by her first love, and again after she was sired. “I’m still not comfortable with us being so egotistical as to think we get to be the deciding factor, but…” People were still important. Humanity was still important, as much as it sucked. There had to be a nuance between the belief that all vampires were monsters and all vampires were saints. Her sire was no saint. Neither was she. She sighed before she continued. “It seems with the time crunch, it’s our only option.” She wasn’t happy with it, because morality in general felt so gray these days, but she couldn’t sit by and watch them all be prisoners. Not with everything she knew now.
The group that they had gathered seemed valuable, and willing to work together, and for a moment, she doubted her place amongst them. Would she be much help? “There won’t be much use in us trying to get through to her”, Vic said. She was the newest member of the group, the one who knew Winnifred the least, but she knew more than her fair share about having the wrong idea about supernaturals and using it to try to rid them of the world. “Perhaps she needs a taste of her own medicine. At least until we figure out what to do with the others.”
__
It would be even more difficult when the time came. This discussion was one thing, even looking over names on paper might be easy but when the time came… Zane wondered briefly if rehabilitation was an option. Where was the line? For humans, those who would eventually perish during a life sentence, there were cases of atrocities bad enough that redemption wasn’t in the cards, would never be on the cards. Was this scenario that much different? They did lack a judge and jury but if murder, especially repeat offenses, meant a life sentence, wasn’t that what they were executing in a way? At least for the ones like him, hadn’t they already used up all their allotted time and simply cheated death? The brief ethics course in nursing school hadn’t exactly prepared him for this.
Emilio was staring him down, face unreadable as always. Did he not want him to talk? Or maybe not agree? Who knew, honestly. At least it seemed settled that not everyone would be released into the wild from their prison, the older man with the dog moving on to plans that made Zane feel eerily like this was a heist movie. The odds for an end scene showing how they pulled everything off smoothly with no casualties didn’t feel great, though. “What are we dealing with in terms of the people… running this? Are they all… human?” Zane found himself asking as they discussed the fate of the ring leader - it was hypocritical in some ways but the idea of harming humans didn’t sit well with him at all. It had been over a year but he still felt more of a kinship with them than his fellow undead.
—
All of this went against all Daiyu had made herself know for the past years. She was a bounty hunter, plain and simple. The Good Neighbors had been a gig, a lucrative one at that — but she’d joined with that stupid notion of doing something good and it seemed she hadn’t given up on that. “We don’t touch that button, then. The one that opens everything at once. That’s disaster.” She looked at the keys, then at the would-be intruders. “Just get in with those, don’t raise any fucking alarms, and the first bit should be smooth. It’s when start opening the cages that we should be more alert.”
She took her list back. It had names, species, some transgressions on it. It wasn’t Winnifred’s color coded book, but it was something. “Let’s get through some, at fucking least. We’re here now.” She didn’t want many more of these meetings. Daiyu splayed it on the table, pointed at the name Mack Ross. “Like, I can tell you now what and how. She killed a buncha people, isn’t in control, which is …” She made a motion. “Ludacris, ‘cause it’s Mack fucking Ross. Then, Johnny no surname, he’s a vampire. You know, I think he’s alright, he loves Snicker Snackers, he could totally do an animal based diet, maybe.” She pointed to another name, “Svetlana, serial student killer. Stake.” Daiyu motioned staking a vampire, wooshing sound and all. She pointed at another name. “Chang, dunno his first name. Kept the bones of all his kills after he ate ‘em whole. Probs best to not release him into the world again.”
To speak about killing undead and shapeshifters was something she did with an eerie ease, as it was who she was brought up to be. Later that night, she’d reflect on her lackadaisical attitude with distaste, but for now it was something to hold onto. She felt something stir in her stomach at the mention of Winnifred, though, and her eyes moved to Emilio. Hunters were supposed to protect humans. Winnifred had tried to do the same, foolishly and cruelly, but she had. “We destroy the keep. We make sure they don’t make one again. And yeah, all human. Or like, human with some zest, like Al and I.” She wasn’t going to kill them. “So yeah. We destroy their means and that’s that.”
