Monster Mash: Dance of the Damned [Chapter 4]
Title: Monster Mash: Dance of the Damned 4
Characters: Francis, Toris, Feliks, Arthur, Matthew
Rating: 15 for this chapter.
Warnings: Crazy family trees, SHOCKING REVELATIONS, Feliks being Feliks.
Summary: Sequel to Monster Mash. Memories restored, Francis goes looking for his lost love, in the hope she too is looking for him. Elsewhere, Arthur learns more in a few months than he has in 500 years. And behind all this, Alfred F. Jones, serial killer extraordinare, remains at large.
Francis came to with a headache not unlike the one he’d had after nearly getting his head kicked in by one Alfred F. Jones. He groaned, and reached up to rub his eyes. It was upon doing so that he realised he did indeed have hands, was tangible, and must be possessing someone. Still. After supposedly being exorcised.
Experimentally, he opened his eyes.
He was no longer in the kitchen. He was in what appeared to be a basement. Considering his previous associations with basements, this wasn’t a particularly comforting thing.
“Don’t try to move.” came a voice, and Francis’ head whipped around to stare at Toris, who was looking uncomfortable just being here. He was trying to cover it up, putting on a commanding front. “You’re in a magic circle, it’s trapped you and made you temporarily solid.” He looked away. “You’re exposed in your real form.”
Francis briefly looked down to see whether he was exposed in a different manner, but he was in clothes. Specific clothes in fact. Clothes that were singed and covered in ash and mud. He felt up to his neck and grimaced when he felt the silver crossbow bolt that was still there, cold to his touch. Seeing that Toris turned particularly green when the killing weapon was brought to his attention, Francis smirked and twisted it slightly, feeling no pain but succeeding in making Toris cover his mouth with a squeaking noise.
“Like, ew.” Feliks commented as he entered the room. “I know a lot of ghosts are gross, but you’re really gross.”
Pride stinging, Francis dropped his hand. “I am not gross.” he spoke as if the bolt wasn’t there; as long as he didn’t concentrate on it too hard, the words came easily. “I simply take issue with being looked at like a specimen on an operating table.”
“Yeah, well, I take issue with creepy ghosts getting all possessive with my besties, mmkay?” Feliks folded his arms and examined the pink nail polish on his fingers. “So you have like, ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t exorcise you, starting now.”
“I require information.”
“Chyeah, everyone does.”
“I can give you information in exchange.”
At this, Feliks’ gaze finally slid to him. “Uhuh. What makes you think I’ll want your information?”
“Because it could potentially mean the Hunters have been stacking the deck, with an ace up their sleeves, if you understand my meaning.” Francis kept a careful eye on the blonde’s reaction. A smirk curved at the corner of his mouth.
“What do you want to know?”
Francis tried not to blurt it out too quickly. “Whether you have any information as to a woman named Jeanne Bonnefoy.”
Feliks’ eyebrows raised. “Jeanne, Jeanne, Jeanne.... hmmmmmm... Bonnefoy, I’ve heard of Bonnefoy.” He grinned and pointed at the trapped ghost. “You’re Francis Bonnefoy then?”
Surprised at the broker’s intuition as well as his own infamy, Francis nodded.
“Mmm, yeah, my gal Elizaveta told me about you. Amnesiac pervy ghost bodyhopping around Europe for like, five hundred years.” He nodded. Francis knew he shouldn’t be shocked he knew the demoness of Wrath; Elizaveta was quite the gossip herself.
“Correction; I am no longer amnesiac.” Francis added. Feliks made an intrigued sound and shuffled closer.
“Oh oh, do tell, come on, what did you remember? How’d you die.”
Francis frowned. “You know that’s-”
“Rude to ask a ghost, yeah yeah, I know, but I’m an information broker and you want information on this Jeanne Bonnefoy girl, who is what, your sister?”
“My wife.” The term came automatically, and with a painful pang of loss. Feliks sucked in breath between his teeth.
“Yikes. Well, okay. Tell me what happened.”
