Characters on Couches

Hello, again. 

Today, if you did not read yesterday, I am taking part in something called Characters on Couches. It is hosted by the lovely, and perhaps insane, Murphy. *snerk* "perhaps", I'm funny.

ANYWAY, if you follow that link it will take you to her blog which you should totally check out, you know, once you've finished reading here.

Enjoy.

Characters on Couches #1

Damon and Nicholai

Here we go. I've never done this before, so it will be an experience. But then again, neither have they. I have called in two of the men from Mortality, Damon and Nicholai, both vampires, and both fighting on the same side. Nicholai has an animosity towards Damon that is more than just jealousy, and we are gathering here today to find out just what that reason is.

Damon arrives first, punctual, as usual. He wears black pants, tight, but loose enough to allow movement. His blue shirt just barely shows through the gap in his long coat. I don't know why he bothers with the coat, we both know he can't feel the cold. His black hair hangs almost to his shoulders and no matter how pristine the rest of him is, it's in perpetually disarray. It doesn't help that he runs his hands through it constantly, as now.

“Come in, come in, please sit.”

His deep blue eyes turn to me, and even as his author a feel a tingle to my fingertips.

“So this is the real world, then?” He does finally sit, back straight, hands palm-upward in his lap. He wasn't allowed weapons, though he seems quite comfortable without them.

I laugh, sitting on the desk I fashioned for myself, instead of behind it. “It's my world, if that's what you mean.”

I decided I'd go with a sort of business-like attire. Keep things professional. But I detest skirts and so am wearing a nice, dark gray suit. My hair is pulled back into a neat pony tail, keeping it out of my face and keeping with the professional motif. The time ticks by as we wait for Nicholai. My foot taps of its own volition, and out of nowhere the song “Some Nights” by FUN begins playing.

Damon quirks an eyebrow slightly as he looks at me, and I can see why Devin would fall for him, even if she didn't have a choice. I can feel my cheeks redden as, even though this is my world, I put the music back in my head. Just as the silence is beginning to get awkward, at least for me, the door bursts open, slamming against the wall.

“What in the nine hells is going on? Where are we?” Nicholai.

Perhaps at one time he was considered handsome. His hair is short and blond, his eyes are a brilliant, bright green, and his muscles are large and well defined, while Damon is more lean. However, any good looks he may have had are destroyed by the sneer that is pasted on his face.

Damon sighs. “We are in the world of our authour, Nicholai, please try to keep up.”

He is nothing if not polite, though Nicholai sees the hidden insult. It's cleverly done, if I do say so, but I clear my throat. Arguments like this will get us nowhere.

“Now, do you both know why you are here?” I look to Damon and then to Nicholai, who stands far too close for my liking. “Please, sit, Nicholai, I can't stand people who tower over me.”

Nicholai does what I asked, sprawling in a seat he scrapes against the floor, pushing it farther away from Damon's. Damon watches with a bemused little smirk, I swear he knows how good looking he is, but the look disappears before Nicholai can catch sight of it. He looks directly at me, or through me (I'm not so sure), as he answers.

“You have not informed us of what it is you wish, though as it is only the two of us, I can guess.”

I nod, motioning for him to continue. 

“I wish it to be understood that I bear no animosity toward Nicholai, he has disliked me from the moment we recruited him.”

I swear, I love the sound of his voice.

“And how did you recruit him?”

“His was an abnormal case, you see, normally they come to us. But twenty-eight years ago-. Surely you know this.” His head tilts to the side curiously.

Nicholai continues, not waiting for my confirmation or denial of knowledge. “Twenty-eight years, seven months and three days ago, they saved me from a Hunter.”

“Alright. I'm confused. Why did their saving you make you hate him?”

“I could have handled myself quite well without them butting in,” he shoves his chair back and stands, facing Damon. “You have your precious Devin now, but what about me?”

He's yelling, but Damon just sits there looking up at him, letting it wash over him.

