The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3b/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:21:48 UTC
Arthur scowled again. “Can’t you sense them? They’ve been following us for miles now.”
Alfred frowned slightly, and looked around. He didn’t know what Arthur was talking about. Looking back at Arthur, he saw the other man staring off into the dark with an uneasy look.
“If you’re so scared,” Alfred teased lightly, “I’ll go on first watch for you. Okay?”
Arthur seemed to grunt gruffly in response, but he curled up in his blanket, and tried to get some needed rest. Alfred sat, eyes sweeping the darkness beyond the tiny circle of light the campfire provided. After a short while, he heard Arthur’s breaths become steady and rhythmic, a sure sign he was asleep. He smiled gently at the man, who was relaxed in his deep slumber. He almost seemed vulnerable, and Alfred had to stop himself from gathering the man into a warm hug. When he wasn’t scowling about every little thing, or yelling in frustration, he was really handsome…
Alfred snapped his head away, blushing a bit. Where had that thought come from?! He didn’t like Arthur like that, did he?! He put a gloved hand to his mouth as he thought about it deeply. It was hard to explain his relationship with Arthur. ‘Shaky’ had always been a good word, he guessed. A hundred years of bitterness on Arthur’s part was had to shake, after all, and Alfred was pretty sure that despite his best intentions, Arthur still hated him a bit for his Independence.
But I had to, he reasoned to himself. If I’d stayed your colony forever, then I couldn’t…
His heart wrenched violently then, and he shook his head to dispel the thoughts. This was getting overly complicated, and he didn’t need that right now. He focused on the fire, using it to stay fixed on his task of standing guard. However, despite his best efforts, he was worn out, and his eyes began to droop shortly thereafter. Before long, he had nodded off, still sitting by the fire, gun in hand.
A loud snap woke Alfred with a start, and he realized the fire had burned itself dangerous low. He swore quietly, and began stoking at it as best as he could, trying to get it going again. There was something about the darkness here that seemed to suck the heat away from him, leaving him cold and full of dread. He looked up and about, fearful. He was sure there was something just beyond the dying fire now, something malicious.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Alfred muttered angrily at the fire, stirring up the hot coals and feeding it tinder and small pieces of dry wood to try to revive it. Slowly, the dying fire began to get brighter, and as Alfred looked up again, he could see the fleeting figures, just at the edge of the ring of light. He swallowed, his eyes glues to what he saw.
And then, the fire simply snuffed out, as if by a strong wind. But the air was deathly still. Alfred yelped a bit, and grabbed his gun again, eyes darting wildly around him, trying to see the shadows he had seen before. But in the darkness, he was all but blind. And, judging from the sounds that reached his ears, the shadowy figures were not at all hindered by the darkness. In fact, he was positive, they thrived in it.
Alfred swallowed hard, and tried not to shake. A Hero had to be brave, no matter what! But he knew he was hopelessly outmatched here. He prepared for the inevitable attacks that would surely come.
But, to his surprise, a soft sound came drifting through the air, winding around the trees and bushes that made up the forest. The shadows seemed to still, and slink back a bit, and Alfred felt his trembling ease away as courage swelled inside of him. He was mystified, but grateful, and focused on the dark shapes in the equally dark night. If he squinted a slight bit, he could almost make them out…
The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3c/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:25:01 UTC
The fire roared back to life, startling him, and in the sudden flare, he saw what had been stalking him. His eyes grew wide, and he leaned back quickly, aghast. Roughly half a dozen figures stood, stunned momentarily by the fire’s glare, their chalky white skin almost glowing in the bright light. It had once been healthy, but now seemed to be rotting away, slowly shrivelling up and tearing away from the muscle and bone underneath. The figures must have been human once, but now they were ghastly and horribly disfigured as their bodies slowly rotted away, even as they stood there. Their lips had shrunk back, revealing large, glistening fangs, long and sharp. Their eyes were dark, and seemed almost bat like, made more for navigating the darkness than the light. And their fingers had become bony claws, like curved, needle-like daggers on their hands rather than fingers.
And the smell…the smell alone made Alfred want to gag. Like rotting flesh, and decaying cloth, and that horrible tangy-sweet, coppery smell of blood. Alfred could only stare in terrified fixation on them.
Then they hissed, angry and vile and soul-rending evil. Alfred gasped on reflex, which only made him dizzy as he sucked in more of that foul stench they leeched, and tried to get back farther, but only succeeded in falling back on his backside, completely helpless.
A flash of metal in the darkness awoke Alfred to the realization that there was something-or someone-else there with them all. The sliver of light glinting off metal was accompanied by the sound of flesh being sliced, and one of the creatures fell to the ground, now in three pieces. Its comrades all shrieked a bloodcurdling battle cry.
The person moved too fast for Alfred to tell whom it was, but their work was evident, as more creatures were slashed to pieces. Before he could even level his gun to assist, they were all dead, and the parts were slowly hissing as they turned to ash in a furious chemical reaction of sorts. Alfred looked up, the person just outside the ring of light, so their upper body was shrouded by shadows. He watched the person slip their rapier back into its scabbard at their side, where a small harp was already fastened.
“Well, I must be seeing ghosts tonight,” the figure chuckled. “That is the only explanation for you.” The stranger gestured at Alfred, who blinked, confused.
“I don’t-”
“Wot…?” Arthur mumbled sleepily, as he pulled himself from his blankets. “Is ’t my watch already…?” He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands, stifling a yawn.
Alfred slowly and carefully got to his feet. The figure made no motion to move closer, but seemed to be watching them intently.
“Who are you?” After a small pause, Alfred added, “And…why did you help us?”
Arthur surveyed the scene quickly, putting everything together to come to a swift conclusion before he gave a small groan. Alfred glanced at him quizzically, and noted Arthur’s pained expression.
The figure chuckled again, and this time, Alfred felt a tinge of nostalgia. He knew that voice…
“So quick to forget, Amérique.”
Alfred’s eyes got wide, and Arthur buried his face in his hand.
“F-Francis?!”
The Frenchman stepped forward, into the light from the fire, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I had a feeling you would be coming soon. Perhaps it was a change in the winds. Or maybe it was a whispered rumour I heard…”
Arthur gave an exasperated sigh. “Francis, please. Spare me the details. Just tell me how you found us.”
Francis sighed, slightly disappointed, and curled a bit of hair around his finger idly. “You see, it was not very hard. They followed you, and I followed them.” He glanced over at them. “They were drawn to Amérique, you see. His blood is alluring to them, like fine wine.” His lips played up into a smile. Alfred felt himself shiver inadvertently.
Arthur’s lips were pursed. “You’re just as bloody annoying as I recall.”
Francis tilted his head, amused. “Why, merci, Angleterre!”
“That wasn’t a compliment, you half-witted frog!”
Alfred watched the exchange, feeling relived. Francis was still the same, albeit a bit more…mysterious than he remembered him being. He grinned excitedly.
The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3d/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:28:08 UTC
“Francis,” Alfred started in, capturing the man’s attention. “Arthur needs to talk to you about something.”
“Oui,” Francis agreed. “We need to speak. But not here: his spies are everywhere, even at my own home. But I know a place.” He motioned for them all to follow him, and began to walk into the woods.
Alfred glanced at Arthur, who was already packing his things quickly. Alfred gave a silent sigh, and did the same. He hastily snuffed out the fire with his foot, stamping his boot a few times to cool it off before trotting off after the other two men.
***
The arches of the Notre Dame Cathedral greeted them as dawn slowly began to creep over the edge of the horizon. Alfred had seen it in images before them, but never in person, and he was momentarily awestruck by it. Arthur and Francis waited patiently as Alfred slowly took in the towering stone structure, absorbing the regalness of it, even amidst the surrounding ruins.
“Why is it still standing?” Alfred asked quietly. He had noted the extensive damage to the surrounding area, but the church was pristine still, untouched by fire or explosives.
“Because Jeanne protects it,” Francis replied simply. “This place was the site of her beatification, the place she was declared blessed.” His gaze travelled up towards a stone statue, and Alfred studied it in silence, noting Francis’ expression. However, the man quickly pulled his gaze away, and ushered them inside. “It is because she protects this place that it is a safe haven from the Régent and his minions. He cannot enter this sacred place.”
Alfred’s eyebrows touched. “What are you saying?”