Francis relayed the story to him as best he could, purposefully leaving in raunchy details to make Toris blush, but also because he wanted to avoid the final ending. He reached the end, mind filling with memories of him crawling through the mud and ash with a broken ankle from falling out a window, finally finding Jeanne. “And then that man, the Hunter-”
“Did you get his name?” Feliks had sat in silence for the whole thing, and only interrupted this once. “Your description of him sounds familiar.”
Now it was Francis’ turn to raise his eyebrows. “How could any Hunter sound familiar to you? This was hundreds of years ago.”
Feliks rolled his eyes. “And some Hunters live hundreds of years. Part of the hypocrisy thing they have going on. Now come on, spill!”
Francis didn’t have to think long. The name was burned into his memory, finally uncovered. “Gabriel. Gabriel dos Anjos.”
At this, Feliks grimaced, muttering. “Yup, thought so.” he shook his head. “If you’re thinking of revenge on him, don’t bother. Guy’s unkillable, much as he’s tried himself. Lives forever, don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.”
“I just want to find my wife.” Francis sighed. “I have to search Earth for her. If she lingers here still, then I want to find her.” He gritted his teeth. “Gabriel, he said that witches go to hell, or wander in limbo forever. Well I wandered limbo myself, and it may as well have been hell without her.”
Feliks sat down on the floor, thinking to himself. “Why not check hell?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but once you go to hell, you can’t get out.”
“Unless you’re a demon.”
“Which I’m not.” Francis pressed. “I have to check. If I miss her, and she’s waiting for me up here...”
Feliks held up his hands. “Alright! Okay, calm down. I’ll see what I’ve got. Can you linger a little longer?”
“I’ve been doing so for five hundred years, a few more hours couldn’t hurt.”
---
The door slammed open, and Arthur ignored how it shook the whole wall with the force of it. He was too busy striding over to where Matthew sat, stunned, at the side of the turning child’s bed. He grabbed the other blonde’s wrist and yanked him out of the chair, dragging him out into the hallway.
“Arthur, what-”
“Shut up.” Arthur hissed, pulling him down the hallway and throwing him into the study, slamming the door behind them. The photos were still out on the desk, and from Matthew’s suddenly tense posture, he knew he’d been caught.
“... this isn’t-”
“Isn’t what, Matthew?” Arthur growled, grabbing a photo of not-Alfred and holding it up to the light. “Isn’t what I think it is? Would you care to explain to me exactly what you think this is?”
Matthew avoided his gaze. “It’s just a picture...”
“A picture! Of the same person! Over and over again! And not just any person - this is Alfred, you know it, I know it!” He was this close to smacking the boy for his evasiveness. “You’ve been squirreling away this information for decades, haven’t you!”
“Is that a crime?” Matthew snapped back with unusual bravado. “Are you angry because I still have hope that he’s out there? Angry because he might have found a way to turn back, to become human? Angry because you were the one who argued with him that night and let him run away?”
This time Arthur did hit him, a slap across the face to shut his mouth. Silence fell.
“I am angry.” Arthur said slowly, trying to reign in his temper. “Because you never told me. You are not the only person who still cares.”
Matthew said nothing for a long while, bringing a hand up to his stinging cheek. There would be no redness or swelling, but there was pain nonetheless. “I didn’t want to tell you in case I was wrong. I thought it would hurt you. What if you’d run off on a wild goose chase?”
“Hurt me? Do you think I even care about that anymore? You’re right, I did argue with him, I caused this, I know that goddamn it.” he gritted his teeth. “That’s what hurts. Any news, any hope, anything is better than not knowing.” He sat down in the desk chair, lacing his fingers together in his lap. “So I want you to tell me. Everything you know, everything you’ve found, whether it was relevant or a dead end. Your theories, your ideas, your hopeless dreams. If you leave anything out, Matthew, I swear to the Count himself I will set the hounds of hell on you and your coven.”
Matthew bit his lip, and at first Arthur almost thought he was going to refuse. But then he hefted a long sigh and sat down in the spare chair, putting his head in his hands.