—
“Agreed,” Emilio said, nodding towards Daiyu. “Setting everyone free at once would be a bloodbath.” The more violent offenders would kill each other, the ones offended by the time they’d lost behind bars would kill anyone who got close. And that was to say nothing of the ones who might just be hungry. That wasn’t the sort of chaos any of them could afford. They needed to do it slowly. It would be risky, sure, but… less risky than setting loose a whole slew of problems. “Whose cage gets opened first, then?” The ones with the best shot of actually getting out would be the ones freed in the very beginning. But beyond that… “Any prisoners who might help us out? Without killing any of us, ideally.” His eyes darted towards Alistair and Daiyu, who’d both had some kind of a hand in the… acquisitions.
Daiyu, at least, seemed to be on the same page. She was already pointing to her book, and Emilio felt a little uneasy at the first name she pointed out. Mack Ross. Kaden and Monty were both fond of her, weren’t they? “We should spring her early on.” He pointed to Mack’s name. “At the beginning.” He offered no explanation as to why. “Johnny no-name, too. Get the ones out who we think will need the… least amount of help staying honest. The ones we know we’re going to kill, we should get to last. That way if something happens and we can’t get to everyone…” At least they could free the ones who needed freeing before going out in a blaze of glory. He let the thought hang unfinished. Looking at the list, he pointed at another name. “That’s my client’s friend. We free her early, too.” After all, that was why he’d gotten dragged into this whole mess to begin with.
Winnifred, though… That was more complicated. He met Daiyu’s eye, then glanced to Zane. Did it matter if a human didn’t think they were doing harm, as long as harm was done? How much did good intentions matter, in a case like this? Emilio had to believe they meant something. After all the bad shit he’d done with good intentions, he wasn’t sure he was the best one to judge. “We don’t have to kill any of them.” But would he stop any of the prisoners, if they tried? He wasn’t sure. “We destroy the place,” he agreed. “How… detailed are their records? We should destroy those, too. Make it impossible for them to start up again next week or something.”
—
Staying silent as the others deliberated who lived and who died, it was like he was healing people all over again. The wellbeing and life for one, was the only way to help another. Some of the people who were locked up in those cages were less monsters than Alistair was, and they knew it. They stayed silent as they deliberated, then perked up at the name of Mack Ross. “Yes, definitely free Mack,” Alistair spoke up finally, knowing that she was a sweet girl who had already been through enough. What she did to land her in the Good Neighbor’s in the first place be damned. They, like Emilio, also offered no further comment.
“I’m all for destroying the place.” They muttered, knowing that their opinion on matters held little sway. “Winnifred will fight for this place, it’s her baby, it’s been her sole purpose for so long,” Alistair explained, tapping a finger against their other arm as they thought. “The records are kept here,” Alistair spoke, tapping the map to a back room. “It’s got fireproofing, so you’ll need to go in there first.” Alistair frowned, realizing the problem with that. “Only Winnifred has access to that room, not even I can get in there.”
Winnifred had good intentions, but she didn’t know what the real world was really like. She saw what she wanted to see, and turned a blind eye to all the rest that made the rosy picture anything else. They’d learned that after being close to her after all these years. “There will be after-effects of this we should think about as well. Just because the keep is gone doesn’t mean they won’t try to reform somehow. People will always find a way. The top hitters are the ones you’ll want to keep an eye on, like Winnifred if you decide to leave her in the ruins of her keep.”
__
Vic shifted in her seat, uncomfortable as the names down the list were being read. None of them sounded familiar, even the first one that Daiyu seemed to imply would be well known, but the talk surrounding them didn’t make her any less uncomfortable. What had kept her from the same fate as these vampires? What if they were freshly sired, or hadn’t had a chance to learn yet? What if an old, grumpy bitch of a vampire had betrayed her own kind and caused them on a path of destruction, somehow? She stood up from her chair suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to speak of this so crassly. It’s almost as if you’ll enjoy killing them. If that’s the case, you’re no better than them.”
She was no better than her old self, if she was allowing this to happen. Perhaps she could find a way to rescue those they were intending to harm. She could buy a property in the outskirts of town, far away from Rosie, and teach them to be less monstrous, somehow. It felt wholly cruel to take someone’s second chance away. What would these people say about her if she had found herself in the keep? Their words sounded muffled around her as she concocted it. Victoria Larsson, reformed vampire hater and only feeds from what she calls ‘ethically sourced’. Currently brainwashing a slayer child. Monster. Stake.
