Plogviehze, Baby: 4/14
Prologue | Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
Chapter delayed by exams and alcohol. Blame the establishment :D
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 4
"Okay," said Polly that evening, after maybe ten minutes of stumbling through snow that was still piled up at least three feet high, "this is supposed to be better than yesterday how, exactly?"
"It isn't," admitted Mal. "Well, I suppose it is, 'cause it isn't snowing. That's great, don't you think?" She said that with the air of someone being thoroughly fed up with the world at large, a mindset which, at least, agreed more with Polly than the usual superiority.
It also wasn't very helpful.
"Explain to me again why we can't fly," said Polly.
"Do you think you can fly?" asked Mal, looking back.
"Well, no, but -"
"Then you can't," said Mal, and marched on.
A snowball, thought Polly. A snowball to her back, that would be an adequate reaction. But no. As she had stressed earlier that day, she very definitely was not five.
"It's one of those intrinsic fears again, is it?" she asked. Vampires seemed to have more of those than could possibly be good for them.
"It is," said Mal.
"So I should be able to overcome it?" said Polly. She was holding on to this. Everyone who currently had their boots filled with snow would, wouldn't they?
"With the appropriate teacher and an easy-going attitude towards minor drawbacks like broken bones and a smashed skull, yes," said Mal. "It's not as if these things don't heal. Two days maximum, good as new."
"And you're not -"
"Can we say I'm pedagogically challenged and leave it at that?" asked Mal.
Polly pondered this. For a moment, at any rate. "Of course not!"
Mal laughed. It was a nervous laugh. A 'there's something I'd prefer not to admit'-laugh.
Polly sighed. "Of all the vampires I could have ended up with, I get the one who can't fly." She prodded miserably at the snow.
Mal shrugged. "Well, there's at least five of us, and we get together every year and indulge in cream sherry and blueberry muffins and try to convince ourselves that having friends is vastly overrated, anyway."
"You're lying."
There was a pause, and then -
"Joking," said Mal. "I'm joking, Polly. Big difference. Lighten up, kid."
"I'm trying, all right?" It wasn't really a scream.
At least not by, say, Jackrum standards.
Well.
"Why can't you fly?" added Polly, striving for a more conversational tone. "I thought flying and vampires go together like, well, like nightdresses and underwire. Um."
"Look," said Mal, "I can do the fog thing and I can do the bat thing. I'm good at the bat thing. I hardly ever leave my clothes behind anymore. I am, however, er, and I think I told you that before -"
"Afraid of heights?" suggested Polly.
"I'm all right with heights, actually," said Mal, "as long as I've got something to stand on, hold on to, or hang down from. It's the falling I don't like."
She was currently standing on snow, just like Polly, which was, she thought, a big part of the problem.
"Besides, I think it will be better once we're on the other side of the mountains," added Mal, "sunnier there, and such."
The other side of the mountains, thought Polly. The other side of the mountains. This would be acceptable if these weren't the fucking Ramtops.
"So if you're good at the bat thing," nag nag nag, "doesn't that mean you'd be flying either way?"
"It's different," said Mal. "Bats are supposed to be flying, so it's actually quite easy. Ha, well, except for my dear brother, who seems to find flying in a straight line to be a bit of a challenge."
"You've got a brother?" asked Polly, while wading through another snowdrift. She could, of course, have walked around it, but the snowdrifts were basically deep snow surrounded by insignificantly less deep snow. Pointless, really.
"Yes," said Mal, and that was it. Polly supposed she shouldn't have been surprised, given the vast array of facts she didn't know about Mal, like, oh, her full name, favourite dessert, five things she'd do on her Sunday off.
But there were more pressing matters at hand. The snow, to name one. Surely there had got to be a better way of travelling.
"So can you teach me the bat thing, then?" asked Polly.
"Um," was the careful answer, and there was also snow and snow and more snow.
"I mean, at least explain to me why you can't," said Polly. "That way, I might be inclined to believe you're not being unhelpful on purpose."
"It's one of those things that are kinda hard to explain," said Mal, "the bat thing, I mean. It's like... you know, technically, it's morphing your body into a completely different shape while trying to keep your clothes on... or not, as the case may be..."
"Er," said Polly.
Mal coughed. "Aaanyway, morphing with clothes on. Never works in the beginning, and some never get the hang of staying clothed -"
"Can we just skip the clothes part and go right to the actual morphing?" said Polly, who had Mental Images. This was, of course, part of her soldier lad routine. Walk the walk, talk the talk, think the...
Oh dear.
(What she had seen of Mal: her arms, various times. Parts of back and belly, because sometimes, before her morning coffee, Mal had moved too fast for Polly to turn around before it was too late. Ankles. A strip of thigh through a ripped uniform. Mal's pale neck where Polly'd peeled back the collar to kiss the skin beneath. Her hands, all the time. )
"Yes, well, it's a whole body experience," said Mal. "Kinda hard to translate into a ten step programme."
"You learned it," said Polly.
"Took me a year," said Mal. "And I wasn't distracted by pressing matters."
"Do we have pressing matters?" asked Polly.
"Snow," said Mal.
Polly groaned. "Can we agree not to talk about that?" Yeah, thought Polly, a really wonderful strategy. Not talking about things had never failed her.
Never.
Damn.
-
"D'you think we might be able to, you know, grab a bite?" asked Polly at some point, several hours later, and thought, you know, I never asked for my vocabulary to be influenced like that.
Mal began feeling up and down the sleeves of her coat. Polly was puzzled for a moment, but no -
"Don't tell me you've still got that rat," she said. "You know, this should be illegal."
Mal shrugged. "Rats actually never made it into the list of Abominations, I think."
"Well, they bloody well should have," said Polly. "Besides, I didn't mean the actual existence of rats, though that should be a crime in and of itself, I meant the act of - stop cuddling it!"
"It's cold, poor thing," said Mal. "There you go." She handed it to Polly.
Polly considered making a few interesting faces, but she was too exhausted. She merely turned away and bit down and -
"Aren't you eating anything?" she asked, after a moment.
"Well," said Mal, "I suppose we've still got that horse-bread. Lovely for keeping your teeth sharp." She thought for a moment, and added, sheepishly, "Not that that matters."
She made no move to unpack it, though, which made Polly think.
"I haven't seen you eating anything since -" last night, thought Polly, twenty-four hours ago, and you weren't quite eating in the solid food sense of the word - and before that, a whole lot of nearly nothing -
"I'm fine," said Mal. "Could do with some coffee, but that's got time till we find a more comfortable spot."
