Prompt Post: ROUND SEVEN
ROUND SEVEN IS CLOSED
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<< ROUND SIX | ALL ROUNDS | ROUND EIGHT >>
Rules post.
Posting Guidelines.
Flat view.
Updates Post (WIPs only)
Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
There is a delay on comments appearing when there is a URL in the message body. This is due to an LJ anti-spam ( Read more... )
Erik was prowling the mansion halls, less restless than usual but still checking the windows, walking the layout, glancing outside and then having to bite the inside of his cheek. They're so vulnerable here, just Charles and a handful of children, in this huge an unfortified house. The only advantage they have is that Charles should sense any intruders--
And Charles. He's probably off reading somewhere, but Erik very deliberately has not gone by the library. He is not looking for Charles. He is certainly not going to go find Charles, that would be...strange. In any case, he should probably check in on the children, if only to make sure they hadn't broken anything important, and because they were in one of the rooms ahead, anyway.
Moving quietly, Erik went to the door and pushed it open without a touch, then stepped into the room.
He froze.
Dimly, he registered that, yes, the children were in the room. They even appeared to be fine.
Des nuits d’amour à plus finir...
Raven and Angel were entwined in each other's arms, slow dancing in a way that might be a parody of the real thing or might not be. Angel was humming softly under her breath, but that is not what Erik sees, hears.
Erik blinks--
The room Erik is in, several degrees cooler and carefully sterile, is filled with metal things he can feel but not move, not right now. The humming he hears is lower, deeper, startling for how perfectly, how happily on pitch it is. It comes from above Erik and slightly to the left, and herr doktor is wearing gloves covered in blood. Erik smells it in the air; tastes it. Something about it calls to him, either the iron or the fact that it's his own life fluid. He wants to panic (there's so much blood, so much, and he's still new to this and herr doktor promises, always, that if he's quiet, it will hurt less), wants to bolt, but his chest is rising and falling too fast for him to breathe and the scalpel cuts deeper each time, moremoremore blood, more.
"Les ennuis, les chagrins s’effacent," herr doktor sings, a small smile on his lips, unbothered by Erik's hyperventilating.
He puts down the scalpel on an already bloody tray, and picks up a small drill.
"Heureux, heureux à en mourir..."
--and then Erik steps back out of the room.
By the time the children wrench the door back open, Erik has already torn down the hallway and made it out the door.
None of them can find him.
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