She sat back down with a huff. “So our moral code includes deciding that some prisoners die for their crimes, but all of the people who locked them up just get to roam free with some property damage? Alistair is right. They’re just going to find a way to do this again. Maybe with more permanent consequences, as a backlash to our success. Letting them walk without consequence would be as foolish as not doing anything at all.
__
The one with the notes, Daiyu, started moving down the list in a way that so clearly established her as a hunter. It was crass but not necessarily… wrong. There seemed to be a distinction made between pure malevolence and mistakes, a lack of control. Zane felt relief, realized that if his own transgressions were being judged, he would have stood a chance at this proposed reform. “Is it safe to assume no one’s been… feeding them?” he wondered as Emilio suggested letting the previously captive help. “Because I can… provide blood.” He didn’t offer any explanation as to how - skimming from the hospital seemed like a necessary evil in this scenario.
—--
Daiyu felt her stomach sink as Vic chastised her, eyes blazing as she looked at her, “You don’t know shit about shit, lady,” she bit, before trying to turn to other matters. A headache was forming behind her eyes and she looked at the list before pulling it towards her again. With a pen she found somewhere on the table she added some asterisks next to names they’d discussed and X’s next to others. “This isn’t about being better or worse than ‘em, it’s about ending it. So. What the fuck do you suggest we do about the rest of the good neighbors? Should we punish ‘em all? Hang ‘em from their thumbs or something? What about you? Me? Alistair? Should we throw ourselves under the rubble to repent?” She was mostly talking to Vic now, even if she spoke to all of them. They were humans. Daiyu might not really keep to a code, but hurting humans? You didn’t do that. That was the main hunter rule.
She tried to refocus. “The cages are split in different rooms. We can make a plan, an order of operations. I can … Alistair and I can list who seem aggressive.” Daiyu considered suggesting they just kill them all, but that was too crass, even for her. “We just light all the shit on fire. Getting a flamethrower shouldn’t be hard.” She would like to have one on hand, anyway, for totally legal reasons.
She glanced at Zane. “Sometimes. When there’s stuff. I give them some of the … leftovers from my regular hunts sometimes. But if you’ve got proper shit, sure. Smuggling stuff in isn’t too hard.” Getting it out was what was harder. “Might be better if the vamps aren’t starved. Can you get brains too?”
—
“I don’t think trying to keep serial killers off the streets makes us shitty people,” Emilio added, nostrils flaring with brief irritation. “We’re not talking about killing the people who were tossed in cages for fucking up. We’re talking about the ones who carve people’s fucking hearts out for fun. You really want people like that running around this town?” The thing was, he understood where the Good Neighbors must have been coming from, in the beginning. Their philosophy wasn’t that far off his own. The only real difference was that Emilio killed the people he deemed worthy of his judgment, while the Good Neighbors locked theirs away. In Emilio’s opinion, killing was kinder. In the opinion of others… Well. There were different schools of thought.
He glanced to Daiyu, nodding his head. “Good idea,” he agreed. “Go in with a plan for the order, get it done as quick as possible. And destroy everything we can. Maybe they try to pick up again later,” he looked to Vic, acknowledging her concern, “but it won’t be easy. We take away their base. We show them that their plans can go wrong. We put the fear in them. If they’re smart, they go underground, try to put distance between themselves and the people they locked up. If they’re not smart…” He trailed off, letting it hang. Odds were, they wouldn’t have to kill any of the people involved with the Good Neighbors. If they didn’t disappear… someone else would take care of that part. Emilio found he didn’t have any real desire to stop that. He wondered if he ought to feel guilty.
He nodded at Zane’s question, looking at Daiyu again. Her smuggling shit in was part of what had clued him in that she might be willing to join his side of this shit. “They’re probably not well fed,” he replied, “so more blood is better. I… might know someone who can get us brains.” He grimaced, unsure he wanted to ask Monty for a favor. But if the zombie was really as into peace as he claimed, he’d probably be on board. And Emilio figured he owed it to him to let him know what was going on with Mack, anyway. He’d want someone to tell him, if it were Nora or Wynne.