“Alfred Kirkland is long dead.” Matthew said, the words striking Arthur in the heart. “I have no idea how he did it, but when he died, he was human. Or, mostly human.” He reached over and picked up the oldest document. A census, with Alfred’s name circled, as well as the name of a woman with the same surname, and, to Arthur’s surprise, two children. “The lineage goes down, spreads out, but whatever Alfred did to turn himself human, it wasn’t a complete transformation. Vampire genes are strong.” he pulled out a portrait of a young man, with a slight smile, in mid-nineteenth century attire. Once again the spitting image of Alfred, though the eyes were brown, not blue. “Wherever you go, there are descendants that have taken certain traits, more than just looks. Letters detail that this man, Alex Jameson, lifted a fallen tree off his wife. After it was moved, it took eight men to shift it again.” Now a picture in black and white, a boy standing in some dockyards. “Morris Kingsley, who grew up to be the fastest man of his time. He was always said to run like he was taking a leisurely walk, and yet finished ahead of everyone.”
“He didn’t get rid of his vampirism...” uttered Arthur in astonishment. “He buried it.”
Matthew nodded gravely. “More concerning are these.” He produced several mugshots, from various eras. One was a woman, busty and bright eyed with fair hair, and another was an Alfred duplicate. The last bore less resemblance until one looked in his eyes. “Granted crime tends to run in families, but these people’s only common ancestor is Alfred.”
“What were they arrested for?” Arthur frowned.
“Mass murder, cannibalism, and supposedly satanic blood rituals.” Matthew grimaced. “Even if Alfred was one of the most gentle vampires to ever exist, he was still a vampire, and as you said, that part was only buried, and passed down.”
“They’re human.” Arthur said slowly, piecing it all together. “There’s nothing noticeably vampire about them. Nobody could ever detect them, they can go in churches, recite the bible, they’re human, for all intents and purposes.”
“But they’ve got something in their brain that tells them to hunt, to seek out human-shaped prey. The Hunger, but in a different form.” Matthew paused, then shuffled to reach a newer file. “I... have a confession. I knew the existence of Alfred F. Jones before I met him at your house. I never expected to find him there. He’s by far the closest recreation of our Alfred I’ve ever seen. Apart from, obviously, unsuppressed vampire instincts.”
Arthur peered at the folder. “... is he connected?”
“Yes.” he drew out a photo - of Alfred, an older woman, a young boy nearly identical to Matthew, and Francis. No, wait, that was Phillipe Fournier. “Through his mother. It seems she too was mentally unstable, but not in the murderous way. It can’t have helped any.”
“So.” Arthur said after a pause, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. “Whatever turned the original Alfred human, it’s still present in his descendant’s genes, as you say.”
Matthew nodded. “It’s likely.”
The older vampire’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not good. If anyone else catches on, finds a way to turn vampires human, then all vampires could be in danger.” He bit his thumb, worried. “If the Hunters get wind of this...”
“Alfred is in a mental institute, right?” Matthew said, putting all his files back in order. “We may have to bust him out.”
Arthur hummed. “... what do you think would happen if we turned him?”
Matthew grimaced. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. We need to break him out first.” He rolled his shoulders, and reached for the phone on the desk. “Er... let’s see, it’s 4am, so counting forward.... yeah, should be okay to call.”
Green eyes blinked in confusion. “Who?”
“We need information.” Matthew smiled. “Where else do the supernatural go for information?”
---
“Toris, get the phone, I’m busy down here!”
---
"Alright." Arthur said, watching Matthew pace with the phone in his hand. "But what about this one?" He held up one last photo. The one containing two more people who should definitely be dead.
Matthew dropped the phone. "Ah-"
"Where. Are. They."
Chapter 5
Notes:
- Shock! She's aliiiiive! Yes, after the holiday I was kind of burned out but here's your long-awaited chapter! (You can thank Nena for reminding me it's been over a month.)
- Gotta say, I'm not really on LJ so much as I am on Tumblr and Plurk these days. ;; I do miss you guys though. Join usssssss.
-EDIT: I AM AN IDIOT AND DIDN'T HIGHLIGHT THE WHOLE CHAPTER. HERE, HAVE THE ACTUAL CLIFFHANGER IT'S MEANT TO HAVE.
