[IC Scene]
The body crumpled on the ground had been dead for minutes, the facial features indiscernible, skull and soft innards mashed to a gooey pulp and the body’s supply of blood now a massive pool on the concrete. Even though the street lights were too far away to illuminate the dark alleyway much whatsoever, as Desmond regained control of himself, he
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It was heartbreaking for Desmond to see Greg so disturbed by his ghoul’s words and actions. No, Angelo hadn’t physically harmed Greg, but the mental and emotional toll he was taking on Greg was devastating itself. Angelo had been able to play on the vampire’s guilt to manipulate him in ways that drove Desmond positively mad. This evening Greg had been angsting over Angelo again and couldn’t be reasoned with. "Greg wanted to be alone so I left."
He’d left the hotel annoyed, but certainly not annoyed enough to murder a random passerby. "I saw a guy on the way here. He looked like that bastard." Desmond didn’t bother uttering Angelo’s name anymore; he had colorful monikers that he used in its place, and Luca should have been used to that by now.
Blond hair had caught his glance out of the corner of his eye, had prompted such a rage that he’d lunged at the stranger, shoved him into an alleyway to rip and claw the life out of him.
"It wasn’t him, but... that didn’t matter?" Those last few words were voiced as more of a question; logic told him that he shouldn’t have attacked the stranger, but from the blood covering his clothing, it was clear that he had.
"But why would I do that? Jesus, that’s stupid." Using his fangs in such a brazen way, and exuding inhuman strength to crack the human’s skull to pieces were certainly not the actions of someone wanting to uphold the Masquerade. Desmond knew the importance of keeping vampires a secret from the rest of the world, but those inhibitions had been forgotten completely during the attack. "Fuck me," he cursed, pulling his blood-stained shoes off with a huff and leaving them carelessly on the floor beside where he sat. "I’m in some big fucking trouble, aren’t I?"
Fear began to sink in; he knew killing random people wasn’t looked highly upon, especially in such a grotesque manner. It wasn’t necessary to kill to eat - but this murder obviously had nothing to do with filling a void in his belly. "I didn’t mean it, I swear - all right?" That unspoken ‘just don’t hate me’ was clear in his tone.
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A fact that he was not happy to learn he had been correct in assuming given the harsh reality of it.
"It's not good, no," he admitted hesitantly with a hint of disappointment to his tone, "I don't think it's impossible to fix though."
He carried too much of what he felt in his gaze sometimes, keeping a straight face was a learned skill but around Desmond it slipped at times because he was so used to being open with him in ways he guarded from other.
"You'll be in trouble if anyone knows, so we'll make sure nobody does."
All it really required was a little creative adjusting of the situation; removing bodies or making the scene less obvious and ultimately staying hopeful that it wasn't too late to do that. Covering one's tracks was a familiar skill for him, it just took a degree of calm and staying a step ahead of everyone else.
He watched Desmond for a moment, troubled by the lapse in control that had led to such a mistake. But he had to believe it was that, a mistake; because he wouldn't accept any other possibility. It wasn't Desmond; it was that streak of darkness inside him that they all suffered and fought, or else let roam free like cruel monsters. It was as difficult to suppress as his own tendency to want to steal for the sake of needing things in the moment that had little use; the thrill of doing it was his vice as much as anger was Desmond's messy little flaw.
As much as he wanted to stay right there that moment and tend to Desmond's fragile state time was an issue and a danger, something he couldn't afford to spare. When he pushed the shoes aside and snagged Desmond's hand instead he gave it a light squeeze.
"Tell me where you were as clearly as you can remember; I need to make sure nobody finds out exactly what happened."
It wasn't a very honest practice but some needs overrode rules and there was no real use in sacrificing Desmond's safety for the sake of some poor soul already departed; whatever it took to keep his kin safe. He felt a twinge of illness in the idea of murder, to him it was indeed very wrong, but what was done was done so the lamenting would have to wait until after the danger of discovery was dealt with.
"And while I'm gone," he added so that Desmond wouldn't simply be sitting there dwelling and wallowing, "I think you should get cleaned up so that when I come back we can talk, okay?"
The whole situation was far too serious for him, so outside his usual pleasant approaching the nights with that pleased and cheerful eagerness, but sometimes he had no other choice but to 'act his age', so to speak. And he had years on Desmond's that had taught him that when it came right down to it, ultimately, it was better to cover your tracks.
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"...five blocks from here maybe. In the alley by that store that went out of business," Desmond replied, giving Luca’s fingers a gentle grasp in return, then pushed himself up to stand, trying to avoid touching the wall to further dirty up the place with his stained hands. "I’m just... I’m really fucking sorry." Apologies weren’t really something that came comfortably to him, and he couldn’t really bare to look at Luca anymore knowing just how much he’d messed up this evening.
Desmond nudged a cat out of the bathroom with a gentle tap of his foot before closing the door behind him with his heel. A glance in the mirror prompted an eyeroll - he couldn’t believe how careless he’d been, and it was obvious to anyone that looked at him that he’d committed some kind of terrible violence. The blood on his hands and face would have to be washed clean, but he worked on removing his clothing first.
The fabric of his shirt felt cold in his hands as he unfastened each button, the once-warm blood now cooled and damp against his skin. Each piece of clothing hit the tile floor with a wet thud, and he turned next to rubbing his skin clean in the shower.
This was certainly not how he’d intended his evening to turn out.
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Bound to be an ugly fix, no doubt in that, when dealing with bodies and the end result of rage heated to the fiery point; he had to brace himself to accept the idea of covering up the attack to make it look as though some version of human violence instead and that was never his idea of fun.
"It is what it is," he replied evenly before seeing to it that Desmond climbed to his feet without mishap. "I don't think anyone is immune to it, now and then."
He would have gone more in depth with the attempt to help Desmond come to grips with that hostile break in his sanity but the night was only growing later and with it came more risk of the body being found.
They could talk when he returned, would need to talk in fact; but he hoped by then Desmond would be slightly less rattled and better able to speak about the situation. It wasn't a breakdown he feared, it was a lack of one; he would have rather Desmond struggle with guilt and confusion than feel nothing at all about what he had done. Or worse, to brush it all aside as simply the inferiority of human life the way far too many of their kind had the nasty habit of doing.
Once he heard the shower running he slipped out of the apartment to go hunt down the spot Desmond had left the body; if nothing else someone should at least give the poor ruined life some manner of closure to that violent end. And until he had seen to it himself he couldn't be certain rumors wouldn't arise and creep through the city back to the Prince; Desmond was far too young to earn that scrutiny so soon in his undead years.
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