Arthur cleared his throat. “The Regent draws his power from a demon. Its why weapons are utterly useless against him.”
Alfred scoffed. “C’mon, Iggy, that’s silly. Demons aren’t real!”
Arthur glared at Alfred. “You have the nerve to say that, even after what you have already seen?”
Francis only chuckled. “Ahh, this must truly be Amérique, for he still has all of his old doubt and scepticism, even in the face of what cannot be disputed.” He paused, now inside the church, halfway up the centre isleway, and fixed Alfred with a firm look. “Even after seeing the dead walk, you do not believe. If I had not intervened, those vampires would have been feasting on your blood.” He let a thin, pale finger wander down Alfred’s cheek, glide along the young man’s jawbone, and down his neck to his shirt collar before pulling back, again with that coy smile that was driving Alfred crazy. Francis bit down on a perfect fingernail, as if deciding something.
“Francis,” Arthur said finally, shattering the silence. “I’m…gathering the Resistance.”
Francis said nothing, but his eyes flickered momentarily.
“I need information. The kind only you can obtain.”
“Oui,” Francis replied finally, walking again, but this time towards the pulpit. “I had a feeling this would happen at some point. I am prepared.” He bent down, and triggered some hidden switch, opening a small drawer, and pulled out some papers that were tied together with string. He placed them in Arthur’s hands, their eyes locking.
“Angleterre,” he spoke seriously. “I am putting myself in grave danger, giving you these. If they are ever discovered on you, they will know instantly it was I who gave them to you. Do not fail me.” The messages passed silently between them were numerous.
Arthur nodded solemnly. They pulled away from each other, and Francis smiled again, lightening the mood. “Come, sleep here tonight. It is quite safe, I assure you.” His hand idly went to stroke a small medallion around his neck just under his shirt, and Alfred noted the action with interest. He couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like a nervous habit to him.
The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3e/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:32:20 UTC
“I thank you,” Arthur told Francis politely.
“Yeah,” Alfred added. “Anything’s better than being chewed on by vampires.” He laughed shortly. “Not…that I…believe in them, mind you. Or horned snakes.”
Francis smirked coyly again.
“You should be more careful,” he said slowly. “The Regent has many agents working for him, and they are quite powerful. Indeed, the watchdog here in my fair land is…how to say this…quite nasty.” He looked at Alfred. “I would be careful, if I were you, cher.”
Alfred laughed again, more hollow than before.
***
Sleeping on a pew is way more uncomfortable than one would first think, and Alfred found himself unable to get any rest at all. Finally, he sat up, only to find Arthur sitting in the isleway, intently paging through his grimoire, searching for something, and muttering quietly.
“No, not that. Not that either. Blast it! Why don’t I have anything in here about interdimentional travel?!” He sighed loudly, and looked up at the ceiling as he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “It’s times like this, I need that man more than ever.” His shoulders slumped then, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, weary.
Alfred wanted to talk to him, but Arthur was already pouring over his book again, and Alfred didn’t want to interrupt him. Sighing quietly, he lay back down, and tried to sleep, using his jacket as a blanket, and his arm as a pillow. He gazed up at the high ceilings of the cathedral, studying every detail, and wondering at how it was made, and if there really had been a hunchback that rang the bells.
Somewhere in that train of thought, he surrendered to sleep.
***
He woke with a start, realizing that it was day, and that it was eerily quiet. He sat up, his jacket falling to the floor with the movement, and Alfred scooped it back up again, slipping it on to stave off the chill of the early morning. His watch read 19:49, but it was ridiculously out of whack now from the time zone changes, so he ignored it.
He walked along the corridors of the cathedral, looking for the others. Arthur’s pew had been empty that morning, save his cloak and supplies. Alfred figured he would be close-by, and began to search. However, he was quickly becoming confused by the winding and interconnecting hallways, and realized, to his dismay, that he was hopelessly lost. Turning another corner, he pulled back with a gasp as he spotted Francis and someone he didn’t know conversing. He peeked out around the pillar again, eyes wide as he took in every detail, and he strained to hear the words being spoken.
“Please, just give me more time-”
“You have been given plenty of time, Francis,” the other man drawled, almost in a bored tone. He played idly with his shoulder-length blond hair, his icy blue eyes half-lidded and uninterested. Pristine fingernails glittered like lacquered stone as his graceful hands moved. But Alfred noted the deathly pallor of the man’s skin, and of his tiny fangs that became visible as the man ran his tongue over his teeth. He was definitely not human.
At least, not anymore.
Francis looked nervous, and wrung his hands as he spoke. “I beg of you. I am trying, I swear! But without the resources-”
“You have been given the resources,” the man answered sharply. “You can use every excuse you know, Francis, but the simple truth is, you have fallen.” His eyes fixed on Francis with a predatory glare. “The Regent will not be happy about this.”
“The Régent does not have to know! Please, Lesta-”
The man backhanded Francis viciously. As the Nation staggered, he narrowed his eyes.
“Once, you dangled power in front of me, and snatched it back, mockingly. Now who is in a position of power, France?” His lips snarled wrathfully.
Francis hung his head in defeat, blood seeping from his lip that he had bit when he had been hit. The man stepped to him, cupping Francis’ chin with his hand, and yanking him unceremoniously closer. Without warning, their lips crashed together, and Francis was struggling vainly to get free. The other man’s tongue lapped at the wound, savouring the blood as if it was fine wine, and licked his lips clean as he released Francis, stepping back. The Nation cringed, putting a hand to his mouth in disgust, but saying nothing.
The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3f/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:34:37 UTC
“Tonight,” the man said before he turned to leave. “Have what we need by then, or I will bleed you dry.” And with that, the man was gone, leaving Francis to collapse to his knees in defeat.
Alfred decided, wisely, not to reveal that he was there, and silently slipped off in a new direction to try to find Arthur. He had a feeling he would need to hear about this.
Eventually, he made his way back to the same place he had started, only this time, Arthur was there, wrapped up in his cloak again, and still rifling through his grimoire. Alfred hesitantly approached him.
“A-Arthur?”
The man’s head snapped up at Alfred’s voice. “Oh…Alfred, there you are. Where were you?”
“Looking for you,” he admitted.
Arthur looked sheepish. “I stepped out to…uhh, well…it’s not important. What did you need to see me about?”
Alfred hesitated. Should he tell Arthur about what he had seen, or keep it to himself? He struggled momentarily before coming to a heavy decision.
“It’s about Francis. I think…I think he’s in big trouble.”
He quickly explained what he had seen, and Arthur pursed his lips in thought. “It does seem the Regent is putting more pressure on him,” Arthur admitted finally. “I could be that he’s cracking down on us. Or,” he paused here. “Or it could simply be that this sort-of thing has been happening all along.”
In the pause that followed, Francis entered. He wore a smile, and all traces of his earlier frustration and helplessness were gone. If Alfred hadn’t seen what had happened, he wouldn’t have known any better.
“Did you both sleep well?” he asked.
“Yes,” Arthur admitted. “When I finally did get to sleep, that is.”
“Pews suck to sleep on,” Alfred chimed in.
Francis simply laughed. “I only wish I could have given you more…comfortable lodgings.”
“This was fine,” Arthur stated simply. “In any case, I must ask that we trouble you a bit longer.”
For a brief instant, Francis’ face was pained, but it was gone before either would notice. “O-of course, Angleterre. But whatever for?”
“I need to look into supplies,” Arthur stated simply. “And, if we can manage it, a possible means of travel. We’re going to be heading towards Russia after this, and it’s much easier by vehicle.”
“So it is,” Francis murmured quietly. He paced a bit before he answered. “Supplies I can help with, but I’m afraid I cannot assist you in terms of a vehicle.”
“Not to worry,” Arthur replied. “I had a feeling that was the case.”
Alfred realized that while everything Arthur was saying was true, the man was looking for excuses to stay in France a bit longer, so as to assist Francis in any way possible. He almost smiled, but caught himself before he did.
“You won’t be hassled nearly as much during the day,” Francis explained. “Anything that is out right now isn’t much of a threat. But the vampires are active after dark, so do be careful.” He glanced over at Alfred. “If you need to stay another night, do so here.”
“Thanks,” Alfred said.
Arthur and Alfred left the cathedral, and headed towards an area sure to have supplies. As they walked, Alfred looked at Arthur curiously.
“Why Russia?”