Characters: Francis, Toris, Feliks, Arthur, Matthew
Rating: 15 for this chapter.
Warnings: Crazy family trees, SHOCKING REVELATIONS, Feliks being Feliks.
Summary: Sequel to Monster Mash. Memories restored, Francis goes looking for his lost love, in the hope she too is looking for him. Elsewhere, Arthur learns more in a few months than he has in 500 years. And behind all this, Alfred F. Jones, serial killer extraordinare, remains at large.
Francis came to with a headache not unlike the one he’d had after nearly getting his head kicked in by one Alfred F. Jones. He groaned, and reached up to rub his eyes. It was upon doing so that he realised he did indeed have hands, was tangible, and must be possessing someone. Still. After supposedly being exorcised.
Experimentally, he opened his eyes.
He was no longer in the kitchen. He was in what appeared to be a basement. Considering his previous associations with basements, this wasn’t a particularly comforting thing.
“Don’t try to move.” came a voice, and Francis’ head whipped around to stare at Toris, who was looking uncomfortable just being here. He was trying to cover it up, putting on a commanding front. “You’re in a magic circle, it’s trapped you and made you temporarily solid.” He looked away. “You’re exposed in your real form.”
Francis briefly looked down to see whether he was exposed in a different manner, but he was in clothes. Specific clothes in fact. Clothes that were singed and covered in ash and mud. He felt up to his neck and grimaced when he felt the silver crossbow bolt that was still there, cold to his touch. Seeing that Toris turned particularly green when the killing weapon was brought to his attention, Francis smirked and twisted it slightly, feeling no pain but succeeding in making Toris cover his mouth with a squeaking noise.
“Like, ew.” Feliks commented as he entered the room. “I know a lot of ghosts are gross, but you’re really gross.”
Pride stinging, Francis dropped his hand. “I am not gross.” he spoke as if the bolt wasn’t there; as long as he didn’t concentrate on it too hard, the words came easily. “I simply take issue with being looked at like a specimen on an operating table.”
“Yeah, well, I take issue with creepy ghosts getting all possessive with my besties, mmkay?” Feliks folded his arms and examined the pink nail polish on his fingers. “So you have like, ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t exorcise you, starting now.”
“I require information.”
“Chyeah, everyone does.”
“I can give you information in exchange.”
At this, Feliks’ gaze finally slid to him. “Uhuh. What makes you think I’ll want your information?”
“Because it could potentially mean the Hunters have been stacking the deck, with an ace up their sleeves, if you understand my meaning.” Francis kept a careful eye on the blonde’s reaction. A smirk curved at the corner of his mouth.
“What do you want to know?”
Francis tried not to blurt it out too quickly. “Whether you have any information as to a woman named Jeanne Bonnefoy.”
Feliks’ eyebrows raised. “Jeanne, Jeanne, Jeanne.... hmmmmmm... Bonnefoy, I’ve heard of Bonnefoy.” He grinned and pointed at the trapped ghost. “You’re Francis Bonnefoy then?”
Surprised at the broker’s intuition as well as his own infamy, Francis nodded.
“Mmm, yeah, my gal Elizaveta told me about you. Amnesiac pervy ghost bodyhopping around Europe for like, five hundred years.” He nodded. Francis knew he shouldn’t be shocked he knew the demoness of Wrath; Elizaveta was quite the gossip herself.
“Correction; I am no longer amnesiac.” Francis added. Feliks made an intrigued sound and shuffled closer.
“Oh oh, do tell, come on, what did you remember? How’d you die.”
Francis frowned. “You know that’s-”
“Rude to ask a ghost, yeah yeah, I know, but I’m an information broker and you want information on this Jeanne Bonnefoy girl, who is what, your sister?”
“My wife.” The term came automatically, and with a painful pang of loss. Feliks sucked in breath between his teeth.
“Yikes. Well, okay. Tell me what happened.”