"Till we find more coffee, you mean," said Polly, and dodged the offended glare just in time.
"It wouldn't kill you be a little considerate," said Mal. "Considering."
"There's still something in there," said Polly, trying to get her to take the rat. "Have it, please. You're worrying me."
"No, thanks," said Mal, eyeing the offered rat with a thoroughly indescribable expression. "I do not drink blood."
Polly glared. "Except for yesterday, yes?"
"That was a bit of a drawback, yes," said Mal. "A lapse in concentration. It will not happen again. I'm sorry it happened at all."
"Okay," said Polly. "But it made you feel better. Yes?"
"Yes," said Mal after a few seconds. "That is, as it were, the damn problem. And you might want to drink up, otherwise that's just cruel."
Oh gods... Polly hadn't noticed the rat was still twitching. For the first time in days, she felt sick at the thought of... whatever it was she was doing, and tried to shrug it off, like any soldier short of food would do eventually. She finished the rat and dropped on her knees to wash her mouth out with snow, spitting pink ice, the act of which caused a very peculiar sensation of deja vu.
- Hang on, she thought, but the memory slipped away -
It very nearly made her choke, but if she gave in to nausea, what would have been the bloody point? She felt Mal's eyes bore into her.
Polly dedicated a few seconds to undiluted exasperation. "Go away, Mal," she said. "This is not my finest moment."
"Sorry," said Mal, and turned around. Polly heard her make a few steps, and considered losing her lunch after all, and then -
"Will you look at that!" she heard Mal's voice from somewhere off. Polly looked up, and there Mal stood, farther away than Polly would have thought possible, in an opening between two snow-covered hills.
She'd probably found a whole bloody lot of snow, thought Polly, there isn't much else. Still, hope died last. She made her way over to Mal, carefully because her intestines didn't deserve to be shaken up like this. Nearly there, and there was a flapping of wings, and a bat rose up from some hidden point.
"What did you find?" asked Polly, and thought, this had better be bloody awesome.
Mal gestured her closer to where she was standing.
Polly stared. She wasn't afraid of heights, unlike to some vampire she wasn't going to name, thanks, but this -
"Well, I guess at least it's not more snow," she said, at least, after she'd made a large step backwards.
It was a valley. Of course, there was also snow involved, but what really caught the eye was the river. This must be...
"Kone river," said Mal with a certain delight in her voice. "Which flows directly into..."
"The Ankh," said Polly, who had never been taught geography but knew how to take a hint. "Well, I suppose at least there's no chance we're getting lost now, is there?"
"Only problem is," said Mal, straining her neck to look at the valley without actually moving closer to the cliff, "I'm not quite sure how to get down."
"I don't know either, but let's just follow that bat," said Polly.
Mal froze.
"What did you just say?"
"That bat, see?" said Polly. The bat was hovering somewhere on their left. "I saw that one twice already. It's quite helpful."
In the blink of an eye, Mal had moved towards the bat, but it just fluttered up and vanished. She turned around again.
"What did I tell you about bats?" she asked.
"So they could be tetchy relatives," said Polly, "but fact is, I think there's something resembling a path over there. I mean, maybe there's someone you haven't managed to piss off?"
The sentence was out before Polly could figure out whether it might be hurtful, but maybe it wasn't. There even was a slight smile, or maybe Mal only wanted to show off her canines.
"I don't know, I think I was quite thorough in that respect," said Mal, finally, and looked around.
Polly felt helpless at that. "Maybe not?" she volunteered.
"Or maybe you're just seeing things and that's an actual bat which is definitely not following us," said Mal, loudly. "Because I don't like being followed around."
"I don't think it's listening, actually," said Polly.
"Let's go," said Mal, "and absolutely not in that direction. We'll find a way."
Polly wasn't quite sure if this was the right moment for Mal to start being erratic, because she figured, hey, either it's a bat, which makes it harmless, or it's someone being helpful, which would be nice for a change.
She wasn't going to argue the point, though.
They found something that sort of resembled a downwards path, if one squinted. It was basically a narrow strip of land between the mountain and the abyss, but at least it wasn't completely snowed in, on account of being on the wrong - or right - side of the mountain.
They spent the early morning hours descending, sticking close to the mountain and trying not to look down. Polly watched Mal carefully. Mal was making tiny steps, holding on to dead roots in the wall with white-knuckled hands. When they had to pass a particularly narrow stretch, turned sideways and holding hands because it was just that crazy, Polly saw that her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and her fingers dug into Polly's hand so hard it hurt.
Which was proving... what now? That she hadn't lied?
"Look, I've been thinking," said Mal, when they were almost down in the valley, after another hour or so.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"When you see that bat again -," Mal began, and stopped.
Polly waited for a few heartbeats.
"When I see that bat again," she prompted.
"Yeah, when you see that bat again, because I don't think it likes to show itself to me, anyway, tell me right away. And -" Mal paused, dragging a hand through her hair with an air of tired confusion. Polly was this close to reminding her how she had started her sentence, when Mal turned to her, not actually looking at her, but close, at least, and said:
"I want you to carry a stake."
This caught Polly by surprise, and she couldn't quite prevent some kind of squeaky sound from escaping. Way to go, sergeant, she thought. "But I'm not good with those!"
"Yes, but they don't know that!" said Mal. "Besides, just wave it around, or stick it in likely places."
"What's that supposed to achieve?"
"Well, it bloody hurts, for starters," said Mal. So do swords, thought Polly, plus you can also use them to peel potatoes, if you've got potatoes.
"I don't think I'm able to do that," she said, after a while. It was quite hard to admit, even to herself, but getting armed up while she still had these anger management issues sounded... unwise... and surely Mal couldn't be in her right mind to suggest something like that?
"What's up, soldier girl?" asked Mal. "It's not as if you're not already carrying a sword. And crossbows."
Oh. That.
"Okay," said Polly,"okay. Don't think we're going to find much wood just lying around, though."
"Could get some in that village over there."
Polly stopped dead.
"You failed to mention there was a village," she said. There was, though. In not too great a distance, a tiny row of houses was visible. Up bubbled the anger, but this time, Polly felt justified.
Mal didn't even slow down. "Don't worry," she called over her shoulder, "I don't think there's anybody around."
Polly made an exasperated effort to catch up. "How do you know?" she asked.
"You don't?"
"No, of course not!" said Polly. "I mean, I can see there's no smoke coming out of the chimneys, and there's no footprints in the snow, but then, we're off-road and at least two hundred yards away and it's four in the bloody morning!"
"Seven, more like," said Mal. "Besides, it's... it's a vampire thing, all right?"