“Because,” Arthur explained, always infinitely patient for Alfred and his cluelessness. “Ivan can help us get to Canada. I’m sure you are worried about Matthew, as am I. And because they both have a pact with General Winter, Ivan can assist us in getting past Matthew’s barrier. As well as the more-than-obvious fact that Ivan is on our side.” He looked ahead again, focused on a target now.
Alfred walked with his hands in his pockets. “What could Francis have to give them?”
Arthur shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that either way, Francis is going to feel the blow.”
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,”
“Precisely,” Arthur answered.
“So now what?” Alfred asked, already knowing the answer.
“As much as it pains me to say so, we’re going to help him,” Arthur answered, pursing his lips afterwards. “We’ll step in, and take out this guard dog the Regent has posted before France is forced to make a difficult choice.”
“Sounds like my kind of job,” Alfred agreed excitedly.
The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3g/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:37:51 UTC
“Don’t get cocky,” Arthur warned sharply. “He’s one of the Regent’s Generals for a reason. No doubt he’s been given power that will dwarf our own. We need to catch him off-guard, or we’ll never have a chance.”
***
Francis slipped out after he assumed Arthur and Alfred were asleep. Tensing, Alfred cracked an eye, and waited for Arthur to give the signal, indicating Francis was far enough away for them to move without being spotted. Alfred was just grateful he didn’t have to sleep on that damn pew anymore, and was on his feet like lightning.
Tailing Francis through the streets of Paris was a lot easier than Alfred had initially thought it would be, and it made him even more nervous. This whole thing was becoming far too easy for his tastes. Francis made his way at a good pace towards the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, pausing briefly every now and then to glance into a storefront here or admire something there. He almost seemed casual, but the lack of people made the whole scene very disturbing, and Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat.
There wasn’t a soul out, besides themselves. Francis strolled casually down one of the world’s most famous streets, completely empty of any kind of soul, humming some tune under his breath and acting completely at ease.
“Where is everyone?” Alfred breathed to Arthur, troubled. Arthur simply shook his head before he replied in an equally hushed voice:
“They’re at home. They’re afraid of them.”
Alfred knew what them was. The vampires that had been unleashed on the city, more than likely as a means of keeping everyone in line, as a way of causing terror and trying to force Francis to do as he was commanded. Alfred swallowed again, still trying to get rid of his lump, and thought to himself that Francis was, quite possibly, one of the bravest Nations he had ever met.
Or, at the very least, one of the bravest men.
Francis came to a stop somewhere near the Champs-Élysées’ north sidewalk, pausing in front of a deli as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world to him, and Alfred instinctively backed up into an alley, next to Arthur.
They had arrived.
The whisper of cloth on the wind was all that announced his arrival as the Regent’s General landed on a nearby lamp post, and sneered down at the once-proud Nation as if Francis was but a mere insect.
“Well?”
Francis turned to look at the man, his face tired but set, his eyes fierce and cold. “I have made my decision.”
“And what is it?”
Francis looked back to the deli’s windows again, contemplative. “If I was to pay the price in my people,” he began, slowly, “Those souls would be damned, and it will be on my head. But,” and again, the pregnant pause before he continued. “But, if I pay the price in my own blood…” He turned, staring deep into the man’s eyes. “Then every soul would perish. And that is far too great of a toll to pay.”
Alfred sucked in his breath sharply as everything clicked into place.
“Get to the point, old man,” the younger man said, bored. “I haven’t got all night.”
Francis sighed, shaking his head and clucking his tongue in a disapproving manor. “Such an impatient soul, aren’t we? But then, you always were…”
The man jumped to the ground, his body moving like a blur, but not a sound did his boots make as they impacted the stone sidewalk below. He got right up into Francis’ face before speaking again. “Your answer, France. Now.”
Francis straightened, head held high as he stared back. “I will pay your toll with my people. But I warn you: I do not make this decision lightly. Those souls will be avenged, I assure you.”
The man laughed. “I don’t really care either way.”
The young man turned, and Francis’ shoulders slumped in defeat. He had been forced to sacrifice the few for the many, and it pained him. He fingered his Saint Jeanne metal, praying for her strength through this ordeal.
“It’s not like you to give up,” Arthur’s voice rang out loud in the still night, causing both men to look up in surprise.
The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3h/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:41:42 UTC
Arthur was standing behind Francis, blocking off his southern escape. Alfred stepped out, blocking off the men’s northern route, and forcing them to either dart into the road, or flee past them, neither one a sound escape for Francis, as they both mean going into the darkness where the vampires waited for him. He shivered.
“Well, well,” the young man drawled, his teeth gleaming under the harsh streetlights. “What do we have here?” He looked at Francis with a coy look. “The mice from the Abby are here to play, non?”
Francis’ eyes were dark. “Please, mon enfant, I beg you-”
“Shut up,” the young man hissed angrily. “I haven’t been French in a very long time. Or do you not recall I went to Louisiana back in the 1800’s?”
Francis shook his head sadly, slowly. “Non, I did not.”
“Francis, get over here,” Arthur barked.
Francis looked wearily at Arthur, and sighed. “Why are you doing this, Angleterre?”
“Because,” Arthur said, emerald eyes blazing. “You’re my rival. Only I’m allowed to put you on your knees in utter defeat.”
Francis’ blue eyes flickered then, as if he had finally woken up, and something stirred just under the surface. The young man laughed raucously.
“You Rebellion dregs are really the worst,” he said, amused but highly venomous at the same time. “Even going so far as to find a look-a-like of your fallen hero, no doubt to fuel some moral. But it’s too little, too late. The world belongs to the Regent now. Just accept it.”
“Burn in hell,” Arthur fired back, hands glowing with fiery energy. “I’ll accept defeat only when my corpse is feeding the maggots!”
“So be it!” the man snarled in reply, drawing a slim, deadly rapier from his belt. “I’ll see to it personally!”
“Arthur!” Alfred yelled.
Arthur fired off the fireball before the man got to him, but it was expertly dodged with the man’s speed. Arthur swore like a sailor, and rolled out of the way of the blade’s arcing path. Alfred spotted the shreds of material as the rapier blade snagged Arthur’s cloak on the way down, and his breath hitched. He should be doing something, not standing here like an idiot!
Pulling his gun, he tried to get a bead on the man attacking them, but the movements were too fast, far too fast for Alfred to track. Just as he thought he had a solid bead on him, the man would dart to a new location as if he was teleporting, moving so fast he was simply a black blur under the flickering streetlights. Arthur wasn’t fairing so well, and his clothes had small tears in them from the deadly rapier blade.
“Shit!” Alfred swore loudly, frustrated. Francis was moving at this point, drawing his own rapier from its scabbard. The silvery blade caught the light, and gleamed with a blinding glare as it arced expertly, catching the man in the shoulder. There was a gasp from the man as he stumbled back, clutching at his arm, which was now hissing and smoking violently.
“Alchemised silver,” the man snarled. “Imbued with holy power. Where did you get that?”
“This blade once belonged to my beloved Jeanne,” Francis explained. “I gave it to her.”
The two men glared at each other then, and the younger’s face twisted into a terrifying look of pure rage. “You’ll pay for this treachery,” he vowed as he tried to flee into the night.
“Not so fast!” Arthur called, another fireball catching the weakened man before he could escape it. There was a grunt of pain, and he staggered again, shrieking insults in both French and English.
Alfred trained his gun, but Francis stopped him. “Unless those bullets are silver, Amérique, you’ll be doing no good.” He looked at Alfred with serious eyes. “Seigneur de Lioncourt ceased to be human a long time ago.”
Alfred nodded slowly, understanding, and lowered his gun. This was something Francis had to do, alone. The proud Nation stepped towards the fallen man, his rapier gleaming in the dull lights, his eyes soft and sympathetic.
Look at how he has broken you, mon enfant.
The vampire looked up into Francis’ face, eyes caught somewhere between hatred and desperation. Part of him wanted to tear the Nation’s eyes out, to spit on him, curse him, hate him. Another begged for death, for release.
The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3i/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:45:53 UTC
“Mon enfant,” Francis cooed as he knelt at the man’s side, stroking the young man’s silken blond hair as a father would to his child as he comforts him after a nightmare. “Look at what the Régent’s power has done to you.”
The man whimpered, clutching at Francis desperately.
