[Allen wrinkles his nose. There was no obvious scent of alcohol in the air - or rather, not a stronger one than the one that usually lingers in bars - so he doubted it was a bottle of something. (unless, perhaps, it was vodka.)
His gaze drifts back to the mismatched eyes - though they continue to simply stare, as they had the entire time. Allen hasn't once seem them blink, unlike most of the other eyes within the room, who all seem to be blinking just when he isn't looking at them.
He reluctantly pulls away, wandering over to the bar - but before he can look behind it, he notices the reflection (sees another smile splitting his face in half for less than a second before it fades) and the statues. But he'd heard no movements until now - and yet, in the mirror the plaster over the bodies practically writhes, as if made of maggots. He turns his back on the mirror (Come, Allen, don't be so stupid--) and locks his eyes on Sleeper - or the person that he thinks is Sleeper. She'd been facing the hall before, as if expecting him, and now she was facing him again on the other side of the room.
...were her arms held like that before, one outstretched and the other around her middle?]
[Glass crunches under his step as he approaches the bar - it looks like what had shattered was a couple of glasses that had fallen from the counter. The statue of the bartender remains motionless, although there is a distinct smirk on the figure's face - as if he is silently owning up to having been clumsy enough to drop the glasses.]
[Her arms most certainly weren't; they had been resting on the back of a chair, as if she was getting ready to pull it out for him to sit. And her head wasn't turned in this direction either, which it is now; it's turned at almost at a complete 90-degree turn, toward him, while the rest of her is turned toward the exit.]
[He doesn't pay the bartender much mind, honestly; far too concerned by the woman he thinks is Sleeper. He doesn't know how to get her out of the plaster safely, let alone his sire. The rest of the people, he doesn't much care about.
Allen misses it in the commotion despite the nothingness, but as he walks away from the bar and towards the figure of the girl the mirror cracks in half, reflecting his back; one side shows Allen in his normal clothing. The other, a slightly taller boy with white hair, clad in black with silver trim.
But he moves quickly to where Sleeper still remains, bringing his hands up to cover her ears (because he can't quite fit his palms on her cheeks) and try to find her eyes behind the mask once more.]
...I-- I could try to break this stuff... but it might hurt. Do you want me to..?
[Her eyes stare straight through him in a way that doesn't seem to follow him as he moves, yet they're still locked on him when he is within arm's reach. They blink once - once for yes, twice for no, perhaps?]
[They may even be watering a little, as if she is about to cry. Luckily, though, should Allen try to remove the mask, it will come off easily - leaving spatterings of plaster against her cheeks, nose, and quivering lips.]
[That's the usual way things like that work, as far as Allen knows, and he nods when she blinks. There was no panic in the eyes, even if they didn't quite seem to be registering him, so he doubted it was a refusal of the idea.
The mask is the first thing he goes for, carefully prying it off her face - and he's so glad to see that she doesn't really seem to be harmed beneath the plaster. He takes a moment to brush some of the plaster off her cheeks, pry off a few smaller pieces along her forehead, and leans closer to press the tips of their noses together while a hand comes up to carefully wipe the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.]
It's okay. I'll get you out of there in a minute-- I promise.
[Even with having a nose touching hers, it doesn't seem to pull her out of the stupor. She continues to stare straight through him, one tear soaking into the sheen of plaster-dust along her cheeks, followed by a second.]
[She doesn't say anything - even when her eyes finally do fall into focus and they widen - something not-quite-alive-and-yet-not-quite-dead is approaching from behind Allen. And whatever it is, it isn't good.]
[As it is, there's a sudden flood of the scent of iron and blood.]
[He almost smiles when her eyes finally fall back into focus, the muscles twitching in his cheeks, but stops halfway into it when he notices her eyes widening.
Then the smell - practically out of nowhere, because it certainly hadn't been there before, and not nearly as strong - hits him like a brick, and his eyes haze over with a very slight shade of red. Too much, far too much; the scent was too strong, stagnant and fresh at the same time. It made his stomach ache.
He spins around abruptly, holding both arms out at his sides in a gesture of protection, and bares his fangs at the odd figure - he didn't recognize the man (if it could really be called a man), his face also covered by a mask.
But enough of his face is showing to allow a smirk to show through on his face. Allen's lips pull back, and he nearly growls. Whatever the thing is, it is far, far too hostile.]
[It's a tall, wiry man wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a black vest, and black slacks with suede shoes. He's wearing the rabbit mask, splashed with dried blood and bent and snapped whiskers.]
[In his hand dangles a lead pipe, which is undoubtedly caked in blood and possibly a bit of brain. He hums a song as he brings the pipe up to tap the end of it into the palm of his hand.]