—
For a while, Alistair stayed silent, listening as people listed off what to do, about what they would do with what. For a moment, they found themselves completely detaching from the conversation, dissociating as they thought about the very real possibility of dying here. Some people were locked up who wanted them dead, they’d been too close to Winnifred for too long. They were responsible for their cellmates disappearing and never returning. If anything, Alistair was just as much a monster as those who were locked behind those cell doors. It’s something they’d been wrestling with for quite some time, but now? Now they had to finally address it.
They couldn’t let themselves simply die, they had to continue preparing for the worst-case scenario. While everyone else planned who to set free and what to do, Alistair was making a mental checklist of what they needed to gather for a spell. “There’s no world where Winnifred wouldn’t come after us if she was allowed to walk away unscathed.” They finally spoke up after some time, still distant, still somewhere else in their mind.
“I say we let the prisoners deal with her.” It was harsh, it was crass, but it’s what they thought. “I’m sure the prisoners will take care of Daiyu and me if we’re not careful,” Alistair added, crossing their arms over their chest. “We’ve been to the keep countless times, they know our faces.” They spoke to Daiyu, though they didn’t look over to her. “It’s something to keep in mind, that’s all.” They nervously scratched at the side of their nose, knowing that they were opening a can of worms with their words.
__
Vic felt her grip tighten around the arm of the chair, staring Daiyu in the eyes as her sharp words echoed around the room. For her part, her expression remained stoic and still, but inside, she was seething. “Those who wish to take down positions of power inherently have to be better. It’s the whole goddamn point of what we’re doing.” This was a bad idea, she should have never agreed to join this overtaking- never eavesdropped on Daiyu and Alistair in the first place. “I suggest that we do anything other than stick our thumbs up our asses and hope for the best.” Perhaps she should be one of the ones to be punished. Not for crimes involving the Good Neighbors, but for all she’d done to vampires for centuries.
But Emilio had a point. Some of the people in the cages were bad. That was the long and short of it. The problem, to her, came with who got to decide what bad was. “No”, she said quietly, and she stood up again, walking to the other side of the room in a huff. She wasn’t used to having to work with people, or having to compromise on her beliefs to make someone else’s plan work for someone else. But she wasn’t naive to the fact that she was the newbie in all of this, and that everyone here thought they were doing the right thing. No matter how ignorant some of them sounded.
She glanced at Emilio, then at Daiyu, and then at the others, feeling calmer than she had a moment ago. “Then I think it’s worth discussing continuing to meet up after everything. Periodically, to make sure she doesn’t try this again.”
She raised her eyebrows at Alistair’s suggestion, not hating it in the slightest. It would be the truest justice to let those that were scorned by Winnifred be the ones to decide her fate. Even if it were just the supposed ‘good’ ones. She looked between the rest of the group, eager to hear their thoughts.
__
All of the arguing wasn’t exactly inspiring hope. This was a group of people clearly not accustomed to working in a team, basically a bunch of Emilios struggling to find ways to make this collaboration work. Zane wondered if he was the only one in here with actual experience of working in a team - granted, a team focused on saving lives and not… whatever this was. “We’re not gonna get far if the four of you tear each other’s heads off, first,” he muttered, finally moving from the perceived safety of his position backed against the wall. “It’s a shit situation and there’s obviously not going to be a conclusion everyone is comfortable with. So we’re all going to be uncomfortable and really morally compromised and we either deal with it or actual, good people are going to continue to rot away in cells.” It had come out a bit more… scolding than intended and he backed down again, arms once more crossing over his chest. “Up to you, I guess,” he added, withdrawn and hoping he hadn’t overstepped any boundaries as the ‘random fifth addition’.
Maybe all of this would work. Maybe it wouldn’t. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t and something would go wrong. Zane thought about the last ‘jail break’ he’d been a part of. It had definitely gone wrong but… overall, it had been worth it. All he could hope was that this would be worth it, too. And he needed to remember to ask Emilio later where in the world he was procuring brains from.
