Plogviehze, Baby: 9/14
Prologue | Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
*Defies cold, posts fic*
This chapter is rated M on account of it being a little disgusting.
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 9
"The music's bloody awful," whispered Polly, because she felt she had to comment on something as they were walking along corridors again, and she rather wanted to leave the topic of distressing vampire ladies alone. Also, the music that was waving over to them in bits and pieces was pretty awful, disharmonic and yet almost organic, in the way that probably-rat-scubbo was almost organic.
"Yeah, well, the harmonium's a bit old," said Mal. "And I think someone got Igor to oil the pedals, which wasn't a very good idea at all, 'cos Igor can't say no to a little bit of squeak. We're nearly there, now listen, Polly."
There was a pause.
"Yes?" said Polly. "I'm listening. I can't help it, on account of the whole having ears business. I hate your dramatic pauses."
"Ack, sorry," said Mal. "I think that's genetic. Since you're listening and all, I just wanted to remind you that you've got to be really really careful. Don't talk to people and stick with me. Please?"
"You know, Mal," said Polly, "the way things have been going, I'd say that sticking with you rather leads to grievous bodily harm, instead of, you know, medals and pie and suchlike. I have one last question."
There was another pause.
"See?" said Mal. "You're doing it as well."
"Just to show you how really damn nerve-grating it is," said Polly. "Why didn't you tell me about all of this before?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd take it," said Mal. "You made a somewhat unrelaxed impression."
Polly considered this. "Who's sergeant here, then?"
"You are," said Mal. "That is, you were. Right now, I think the squad would run screaming from you."
Polly considered her current attire. "Burst out laughing, I should think."
Mal shrugged. "Or that."
And whose fault was that, anyway? she thought. Come to think of it, it was the fault of whoever bloody well shot her. And the army surgeon's.
Oh, and Mal's, of course. Die, Mal, die!
The music grew steadily louder as they were getting closer to their destination. Behind an official looking doorway, Polly could see a lot of mostly black-clad people moving about in the flickering light of thousands and thousands of candles.
"There," said Mal. "Take care. We're just here to talk and smile, okay?"
Polly did have violent carnage in mind, but as she was - what was the word - assessing the situation, she figured that something like that would rather count as a famous last stand and was therefore impractical.
That last step through the doorway felt like a step away from sanity, a step into the realms of batshit crazy. Heat washed over Polly, and she had to concentrate on thinking logically.
Of course it had to be warm in here, with all the candles burning merrily and dripping wax all over the place, no really, but of course they did that in a most stylish way, building up artful clusters and streams. Polly was drawn to one of them, reaching out a finger to touch one tiny stream of hot red wax.
"Don't you dare discover your inner Lofty right now," hissed Mal. "Besides, this place doesn't burn too well." A smirk. "I tried."
I think I already discovered my inner Lofty, in a way, thought Polly, and then thought, wait. Where the hell did that come from? She chalked it up to bad influence.
Dear Nuggan, they all looked like... they all looked a bit... ambiguous, if that was the word. Those wearing suits, at least. Some of the dresses were, Polly had to admit, rather frank about it all.
There was a lot of music in the room, and Polly didn't quite know where it came from. She could see a woman in a dramatic white headscarf torturing a harmonium, but that one was merely squeaky. She almost couldn't hear it.
Mal, next to her, was greeting people, and sometimes Polly got introduced to distant cousins and old friends and elderly aunts. Everyone's got elderly aunts, thought Polly, and very nearly had to giggle, because apparently even Mal had a bunch of Aunt Hatties. "But do you get enough proteins, dear?" was said twice. It was surreal.
"So, what's the point of it all?" whispered Polly at one point.
"Bugger me if I know," said Mal. "We're just not very social is all, but nobody likes to admit it."
"Found out anything yet?"
Mal shook her head. "They're clueless, mostly. Un-po-li-ti-cal." Her eyes caught Polly's; and her glance made Polly feel a little uncomfortable, as if she was being taxed. Leaning over, Mal said, "Are you quite sure you're all right?"
"Bit warm, is all," said Polly.
"It's not, as a matter of fact, very warm," said Mal.
"Must be that fifteen-piece-suit I'm wearing, I suppose," said Polly. "The shawl thing, especially, is trying to asphyxiate me through sheer embarrassment. I think it adds at least five degrees to an already unsatisfactory ambience."
"Yeah, it's somewhat old-fashioned," murmured Mal.
"So, is there any chance one might get something to drink in here?" asked Polly. "Oh look, how cute!"