[It almost reminds him of the kind of thing a Tyki would wear, but the hair sticking out at odd angles from behind the mask doesn't quite match up; too short, and not quite curly enough to really be a Tyki.
Allen's eyes dart down to the pipe, and then up to the eyes of the mask. His own eyes narrow.
We don't have anything to do with the Earl. [But the man continues to move closer, seemingly unpersuaded by the comment - and so Allen steps back, before lunging at the man, making a grab for the pipe and attempting to ram it up into his jaw.]
[No Tyki would be caught dead wearing a rabbit mask. The man moves with inhuman speed - swinging the pipe away from Allen's hands - it makes a low woosh! as it cuts through the air - and twisting away, barking with laughter.]
[He skids sideways, and the pipe sparks as its dragged along the stone floor.]
Let's check to see if you are it~♥! [He laughs again as he swings the pipe in a high arch.]
[The curved end of it strikes Sleeper square in the face. The force of it knocks her head backward and her jaw completely askew. Her knees buckle and finally snap, though, and she falls into a bloody, crumpled pile.]
[He tries to turn - to stop the man, whatever he was - but he doesn't manage to reach out in time.
Sleeper is a crumpled mess on the floor by the time Allen lunges at the man again, wrenching the pipe from his grasp and throwing it across the room.
Whatever the man really is, it's still laughing even as Allen snaps it's neck without a second thought.
...and then he's scrambling to Sleeper's side, oh so very carefully lifting her into his arms. So much broken plaster and blood, and her face, and legs... He presses his ear to her chest despite the plaster lingering there, and can hear no heartbeat. But that's how it had been all along, wasn't it? This whole time, Allen hadn't been able to hear a single beating heart.
But-- she couldn't-- please, no--]
Allen-- [He lifts a hand, shaking fingers ghosting over her cracked and bloodied cheek. Please don't be dead. Dear god, please, don't be dead.]
[No, there's hardly anything alive - if it was ever alive to begin with. Her jaw is so broken and askew that it almost resembles some kind of macabre ragdoll whose parts were hastily sewn together. One eye is open and crooked, as if the blow to her head had knocked her eye completely out of focus; the other eye is closed.]
[Very much dead. If she was ever alive.]
[There's the sound of fabric rustling against fabric, and, should Allen look in that direction, he'll notice that the spot where the statue with mismatched eyes was sitting is empty, save for a pile of loose plaster.]
[He isn't paying attention in the least; the sound of movement doesn't register at all. The only thing that registers is the emptiness; the lack of movement; the single eye, staring at an angle that was so wrong.
He doesn't care if she was ever alive. He'd felt her skin just a moment ago and her lips her quivering and she was scared, and now she was dead.]
I'm sorry... [He doesn't hear the plaster flaking off the other statues, little fragments drifting to the ground. And he doesn't notice the other moving person now in the room with him. Far, far too distracted by the body in his arms.]
[He doesn't pull away immediately. Not quite. Allen makes sure to press a kiss to her forehead before gently setting the body down. He tugs his hoodie off, and lays it over her face, too worried to try closing her opened eye.
Then his eyes narrow, and he rolls up his sleeves, gaze darting through the dark corners of the room. The shadows look like they're alive.]
[The other statues are still motionless, though the bits and pieces of plaster are chipping away - it seems what's left on the statues isn't just writhing like maggots in the mirror's reflection anymore. Lavi, in the meantime, is sticking to the shadows; the only sign of him is the faint glinting of his eye in the dark.]
[He chuckles lowly, as if measuring. And, depending on how close Allen is listening, he'll hear what sounds like a mental countdown. He's gauging how fast he'll have to move in order to take the boy down.]
His gaze drifts back to the mismatched eyes - though they continue to simply stare, as they had the entire time. Allen hasn't once seem them blink, unlike most of the other eyes within the room, who all seem to be blinking just when he isn't looking at them.
He reluctantly pulls away, wandering over to the bar - but before he can look behind it, he notices the reflection (sees another smile splitting his face in half for less than a second before it fades) and the statues. But he'd heard no movements until now - and yet, in the mirror the plaster over the bodies practically writhes, as if made of maggots. He turns his back on the mirror (Come, Allen, don't be so stupid--) and locks his eyes on Sleeper - or the person that he thinks is Sleeper. She'd been facing the hall before, as if expecting him, and now she was facing him again on the other side of the room.
...were her arms held like that before, one outstretched and the other around her middle?]
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[Her arms most certainly weren't; they had been resting on the back of a chair, as if she was getting ready to pull it out for him to sit. And her head wasn't turned in this direction either, which it is now; it's turned at almost at a complete 90-degree turn, toward him, while the rest of her is turned toward the exit.]