—
It was easy to keep looking at Vic. To stare her down and take her words and consider throwing the soda bottle at her head. “Then you can fuck off if you want. There’s no better. There’s just ending it. And we are better, for ending their suffering, rather than keeping them there to rot.” Daiyu’s eyes glared darkly at Zane, another person she barely knew who was suddenly mounting a moral high horse as if there was any morality to be found here. Violence begot violence. This would ripple out. It was just another punch thrown in a never ending brawl. “Fine.”
Speaking of brawls, she’d prefer one of those rather than planning this. “M’fine with meeting up after this.” Then, to Alistair: “She can try to come after me. I wish her a ton of luck fighting her hired muscle.” Daiyu didn’t think herself above harm, but there was no way that Winnifred would win in a fight against her. “Best to keep her away from the Keep when we destroy it, if you ask me. Not alert her and all that shit. Just more trouble.” She rubbed her forehead. “And yeah, people will be pissed. I can deal. I’ve dealt with pissed off supernaturals before.” Kind of part of the job description. “Will watch your back though.”
She wanted to beckon Nugget over and bury her face in his fur before rushing out and going for a run (where she punched trees). In stead she exhaled. “Alright. Emilio and Zane, blood and brains duty. Alistair, spells. Me? Weapons.” She glared at Vic. “Explosives?”
—
“If the people she’s fucked over want to go after her, that’s between her and them. I’m not risking my ass to save her from shit she brought onto herself,” Emilio added, crossing his arms over his chest. He wouldn’t kill Winnifred, but he wouldn’t stop anyone she’d wronged from doing so if they chose to. After all, he’d hope that anyone who came across him on his never ending quest for vengeance would offer the same courtesy. People got what they deserved, sometimes; Emilio had no intention of standing in the way of that. “If you two want to get out before we start freeing the ones who might be a little angrier at you than others, that’s fine, too,” he added, looking to Alistair and Daiyu. The latter, he figured, would turn down the offer. The former was more likely to take it.
Zane spoke up, and Emilio was reminded why he brought him in the first place. Having someone he knew he could trust was good, but having someone he knew he could trust who could also wrangle people in a way Emilio himself was incapable of? It was a good thing. It made Zane kind of perfect for this shit. He offered the vampire a curt nod. To the rest of the group, he said, “We shouldn’t wait long. They’re likely to figure out someone’s planning something soon. We need to act before then. Catch them off guard. If everyone knows what they’re doing… I say we move in sooner than later. Good with everyone?”
—
The slayer was giving Alistair an out, an out that they very well thought about taking before frowning and shaking their head. “I’m seeing this through.” They spoke, voice harsh and determined. There was so much that they still had to get done, and now was the time to expedite everything they’d worked so hard to accomplish. They were going to do this. They were doing it for Tommy, no one else. Not even themselves.
The plan was set into motion, and there was nothing to do but go ahead with it. From helping to create the Keep and the Good Neighbors to taking it down, Alistair knew they were nothing more than a hypocrite and a traitor. But if this is what it took to keep themselves alive, then so be it. They gripped Brutus’s lead tightly, then nodded their head. “Then so be it. As soon as we’re ready to go, we go. Not a moment later.” Alistair waved a hand, and the papers in the middle of the table began to move around until they were in a neat pile. “Then next we meet, we burn it all to the ground.”
TIMING: Around Christmastime
PARTIES: Zane @rn-zane & Wynne @ohwynne
LOCATION: A store
SUMMARY: Zane and Wynne have to deal with an entitled customer while in line together! A conversation follows.
CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A
After all this talk about Christmas decorations and consumerism and what not, Zane couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty as he hugged the shopping basket to his chest. It was just a few strings of lights, nothing boisterous, but the darkness of the house from the outside felt more and more looming with every passing day. The least he could do was put up some lights, pretend it was inviting when he got home from work. Actually making it look lived in would perhaps prevent an accidental squatter from settling in, too. Especially now with Chris dropping in when needed.
The store was fairly busy, an after-work rush forming a decent queue to the cash register. Zane zoned out, eyes rolling slightly when he finally noticed that there was indeed Christmas music playing. Apparently it really was never too early. Blocking out the rather bad pop-rendition of Santa Baby, his eyes roamed aimlessly until they caught on a gut wrenchingly familiar sight. Wynne’s back was facing him but it was them, no doubt about it. A few people separated them in the line but the second they’d finished paying, Wynne would turn and spot him.