That last sentence was out before she could stop it, but she didn't scold herself. Much. Two tiny vampire children, dressed in white lace drapery, were bouncing over the floor, aided by leathery bat wings sticking out of their backs. Their teeth were very visible in smiling faces. The sight would have made even the most independent woman coo in adoration and then clutch her belly and possibly other assorted body parts in gratitude that these two belonged to someone else.
Polly stared in fascination, until she felt eyes on herself. Looking up, she saw a man staring at her, a rather threatening smile on his lips. "So good of you to approve of my children," he said.
"No matter how you word the invitations," said Mal, "someone always brings the kiddies." She tugged at Polly's sleeves, dragging her away from the children and their father.
"What the hell was that about?" asked Polly. "By the look he gave me, you'd think I'd just stuffed and eaten his first born. Or something."
"Er," said Mal, and fell silent for a moment, "it's like... you know. They're very tiny and helpless and easily impressed, and vampires don't like their children to be around humans much."
"But I'm not even -"
"You look human enough," said Mal.
"Aw, thanks," said Polly. "Best of both worlds, yes?"
Mal looked back over her shoulder, ignoring Polly's comment. "And look," she said, "they teach them to transform before they can walk. Kiddies will grow up mightily confused."
"As opposed to you, who're perfectly well-adjusted and also, so good at flying," said Polly.
Mal sighed wearily. It might or might not have been ironic. "I really really really need a drink," she said, scanning the room. "And I think they're over there. Come with me."
"You don't have to look after me," growled Polly, trailing after Mal.
"Er," said Mal. "Maybe you can look after me, if you want to? I'd rather we stick together."
"Ah," said Polly. "Diplomacy. I think I can live with that."
They reached a small table full of what Polly thought rather fancy glasses, the kind you inherited from resentful relatives that you really should have invited to that dinner party fifteen years ago. Behind the glittering nightmare stood Igor, looking rather put-off.
"How can I be of thervithe, thurth?" he said in a dignified voice. His lisp seemed to have worsened, Polly noticed, and his hunchback was so defined it strained his dusty black suit. Now, she recognised that behaviour; it was something she'd been teaching the lads: in times of stress, hold on to what you know.
"You don't like being a barmaid, do you?" she asked sympathetically.
"It wath all I could do to avoid the dirndl," said Igor.
"Is there any chance of a glass of water, Igor?" said Mal.
"Anything elthe? How about cocoa?"
"Whoa," said Mal. "I see you've been working on the sarcasm thing."
"Tho far, I have offered cocoa to thirteen guethtth," said Igor, beaming. "However, it'th to my deepetht regret that I have to tell you that all there ith that ithn't the, you know, other thtuff, ith warm red wine. I hear it'th the latetht fashion in Uberwald. The youngthterth love it."
"I see," said Mal, and leaned forward. "Are you perhaps dissatisfied with your current employment situation?"
"Lady Maladict, I am thure you know what not to athk thomeone in my pothition," said Igor. "I get good working hourth, an occupation with... hardly any embarraththment at all, and all the thpare limbth I want."
"Yes, of course," said Mal. "Now, a man in your position surely hears things."
"Are you, perhapth, implying thingth of a... thurtain nature? An obthcure nature?"
"Er," said Mal, looking confused. "Yes?" she volunteered. With an air of conspiracy, Igor leaned over to her.
"No," he said. "Nothing. No nameth, at leatht. They come from Uberwald. There'th twenty-theven guethtth from Uberwald, tho I thuggetht you athk them?"
"Oh, I will," said Mal, "thanks for helping."
"You know," said Igor, "you were the only one who wath ever fun to work with. No-one elthe died quite that often."
"Thanks, Igor," said Mal. "That really means a lot to me. Now, we've got to get on, I'm afraid."
"Good luck," said Igor.
"Well," said Polly, after they had left Igor surrounded by thirsty vampires (Polly couldn't help but feel guilty), "at least they're wishing us luck. Could be worse."
"Yeah," said Mal. "Could be pointy death, I suppose. Speaking of which..."
"What are you going to do, Mal?" asked Polly.
"I think I've got to ask the Uberwaldeans, do I?" said Mal. "No-one else seems to want to tell me anything."
"And you suppose they will?" asked Polly.
"Of course they will. Can't resist an opportunity to show off, right?" said Mal. She walked off into the crowd, and Polly realised she had a hard time only following her. Polly grew dizzier by the minute. It was the music, and the damn heat, and the lack of water, and -
I've got to find myself a window, or something, thought Polly. Anything to escape this air. All right, not anything, because she couldn't quite leave Mal alone in this...