"But I am a -," said Polly and trailed off, because the sentence felt shaped all wrong. Reluctantly, she followed Mal. It was appealing, wasn't it? If the village was indeed abandoned, then they had the chance of sleeping in a shed, or something. A roof above their head sounded good.
It would probably be clever to find out what had driven the villagers away, though.
"So, how can you tell?" asked Polly.
"Heartbeats, mostly," said Mal. "You'll learn to pick them up, although you probably won't like -"
She stopped, just by the village sign, and lifted her hands up to her ears, giving off an impression of strained listening. Polly tried, really tried, to make as little distraction as possible, let her heart slow down, but found out she had no idea how to go about that.
"That's strange," Mal muttered.
"What's up?" asked Polly. "You know, maybe we should really make some sort of detour."
"I think they left their cattle behind," said Mal. "Cows and such. You don't do that unless you're in a real hurry."
"Are you sure everyone's gone, though?" asked Polly, again. She was a little bit torn between being angry with Mal for displaying strange and yet undisclosed powers only she had - and did she hear my heartbeat, all the time? 'Cause that's just private - and being relieved that at least one of them had a faint idea of what was going on.
"I suppose it's possible that one or two human heartbeats get lost in the buzz," said Mal. "It's been a while since I really listened for that kind of thing. On the other hand, it could very well be just cows."
"Then let's walk around it," said Polly. "A roof above the head only makes one soft, I say."
Mal hesitated.
"Yes," she said, "but, coffee? Deserted villages are so damn hard to find."
"We don't know for sure if it's deserted."
"You don't have to come with me," said Mal. "I'm just going to have a look."
That was all good and logical, thought Polly, but she was bloody well not going to stand here and wait for a more or less reformed and, by now, probably malnourished vampire having a look around. She told Mal so, in no uncertain terms.
"Okay," said Mal. "Are you feeling murderous today?"
She didn't exactly cower under Polly's glare, but if she had been the type to do so, Polly mused, she probably would have done, because it was a good glare. She was still working on the logic of that last thought, though. And also -
"Of course not," she replied. "Because I, unlike you, have eaten, in a broad sense of the word, twice during the last day, while you seem to be living off sort-of-but-not-really-coffee, which has no nutritional value at all."
Polly was, by now, milking the height difference for all it was worth. Damn, was she ever good at the sergeant thing.
"So the real question is," she added, "corporal, are you feeling murderous today?"
"Nah," said Mal. It could possibly have been a lie. "Anticipating your orders, sarge." A wink, and she turned to go. The light stride was back, Polly noticed, the feeling that Mal's feet weren't actually touching the ground when she was walking.
Maybe she hadn't lied. Who knew?
-
"Damn, they really must have been in a hurry," said Polly as she was looking through the shelves behind the bar in the village's only inn. It was quite a good inn, was her professional opinion. The floors weren't any muckier than was to be expected, and some of the bottles with the really fatal stuff had even managed to acquire a thin layer of dust.
"Now, what makes you say that?" asked Mal from the adjacent kitchen. It had been quite an argument, with Mal insisting that coffee was nourishing and therefore had to be kept next to onions and bread and such, and Polly pointing out that anything that came in tiny bags with the brand name embroidered on in curly golden letters was, by definition, not nourishing and thus had to be kept with the alcohol.
Tea, on the other hand -
"Is it the fact that the door was wide open?" continued Mal. "The open bottles? The fallen chairs? The overpowering smell of very, very, very well-done pork?"
The smell was bad, Polly had to admit, bad in a 'I do not know why I put up with this, seeing as I sure as hell don't have a coffee problem' way. She wondered how Mal coped.
"Is it the half-empty coffee cup I see in front of me?" she heard Mal's voice.
One... two... three...
"You're not going to drink that," said Polly, standing in the kitchen door. Well. Mal had raised the cup to her face, but she seemed to be merely sniffing.
"Four or five days, I'd say," said Mal. "See how it's become all slushy?"
"Yes, I do," groaned Polly. "Tell me again why I tolerate you."
"It's Klatchian, I think," said Mal, sniffing again. "Klatchian coffee never freezes." The look of intense concentration on her face was quite suddenly released by a sneeze. "Yes, I think it's the infamous Midnight Surprise. That's the one with black pepper. Now where have they left the damn bag?"
"You know," said Polly, "when it's you saying the words 'midnight surprise', I get some very strange images inside my head. By the way, I found some coffee liqueur, s'that any good?" She hesitantly held up a bottle with toffee-coloured liquid, only just now realising that maybe Mal and alcohol did not mix very well at this moment, what with the lack of hearty meals.
"Wanna try it?"
"Nah, dinner first," said Polly, and added in her best barmaid's voice, "or else you'll be really sorry tomorrow."
"Yes," said Mal. "I suppose I'll be."
"Um," said Polly. It could have been something of a moment, maybe, but Mal was already going through another drawer, tossing Polly a half-filled bag of tea, which she caught almost without looking. Polly supposed she could really get used to having reflexes like that. She left her lounging point at the doorframe to go and search the pantry, when -
"Found it," said Mal, "look. There it is." She was shaking a tin. Judging by the sound, it must be about half full, which would have been nice had the tin been a bit bigger.
Polly watched her open the lid and inhale the scent with an expression of bliss, a private moment between addict and substance. Then, quite suddenly and most of all, quite silently, the tin was put back into the drawer.
Polly gave her a questioning look, but Mal merely raised a finger to her lips, than pointed towards the door which lead to the bar. Polly screwed up her face in despair, which Mal acknowledged with an apologetic grin, listening hard.
Mal lifted one finger, listened some more, raised two.
And then Polly could hear footsteps, the creaking of wood. They were trying not to make a sound and failing dramatically.
The creaking stopped. Not disturbing the ensuing silence, Mal moved towards the door. How she pulled that off in her heavy army boots, on floorboards that creaked when you so much as looked at them funny, was completely beyond Polly. She wasn't going to complain, though.
She crept after Mal, not nearly as soundless, but at least she didn't knock anything over. She desperately tried not to think about the pack that they had left standing in the middle of the bleeding bar. There was no way they could make a discreet escape, and that was just worrying.
Mal made a very careful and very silent attempt to stick her head through the door. There was a swishing sound, a "Hey!" from Mal, and she threw herself back at high speed, right into Polly.
An arrow was sticking in the doorframe. It was still vibrating.
The problem with pacifism was, thought Polly, that the other side always seemed to favour violence over a nice cup of tea. Couldn't they all just bloody get along?