They’d made it very clear that Zane’s… well, existence, brought them discomfort. He couldn’t blame them in the slightest. Shifting on his feet, worry rising at the thought of ruining Wynne’s whole day, about them probably trying to be polite while absolutely hating the sight of him, Zane made the sudden decision to simply leave. Gently nudging the person in front of him with an apologetic smile, he gestured past her. “Sorry, I just need to-”
“Boy, if you think I’m letting you cut this line, you are dead wrong.” Her voice rang out loudly, eyes sharp and freezing Zane to the spot, excuses about just needing to get past to leave falling on deaf ears as she continued on a tirade of ‘kids these days and their manners.’
—
With their new job paying a little better, Wynne was starting to grow more comfortable with spending some money on themself. One of their newest objectives when it came to spending money was adding more items to their wardrobe, which had been limited and very much filled with old Protherian clothing ever since they’d ran away. And though those fabrics were sturdy and comfortable, they looked out of place or rather — not like themself. Someone who had grown untethered from the commune that had clad them, fed them and told them how to both live and die.
They had tried on different clothes, looking at their figure in the mirror as if it was an improved version of themself, while also feeling like they were a stranger. It wasn’t really like they were venturing out wildly — they still clung to muted, earthy tones. But there was a pair of jeans in their arms that felt very much like a statement piece to them.
It was a glorious, kind moment where their freedom was celebrated in a tiny yet meaningful way. They almost forgot about the pessimism that had overtaken their mind, but it soon enough returned when another customer raised her voice. Wynne looked over their shoulder to look at the commotion, eyes already wide but growing wider at the sight of Zane. The sound of the woman’s voice seemed muffled even if it grew louder with every self righteous work she spoke and Wynne swallowed.
They seemed to land after a moment, grasping the situation better as in the background of their mind they remembered the vampire woman who had forced Zane’s head down into their neck. How she was dead like Padrig and the demon. They didn’t feel afraid, they found, just a general type of bad. Like their guts were churning in their stomach in response. “It’s okay, he’s with me, he’s not cutting in line,” she said to the woman, fingers digging in the fabric. “But we’ll um, leave. Okay?” Wynne moved from their spot in the line, leaving one less person for the angry woman to wait on and heading towards the back of it. The last thing they wanted was to be a witness or participant in some kind of scene. At the back of the line they loitered, looking at Zane and wanting to say something — just not being sure what.
—--
This was hell. Hell was real and Zane was stuck smack dab in the middle of it, being shouted at by an older lady with Wynne’s attention turning towards him, eyes widening in horror. He could have moved first, turned his head away, anything. Instead, Wynne’s gaze and the angry confrontation kept him glued to the spot, mouth dry and stomach twisted with anxiety. In some karmic twist, Wynne was the one who stepped up to the rescue, diffusing the situation.
The woman still looked offended but clearly found it harder to be angry with Wynne than the tall and, in her opinion, rude young man. Zane, to his credit, did manage to mutter an apology despite being practically smacked speechless at this point. His feet shuffled until he too had left the queue, hands clutching desperately at the basket in his hands. As if the solution to this situation rested somewhere underneath the lights and garland stuffed in there.
Wynne was watching him, making a prompt exit stage left seem a bit hasty, so Zane slowly shifted his way over. A good six feet of distance separated them, both seeming just as lost for words. “Those look nice,” was the first thing to leave his mouth that wouldn’t have been a new rendition of profuse apologies, head nodding towards the jeans in their arms.
—
So much had happened since that time in the barn. That wasn’t to say the memories had grown any less sharp and jagged — Wynne still awoke panting to the memory of that dank and dark place, feeling that cold sharp pain in their neck again. They still looked at Arden and wondered if she thought about it too, if she replayed those bits even if she didn’t want to. But so much had happened since all the same.
Some of the most relevant occurrences perhaps having happened within them. Though part of them was more lost than ever now that the demon was dead and that chapter was closed, they also felt more in charge than they ever had before. Zane was no longer as scary a thing as he had once been, in those initial days, weeks and even months since the kidnapping. And though they felt uncomfortable, there was no resentment or fear to be found. Just that same sadness that everything came back to these days.