“You, who fought the Devil himself, who stood at the gates of heaven and went back. You who bested demons within and without. You who brought a Queen to her knees.” He looked sadder than ever now. “Look at what you have become.”
“It was…it was necessary…” the man wheezed. “The power…I needed…”
“How is this necessary?” Francis asked coolly.
“Do you not…remember?” The man asked, looking into his face. “That Christmas, so long ago? How you mockingly gave my power, but pulled away too soon? How you laughed at me, mocked me. I hated you.” His hands clenched. “But I loved you.” He cried, tears of blood mixing with the ash and dirt on his face. He was hansom, or had been once, but his evil heart has darkened him and stained him, and now, only now, at the edge of despair and defeat did his true beauty come through.
“It was for the best,” Francis told him, voice hitching.
“You destroyed me!” the man howled, beating Francis with his fists, pushing the Nation back. “You dangled it in my face, and snatched it back! You cold, cold bastard!”
Francis pulled the struggling man into a hug, amidst cursing and screaming and protest, and stroked his hair soothingly. It was clear that Francis forgave the vampire, even if the vampire refused that. The young man sobbed into Francis’ shoulder, his own shoulders heaving and shaking.
“Kill me,” he whispered.
Francis said nothing. He simply kept stroking the man’s hair.
“He’ll make me,” the man was whimpering now, trying to worm away from Francis. “He’ll force me to…oh dieu…” He clutched his head as he tore himself away from his Nation. “No no no no no NO!” He threw back his head with an inhuman howl, and Francis leapt to his feet in an instant, practically bowling over Arthur and Alfred as he backed up in a hurry.
“Get back!”
“But-!”
“No buts!”
The three men backed up and watched, horrified, as the vampire twisted into something far worse, far more feral and evil. His eyes burned red as he set his sights on them.
“Shoot to kill!” Francis bellowed. “Because he won’t hesitate to do so to us!”
Alfred unleashed a storm of bullets on the vampire, who seemed to shrug them off like nothing at all. Alfred cursed, and ducked to the side to avoid a tackle, rolling towards the storefronts, reloading the whole way. Arthur prepared more fireballs as Francis covered him, fending off attacks and getting some of his own in.
“Francis!” Alfred cried desperately. “I’m useless! My bullets may as well be peanuts!”
“Un moment, Amérique,” Francis told him as he parried another attack. “I’ll be right there.”
Arthur unleashed some more fireball hell on the vampire, and Francis took advantage of this to sprint to Alfred’s side. Touching the gun, he whispered a few things under his breath, and a faint silvery light seemed to emanate from his fingers for a moment before fading off as quickly as it came.
“What was that?” Alfred asked.
“A small spell,” Francis told him. “Your gun is now enchanted with holy blessings. Your bullets should do some damage now.”
Alfred grinned, not really sure how Francis did it (because he STILL refused to believe magic was real, even with such glaringly obvious examples of it right in his face), but not really caring either because now he could hurt the vampire bastard. He took aim and fired, satisfied to hear the beast cry out in pain.
Francis pulled out the harp at his side, and strummed quickly, creating a melody that seemed to bolster Alfred’s own courage by a few notches. In the heat of battle, Alfred didn’t even bother questioning it.
Arthur’s fireballs and Alfred’s now-enchanted bullets were wearing the creature down fast, and it tried to retreat, only to find Francis blocking off its escape into the night. With a saddened look, Francis delivered the finishing blow to the beast, his blade slamming deep into its heart.
The Heros Are All Dead: MISSION 2 [3j/?]
anonymous
February 2 2010, 11:47:40 UTC
The vampire fell away, his form melting into ash as it slowly disappeared, before a stiff breeze caught it, and blew it around the square a bit like dirt on a dry summer day. Francis took some in his hand, and let it go slowly on the wind, scattering it so the man could not be resurrected.
“I hope you find peace in death,” Francis whispered.
Alfred watched the ashes float away, feeling saddened and relieved. It was over. For now, at least.
***
“What will you do now, Francis?”
Alfred looked over at the Nation as Arthur finished up the last of the sealing ritual, placing the protective seal over France to keep the Regent out, just as he had done back home in Britain. Francis merely shrugged, and his long blond hair, pulled back half-heartily in a blue ribbon, was tossed about in the brisk wind. The sky was blue and dotted with lazy, fluffy white clouds. A beautiful day over Paris.
“I cannot stay here, not when the Rébellion needs me,” Francis said. “And I cannot keep up my charade with the Régent, not now that he most likely knows the truth.” He looked out into the distance, as if he was thinking. “I think, perhaps, I will go with you two.”
Arthur sputtered. “Not on your life, frog!”
Francis laughed lightly as he draped an arm over Arthur’s shoulders. “Oh come now, Angleterre! You need me! I am a vital asset to you!”
“I’d rather die!” Arthur howled angrily.
The two Nations then proceeded to race down the streets of Paris: Arthur chasing Francis the whole way, throwing insults and whatever else he could lay his hands on, the Frenchman laughing all the while. Alfred watched them disappear into the crowds, smiling. Little by little, life was returning to the world. Maybe it wasn’t life as he knew it, but it was life.
And that was all the hope he needed to keep going.
The Heros Are All Dead: DM'S NOTES FOR MISSION 2 PART 1
anonymous
February 2 2010, 12:28:44 UTC
Thanks for being so patient, everyone! I had a dry spell in terms of writing there for a bit, but I'm back, and this part is now done! Look forward to new stuff in the next month or so! Now for the notes:
Scotland's Cooking: Worse than England's. Tru fax.
Walk 500 Miles: Yes, I shamelessly used that Proclaimers song. I'm lame like that.
The Chunnel: The Channel Tunnel, known colloquially as the Chunnel, is a 50.5-kilometre (31.4 mi) undersea rail tunnel linking Folkestone, Kent near Dover in the United Kingdom with Coquelles, Pas-de-Calais near Calais in northern France beneath the English Channel at the Strait of Dover. At its lowest point it is 75 metres (250 ft) deep. At 37.9 kilometres (23.5 mi), the Channel Tunnel has the longest undersea portion of any tunnel in the world although the Seikan Tunnel in Japan is both longer overall, at 53.85 kilometres (33.46 mi) and deeper, at 240 metres (790 ft) below sea level. The tunnel carries high-speed Eurostar passenger trains, Eurotunnel Shuttle roll-on/roll-off vehicle transport-the largest in the world-and international rail freight trains. The tunnel connects end-to-end with the LGV Nord and Channel Tunnel Rail Link high-speed railway lines. In 1996 the American Society of Civil Engineers identified the tunnel as one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World.
Song In The Trees: Francis uses the Song of Courage here, and again later in the last fight for this chapter. It boosts attack power, and dispels the status ailment fear.
Vampires: Though never spoken, it is implied that the vampires roaming the streets are the remnants of the civilians that Francis was forced to give the Regent and his General as payment for being allowed to keep his country in tact.
Drawn to Alfred's Blood: Alfred, not being of this world, reeks of power, and lesser creatures are drawn to it like a magnet. He reflects the power he holds in his world, not the state of America in that world (or lack thereof).
Notre Dame and Jeanne: Notre Dame Cathedral is one of France's oldest cathedrals, and was the sight of many things, including Jeanne d'Ark's partial sainthood. (It was there that she was officially declared 'blessed') France holds Jeanne very dear to him, and therefore wear her Sainthood metal around his neck. Jeanne is a saint who supports martyrdom, just as a note I found interesting.
Sleeping on Pews: Having done so myself, I can honestly say this is not the most comfortable of things to do.
Interdimentional Travel: Another clever nudge at Doctor Who
Hunchbacks Who Ring Bells: The Hunchback of Notre Dame references here. I read a few fics about Alfred and Francis and Notre Dame and whatnot already on this meme. I thought it'd be a cute reference.
The Watchdog of France: The General assigned to bully Francis into line is, of course, Lestat de Lioncourt from The Vampire Chronicles series by Anne Rice. I read a simply delicious ficlet on this meme somewhere that was FrancexLestat. Needless to say, I wanted to reference it. (This meme needs more FrancexLestat!)
Avenue des Champs-Élysées: Paris' most famous street, and the home to most of its prime fashion boutiques, this street is outrageously expensive to rent a spot on. It's usually teaming with crowds, so to find it deserted is not only eerie, but just plain wrong.