Mal, meanwhile, had switched into her 'suave and not all that reformed vampire' routine. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said, striding out of the kitchen, her cloak dutifully moving in a dramatic whirl. Mal off-handedly arranged being missed by a second arrow, which turned out to be the last, "let me explain a few... golly gosh, you two really are the sorriest mob I've ever seen."
Polly, who had carefully trailed after her, knew at once that she was right. The two young men, unshaven and probably mostly honest farmer lads, shared between them a total of one crossbow with no additional arrows, one hammer, one stake and, of course, the traditional pitchfork.
But how did they know -
"Oh, look," said one of them. He spoke Borogravian with a thick accent, "It's back." He spat in Mal's general direction.
But how do they know we're Borogravian? How do they know we're Borogravian vampires? There had better be a damn good explanation.
"Now," said Mal, all careful smile and knowingness, "there seems to be a misunderstanding. I'm sure you two can work it out on your own while we just make our way to the backdoor." She reached for Polly's hand.
One of the men said something in Zlobenian. The other nodded grimly.
"I think the kid should get away, don't you think?" said Mr. Pitchfork. "Will be killed like our Elissa, five days ago." And he grinned a toothy grin. "Only us left now, bloodsucker. Look, no lacy nightgowns."
"Five days ago, Mal?" asked Polly. Of course she didn't believe a word, but -
Well, she did. Sex in a tree, indeed.
"I did not, in fact, kill anybody. Lately," said Mal. "I don't fancy starting now. Please respect my good intentions?" Her grip on Polly's hand got stronger.
Also, Polly noticed Mal was trying not to breathe.
Come to think of it, she also wasn't looking at the two men. The two human men -
Polly looked from the mob to Mal, and back. The men, she noticed, were shivering, half with fear, half with an adrenaline rush that seemed to have crashed against a brick wall. Polly tried seeing things from their perspective, and thought she understood why they probably were puzzled.
A monster and a somewhat girly farm boy, holding hands. Honestly.
"Not killed anyone?" said Mr. Pitchfork. "Mistake from our side, Mr. van der Zülln? You think so?"
At once, Mal let go of Polly's hand. Polly looked at her, wanting to find some of that reassuring self-confidence, but only found shock.
"Surprised, eh? That's your name?" said the man. "Your name, your face, your stupid black cloak and your cissy ribbon?" Polly could see his hand tremble as it clenched around the stake.
"She was a lovely girl, Mr. van der Zülln. Wonderful personality. Such nice hair. Did you know that? Did you?" he said. "Get away, kid."
Polly did notice, at this point, that she was standing between Mal and the mob, which could have been interpreted as an act of protectiveness. She damn well didn't mean it.
"That your name, Mal?" asked Polly, but she knew, she knew.
There it was again, the anger, and she let it flow. The stake was in her hand before anyone knew it. With the other, she drew her sword, waving it in front of the two men.
"You get out of here," she said, "I'll deal. Honestly, just leave."
Suddenly stakeless, the mob didn't seem up to much of anything, looking at her with politely surprised expressions. One of them even raised an eyebrow. The nerve! Polly smiled a humorless smile.
These canines had to be useful at some point.
The men looked at each other, and at Polly, and seemed to have reached a mutual decision that they were not going to deal with two vampires at once. The pitchfork clattered loudly when it fell to the floor. There was no cloud of dust where the men had been, but it felt as if there should have.
Polly turned back to Mal.
"You know, your expression and stakes really don't mix," said Mal. "Put that away. Please"
"You told me to carry one," said Polly. "So, how do you like it, Miss van der Zülln?"
She noticed Mal was actually cornered by her, standing with her back to the wall, her eyes fixed on the stake.
"Yes, that's my name, in case you were wondering," said Mal.
"Actually, I stopped wondering just now," said Polly. "Your name, and your face, and your cloak, and your ribbon?" The wood of the stake felt rough in her hand. "And we all thought you had your little bloodsucking problem under control."
"I did, and do," said Mal. "Mostly. Put that thing away."
Polly moved closer, let her sword clatter to the floor. Mal was pressed to the wall now and still trying to retreat.
"Been hungry much lately, Mal?" she said. "That's why you bit me? Should have guessed, really."
Some resistance would have been nice, Polly thought. It was hard too keep the anger intense enough to put her hand flat on Mal's chest (heart beating under her fingers, oddly beautiful and frightening), and raising the stake, and not collapse onto the floor and cry; but she managed.
"If you believe that," said Mal, not looking up at her. She had gone very still, though. It must be fear, thought Polly, it must be.
"You know," said Polly, "I really have no idea where your heart is, exactly. But just imagine how much fun I could have, finding out."
Can do this. Easy.
"Fun, Polly?" said Mal, a bitter smile playing on her lips. "You've gone a long way."
There was a sound, the flapping of leathery wings. Polly didn't acknowledge it, but Mal did, looking up and away from her.
Polly hesitated.
"I'd remove the shirt first, if I were you," said Mal helpfully. "Pity to waste perfectly good clothes."
"Oh, do fuck off," said Polly, a bit distractedly. Her personal space felt distinctly invaded. Something was watching her.
A soft 'swoosh' behind her, rustling of clothes, the kind of rustling that a part of her brain automatically associated with billowing black clothes. Polly made a tiny step back, maybe just to get herself together.
"It's paining me to watch that," said a voice. "You're aiming about a mile too far left. Let me?" The stake was taken out of her unresisting fingers.
Polly turned around. She was rendered momentarily speechless for a moment, as opposed to -
"Oh, thank you so very much," said Mal. "I love dramatic rescues and will you let go of that bloody stake because if there's any more pointing of anything wooden and pointy, no matter who's pointer and who's pointee, I promise I'm going to get hysterical on someone's arse. With italics. Arsehole."
You've got a point there, a part of Polly whispered, and she shut it up. For all she was, she wasn't suicidal.
The black-robed figure put the stake onto the bar, very much out of reach of Polly. But that, somehow, wasn't the matter anymore.
"A good evening to you, too, Mala... dict?" it said, clearly a bit unsure, clearly very amused.
"Just Mal for now, I think," said Mal, running a hand through her hair in a clear attempt at nonchalance, "but thanks for remembering."
There was a pause in which the stranger seemed to consider something.
"With italics?"
"Well," said Mal. "You know."
Mal moved behind Polly, walking around her and towards the stranger, who didn't look all that strange, Polly thought. How... strange. Mal looked murderous, at first, but then -
There was more billowing of black robes as two vampires ended up in a tight embrace.
Polly counted to ten.
"So, Mal," she said, and swallowed, "care to explain to me why there's suddenly two of you?"
