(no subject)
"I tried to find her." Virus was mumbling, eyes narrowed in the blinding white sunlight that cut through the window; the only clear window in the chapel. Saint Etienne smirked, his back turned to her as he traced the brasswork that twisted about the railing leading to the sanctum. Walking slowly, his footfalls sounding gently with purpose, he snapped the crimson curtains about the window closed, immersing the three of them in merciful shade. He shot a glance, contempting and curious to the immobile Damon-slumped in a corner and only bothering to move when his lips begged to meet the comfort of the wine bottle he carried. "I'm sure you did, Virus," the Saint muttered, his dripping sarcasm concealed only by a drunken slur-it had been a confession day for him, and he had drunk his fair share of anything to be had- wine, women, song, and not a little blood. The truth was, he could still spy the smatter of rouge on Virus's arm, and knew rather well what had really happened to Adrienne. He stalked over to his old record player, and lowered the needle onto a dusty copy of Madame Butterfly; smiled softly as the strained, ghostly tune began to fill the small room at the back of his church.
His voice wass hushed when he turned to her, an eternity of moments marred only by the occasional screech of an ill-placed record needle and the splash of Damon missing the mark with his wine bottle. "Where did you leave her, Virus? And did you, for once, leave her breathing?" His accusing glare burned through the sneer on her face, her own sense of contempt burning dully from the hole where her eyes should have been. Soft beacons of sunlight glittered in Etienne's hair through moth-eaten patches of the heavy, damask curtain and cast ominous shadows about his silver eyes. Voice a hiss, he dug into her. "Where is Adrienne? I know you've found her, you cunt, and I wish to reclaim my little bride." He spat, the sound echoing in the cavernous room. "Dead OR alive." The Silver Saint couldn't help a smile carving its way onto his stoic face as the memories he had of Adrienne came back.
He had loved her from the moment the young strumpet walked into his chapel with that worm of a man, both of them dressed gaily for an impromptu wedding, their faces flush with love, lust, and trembling anticipation. Oh, how he'd loved her perocelain face, cut across with strokes of bright, happy makeup. He'd loved her still when he read out the vows, had loved the cystalline tears pooling in her joyful eyes as his own silken voice twined between them, sounding joylessly the promises of loyalty; of love. He'd loved her raven hair, brushing like satin against her shoulders, the shine of her eyes in the soft candlelight. Oh, and he'd love her yet more when his hand came down; when her darling little man fell to the unforgiving marble floor- clutching hopelessly at the red river escaping his throat. He'd held her slight, thrashing frame and laughed merrily, the blood on his hands sinking into the light lace of her dress; he'd grinned and kissed her smeared ruby lips, fingers sinking delightedly into her ivory cheek to claw away the rivulets of black that streamed from her eyes. He'd loved the way she screamed, her china doll hands drumming uselessly on his chest as he clutched her tighter, planting bloodied kisses down her long smooth neck. Oh, my, how he'd loved her- her cries protest and resignation, the way she twisted in his embrace, the way her blood shone brightly on her stark, bare white flesh, and the way the candles' flare trapped her tears and turned them into a sunflower's dew.
Oh, and he'd have her back.
Reaching to take an iron crucifix from the wall, Etienne planted a tender kiss on its cold, metal surface. Damon struggled to sit up, sleepy eyes focusing in the dim room and mouth agape in curiousity. "It won't be stopped," Etienne hissed to him, a smile creeping, twisting onto his mouth. Walking slowly, he let his shadown fall across Virus's tense, ruined face. Leaning almost seductivey, Etienne bit her ear sharply and whispered to her, hushed and firece. "So where is my Adrienne, you pretty little gutterfly?" Wrapping one hand with a tense grip about her throat, he backed away, whispering voice growing bolder. "Where have you left her, ugly little doll, where did you leave my Adrienne?" With a sudden, forceful strike, he jammed the iron cross into her skull, giggling mirthfully at the sound of cracking skull, and the hot blood dripping into his palms. Virus gurgled, blood pouring from her nose and mouth as she grasped her throat and whimpered. One metal claw jabbed desperately at the west wall, her dimming eye trained on the sunflower field beyond. Etienne followed her gaze, a smirk on his lips as he laughed, walking to the door. Leaving Damon cringing silently in the dark; leaving Virus wheezing and shivering as the last of her candyblood poured out onto the carpet, the reflected lamplight dying with the clap of her metal heart.