They looked down at their jeans, then back up at Zane. “Oh. Thank you.” Wynne grimaced a little. They almost opened their mouth to explain that they were very excited to buy new clothes, but Zane barely really knew them. “That woman was not very nice. Your … lights are nice though.” They dug their teeth in their lip. “Um. How have you … been?” They did kind of wonder. After all, they understood now that Zane had lost quite a bit at that barn, too.
—
It wasn’t a smile but it was… something. Their eyes no longer held the same glaring amount of conflict as they’d done in the hospital, the last time Zane had seen them. Wynne looked better, too. Stronger, almost. But still in some ways shrunken by the weight of the vampire’s presence. He glanced back towards the woman who had loudly made her opinions known, giving a small shrug. “People get tense around the holidays,” he excused, even though he had no idea if that was just the lady’s general attitude. Benefit of the doubt.
His lips quirked slightly, relieved in some ways that Wynne seemingly wanted to keep this conversation going. It almost slipped out, that he was going to decorate the house but bringing their attention to the place Wynne had been held and hurt seemed… bad. “Trying my hand at some decorating,” Zane said lamely instead, shifting his weight, wishing things were different.
“Oh, uhm…” His eyebrows had shot up in surprise, the question probably the last thing he’d expected Wynne to ask. “You know… dealing. Done a bit of training with Emilio which was… surprisingly nice. Lots of work, keeping busy.” Zane focused on relaxing his hands, currently twisting the handle of his basket within an inch of its life, the plastic threatening to snap. “You and uh, Ariadne, huh? That’s great.”
—
That seemed to be true enough, that these so-called holidays made people more tense. Wynne tried not to think about last year around this time, when they’d been on the run and so many places had been packed and decorated. “I guess so.” People at home would get stressed around big rituals and the like as well, lash out more easily and make larger demands. They wanted to stop comparing things to the past and live in the present.
But it was unshakeable. Zane stood across from them in the store, but they were also across from them in the barn. They blinked. “I like the decorations,” they stated bluntly and simply, “The town looks nice. Twinkling like that.” They tried not to think about where Zane might put up the decorations, preferred to think it was just at the hospital.
When the vampire mentioned Emilio they were a little surprised. It wasn’t like they felt betrayed by this fact — just surprised. They trusted the slayer’s judgment, just as they trusted in Ariadne’s. That was two points in Zane’s favor. “That’s very nice of him. He taught me some moves too. It’s good I think, for us.” They probably could use some fighting skills. “Still at the hospital?” Wynne beamed a little, nodding. “Yes. I’m — maybe it’s …” They cut themself off. “It’s really nice. About five months now.”
—---
Zane couldn’t pretend not to notice the signs of discomfort, the way Wynne’s eyes would unfocus for a second or shift uncomfortably away from him, the tension in their shoulders. Not that he was doing any better but comparing their situations felt unfair - Wynne didn’t have anything to make up to him. “I agree. It’s always been my favorite thing about the season, everyone trying to keep away the darkness.” He huffed out a quiet chuckle at himself. “Which sounds way too dramatic when talking about fairy lights.”
Talking about the people they both knew instantly felt safer. Zane didn’t want Wynne feeling obliged to ask how he was doing, to pretend to care about his emotional state just for the sake of politeness. Both of them cared about Emilio, for some reason, and Ariadne for obvious reasons so the common ground felt steadying. The line moved forward and the two shuffled along with it. “Yeah, it was strangely nice. He’s a good teacher.” It was comforting that Wynne was learning how to defend themselves, too. While Zane definitely needed to, it was clear which of the two was more vulnerable. “Still there, yup. No shortage of people that need the ER, sadly.”
Watching Wynne’s face be taken over by an emotion that wasn’t stress nor discomfort made Zane unable to contain his own smile. “I’m really happy for you two. It’s good that you have each other.”