Chapter delayed by exams and alcohol. Blame the establishment :D
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 4
"Okay," said Polly that evening, after maybe ten minutes of stumbling through snow that was still piled up at least three feet high, "this is supposed to be better than yesterday how, exactly?"
"It isn't," admitted Mal. "Well, I suppose it is, 'cause it isn't snowing. That's great, don't you think?" She said that with the air of someone being thoroughly fed up with the world at large, a mindset which, at least, agreed more with Polly than the usual superiority.
It also wasn't very helpful.
"Explain to me again why we can't fly," said Polly.
"Do you think you can fly?" asked Mal, looking back.
"Well, no, but -"
"Then you can't," said Mal, and marched on.
A snowball, thought Polly. A snowball to her back, that would be an adequate reaction. But no. As she had stressed earlier that day, she very definitely was not five.
"It's one of those intrinsic fears again, is it?" she asked. Vampires seemed to have more of those than could possibly be good for them.
"It is," said Mal.
"So I should be able to overcome it?" said Polly. She was holding on to this. Everyone who currently had their boots filled with snow would, wouldn't they?
"With the appropriate teacher and an easy-going attitude towards minor drawbacks like broken bones and a smashed skull, yes," said Mal. "It's not as if these things don't heal. Two days maximum, good as new."
"And you're not -"
"Can we say I'm pedagogically challenged and leave it at that?" asked Mal.
Polly pondered this. For a moment, at any rate. "Of course not!"
Mal laughed. It was a nervous laugh. A 'there's something I'd prefer not to admit'-laugh.
Polly sighed. "Of all the vampires I could have ended up with, I get the one who can't fly." She prodded miserably at the snow.
Mal shrugged. "Well, there's at least five of us, and we get together every year and indulge in cream sherry and blueberry muffins and try to convince ourselves that having friends is vastly overrated, anyway."
"You're lying."
There was a pause, and then -
"Joking," said Mal. "I'm joking, Polly. Big difference. Lighten up, kid."
"I'm trying, all right?" It wasn't really a scream.
At least not by, say, Jackrum standards.
Well.
"Why can't you fly?" added Polly, striving for a more conversational tone. "I thought flying and vampires go together like, well, like nightdresses and underwire. Um."
"Look," said Mal, "I can do the fog thing and I can do the bat thing. I'm good at the bat thing. I hardly ever leave my clothes behind anymore. I am, however, er, and I think I told you that before -"
"Afraid of heights?" suggested Polly.
"I'm all right with heights, actually," said Mal, "as long as I've got something to stand on, hold on to, or hang down from. It's the falling I don't like."
She was currently standing on snow, just like Polly, which was, she thought, a big part of the problem.
"Besides, I think it will be better once we're on the other side of the mountains," added Mal, "sunnier there, and such."
The other side of the mountains, thought Polly. The other side of the mountains. This would be acceptable if these weren't the fucking Ramtops.
"So if you're good at the bat thing," nag nag nag, "doesn't that mean you'd be flying either way?"
"It's different," said Mal. "Bats are supposed to be flying, so it's actually quite easy. Ha, well, except for my dear brother, who seems to find flying in a straight line to be a bit of a challenge."
"You've got a brother?" asked Polly, while wading through another snowdrift. She could, of course, have walked around it, but the snowdrifts were basically deep snow surrounded by insignificantly less deep snow. Pointless, really.
"Yes," said Mal, and that was it. Polly supposed she shouldn't have been surprised, given the vast array of facts she didn't know about Mal, like, oh, her full name, favourite dessert, five things she'd do on her Sunday off.
But there were more pressing matters at hand. The snow, to name one. Surely there had got to be a better way of travelling.
"So can you teach me the bat thing, then?" asked Polly.
"Um," was the careful answer, and there was also snow and snow and more snow.
"I mean, at least explain to me why you can't," said Polly. "That way, I might be inclined to believe you're not being unhelpful on purpose."
"It's one of those things that are kinda hard to explain," said Mal, "the bat thing, I mean. It's like... you know, technically, it's morphing your body into a completely different shape while trying to keep your clothes on... or not, as the case may be..."
"Er," said Polly.
Mal coughed. "Aaanyway, morphing with clothes on. Never works in the beginning, and some never get the hang of staying clothed -"
"Can we just skip the clothes part and go right to the actual morphing?" said Polly, who had Mental Images. This was, of course, part of her soldier lad routine. Walk the walk, talk the talk, think the...
Oh dear.
(What she had seen of Mal: her arms, various times. Parts of back and belly, because sometimes, before her morning coffee, Mal had moved too fast for Polly to turn around before it was too late. Ankles. A strip of thigh through a ripped uniform. Mal's pale neck where Polly'd peeled back the collar to kiss the skin beneath. Her hands, all the time. )
"Yes, well, it's a whole body experience," said Mal. "Kinda hard to translate into a ten step programme."
"You learned it," said Polly.
"Took me a year," said Mal. "And I wasn't distracted by pressing matters."
"Do we have pressing matters?" asked Polly.
"Snow," said Mal.
Polly groaned. "Can we agree not to talk about that?" Yeah, thought Polly, a really wonderful strategy. Not talking about things had never failed her.
Never.
Damn.
-
"D'you think we might be able to, you know, grab a bite?" asked Polly at some point, several hours later, and thought, you know, I never asked for my vocabulary to be influenced like that.
Mal began feeling up and down the sleeves of her coat. Polly was puzzled for a moment, but no -
"Don't tell me you've still got that rat," she said. "You know, this should be illegal."
Mal shrugged. "Rats actually never made it into the list of Abominations, I think."
"Well, they bloody well should have," said Polly. "Besides, I didn't mean the actual existence of rats, though that should be a crime in and of itself, I meant the act of - stop cuddling it!"
"It's cold, poor thing," said Mal. "There you go." She handed it to Polly.
Polly considered making a few interesting faces, but she was too exhausted. She merely turned away and bit down and -
"Aren't you eating anything?" she asked, after a moment.
"Well," said Mal, "I suppose we've still got that horse-bread. Lovely for keeping your teeth sharp." She thought for a moment, and added, sheepishly, "Not that that matters."
She made no move to unpack it, though, which made Polly think.
"I haven't seen you eating anything since -" last night, thought Polly, twenty-four hours ago, and you weren't quite eating in the solid food sense of the word - and before that, a whole lot of nearly nothing -
"I'm fine," said Mal. "Could do with some coffee, but that's got time till we find a more comfortable spot."
"Till we find more coffee, you mean," said Polly, and dodged the offended glare just in time.