France's Blood: Headcannon dictates that the blood of a Nation is the blood of all of its people, so to drain a Nation (no easy feat) would be like draining the blood of every single person in the Nation. Yikes.
Mon Enfant: France calls Lestat this because he still sees him as one of his citizens, despite everything that has happened. It means 'my child' in French.
Alchemised Silver: Silver that has been purified using alchemy, and refined so that it is stronger than steel. This fabled metal is often said to be used to defeat demons and the like.
Seigneur: 'Lord' in French. France uses the title because, before he died, Lestat would have been a noble.
The Heros Are All Dead: DM'S NOTES FOR MISSION 2 PART 2
anonymous
February 2 2010, 12:35:48 UTC
Lestat's Pain: The exchange between Lestat and France is a reference to the same fic as before. (I swear I'll find it and link it someday)
Enchant Weapon: Francis uses the Enchant Weapon spell on Alfred's gun, giving it the holy property, and allowing it to actually damage Lestat.
Song of Courage: As previously mentioned, this song boosts attack, and eliminated the fear status ailment. France, in case you haven't guessed, is a bard, and thus uses songs to buff allies and de-buff enemies.
Scattering the Ashes: Vampires can return to live unless their ashes are scattered. Francis is releasing Lestat here, and praying he will find peace in the afterlife. (Despite he has no place in either heaven or hell)
Magical Centerpoint I couldn't decide if it should be the Eiffel Tower or the Arc d'Triumph. It could be either one, or another place entirely. After all, it is where the magic is the strongest.
Alfred frowned slightly, and looked around. He didn’t know what Arthur was talking about. Looking back at Arthur, he saw the other man staring off into the dark with an uneasy look.
“If you’re so scared,” Alfred teased lightly, “I’ll go on first watch for you. Okay?”
Arthur seemed to grunt gruffly in response, but he curled up in his blanket, and tried to get some needed rest. Alfred sat, eyes sweeping the darkness beyond the tiny circle of light the campfire provided. After a short while, he heard Arthur’s breaths become steady and rhythmic, a sure sign he was asleep. He smiled gently at the man, who was relaxed in his deep slumber. He almost seemed vulnerable, and Alfred had to stop himself from gathering the man into a warm hug. When he wasn’t scowling about every little thing, or yelling in frustration, he was really handsome…
Alfred snapped his head away, blushing a bit. Where had that thought come from?! He didn’t like Arthur like that, did he?! He put a gloved hand to his mouth as he thought about it deeply. It was hard to explain his relationship with Arthur. ‘Shaky’ had always been a good word, he guessed. A hundred years of bitterness on Arthur’s part was had to shake, after all, and Alfred was pretty sure that despite his best intentions, Arthur still hated him a bit for his Independence.
But I had to, he reasoned to himself. If I’d stayed your colony forever, then I couldn’t…
His heart wrenched violently then, and he shook his head to dispel the thoughts. This was getting overly complicated, and he didn’t need that right now. He focused on the fire, using it to stay fixed on his task of standing guard. However, despite his best efforts, he was worn out, and his eyes began to droop shortly thereafter. Before long, he had nodded off, still sitting by the fire, gun in hand.
A loud snap woke Alfred with a start, and he realized the fire had burned itself dangerous low. He swore quietly, and began stoking at it as best as he could, trying to get it going again. There was something about the darkness here that seemed to suck the heat away from him, leaving him cold and full of dread. He looked up and about, fearful. He was sure there was something just beyond the dying fire now, something malicious.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Alfred muttered angrily at the fire, stirring up the hot coals and feeding it tinder and small pieces of dry wood to try to revive it. Slowly, the dying fire began to get brighter, and as Alfred looked up again, he could see the fleeting figures, just at the edge of the ring of light. He swallowed, his eyes glues to what he saw.
And then, the fire simply snuffed out, as if by a strong wind. But the air was deathly still. Alfred yelped a bit, and grabbed his gun again, eyes darting wildly around him, trying to see the shadows he had seen before. But in the darkness, he was all but blind. And, judging from the sounds that reached his ears, the shadowy figures were not at all hindered by the darkness. In fact, he was positive, they thrived in it.
Alfred swallowed hard, and tried not to shake. A Hero had to be brave, no matter what! But he knew he was hopelessly outmatched here. He prepared for the inevitable attacks that would surely come.
But, to his surprise, a soft sound came drifting through the air, winding around the trees and bushes that made up the forest. The shadows seemed to still, and slink back a bit, and Alfred felt his trembling ease away as courage swelled inside of him. He was mystified, but grateful, and focused on the dark shapes in the equally dark night. If he squinted a slight bit, he could almost make them out…
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And the smell…the smell alone made Alfred want to gag. Like rotting flesh, and decaying cloth, and that horrible tangy-sweet, coppery smell of blood. Alfred could only stare in terrified fixation on them.
Then they hissed, angry and vile and soul-rending evil. Alfred gasped on reflex, which only made him dizzy as he sucked in more of that foul stench they leeched, and tried to get back farther, but only succeeded in falling back on his backside, completely helpless.
A flash of metal in the darkness awoke Alfred to the realization that there was something-or someone-else there with them all. The sliver of light glinting off metal was accompanied by the sound of flesh being sliced, and one of the creatures fell to the ground, now in three pieces. Its comrades all shrieked a bloodcurdling battle cry.
The person moved too fast for Alfred to tell whom it was, but their work was evident, as more creatures were slashed to pieces. Before he could even level his gun to assist, they were all dead, and the parts were slowly hissing as they turned to ash in a furious chemical reaction of sorts. Alfred looked up, the person just outside the ring of light, so their upper body was shrouded by shadows. He watched the person slip their rapier back into its scabbard at their side, where a small harp was already fastened.
“Well, I must be seeing ghosts tonight,” the figure chuckled. “That is the only explanation for you.” The stranger gestured at Alfred, who blinked, confused.
“I don’t-”
“Wot…?” Arthur mumbled sleepily, as he pulled himself from his blankets. “Is ’t my watch already…?” He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands, stifling a yawn.
Alfred slowly and carefully got to his feet. The figure made no motion to move closer, but seemed to be watching them intently.
“Who are you?” After a small pause, Alfred added, “And…why did you help us?”
Arthur surveyed the scene quickly, putting everything together to come to a swift conclusion before he gave a small groan. Alfred glanced at him quizzically, and noted Arthur’s pained expression.
The figure chuckled again, and this time, Alfred felt a tinge of nostalgia. He knew that voice…
“So quick to forget, Amérique.”
Alfred’s eyes got wide, and Arthur buried his face in his hand.
“F-Francis?!”
The Frenchman stepped forward, into the light from the fire, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “I had a feeling you would be coming soon. Perhaps it was a change in the winds. Or maybe it was a whispered rumour I heard…”
Arthur gave an exasperated sigh. “Francis, please. Spare me the details. Just tell me how you found us.”
Francis sighed, slightly disappointed, and curled a bit of hair around his finger idly. “You see, it was not very hard. They followed you, and I followed them.” He glanced over at them. “They were drawn to Amérique, you see. His blood is alluring to them, like fine wine.” His lips played up into a smile. Alfred felt himself shiver inadvertently.
Arthur’s lips were pursed. “You’re just as bloody annoying as I recall.”
Francis tilted his head, amused. “Why, merci, Angleterre!”
“That wasn’t a compliment, you half-witted frog!”
Alfred watched the exchange, feeling relived. Francis was still the same, albeit a bit more…mysterious than he remembered him being. He grinned excitedly.
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“Oui,” Francis agreed. “We need to speak. But not here: his spies are everywhere, even at my own home. But I know a place.” He motioned for them all to follow him, and began to walk into the woods.
Alfred glanced at Arthur, who was already packing his things quickly. Alfred gave a silent sigh, and did the same. He hastily snuffed out the fire with his foot, stamping his boot a few times to cool it off before trotting off after the other two men.
***
The arches of the Notre Dame Cathedral greeted them as dawn slowly began to creep over the edge of the horizon. Alfred had seen it in images before them, but never in person, and he was momentarily awestruck by it. Arthur and Francis waited patiently as Alfred slowly took in the towering stone structure, absorbing the regalness of it, even amidst the surrounding ruins.
“Why is it still standing?” Alfred asked quietly. He had noted the extensive damage to the surrounding area, but the church was pristine still, untouched by fire or explosives.