Francis relayed the story to him as best he could, purposefully leaving in raunchy details to make Toris blush, but also because he wanted to avoid the final ending. He reached the end, mind filling with memories of him crawling through the mud and ash with a broken ankle from falling out a window, finally finding Jeanne. “And then that man, the Hunter-”
“Did you get his name?” Feliks had sat in silence for the whole thing, and only interrupted this once. “Your description of him sounds familiar.”
Now it was Francis’ turn to raise his eyebrows. “How could any Hunter sound familiar to you? This was hundreds of years ago.”
Feliks rolled his eyes. “And some Hunters live hundreds of years. Part of the hypocrisy thing they have going on. Now come on, spill!”
Francis didn’t have to think long. The name was burned into his memory, finally uncovered. “Gabriel. Gabriel dos Anjos.”
At this, Feliks grimaced, muttering. “Yup, thought so.” he shook his head. “If you’re thinking of revenge on him, don’t bother. Guy’s unkillable, much as he’s tried himself. Lives forever, don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.”
“I just want to find my wife.” Francis sighed. “I have to search Earth for her. If she lingers here still, then I want to find her.” He gritted his teeth. “Gabriel, he said that witches go to hell, or wander in limbo forever. Well I wandered limbo myself, and it may as well have been hell without her.”
Feliks sat down on the floor, thinking to himself. “Why not check hell?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but once you go to hell, you can’t get out.”
“Unless you’re a demon.”
“Which I’m not.” Francis pressed. “I have to check. If I miss her, and she’s waiting for me up here...”
Feliks held up his hands. “Alright! Okay, calm down. I’ll see what I’ve got. Can you linger a little longer?”
“I’ve been doing so for five hundred years, a few more hours couldn’t hurt.”
---
The door slammed open, and Arthur ignored how it shook the whole wall with the force of it. He was too busy striding over to where Matthew sat, stunned, at the side of the turning child’s bed. He grabbed the other blonde’s wrist and yanked him out of the chair, dragging him out into the hallway.
“Arthur, what-”
“Shut up.” Arthur hissed, pulling him down the hallway and throwing him into the study, slamming the door behind them. The photos were still out on the desk, and from Matthew’s suddenly tense posture, he knew he’d been caught.
“... this isn’t-”
“Isn’t what, Matthew?” Arthur growled, grabbing a photo of not-Alfred and holding it up to the light. “Isn’t what I think it is? Would you care to explain to me exactly what you think this is?”
Matthew avoided his gaze. “It’s just a picture...”
“A picture! Of the same person! Over and over again! And not just any person - this is Alfred, you know it, I know it!” He was this close to smacking the boy for his evasiveness. “You’ve been squirreling away this information for decades, haven’t you!”
“Is that a crime?” Matthew snapped back with unusual bravado. “Are you angry because I still have hope that he’s out there? Angry because he might have found a way to turn back, to become human? Angry because you were the one who argued with him that night and let him run away?”
This time Arthur did hit him, a slap across the face to shut his mouth. Silence fell.
“I am angry.” Arthur said slowly, trying to reign in his temper. “Because you never told me. You are not the only person who still cares.”
Matthew said nothing for a long while, bringing a hand up to his stinging cheek. There would be no redness or swelling, but there was pain nonetheless. “I didn’t want to tell you in case I was wrong. I thought it would hurt you. What if you’d run off on a wild goose chase?”
“Hurt me? Do you think I even care about that anymore? You’re right, I did argue with him, I caused this, I know that goddamn it.” he gritted his teeth. “That’s what hurts. Any news, any hope, anything is better than not knowing.” He sat down in the desk chair, lacing his fingers together in his lap. “So I want you to tell me. Everything you know, everything you’ve found, whether it was relevant or a dead end. Your theories, your ideas, your hopeless dreams. If you leave anything out, Matthew, I swear to the Count himself I will set the hounds of hell on you and your coven.”
Matthew bit his lip, and at first Arthur almost thought he was going to refuse. But then he hefted a long sigh and sat down in the spare chair, putting his head in his hands.