"It wouldn't kill you be a little considerate," said Mal. "Considering."
"There's still something in there," said Polly, trying to get her to take the rat. "Have it, please. You're worrying me."
"No, thanks," said Mal, eyeing the offered rat with a thoroughly indescribable expression. "I do not drink blood."
Polly glared. "Except for yesterday, yes?"
"That was a bit of a drawback, yes," said Mal. "A lapse in concentration. It will not happen again. I'm sorry it happened at all."
"Okay," said Polly. "But it made you feel better. Yes?"
"Yes," said Mal after a few seconds. "That is, as it were, the damn problem. And you might want to drink up, otherwise that's just cruel."
Oh gods... Polly hadn't noticed the rat was still twitching. For the first time in days, she felt sick at the thought of... whatever it was she was doing, and tried to shrug it off, like any soldier short of food would do eventually. She finished the rat and dropped on her knees to wash her mouth out with snow, spitting pink ice, the act of which caused a very peculiar sensation of deja vu.
- Hang on, she thought, but the memory slipped away -
It very nearly made her choke, but if she gave in to nausea, what would have been the bloody point? She felt Mal's eyes bore into her.
Polly dedicated a few seconds to undiluted exasperation. "Go away, Mal," she said. "This is not my finest moment."
"Sorry," said Mal, and turned around. Polly heard her make a few steps, and considered losing her lunch after all, and then -
"Will you look at that!" she heard Mal's voice from somewhere off. Polly looked up, and there Mal stood, farther away than Polly would have thought possible, in an opening between two snow-covered hills.
She'd probably found a whole bloody lot of snow, thought Polly, there isn't much else. Still, hope died last. She made her way over to Mal, carefully because her intestines didn't deserve to be shaken up like this. Nearly there, and there was a flapping of wings, and a bat rose up from some hidden point.
"What did you find?" asked Polly, and thought, this had better be bloody awesome.
Mal gestured her closer to where she was standing.
Polly stared. She wasn't afraid of heights, unlike to some vampire she wasn't going to name, thanks, but this -
"Well, I guess at least it's not more snow," she said, at least, after she'd made a large step backwards.
It was a valley. Of course, there was also snow involved, but what really caught the eye was the river. This must be...
"Kone river," said Mal with a certain delight in her voice. "Which flows directly into..."
"The Ankh," said Polly, who had never been taught geography but knew how to take a hint. "Well, I suppose at least there's no chance we're getting lost now, is there?"
"Only problem is," said Mal, straining her neck to look at the valley without actually moving closer to the cliff, "I'm not quite sure how to get down."
"I don't know either, but let's just follow that bat," said Polly.
Mal froze.
"What did you just say?"
"That bat, see?" said Polly. The bat was hovering somewhere on their left. "I saw that one twice already. It's quite helpful."
In the blink of an eye, Mal had moved towards the bat, but it just fluttered up and vanished. She turned around again.
"What did I tell you about bats?" she asked.
"So they could be tetchy relatives," said Polly, "but fact is, I think there's something resembling a path over there. I mean, maybe there's someone you haven't managed to piss off?"
The sentence was out before Polly could figure out whether it might be hurtful, but maybe it wasn't. There even was a slight smile, or maybe Mal only wanted to show off her canines.
"I don't know, I think I was quite thorough in that respect," said Mal, finally, and looked around.
Polly felt helpless at that. "Maybe not?" she volunteered.
"Or maybe you're just seeing things and that's an actual bat which is definitely not following us," said Mal, loudly. "Because I don't like being followed around."
"I don't think it's listening, actually," said Polly.
"Let's go," said Mal, "and absolutely not in that direction. We'll find a way."
Polly wasn't quite sure if this was the right moment for Mal to start being erratic, because she figured, hey, either it's a bat, which makes it harmless, or it's someone being helpful, which would be nice for a change.
She wasn't going to argue the point, though.
They found something that sort of resembled a downwards path, if one squinted. It was basically a narrow strip of land between the mountain and the abyss, but at least it wasn't completely snowed in, on account of being on the wrong - or right - side of the mountain.
They spent the early morning hours descending, sticking close to the mountain and trying not to look down. Polly watched Mal carefully. Mal was making tiny steps, holding on to dead roots in the wall with white-knuckled hands. When they had to pass a particularly narrow stretch, turned sideways and holding hands because it was just that crazy, Polly saw that her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and her fingers dug into Polly's hand so hard it hurt.
Which was proving... what now? That she hadn't lied?
"Look, I've been thinking," said Mal, when they were almost down in the valley, after another hour or so.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"When you see that bat again -," Mal began, and stopped.
Polly waited for a few heartbeats.
"When I see that bat again," she prompted.
"Yeah, when you see that bat again, because I don't think it likes to show itself to me, anyway, tell me right away. And -" Mal paused, dragging a hand through her hair with an air of tired confusion. Polly was this close to reminding her how she had started her sentence, when Mal turned to her, not actually looking at her, but close, at least, and said:
"I want you to carry a stake."
This caught Polly by surprise, and she couldn't quite prevent some kind of squeaky sound from escaping. Way to go, sergeant, she thought. "But I'm not good with those!"
"Yes, but they don't know that!" said Mal. "Besides, just wave it around, or stick it in likely places."
"What's that supposed to achieve?"
"Well, it bloody hurts, for starters," said Mal. So do swords, thought Polly, plus you can also use them to peel potatoes, if you've got potatoes.
"I don't think I'm able to do that," she said, after a while. It was quite hard to admit, even to herself, but getting armed up while she still had these anger management issues sounded... unwise... and surely Mal couldn't be in her right mind to suggest something like that?
"What's up, soldier girl?" asked Mal. "It's not as if you're not already carrying a sword. And crossbows."
Oh. That.
"Okay," said Polly,"okay. Don't think we're going to find much wood just lying around, though."
"Could get some in that village over there."
Polly stopped dead.
"You failed to mention there was a village," she said. There was, though. In not too great a distance, a tiny row of houses was visible. Up bubbled the anger, but this time, Polly felt justified.
Mal didn't even slow down. "Don't worry," she called over her shoulder, "I don't think there's anybody around."
Polly made an exasperated effort to catch up. "How do you know?" she asked.
"You don't?"
"No, of course not!" said Polly. "I mean, I can see there's no smoke coming out of the chimneys, and there's no footprints in the snow, but then, we're off-road and at least two hundred yards away and it's four in the bloody morning!"
"Seven, more like," said Mal. "Besides, it's... it's a vampire thing, all right?"