The room spun, or maybe Polly was disoriented. Mal had vanished somewhere between the cold faces. Polly very much wanted to sit down, and was very much aware she couldn't hold still.
Oh, damn.
A part of her mind knew what that might be, but really, no. She had no idea. She felt very very alone. Look, no humans in sight, no humans at all, only monsters, and Polly right in the middle.
"Polly!" hissed a voice, and she realised it was Mal, who had come back for her. Good old Mal. She felt herself being grabbed by the elbows.
"You all right?" said Mal urgently.
No, I'm bloody well not, Polly wanted to say, but only managed, "Yeah, of course."
Now, that would really be a good time for a bit of mind-reading, Mal, thought Polly, but Mal didn't seem inclined.
"Come along then," said Mal, dragging her by the hand again. "I'm going to talk to a few people, and you'll be watching. If anyone starts to get overly sarcastic, then -"
Pause.
"Remember what I said about -" began Polly.
"That wasn't a dramatic pause," said Mal. "That was a clueless pause. I have no idea what to do if anything happens, so just try and drag me away then. Politely, if possible."
"I'll think of something," said Polly. Hey, who's sarge in here? she thought, and then, but I'm swaying, and if I don't take care I'll start drooling, so what's my point again?
And then she thought, oh wait...
"Cousin Heinrich," she heard Mal say some distance away. Mal was greeting a tallish, lanky man who seemed about thirty, thirty-five. From his receding hairline to his polished black shoes, and with the possible exception of the teeth, Polly thought he rather looked like an everyday caricature of a bank accountant. It mystified her.
The man was taking Mal's right hand, and he must have squeezed, because Polly saw the slightest wince in Mal. It looked painful.
"Isn't that going a bit far?" said a voice right behind her. Polly spun around, her nerves being a little fragile at the moment.
"Oh, it's you," she said, somewhat relieved. Benedict made a tiny gesture towards Mal.
"Now, I know I told her she might find things out, but -"
"But what?" asked Polly.
Benedict shrugged. "That's brave," he said.
"Do you know anything?" asked Polly. "'cause you rather make the impression that you do, and I don't like it."
"Suit yourself."
Between the heat and the music and her general indisposition, Polly found it rather hard to concentrate on the concept of anger management. Still, she tried.
"Look, I know you don't like me and that's okay, 'cos I don't like you either, but -"
It must be something in the family, Polly thought. Very few people could convey that much amusement in a single glance.
"If you're looking for the way to get me to do you a favour, that isn't it," said Benedict.
"What I was going to say -," said Polly, "is that I think you might like Mal a bit, 'cause she's family, well, probably not because she is family, considering, but, you know, and I think you also know there's crazy murderers after her, and -" that weak flapping sound, thought Polly, must be eloquence fluttering away, "- and I think you might have an inkling about who these people could be, so considering all this, why can't you just tell me?"
"Ah," said Benedict, "but the only attempt on Mal's life I personally witnessed was performed by you, so why, pray tell, do you think I should trust you?"
Good question, thought Polly. She watched Mal, who was talking to someone else now, and she watched the Uberwaldeans, who were all watching Mal. There wasn't even the slightest hint of upcoming trouble, but somehow Polly couldn't help the feeling that neither she nor Mal would get out of this alive.
"I don't know," she said to her own surprise. "She does. Trust her judgment, will you?"
"Okay then," said Benedict. "How do you know you can trust me?"
"'cos you're still wearing that godawful ribbon," said Polly. "Only the good side's that stupid. I mean, there's rather a lot of crazy fundamentalists around."
"Yeah, well," said Benedict, "I could be a very cunning double agent."
By now, things may have got a little silly.
"No," said Polly, "'cause, you know, and I don't mean to be offensive here, a vampire's idea of cunning is spelling their name backwards."
Benedict looked thoughtful for a while. "You know," he said finally, "I always found it rather curious that they'd call themselves Ecnarepmet Itna. I mean, it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."
Polly did some visual thinking, then groaned.
"Told you," she said. "Now, you gave me the name of the group, anything else?"
"Yeah," said Benedict. "Have you seen Hypovolemia?"
"Changed your mind about the jewellery, have you?" asked Polly, accepting defeat. She turned her concentration back onto Mal, who was engaged in a rather stilted conversation with a black-robed man and a woman in a white head scarf. The harmonium player, she remembered.