“Because Jeanne protects it,” Francis replied simply. “This place was the site of her beatification, the place she was declared blessed.” His gaze travelled up towards a stone statue, and Alfred studied it in silence, noting Francis’ expression. However, the man quickly pulled his gaze away, and ushered them inside. “It is because she protects this place that it is a safe haven from the Régent and his minions. He cannot enter this sacred place.”
Alfred’s eyebrows touched. “What are you saying?”
Arthur cleared his throat. “The Regent draws his power from a demon. Its why weapons are utterly useless against him.”
Alfred scoffed. “C’mon, Iggy, that’s silly. Demons aren’t real!”
Arthur glared at Alfred. “You have the nerve to say that, even after what you have already seen?”
Francis only chuckled. “Ahh, this must truly be Amérique, for he still has all of his old doubt and scepticism, even in the face of what cannot be disputed.” He paused, now inside the church, halfway up the centre isleway, and fixed Alfred with a firm look. “Even after seeing the dead walk, you do not believe. If I had not intervened, those vampires would have been feasting on your blood.” He let a thin, pale finger wander down Alfred’s cheek, glide along the young man’s jawbone, and down his neck to his shirt collar before pulling back, again with that coy smile that was driving Alfred crazy. Francis bit down on a perfect fingernail, as if deciding something.
“Francis,” Arthur said finally, shattering the silence. “I’m…gathering the Resistance.”
Francis said nothing, but his eyes flickered momentarily.
“I need information. The kind only you can obtain.”
“Oui,” Francis replied finally, walking again, but this time towards the pulpit. “I had a feeling this would happen at some point. I am prepared.” He bent down, and triggered some hidden switch, opening a small drawer, and pulled out some papers that were tied together with string. He placed them in Arthur’s hands, their eyes locking.
“Angleterre,” he spoke seriously. “I am putting myself in grave danger, giving you these. If they are ever discovered on you, they will know instantly it was I who gave them to you. Do not fail me.” The messages passed silently between them were numerous.
Arthur nodded solemnly. They pulled away from each other, and Francis smiled again, lightening the mood. “Come, sleep here tonight. It is quite safe, I assure you.” His hand idly went to stroke a small medallion around his neck just under his shirt, and Alfred noted the action with interest. He couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like a nervous habit to him.
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“Yeah,” Alfred added. “Anything’s better than being chewed on by vampires.” He laughed shortly. “Not…that I…believe in them, mind you. Or horned snakes.”
Francis smirked coyly again.
“You should be more careful,” he said slowly. “The Regent has many agents working for him, and they are quite powerful. Indeed, the watchdog here in my fair land is…how to say this…quite nasty.” He looked at Alfred. “I would be careful, if I were you, cher.”
Alfred laughed again, more hollow than before.
***
Sleeping on a pew is way more uncomfortable than one would first think, and Alfred found himself unable to get any rest at all. Finally, he sat up, only to find Arthur sitting in the isleway, intently paging through his grimoire, searching for something, and muttering quietly.
“No, not that. Not that either. Blast it! Why don’t I have anything in here about interdimentional travel?!” He sighed loudly, and looked up at the ceiling as he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “It’s times like this, I need that man more than ever.” His shoulders slumped then, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, weary.
Alfred wanted to talk to him, but Arthur was already pouring over his book again, and Alfred didn’t want to interrupt him. Sighing quietly, he lay back down, and tried to sleep, using his jacket as a blanket, and his arm as a pillow. He gazed up at the high ceilings of the cathedral, studying every detail, and wondering at how it was made, and if there really had been a hunchback that rang the bells.
Somewhere in that train of thought, he surrendered to sleep.
***
He woke with a start, realizing that it was day, and that it was eerily quiet. He sat up, his jacket falling to the floor with the movement, and Alfred scooped it back up again, slipping it on to stave off the chill of the early morning. His watch read 19:49, but it was ridiculously out of whack now from the time zone changes, so he ignored it.
He walked along the corridors of the cathedral, looking for the others. Arthur’s pew had been empty that morning, save his cloak and supplies. Alfred figured he would be close-by, and began to search. However, he was quickly becoming confused by the winding and interconnecting hallways, and realized, to his dismay, that he was hopelessly lost. Turning another corner, he pulled back with a gasp as he spotted Francis and someone he didn’t know conversing. He peeked out around the pillar again, eyes wide as he took in every detail, and he strained to hear the words being spoken.
“Please, just give me more time-”
“You have been given plenty of time, Francis,” the other man drawled, almost in a bored tone. He played idly with his shoulder-length blond hair, his icy blue eyes half-lidded and uninterested. Pristine fingernails glittered like lacquered stone as his graceful hands moved. But Alfred noted the deathly pallor of the man’s skin, and of his tiny fangs that became visible as the man ran his tongue over his teeth. He was definitely not human.
At least, not anymore.
Francis looked nervous, and wrung his hands as he spoke. “I beg of you. I am trying, I swear! But without the resources-”
“You have been given the resources,” the man answered sharply. “You can use every excuse you know, Francis, but the simple truth is, you have fallen.” His eyes fixed on Francis with a predatory glare. “The Regent will not be happy about this.”
“The Régent does not have to know! Please, Lesta-”
The man backhanded Francis viciously. As the Nation staggered, he narrowed his eyes.
“Once, you dangled power in front of me, and snatched it back, mockingly. Now who is in a position of power, France?” His lips snarled wrathfully.
Francis hung his head in defeat, blood seeping from his lip that he had bit when he had been hit. The man stepped to him, cupping Francis’ chin with his hand, and yanking him unceremoniously closer. Without warning, their lips crashed together, and Francis was struggling vainly to get free. The other man’s tongue lapped at the wound, savouring the blood as if it was fine wine, and licked his lips clean as he released Francis, stepping back. The Nation cringed, putting a hand to his mouth in disgust, but saying nothing.
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Alfred decided, wisely, not to reveal that he was there, and silently slipped off in a new direction to try to find Arthur. He had a feeling he would need to hear about this.
Eventually, he made his way back to the same place he had started, only this time, Arthur was there, wrapped up in his cloak again, and still rifling through his grimoire. Alfred hesitantly approached him.
“A-Arthur?”
The man’s head snapped up at Alfred’s voice. “Oh…Alfred, there you are. Where were you?”
“Looking for you,” he admitted.
Arthur looked sheepish. “I stepped out to…uhh, well…it’s not important. What did you need to see me about?”
Alfred hesitated. Should he tell Arthur about what he had seen, or keep it to himself? He struggled momentarily before coming to a heavy decision.
“It’s about Francis. I think…I think he’s in big trouble.”
He quickly explained what he had seen, and Arthur pursed his lips in thought. “It does seem the Regent is putting more pressure on him,” Arthur admitted finally. “I could be that he’s cracking down on us. Or,” he paused here. “Or it could simply be that this sort-of thing has been happening all along.”
In the pause that followed, Francis entered. He wore a smile, and all traces of his earlier frustration and helplessness were gone. If Alfred hadn’t seen what had happened, he wouldn’t have known any better.
“Did you both sleep well?” he asked.
“Yes,” Arthur admitted. “When I finally did get to sleep, that is.”
“Pews suck to sleep on,” Alfred chimed in.
Francis simply laughed. “I only wish I could have given you more…comfortable lodgings.”
“This was fine,” Arthur stated simply. “In any case, I must ask that we trouble you a bit longer.”
For a brief instant, Francis’ face was pained, but it was gone before either would notice. “O-of course, Angleterre. But whatever for?”
“I need to look into supplies,” Arthur stated simply. “And, if we can manage it, a possible means of travel. We’re going to be heading towards Russia after this, and it’s much easier by vehicle.”
“So it is,” Francis murmured quietly. He paced a bit before he answered. “Supplies I can help with, but I’m afraid I cannot assist you in terms of a vehicle.”
“Not to worry,” Arthur replied. “I had a feeling that was the case.”
Alfred realized that while everything Arthur was saying was true, the man was looking for excuses to stay in France a bit longer, so as to assist Francis in any way possible. He almost smiled, but caught himself before he did.
“You won’t be hassled nearly as much during the day,” Francis explained. “Anything that is out right now isn’t much of a threat. But the vampires are active after dark, so do be careful.” He glanced over at Alfred. “If you need to stay another night, do so here.”
“Thanks,” Alfred said.