“You kill the Huntress “accidentally,”” he actually makes the air quotes and I fight the urge to giggle. I never giggle. “and then put in my mind this grand plan to become mortal. What kind of sick game is that?”

Damon still doesn't say anything, so I ask. “What was this Huntress to you?”

He rounds on me, and if looks could kill, well, his story would never be told. His voice grows quiet, but no less angry. “She was my Soul Mate.”

Damon lets out a small moue of surprise, as I let out a similar squeak. It's a quite unbecoming sound to make.

Nicholai turns away from me, not looking at Damon as he heads for the door. “I will never forgive him.”

As the door swings shut, Damon looks like if he could, he'd be sick. He can't go green around the gills, or turn pale, but I recognize that look on his face. It's the look of someone holding down bile, or holding back tears. But then again, he can't cry either. He slumps now, the only time even I have ever seen him lose his composure. He cradles his head in his hands and speaks to the floor.

“I had no idea.” At first, I don't think he's going to say anymore, but before I can go and comfort him, he continues.

“Normally we try to explain things, set them on the trail of others, some of Damian's crew perhaps. But she refused to listen. Even then we try to spare them, perhaps knock them out and leave them some place harmless.” He takes a deep breath. “I messed up. I let myself succumb to the Ahrin, and when I returned, well, that werewolf got off easy.”

He stands now, and gives me a sad smile. Like the metaphors I use far too often, it makes my heart ache.

“That is all you wished, correct?”

“Uhm, yes.” As he walks toward the door, I remember what I forgot. “Oh! If you could please tell the girls that I will be seeing them next week?”

His back goes rigid. He stops with his hand on the handle. He slowly turns toward me. “What girls?”

“You know. Helena, Hope, and Dev-.” Before I can finish her name, I can't breathe.

I'm off the desk and Damon has pinned me by my throat to the wall behind. His eyes are mostly black, though I can tell his fighting the Ahrin. “You are not putting her in a room with the two of them.”

I manage a smirk despite the fact I can't breathe. As I look at him, the arm pinning me to the wall begins to move of it's own- well, my own- volition. It's a battle of wills, and I, as his author, am going to win. His arm is at his side, and I can breathe again.

“You cannot tell me what to do, Damon Fa'erha.” His eyes narrow in surprise. “Yes, I know your true name Mr. Damncry. Now, you will either tell the girls or you won't. That's up to you. But I will be seeing them.”

I slip out from around him and pick up my clipboard and pencil.

“Have a good day.” He bows slightly before gliding through the door.

Once he's gone I throw myself into the unused plush chair behind my desk and finally let out the sigh/giggle suppressed the entire time.

“I take it you enjoyed that?”

The closet door opens and Hilia stepped out. Her almost lemon-yellow hair is loose but for two thin braids that circle the crown of her head. It looks quite lovely. Her sharp green eyes seem to look through me as she looks at me, however, and goose bumps raise on my arms.

“I did. So what do you think?”

Hilia shakes her head, taking a seat in the chair Damon had used. She taps her chin with her thin, perfectly-manicured fingers. “I know Damon's mind better than he does, and he did not lie. Nicholai, however...”

She trails off.

“Was he lying?”

“Oh no, no, you misunderstand me. I am quite certain he was telling the truth. I do not believe he wishes to become mortal again, however. I believe he sees his existence as penitence for letting the girl he spoke of die.” Hilia's eyes are distant as she glances at the other chair.

“Really?”

Hilia shakes her head slightly. “I cannot be sure without actually seeing into his mind. But I am quite sure.”

“Damn... Never would have guessed. He always did seem like he enjoyed being a vampire.”

“Oh no, he does not enjoy it. I do not believe any hates it so much as he. He feels he deserves it. He deserves it because for all his strength, he could not save the one he loved.” Hilia stands now and tips her head to me. She leaves without another word.

Setting my clipboard and pencil on the desk, I realize I forgot to take notes. Damn.