"Actually," said Benedict, "her chauffeur has been standing in front of the castle gates for fifteen minutes now. He's repaired the coach. Nobody's eaten him yet. Please?"
"Damn," said Polly. "You really want to get rid of her, right?"
"I beg you," said Benedict. "Tell me, have you seen her? I must know where she is!" Benedict's hand was this short of grabbing Polly's impossible shawl thing in theatrical imploration. She knew he wanted to.
But how - ?
She saw Mal cast a glance back over her shoulder. Polly slapped Benedict's hand, and Mal grinned, and turned to concentrate on whoever she was talking to.
"No," said Polly. "Sorry."
"I'll be off then," said Benedict. "Good luck to you. Er, one last thing."
Polly cut the dramatic pause in half by saying, "What?"
"Your... condition is rather obvious," said Benedict. Polly raised her eyebrows.
"Condition?" she asked.
"Have you got any hallucinations yet?"
"I don't have any - I mean - I don't have a condition!" she said to Benedict's retreating back.
Now, if they'd only stop the music, she thought. And maybe open a window. And then she thought, damn, he could simply use gloves for the silver jewellery. He's got to be one of the good guys.
Flickering shadows were dancing in the hall. Polly needed a while to focus on Mal, and then she grew very concerned indeed. Mal was... not in danger, she thought, at least, not in imminent danger... but she was standing with her back to the wall, which could be a good thing if you wanted to fight but a very bad thing indeed if you didn't...
Mal was still talking to that black-robed mountain of a man and the woman in the white headscarf.
Polly considered her possibilites. One, she could keep standing around at a boring party, one of those where nobody liked you and the one person whom you'd managed to strike up a conversation with had just wandered off to pursue another female who, incidentally, was several sandwiches short of a picknick, and also had better hair. That sort of party.
And there, Polly's thought trailed off and she decided to go directly for the second possibility, which was, join Mal. She sauntered over in what would have been a nonchalant stride if Polly hadn't felt she was swaying.
When she saw Mal slowly taking off her gloves in an oddly pointed manner, she hurried.
"Don't you want to introduce me, Maladict?" said Polly and added, with just the right amount of clinging desperation, "You know that I don't know anybody here!" She was especially proud of the exclamation mark. A remarkable achievement, considering the amount of stress she was under. And anyway, Polly wasn't afraid of embarrassment; she figured they all knew she was a girl anyway, so possibly they also were backwards enough to let that count in her favour.
"Sure," said Mal with the strangest smile ever. "Mr Krueger, Miss Ainocard, may I introduce Sergeant Oliver Perks? I'm sure you've heard of him."
"Charmed," said Polly.
"Likewise," said Krueger. Miss Ainocard, however, did not seem to want to let go of Polly's hand at all once she'd got a hold of it.
"Mr. Krueger and Miss Ainocard are working a small business, Oliver, the name of which... must have slipped my mind - ?"
"I didn't tell you, Maladicta," said the man. "You won't have heard of it anyway. It's a small family business back home in the woods."
"I may have," said Mal. "I'm very interested in that kind of thing."
"Ecnarepmet Itna," said Polly, more to Mal than anyone else. Subtlety be damned, that woman was still holding her hand and Polly didn't quite know what to do.
Mal closed her eyes for a second, lips moving, then said, "Is that so?"
"Oh, Oliver," said Miss Ainocard. "Do you dance at all?" She had a most distressing expression, as if she was reading a romance novel: sloppy writing, predictable storyline, but amusing while it lasted.
Amusing at least, thought Polly. And I seem to get the guy.
Er.
"I don't think I can dance to this kind of music," said Polly, and then thought, wait, I'm talking to the harmonium player -
"... Ah," said Miss Ainocard, smiling.
Mal looked at her strangely.
"Polly," she said softly, "there's no music playing."
Polly freed herself from Miss Ainocard's grip, which proved to be a lot tighter than one expected from someone asking for a dance. "Oh, dear," she murmured. The rhythm was going on, and on, and on, and it was changing all the time.
Mal took her hand.
"We're leaving," she announced to the world in general and to Polly in particular. "Mr Krueger, Miss Ainocard, it's been a pleasure. Tell your coworkers I said hi. We've really got to dash."
She dragged Polly behind her.
"Mal," hissed Polly, as they were exercising their hasty retreat through the hall, "haven't you forgotten something? You've forgotten the goddamn carnage!"
"I was here to talk," said Mal, "and talk I did."
"Did you find out -"
"No! I mean, yes, of course, it's only most of them who're involved to the neck. Beats me who does the thinking, though."