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Allen misses it in the commotion despite the nothingness, but as he walks away from the bar and towards the figure of the girl the mirror cracks in half, reflecting his back; one side shows Allen in his normal clothing. The other, a slightly taller boy with white hair, clad in black with silver trim.
But he moves quickly to where Sleeper still remains, bringing his hands up to cover her ears (because he can't quite fit his palms on her cheeks) and try to find her eyes behind the mask once more.]
...I-- I could try to break this stuff... but it might hurt. Do you want me to..?
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[They may even be watering a little, as if she is about to cry. Luckily, though, should Allen try to remove the mask, it will come off easily - leaving spatterings of plaster against her cheeks, nose, and quivering lips.]
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The mask is the first thing he goes for, carefully prying it off her face - and he's so glad to see that she doesn't really seem to be harmed beneath the plaster. He takes a moment to brush some of the plaster off her cheeks, pry off a few smaller pieces along her forehead, and leans closer to press the tips of their noses together while a hand comes up to carefully wipe the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.]
It's okay. I'll get you out of there in a minute-- I promise.
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[She doesn't say anything - even when her eyes finally do fall into focus and they widen - something not-quite-alive-and-yet-not-quite-dead is approaching from behind Allen. And whatever it is, it isn't good.]
[As it is, there's a sudden flood of the scent of iron and blood.]
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Then the smell - practically out of nowhere, because it certainly hadn't been there before, and not nearly as strong - hits him like a brick, and his eyes haze over with a very slight shade of red. Too much, far too much; the scent was too strong, stagnant and fresh at the same time. It made his stomach ache.
He spins around abruptly, holding both arms out at his sides in a gesture of protection, and bares his fangs at the odd figure - he didn't recognize the man (if it could really be called a man), his face also covered by a mask.
But enough of his face is showing to allow a smirk to show through on his face. Allen's lips pull back, and he nearly growls. Whatever the thing is, it is far, far too hostile.]
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[In his hand dangles a lead pipe, which is undoubtedly caked in blood and possibly a bit of brain. He hums a song as he brings the pipe up to tap the end of it into the palm of his hand.]
The Earl's searching for his precious heart~♥
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Allen's eyes dart down to the pipe, and then up to the eyes of the mask. His own eyes narrow.
We don't have anything to do with the Earl. [But the man continues to move closer, seemingly unpersuaded by the comment - and so Allen steps back, before lunging at the man, making a grab for the pipe and attempting to ram it up into his jaw.]
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[He skids sideways, and the pipe sparks as its dragged along the stone floor.]
Let's check to see if you are it~♥! [He laughs again as he swings the pipe in a high arch.]
[The curved end of it strikes Sleeper square in the face. The force of it knocks her head backward and her jaw completely askew. Her knees buckle and finally snap, though, and she falls into a bloody, crumpled pile.]
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Sleeper is a crumpled mess on the floor by the time Allen lunges at the man again, wrenching the pipe from his grasp and throwing it across the room.
Whatever the man really is, it's still laughing even as Allen snaps it's neck without a second thought.
...and then he's scrambling to Sleeper's side, oh so very carefully lifting her into his arms. So much broken plaster and blood, and her face, and legs... He presses his ear to her chest despite the plaster lingering there, and can hear no heartbeat. But that's how it had been all along, wasn't it? This whole time, Allen hadn't been able to hear a single beating heart.
But-- she couldn't-- please, no--]
Allen-- [He lifts a hand, shaking fingers ghosting over her cracked and bloodied cheek. Please don't be dead. Dear god, please, don't be dead.]
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[Very much dead. If she was ever alive.]
[There's the sound of fabric rustling against fabric, and, should Allen look in that direction, he'll notice that the spot where the statue with mismatched eyes was sitting is empty, save for a pile of loose plaster.]
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He doesn't care if she was ever alive. He'd felt her skin just a moment ago and her lips her quivering and she was scared, and now she was dead.]
I'm sorry... [He doesn't hear the plaster flaking off the other statues, little fragments drifting to the ground. And he doesn't notice the other moving person now in the room with him. Far, far too distracted by the body in his arms.]
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[You might want to snap out of your stupor soon, Allen. You're being hunted.]
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Then his eyes narrow, and he rolls up his sleeves, gaze darting through the dark corners of the room. The shadows look like they're alive.]
...Lavi?
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[He chuckles lowly, as if measuring. And, depending on how close Allen is listening, he'll hear what sounds like a mental countdown. He's gauging how fast he'll have to move in order to take the boy down.]
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