Arthur and Alfred left the cathedral, and headed towards an area sure to have supplies. As they walked, Alfred looked at Arthur curiously.
“Why Russia?”
“Because,” Arthur explained, always infinitely patient for Alfred and his cluelessness. “Ivan can help us get to Canada. I’m sure you are worried about Matthew, as am I. And because they both have a pact with General Winter, Ivan can assist us in getting past Matthew’s barrier. As well as the more-than-obvious fact that Ivan is on our side.” He looked ahead again, focused on a target now.
Alfred walked with his hands in his pockets. “What could Francis have to give them?”
Arthur shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that either way, Francis is going to feel the blow.”
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,”
“Precisely,” Arthur answered.
“So now what?” Alfred asked, already knowing the answer.
“As much as it pains me to say so, we’re going to help him,” Arthur answered, pursing his lips afterwards. “We’ll step in, and take out this guard dog the Regent has posted before France is forced to make a difficult choice.”
“Sounds like my kind of job,” Alfred agreed excitedly.
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***
Francis slipped out after he assumed Arthur and Alfred were asleep. Tensing, Alfred cracked an eye, and waited for Arthur to give the signal, indicating Francis was far enough away for them to move without being spotted. Alfred was just grateful he didn’t have to sleep on that damn pew anymore, and was on his feet like lightning.
Tailing Francis through the streets of Paris was a lot easier than Alfred had initially thought it would be, and it made him even more nervous. This whole thing was becoming far too easy for his tastes. Francis made his way at a good pace towards the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, pausing briefly every now and then to glance into a storefront here or admire something there. He almost seemed casual, but the lack of people made the whole scene very disturbing, and Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat.
There wasn’t a soul out, besides themselves. Francis strolled casually down one of the world’s most famous streets, completely empty of any kind of soul, humming some tune under his breath and acting completely at ease.
“Where is everyone?” Alfred breathed to Arthur, troubled. Arthur simply shook his head before he replied in an equally hushed voice:
“They’re at home. They’re afraid of them.”
Alfred knew what them was. The vampires that had been unleashed on the city, more than likely as a means of keeping everyone in line, as a way of causing terror and trying to force Francis to do as he was commanded. Alfred swallowed again, still trying to get rid of his lump, and thought to himself that Francis was, quite possibly, one of the bravest Nations he had ever met.
Or, at the very least, one of the bravest men.
Francis came to a stop somewhere near the Champs-Élysées’ north sidewalk, pausing in front of a deli as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world to him, and Alfred instinctively backed up into an alley, next to Arthur.
They had arrived.
The whisper of cloth on the wind was all that announced his arrival as the Regent’s General landed on a nearby lamp post, and sneered down at the once-proud Nation as if Francis was but a mere insect.
“Well?”
Francis turned to look at the man, his face tired but set, his eyes fierce and cold. “I have made my decision.”
“And what is it?”
Francis looked back to the deli’s windows again, contemplative. “If I was to pay the price in my people,” he began, slowly, “Those souls would be damned, and it will be on my head. But,” and again, the pregnant pause before he continued. “But, if I pay the price in my own blood…” He turned, staring deep into the man’s eyes. “Then every soul would perish. And that is far too great of a toll to pay.”
Alfred sucked in his breath sharply as everything clicked into place.
“Get to the point, old man,” the younger man said, bored. “I haven’t got all night.”
Francis sighed, shaking his head and clucking his tongue in a disapproving manor. “Such an impatient soul, aren’t we? But then, you always were…”
The man jumped to the ground, his body moving like a blur, but not a sound did his boots make as they impacted the stone sidewalk below. He got right up into Francis’ face before speaking again. “Your answer, France. Now.”
Francis straightened, head held high as he stared back. “I will pay your toll with my people. But I warn you: I do not make this decision lightly. Those souls will be avenged, I assure you.”
The man laughed. “I don’t really care either way.”
The young man turned, and Francis’ shoulders slumped in defeat. He had been forced to sacrifice the few for the many, and it pained him. He fingered his Saint Jeanne metal, praying for her strength through this ordeal.
“It’s not like you to give up,” Arthur’s voice rang out loud in the still night, causing both men to look up in surprise.
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“Well, well,” the young man drawled, his teeth gleaming under the harsh streetlights. “What do we have here?” He looked at Francis with a coy look. “The mice from the Abby are here to play, non?”
Francis’ eyes were dark. “Please, mon enfant, I beg you-”
“Shut up,” the young man hissed angrily. “I haven’t been French in a very long time. Or do you not recall I went to Louisiana back in the 1800’s?”
Francis shook his head sadly, slowly. “Non, I did not.”
“Francis, get over here,” Arthur barked.
Francis looked wearily at Arthur, and sighed. “Why are you doing this, Angleterre?”
“Because,” Arthur said, emerald eyes blazing. “You’re my rival. Only I’m allowed to put you on your knees in utter defeat.”
Francis’ blue eyes flickered then, as if he had finally woken up, and something stirred just under the surface. The young man laughed raucously.
“You Rebellion dregs are really the worst,” he said, amused but highly venomous at the same time. “Even going so far as to find a look-a-like of your fallen hero, no doubt to fuel some moral. But it’s too little, too late. The world belongs to the Regent now. Just accept it.”
“Burn in hell,” Arthur fired back, hands glowing with fiery energy. “I’ll accept defeat only when my corpse is feeding the maggots!”
“So be it!” the man snarled in reply, drawing a slim, deadly rapier from his belt. “I’ll see to it personally!”
“Arthur!” Alfred yelled.
Arthur fired off the fireball before the man got to him, but it was expertly dodged with the man’s speed. Arthur swore like a sailor, and rolled out of the way of the blade’s arcing path. Alfred spotted the shreds of material as the rapier blade snagged Arthur’s cloak on the way down, and his breath hitched. He should be doing something, not standing here like an idiot!
Pulling his gun, he tried to get a bead on the man attacking them, but the movements were too fast, far too fast for Alfred to track. Just as he thought he had a solid bead on him, the man would dart to a new location as if he was teleporting, moving so fast he was simply a black blur under the flickering streetlights. Arthur wasn’t fairing so well, and his clothes had small tears in them from the deadly rapier blade.
“Shit!” Alfred swore loudly, frustrated. Francis was moving at this point, drawing his own rapier from its scabbard. The silvery blade caught the light, and gleamed with a blinding glare as it arced expertly, catching the man in the shoulder. There was a gasp from the man as he stumbled back, clutching at his arm, which was now hissing and smoking violently.
“Alchemised silver,” the man snarled. “Imbued with holy power. Where did you get that?”
“This blade once belonged to my beloved Jeanne,” Francis explained. “I gave it to her.”
The two men glared at each other then, and the younger’s face twisted into a terrifying look of pure rage. “You’ll pay for this treachery,” he vowed as he tried to flee into the night.
“Not so fast!” Arthur called, another fireball catching the weakened man before he could escape it. There was a grunt of pain, and he staggered again, shrieking insults in both French and English.
Alfred trained his gun, but Francis stopped him. “Unless those bullets are silver, Amérique, you’ll be doing no good.” He looked at Alfred with serious eyes. “Seigneur de Lioncourt ceased to be human a long time ago.”
Alfred nodded slowly, understanding, and lowered his gun. This was something Francis had to do, alone. The proud Nation stepped towards the fallen man, his rapier gleaming in the dull lights, his eyes soft and sympathetic.
Look at how he has broken you, mon enfant.
The vampire looked up into Francis’ face, eyes caught somewhere between hatred and desperation. Part of him wanted to tear the Nation’s eyes out, to spit on him, curse him, hate him. Another begged for death, for release.
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The man whimpered, clutching at Francis desperately.
“You, who fought the Devil himself, who stood at the gates of heaven and went back. You who bested demons within and without. You who brought a Queen to her knees.” He looked sadder than ever now. “Look at what you have become.”
“It was…it was necessary…” the man wheezed. “The power…I needed…”
“How is this necessary?” Francis asked coolly.
“Do you not…remember?” The man asked, looking into his face. “That Christmas, so long ago? How you mockingly gave my power, but pulled away too soon? How you laughed at me, mocked me. I hated you.” His hands clenched. “But I loved you.” He cried, tears of blood mixing with the ash and dirt on his face. He was hansom, or had been once, but his evil heart has darkened him and stained him, and now, only now, at the edge of despair and defeat did his true beauty come through.