"But I am a -," said Polly and trailed off, because the sentence felt shaped all wrong. Reluctantly, she followed Mal. It was appealing, wasn't it? If the village was indeed abandoned, then they had the chance of sleeping in a shed, or something. A roof above their head sounded good.
It would probably be clever to find out what had driven the villagers away, though.
"So, how can you tell?" asked Polly.
"Heartbeats, mostly," said Mal. "You'll learn to pick them up, although you probably won't like -"
She stopped, just by the village sign, and lifted her hands up to her ears, giving off an impression of strained listening. Polly tried, really tried, to make as little distraction as possible, let her heart slow down, but found out she had no idea how to go about that.
"That's strange," Mal muttered.
"What's up?" asked Polly. "You know, maybe we should really make some sort of detour."
"I think they left their cattle behind," said Mal. "Cows and such. You don't do that unless you're in a real hurry."
"Are you sure everyone's gone, though?" asked Polly, again. She was a little bit torn between being angry with Mal for displaying strange and yet undisclosed powers only she had - and did she hear my heartbeat, all the time? 'Cause that's just private - and being relieved that at least one of them had a faint idea of what was going on.
"I suppose it's possible that one or two human heartbeats get lost in the buzz," said Mal. "It's been a while since I really listened for that kind of thing. On the other hand, it could very well be just cows."
"Then let's walk around it," said Polly. "A roof above the head only makes one soft, I say."
Mal hesitated.
"Yes," she said, "but, coffee? Deserted villages are so damn hard to find."
"We don't know for sure if it's deserted."
"You don't have to come with me," said Mal. "I'm just going to have a look."
That was all good and logical, thought Polly, but she was bloody well not going to stand here and wait for a more or less reformed and, by now, probably malnourished vampire having a look around. She told Mal so, in no uncertain terms.
"Okay," said Mal. "Are you feeling murderous today?"
She didn't exactly cower under Polly's glare, but if she had been the type to do so, Polly mused, she probably would have done, because it was a good glare. She was still working on the logic of that last thought, though. And also -
"Of course not," she replied. "Because I, unlike you, have eaten, in a broad sense of the word, twice during the last day, while you seem to be living off sort-of-but-not-really-coffee, which has no nutritional value at all."
Polly was, by now, milking the height difference for all it was worth. Damn, was she ever good at the sergeant thing.
"So the real question is," she added, "corporal, are you feeling murderous today?"
"Nah," said Mal. It could possibly have been a lie. "Anticipating your orders, sarge." A wink, and she turned to go. The light stride was back, Polly noticed, the feeling that Mal's feet weren't actually touching the ground when she was walking.
Maybe she hadn't lied. Who knew?
-
"Damn, they really must have been in a hurry," said Polly as she was looking through the shelves behind the bar in the village's only inn. It was quite a good inn, was her professional opinion. The floors weren't any muckier than was to be expected, and some of the bottles with the really fatal stuff had even managed to acquire a thin layer of dust.
"Now, what makes you say that?" asked Mal from the adjacent kitchen. It had been quite an argument, with Mal insisting that coffee was nourishing and therefore had to be kept next to onions and bread and such, and Polly pointing out that anything that came in tiny bags with the brand name embroidered on in curly golden letters was, by definition, not nourishing and thus had to be kept with the alcohol.
Tea, on the other hand -
"Is it the fact that the door was wide open?" continued Mal. "The open bottles? The fallen chairs? The overpowering smell of very, very, very well-done pork?"
The smell was bad, Polly had to admit, bad in a 'I do not know why I put up with this, seeing as I sure as hell don't have a coffee problem' way. She wondered how Mal coped.
"Is it the half-empty coffee cup I see in front of me?" she heard Mal's voice.
One... two... three...
"You're not going to drink that," said Polly, standing in the kitchen door. Well. Mal had raised the cup to her face, but she seemed to be merely sniffing.
"Four or five days, I'd say," said Mal. "See how it's become all slushy?"
"Yes, I do," groaned Polly. "Tell me again why I tolerate you."
"It's Klatchian, I think," said Mal, sniffing again. "Klatchian coffee never freezes." The look of intense concentration on her face was quite suddenly released by a sneeze. "Yes, I think it's the infamous Midnight Surprise. That's the one with black pepper. Now where have they left the damn bag?"
"You know," said Polly, "when it's you saying the words 'midnight surprise', I get some very strange images inside my head. By the way, I found some coffee liqueur, s'that any good?" She hesitantly held up a bottle with toffee-coloured liquid, only just now realising that maybe Mal and alcohol did not mix very well at this moment, what with the lack of hearty meals.
"Wanna try it?"
"Nah, dinner first," said Polly, and added in her best barmaid's voice, "or else you'll be really sorry tomorrow."
"Yes," said Mal. "I suppose I'll be."
"Um," said Polly. It could have been something of a moment, maybe, but Mal was already going through another drawer, tossing Polly a half-filled bag of tea, which she caught almost without looking. Polly supposed she could really get used to having reflexes like that. She left her lounging point at the doorframe to go and search the pantry, when -
"Found it," said Mal, "look. There it is." She was shaking a tin. Judging by the sound, it must be about half full, which would have been nice had the tin been a bit bigger.
Polly watched her open the lid and inhale the scent with an expression of bliss, a private moment between addict and substance. Then, quite suddenly and most of all, quite silently, the tin was put back into the drawer.
Polly gave her a questioning look, but Mal merely raised a finger to her lips, than pointed towards the door which lead to the bar. Polly screwed up her face in despair, which Mal acknowledged with an apologetic grin, listening hard.
Mal lifted one finger, listened some more, raised two.
And then Polly could hear footsteps, the creaking of wood. They were trying not to make a sound and failing dramatically.
The creaking stopped. Not disturbing the ensuing silence, Mal moved towards the door. How she pulled that off in her heavy army boots, on floorboards that creaked when you so much as looked at them funny, was completely beyond Polly. She wasn't going to complain, though.
She crept after Mal, not nearly as soundless, but at least she didn't knock anything over. She desperately tried not to think about the pack that they had left standing in the middle of the bleeding bar. There was no way they could make a discreet escape, and that was just worrying.
Mal made a very careful and very silent attempt to stick her head through the door. There was a swishing sound, a "Hey!" from Mal, and she threw herself back at high speed, right into Polly.
An arrow was sticking in the doorframe. It was still vibrating.
The problem with pacifism was, thought Polly, that the other side always seemed to favour violence over a nice cup of tea. Couldn't they all just bloody get along?