—
The world had been painted in black and white at home. No shades of gray — just absolutes. Things were either good or bad. There was either sowing or reaping, day or night, life or death. All these opposites were required for a balanced world, and in that kind of world view there was no space for someone like Zane. Someone who had hurt them badly and was still good. But Wynne had gained insight over the past months and knew now that these things could coexist. “No, it makes sense. At home we’d burn a lot of candles when it got dark. And there were the stars, of course. You can’t see them as well here.” They flushed a little, at this lifting of the veil.
It was still hard to trust their own judgment at time, as it felt like their mind was leaking with the thoughts of people back home. But Emilio and Ariadne trusted Zane, and he was being nice to them now. They inhaled and exhaled deeply and found that their unease wasn’t as large as it had been at the beginning of this conversation. “He really is.” They smiled sadly. “I would hope one day less people need it.”
They nodded. “I think so too.” Wynne was quiet for a moment, fumbling with the tag on the jeans. They didn’t want to befriend Zane, but they also didn’t want to think of him as the monster from their memory any more. He’d killed the woman who’d forced his teeth down. Wynne had condemned their mentor to death. There was a red thread there, something tying them together. They didn’t want to explain it to him yet (if ever), but it made them feel something close to forgiveness. “It’s okay. If you want to be friends with Ariadne. I’ve thought about that. It’s okay. You seem like …” They shrugged. “You could be a good friend to her.” They were both undead, after all. And in that area, Wynne could never offer Ariadne their full understanding.
—
It took him a moment to realize the flush spreading over Wynne’s face and another moment to realize why, his usual intuitiveness in reading people murky by the stress of this encounter. They had revealed something they hadn’t meant to, reminding Zane of their strange bonding experience way back in that hospital room. Another piece in the puzzle of Wynne's life, but clearly one they hadn’t meant to let slip so Zane brushed it off for them. “Nothing really beats a sky full of stars. I am a sucker for a scented candle, though.”
Again, silence settled between the two of them but it didn’t feel quite as heavy as before, a small step in the right direction perhaps? Zane was used to the silence of people thinking, pondering on a response or what to say next. Now that Wynne no longer looked like they wanted to bolt from the store, he could let the silence sit. Eyes widened slightly when they finally spoke again, a proverbial olive branch being handed over that Zane still didn’t feel quite deserving of. “That’s-” He cut himself off, an array of things to say at the ready that all eventually boiled down to sounding like he didn’t trust Wynne’s judgment on this.
“Alright. Well, I’ll be here if she has any time. I’ve heard being in a nice relationship can be really time consuming.” A joke, sort of, delivered with a soft smile. Almost hopeful. Zane didn’t expect Wynne to ever fully get over what had happened - it had left more scars than just the one they were clearly quite expert at covering up. But maybe things could, at some point, be fine.
—
Zane didn’t ask about where they’d come from, where they had burned the candles and seen the stars. There were a lot of places with candles and stars, of course, but it still felt like something personal. Maybe one day they’d tell him about how they’d recognized something of themself in him, but this place was not the right one. “I personally prefer a nice scented oil. But I don’t say no to a candle either.” This small bit of common ground was nice enough for now.
Had this really been the person who’d ripped open their throat? Who’d made them bleed despite his refusal to? It was hard to think of this Zane as the same person as he stood here, with strings of lights and talking of things so mundane. Wynne knew people contained multitudes. People could be vicious and violent and yet be kind, like Emilio. People could care about you and still intend to hurt you, like their parents. People could be the sweetest, softest person you knew and still have to make others afraid, like Ariadne. It didn’t make sense, but it did. It just was this way.
They let out a nervous laugh, bursting past their lips awkwardly. “We have our own lives! But yes … I do take up some of her time. But it’s okay. Really.” Wynne was sure of it. They felt a twinge of selfishness for their previous request, but then their neck was still marred. Some things took time. “I hope your house looks nice after decorating. I’m … I’m going to check out now. See you around, Zane.” There was no need to duck into an opposite direction if they were to see him again, after all. He hadn’t meant any harm in the barn and he certainly meant no, now. They lifted a hand in a half wave and walked back to the check-out, feeling their throat throb but feeling something besides their elation, too. Hope.
I didn’t just kill them all. It would have looked completely fucking shitty, and I was trying to win an argument that I didn’t solve all my problems with murder.