Polly stopped. "Then we should stay," she said. "It's all a bit pointless otherwise, right?"
"I think I've got enough information to work with," said Mal. "Now, please Polly my darling muffin apple pie, move. We gotta leave before they've had a good think about what they just told me, otherwise I promise you there's gonna be a carnage."
Polly had mental images. "Sounds good," she said. Whoops.
"Polly..."
"Coming," she said, contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase 'darling muffin apple pie'. Who was going crazy here, again?
Well, she, probably -
Damn. So many reasonably human-shaped things around... Polly blinked and got moving. No getting distracted now.
The castle was still an impossible maze to her, and by now she had given up on trying to memorise its layout. Besides, she had the distinct impression that Mal was taking a more complicated route than even Igor.
"Nearly there," said Mal at some point, dragging Polly off into a corner. "Look at me, Polly." Polly did, and got stared at quite intently, in a way that made her feel like she should stick her tongue out and say, "Aah".
And then, something distracted her. It was hard to understand.
"Music's still there?" asked Mal. She was standing too close for comfort, and Polly realized that there was, indeed, no music. And then there was -
"Heartbeat," said Polly, absent-mindedly. "It's just yours now. I got confused in the hall, that's all. Didn't know it'd be that loud."
She tried to fixate on what was distracting her, and then -
"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," she murmured, and Mal grabbed her by the shoulders.
"What's up, Polly?" she asked.
"Wall's bleeding," she said, and then a bit of Polly came through to do some necessary logical thinking. "Well, probably not, you know, bleeding, but -"
"Er," said Mal. "Just follow me, and hold on. If all else fails, close your eyes."
Polly tried.
"That's worse," she said.
She heard Mal cursing.
A few minutes later, the corridor grew into something familiar to Polly. There it was, the door... she let go of Mal's hand, or Mal let go of hers. Polly noticed Mal was just staring at the door, an expression of horror on her face.
"Hey, we're there," said Polly, pulling the handle.
"Wait," hissed Mal, "there's someone -"
Polly stepped through the door -
- and into a nightmare. Her brain shut down without checking back with her. There was an overwhelming impression of red. There was a faint dripping sound. A strong scent which she didn't so much smell as feel -
So that was what distributed people looked like. Bits and pieces that she very much couldn't identify, despite all the practical battlefield anatomy in the world.
She felt Mal step behind her.
"This is not real," said Mal. "Calm down."
Drip drip drip. Polly shuddered.
"You can see it, too," she whispered.
"It's contagious," said Mal. "Flashsides. You know, someone else's flashbacks?"
"Whose?" asked Polly, but she knew, she knew.
"Mine," said Mal flatly.
Polly took a deep breath, and the room flickered back into normality. The dripping sound stayed, on account of the universe being a mean bastard, but this was a little more bearable. Besides, there was a more pressing problem right now.
"I've been expecting you," said Molly from her cushioned armchair near the open window. Curtains were playing in the wind. There was moonlight, and everything seemed so... traditional. Folkloric, even.
Sweet Nuggan, the blood was dripping right into her lap...
"Ozz, you go into the other room. I'll sort this out," said Mal.
"Benedict's looking for you, Molly," said Polly, concentrating on every word. Two heartbeats in the room now, save her own. "Says your coachman's waiting for you outside."
"It's Hypovolemia," said Molly, smiling. "And even though I admire your concern for my safety, I'm afraid that this is not acceptable."
"Ozz -," said Mal, a hint of urging in her voice now.
"Look," interrupted Molly. "I did everything. I've sabotaged the coach. I've spent an hour on the eyeliner. I'm wearing the underwire -"
"Ha!" said Mal.
" - how blooming obvious am I supposed to be? All I'm asking for is that someone, anyone in this castle finally get around to bite me. That'd be most perfect!"
Facing that much enthusiasm, Polly thought, one couldn't help wanting to be helpful. It was like pointing out the merits of a strategically worn pair of socks to Shufti.
Well, not quite, but -
"It's the silver," said Polly. "They can't touch it."
Molly touched one of her various necklaces with a heavily ringed hand. "Oh, that?" she said. "I can have that off in half an hour, tops."
"Don't you dare," said Mal. "I know it's a bit hard for you to understand, but right now it's your only protection."
"Now," said Molly, completely ignoring Mal, "I heard you say 'they', Oliver. Will you touch silver?"
Wait, thought Polly. This is Roundheels Molly, only dressed in velvet now, a honest farm girl looking for an adventure, and I don't have onions to save me help!