Mal, meanwhile, had switched into her 'suave and not all that reformed vampire' routine. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said, striding out of the kitchen, her cloak dutifully moving in a dramatic whirl. Mal off-handedly arranged being missed by a second arrow, which turned out to be the last, "let me explain a few... golly gosh, you two really are the sorriest mob I've ever seen."
Polly, who had carefully trailed after her, knew at once that she was right. The two young men, unshaven and probably mostly honest farmer lads, shared between them a total of one crossbow with no additional arrows, one hammer, one stake and, of course, the traditional pitchfork.
But how did they know -
"Oh, look," said one of them. He spoke Borogravian with a thick accent, "It's back." He spat in Mal's general direction.
But how do they know we're Borogravian? How do they know we're Borogravian vampires? There had better be a damn good explanation.
"Now," said Mal, all careful smile and knowingness, "there seems to be a misunderstanding. I'm sure you two can work it out on your own while we just make our way to the backdoor." She reached for Polly's hand.
One of the men said something in Zlobenian. The other nodded grimly.
"I think the kid should get away, don't you think?" said Mr. Pitchfork. "Will be killed like our Elissa, five days ago." And he grinned a toothy grin. "Only us left now, bloodsucker. Look, no lacy nightgowns."
"Five days ago, Mal?" asked Polly. Of course she didn't believe a word, but -
Well, she did. Sex in a tree, indeed.
"I did not, in fact, kill anybody. Lately," said Mal. "I don't fancy starting now. Please respect my good intentions?" Her grip on Polly's hand got stronger.
Also, Polly noticed Mal was trying not to breathe.
Come to think of it, she also wasn't looking at the two men. The two human men -
Polly looked from the mob to Mal, and back. The men, she noticed, were shivering, half with fear, half with an adrenaline rush that seemed to have crashed against a brick wall. Polly tried seeing things from their perspective, and thought she understood why they probably were puzzled.
A monster and a somewhat girly farm boy, holding hands. Honestly.
"Not killed anyone?" said Mr. Pitchfork. "Mistake from our side, Mr. van der Zülln? You think so?"
At once, Mal let go of Polly's hand. Polly looked at her, wanting to find some of that reassuring self-confidence, but only found shock.
"Surprised, eh? That's your name?" said the man. "Your name, your face, your stupid black cloak and your cissy ribbon?" Polly could see his hand tremble as it clenched around the stake.
"She was a lovely girl, Mr. van der Zülln. Wonderful personality. Such nice hair. Did you know that? Did you?" he said. "Get away, kid."
Polly did notice, at this point, that she was standing between Mal and the mob, which could have been interpreted as an act of protectiveness. She damn well didn't mean it.
"That your name, Mal?" asked Polly, but she knew, she knew.
There it was again, the anger, and she let it flow. The stake was in her hand before anyone knew it. With the other, she drew her sword, waving it in front of the two men.
"You get out of here," she said, "I'll deal. Honestly, just leave."
Suddenly stakeless, the mob didn't seem up to much of anything, looking at her with politely surprised expressions. One of them even raised an eyebrow. The nerve! Polly smiled a humorless smile.
These canines had to be useful at some point.
The men looked at each other, and at Polly, and seemed to have reached a mutual decision that they were not going to deal with two vampires at once. The pitchfork clattered loudly when it fell to the floor. There was no cloud of dust where the men had been, but it felt as if there should have.
Polly turned back to Mal.
"You know, your expression and stakes really don't mix," said Mal. "Put that away. Please"
"You told me to carry one," said Polly. "So, how do you like it, Miss van der Zülln?"
She noticed Mal was actually cornered by her, standing with her back to the wall, her eyes fixed on the stake.
"Yes, that's my name, in case you were wondering," said Mal.
"Actually, I stopped wondering just now," said Polly. "Your name, and your face, and your cloak, and your ribbon?" The wood of the stake felt rough in her hand. "And we all thought you had your little bloodsucking problem under control."
"I did, and do," said Mal. "Mostly. Put that thing away."
Polly moved closer, let her sword clatter to the floor. Mal was pressed to the wall now and still trying to retreat.
"Been hungry much lately, Mal?" she said. "That's why you bit me? Should have guessed, really."
Some resistance would have been nice, Polly thought. It was hard too keep the anger intense enough to put her hand flat on Mal's chest (heart beating under her fingers, oddly beautiful and frightening), and raising the stake, and not collapse onto the floor and cry; but she managed.
"If you believe that," said Mal, not looking up at her. She had gone very still, though. It must be fear, thought Polly, it must be.
"You know," said Polly, "I really have no idea where your heart is, exactly. But just imagine how much fun I could have, finding out."
Can do this. Easy.
"Fun, Polly?" said Mal, a bitter smile playing on her lips. "You've gone a long way."
There was a sound, the flapping of leathery wings. Polly didn't acknowledge it, but Mal did, looking up and away from her.
Polly hesitated.
"I'd remove the shirt first, if I were you," said Mal helpfully. "Pity to waste perfectly good clothes."
"Oh, do fuck off," said Polly, a bit distractedly. Her personal space felt distinctly invaded. Something was watching her.
A soft 'swoosh' behind her, rustling of clothes, the kind of rustling that a part of her brain automatically associated with billowing black clothes. Polly made a tiny step back, maybe just to get herself together.
"It's paining me to watch that," said a voice. "You're aiming about a mile too far left. Let me?" The stake was taken out of her unresisting fingers.
Polly turned around. She was rendered momentarily speechless for a moment, as opposed to -
"Oh, thank you so very much," said Mal. "I love dramatic rescues and will you let go of that bloody stake because if there's any more pointing of anything wooden and pointy, no matter who's pointer and who's pointee, I promise I'm going to get hysterical on someone's arse. With italics. Arsehole."
You've got a point there, a part of Polly whispered, and she shut it up. For all she was, she wasn't suicidal.
The black-robed figure put the stake onto the bar, very much out of reach of Polly. But that, somehow, wasn't the matter anymore.
"A good evening to you, too, Mala... dict?" it said, clearly a bit unsure, clearly very amused.
"Just Mal for now, I think," said Mal, running a hand through her hair in a clear attempt at nonchalance, "but thanks for remembering."
There was a pause in which the stranger seemed to consider something.
"With italics?"
"Well," said Mal. "You know."
Mal moved behind Polly, walking around her and towards the stranger, who didn't look all that strange, Polly thought. How... strange. Mal looked murderous, at first, but then -
There was more billowing of black robes as two vampires ended up in a tight embrace.
Polly counted to ten.
"So, Mal," she said, and swallowed, "care to explain to me why there's suddenly two of you?"