“It was for the best,” Francis told him, voice hitching.
“You destroyed me!” the man howled, beating Francis with his fists, pushing the Nation back. “You dangled it in my face, and snatched it back! You cold, cold bastard!”
Francis pulled the struggling man into a hug, amidst cursing and screaming and protest, and stroked his hair soothingly. It was clear that Francis forgave the vampire, even if the vampire refused that. The young man sobbed into Francis’ shoulder, his own shoulders heaving and shaking.
“Kill me,” he whispered.
Francis said nothing. He simply kept stroking the man’s hair.
“He’ll make me,” the man was whimpering now, trying to worm away from Francis. “He’ll force me to…oh dieu…” He clutched his head as he tore himself away from his Nation. “No no no no no NO!” He threw back his head with an inhuman howl, and Francis leapt to his feet in an instant, practically bowling over Arthur and Alfred as he backed up in a hurry.
“Get back!”
“But-!”
“No buts!”
The three men backed up and watched, horrified, as the vampire twisted into something far worse, far more feral and evil. His eyes burned red as he set his sights on them.
“Shoot to kill!” Francis bellowed. “Because he won’t hesitate to do so to us!”
Alfred unleashed a storm of bullets on the vampire, who seemed to shrug them off like nothing at all. Alfred cursed, and ducked to the side to avoid a tackle, rolling towards the storefronts, reloading the whole way. Arthur prepared more fireballs as Francis covered him, fending off attacks and getting some of his own in.
“Francis!” Alfred cried desperately. “I’m useless! My bullets may as well be peanuts!”
“Un moment, Amérique,” Francis told him as he parried another attack. “I’ll be right there.”
Arthur unleashed some more fireball hell on the vampire, and Francis took advantage of this to sprint to Alfred’s side. Touching the gun, he whispered a few things under his breath, and a faint silvery light seemed to emanate from his fingers for a moment before fading off as quickly as it came.
“What was that?” Alfred asked.
“A small spell,” Francis told him. “Your gun is now enchanted with holy blessings. Your bullets should do some damage now.”
Alfred grinned, not really sure how Francis did it (because he STILL refused to believe magic was real, even with such glaringly obvious examples of it right in his face), but not really caring either because now he could hurt the vampire bastard. He took aim and fired, satisfied to hear the beast cry out in pain.
Francis pulled out the harp at his side, and strummed quickly, creating a melody that seemed to bolster Alfred’s own courage by a few notches. In the heat of battle, Alfred didn’t even bother questioning it.
Arthur’s fireballs and Alfred’s now-enchanted bullets were wearing the creature down fast, and it tried to retreat, only to find Francis blocking off its escape into the night. With a saddened look, Francis delivered the finishing blow to the beast, his blade slamming deep into its heart.
“Forgive me…”
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“I hope you find peace in death,” Francis whispered.
Alfred watched the ashes float away, feeling saddened and relieved. It was over. For now, at least.
***
“What will you do now, Francis?”
Alfred looked over at the Nation as Arthur finished up the last of the sealing ritual, placing the protective seal over France to keep the Regent out, just as he had done back home in Britain. Francis merely shrugged, and his long blond hair, pulled back half-heartily in a blue ribbon, was tossed about in the brisk wind. The sky was blue and dotted with lazy, fluffy white clouds. A beautiful day over Paris.
“I cannot stay here, not when the Rébellion needs me,” Francis said. “And I cannot keep up my charade with the Régent, not now that he most likely knows the truth.” He looked out into the distance, as if he was thinking. “I think, perhaps, I will go with you two.”
Arthur sputtered. “Not on your life, frog!”
Francis laughed lightly as he draped an arm over Arthur’s shoulders. “Oh come now, Angleterre! You need me! I am a vital asset to you!”
“I’d rather die!” Arthur howled angrily.
The two Nations then proceeded to race down the streets of Paris: Arthur chasing Francis the whole way, throwing insults and whatever else he could lay his hands on, the Frenchman laughing all the while. Alfred watched them disappear into the crowds, smiling. Little by little, life was returning to the world. Maybe it wasn’t life as he knew it, but it was life.
And that was all the hope he needed to keep going.
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Now for the notes:
Scotland's Cooking: Worse than England's. Tru fax.
Walk 500 Miles: Yes, I shamelessly used that Proclaimers song. I'm lame like that.
The Chunnel: The Channel Tunnel, known colloquially as the Chunnel, is a 50.5-kilometre (31.4 mi) undersea rail tunnel linking Folkestone, Kent near Dover in the United Kingdom with Coquelles, Pas-de-Calais near Calais in northern France beneath the English Channel at the Strait of Dover. At its lowest point it is 75 metres (250 ft) deep. At 37.9 kilometres (23.5 mi), the Channel Tunnel has the longest undersea portion of any tunnel in the world although the Seikan Tunnel in Japan is both longer overall, at 53.85 kilometres (33.46 mi) and deeper, at 240 metres (790 ft) below sea level. The tunnel carries high-speed Eurostar passenger trains, Eurotunnel Shuttle roll-on/roll-off vehicle transport-the largest in the world-and international rail freight trains. The tunnel connects end-to-end with the LGV Nord and Channel Tunnel Rail Link high-speed railway lines. In 1996 the American Society of Civil Engineers identified the tunnel as one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World.
Song In The Trees: Francis uses the Song of Courage here, and again later in the last fight for this chapter. It boosts attack power, and dispels the status ailment fear.
Vampires: Though never spoken, it is implied that the vampires roaming the streets are the remnants of the civilians that Francis was forced to give the Regent and his General as payment for being allowed to keep his country in tact.
Drawn to Alfred's Blood: Alfred, not being of this world, reeks of power, and lesser creatures are drawn to it like a magnet. He reflects the power he holds in his world, not the state of America in that world (or lack thereof).
Notre Dame and Jeanne: Notre Dame Cathedral is one of France's oldest cathedrals, and was the sight of many things, including Jeanne d'Ark's partial sainthood. (It was there that she was officially declared 'blessed') France holds Jeanne very dear to him, and therefore wear her Sainthood metal around his neck. Jeanne is a saint who supports martyrdom, just as a note I found interesting.
Sleeping on Pews: Having done so myself, I can honestly say this is not the most comfortable of things to do.
Interdimentional Travel: Another clever nudge at Doctor Who
Hunchbacks Who Ring Bells: The Hunchback of Notre Dame references here. I read a few fics about Alfred and Francis and Notre Dame and whatnot already on this meme. I thought it'd be a cute reference.
The Watchdog of France: The General assigned to bully Francis into line is, of course, Lestat de Lioncourt from The Vampire Chronicles series by Anne Rice. I read a simply delicious ficlet on this meme somewhere that was FrancexLestat. Needless to say, I wanted to reference it. (This meme needs more FrancexLestat!)
Avenue des Champs-Élysées: Paris' most famous street, and the home to most of its prime fashion boutiques, this street is outrageously expensive to rent a spot on. It's usually teaming with crowds, so to find it deserted is not only eerie, but just plain wrong.
France's Blood: Headcannon dictates that the blood of a Nation is the blood of all of its people, so to drain a Nation (no easy feat) would be like draining the blood of every single person in the Nation. Yikes.
Mon Enfant: France calls Lestat this because he still sees him as one of his citizens, despite everything that has happened. It means 'my child' in French.
Alchemised Silver: Silver that has been purified using alchemy, and refined so that it is stronger than steel. This fabled metal is often said to be used to defeat demons and the like.
Seigneur: 'Lord' in French. France uses the title because, before he died, Lestat would have been a noble.
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Enchant Weapon: Francis uses the Enchant Weapon spell on Alfred's gun, giving it the holy property, and allowing it to actually damage Lestat.
Song of Courage: As previously mentioned, this song boosts attack, and eliminated the fear status ailment. France, in case you haven't guessed, is a bard, and thus uses songs to buff allies and de-buff enemies.
Scattering the Ashes: Vampires can return to live unless their ashes are scattered. Francis is releasing Lestat here, and praying he will find peace in the afterlife. (Despite he has no place in either heaven or hell)
Magical Centerpoint I couldn't decide if it should be the Eiffel Tower or the Arc d'Triumph. It could be either one, or another place entirely. After all, it is where the magic is the strongest.
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Can't wait till the next installment!
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