“Alfred Kirkland is long dead.” Matthew said, the words striking Arthur in the heart. “I have no idea how he did it, but when he died, he was human. Or, mostly human.” He reached over and picked up the oldest document. A census, with Alfred’s name circled, as well as the name of a woman with the same surname, and, to Arthur’s surprise, two children. “The lineage goes down, spreads out, but whatever Alfred did to turn himself human, it wasn’t a complete transformation. Vampire genes are strong.” he pulled out a portrait of a young man, with a slight smile, in mid-nineteenth century attire. Once again the spitting image of Alfred, though the eyes were brown, not blue. “Wherever you go, there are descendants that have taken certain traits, more than just looks. Letters detail that this man, Alex Jameson, lifted a fallen tree off his wife. After it was moved, it took eight men to shift it again.” Now a picture in black and white, a boy standing in some dockyards. “Morris Kingsley, who grew up to be the fastest man of his time. He was always said to run like he was taking a leisurely walk, and yet finished ahead of everyone.”
“He didn’t get rid of his vampirism...” uttered Arthur in astonishment. “He buried it.”
Matthew nodded gravely. “More concerning are these.” He produced several mugshots, from various eras. One was a woman, busty and bright eyed with fair hair, and another was an Alfred duplicate. The last bore less resemblance until one looked in his eyes. “Granted crime tends to run in families, but these people’s only common ancestor is Alfred.”
“What were they arrested for?” Arthur frowned.
“Mass murder, cannibalism, and supposedly satanic blood rituals.” Matthew grimaced. “Even if Alfred was one of the most gentle vampires to ever exist, he was still a vampire, and as you said, that part was only buried, and passed down.”
“They’re human.” Arthur said slowly, piecing it all together. “There’s nothing noticeably vampire about them. Nobody could ever detect them, they can go in churches, recite the bible, they’re human, for all intents and purposes.”
“But they’ve got something in their brain that tells them to hunt, to seek out human-shaped prey. The Hunger, but in a different form.” Matthew paused, then shuffled to reach a newer file. “I... have a confession. I knew the existence of Alfred F. Jones before I met him at your house. I never expected to find him there. He’s by far the closest recreation of our Alfred I’ve ever seen. Apart from, obviously, unsuppressed vampire instincts.”
Arthur peered at the folder. “... is he connected?”
“Yes.” he drew out a photo - of Alfred, an older woman, a young boy nearly identical to Matthew, and Francis. No, wait, that was Phillipe Fournier. “Through his mother. It seems she too was mentally unstable, but not in the murderous way. It can’t have helped any.”
“So.” Arthur said after a pause, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. “Whatever turned the original Alfred human, it’s still present in his descendant’s genes, as you say.”
Matthew nodded. “It’s likely.”
The older vampire’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not good. If anyone else catches on, finds a way to turn vampires human, then all vampires could be in danger.” He bit his thumb, worried. “If the Hunters get wind of this...”
“Alfred is in a mental institute, right?” Matthew said, putting all his files back in order. “We may have to bust him out.”
Arthur hummed. “... what do you think would happen if we turned him?”
Matthew grimaced. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. We need to break him out first.” He rolled his shoulders, and reached for the phone on the desk. “Er... let’s see, it’s 4am, so counting forward.... yeah, should be okay to call.”
Green eyes blinked in confusion. “Who?”
“We need information.” Matthew smiled. “Where else do the supernatural go for information?”
---
“Toris, get the phone, I’m busy down here!”
---
"Alright." Arthur said, watching Matthew pace with the phone in his hand. "But what about this one?" He held up one last photo. The one containing two more people who should definitely be dead.
Matthew dropped the phone. "Ah-"
"Where. Are. They."
Chapter 5
Notes:
- Shock! She's aliiiiive! Yes, after the holiday I was kind of burned out but here's your long-awaited chapter! (You can thank Nena for reminding me it's been over a month.)
- Gotta say, I'm not really on LJ so much as I am on Tumblr and Plurk these days. ;; I do miss you guys though. Join usssssss.
-EDIT: I AM AN IDIOT AND DIDN'T HIGHLIGHT THE WHOLE CHAPTER. HERE, HAVE THE ACTUAL CLIFFHANGER IT'S MEANT TO HAVE.