Damn.
"I don't recall ever having an intrinsic fear of that sort of thing," said Polly. She noticed, briefly, that she appeared to be moving on autopilot. She also noticed the dripping had stopped. Her mind was a one-way street now, and there was only one heartbeat left in the room. Molly's.
In the far distance, a voice shouted her name. She disregarded it, but trying to move on, she couldn't quite disregard the fact that she was being held back.
Damn, Mal was fast.
"Why can't I -," said Polly. It was hardly reprehensible, or anything. Molly wanted this. She'd be doing her a favour.
"You'd kill her," said Mal.
Wouldn't be the first time I - was what Polly began thinking, but didn't finish.
- being a vampire was really not all that different -
The room shifted again, and the armchair in which Molly was sitting looked thoroughly ripped apart, and so did Molly, ripped apart and put together again, and someone'd done a sloppy job of it, too. Two rows of teeth moved, and they said, in a tone of whiny shock, "Polly?"
Polly closed her eyes, and opened them again, and - it's Molly, only Molly, she thought. No thing with teeth. All right, a thing, yes, with teeth, probably, but not quite so...
... distributed...
"Yes," said Mal. "It's Polly. Girl inna fancy suit. Welcome to the wonderful world of vampires, Miss Hypovolemia."
The thing stared at Polly with an open mouth. "You're a girl," it said, finally. It looked like it would have liked to add an 'ew"' but wasn't quite sure about how this would be received, so it settled into a smile.
This kind of dumb bravery would have been worthy of Major Blouse, thought a somewhat disconnected part of Polly. Or maybe it was just dumb without any bravery at all.
"Now, how about you, Maladict?" asked the thing in the armchair. "They told me you're into tradition."
There was a sharp indraw of breath. "Get lost," said Mal finally, for some reason lacking in the eloquence department just now.
The thing seemed to think about this, then got up. "I think I'll go find Benedict, then," it said airily, and was off, and there was less heartbeat in the room, and at the same time, more.
"Welcome to the wonderful world of humans, Polly," murmured Mal and let go of her.
Polly turned around, slowly so as to not make the room spin even more, to face Mal, reassure herself that everything was quite normal, thank you -
- only not -
Bare feet on a sticky floor, and a white nightgown without sleeves. Naked arms were splattered with red, as was the nightgown, as was the face, a face so familiar and yet completely different. There was a lot of tangled black hair, partly tied into an untidy knot, partly escaped from it or threatening to escape.
Reality had shattered like an old mirror shattered, inescapably and without a cause.
Oh bugger.
Maladicta spoke, and she spoke with Mal's voice.
"This is not real, Polly," she said. Again.
Yes, thought Polly. She knew that already. She took a deep breath, and her vision faltered, but didn't change in the end, and neither did the overwhelming scent, and the sound of dripping.
"Looks real enough to me," she said. A part of her wanted to go cry in a corner. It wasn't the one that took action, though.
The nightgown didn't actually have a collar, but Polly could grab one, while logic jumped out of the window. Out of the window -
- she liked the idea -
Polly found out that she was stronger than Maladicta, or maybe simply angrier. The window was there, and open, and that was were they ended up. A short glance told Polly that they were right above a bloody deep abyss.
Good.
Maladicta stumbled and fell backwards across the windowsill. Her feet weren't touching the floor anymore. Long-nailed fingers dug into Polly's arms, her back, grabbed her impossibly shiny, frilly clothes, trying to reach everything that promised some sort of support. Polly kept trying to peel those fingers off her, one after the other, and it would only be a matter of time -
"Afraid of heights, are we?" she asked sweetly, or, to be fair, as sweetly as her condition allowed. Polly was ready to admit that she very much had a condition. She hated it.
"Ye-es," said Mal, and Polly blinked, and for a moment that was Mal under her, in all her... ambiguity, reasonably sane and also frightened to death. Mal took that moment to arch up and sling her arms around Polly, and interlock her hands between Polly's back, and Polly fell forward, fell down -
Only she didn't, steadying herself in the last second. Looking down, that was Maladicta again underneath her. All messy, tangled hair (impractical, cut it off), and silence, and the scent of -
She tried to claw off the arms wrapped around her, wanted to hit her but found she couldn't, not yet; it was too strange. Twice they nearly toppled over, and still fought.
"Let me in, Polly," whispered Maladicta, again in the voice of Mal. Nothing else changed, this time. Polly was so close to her face, and that rhythm was going impossibly fast, and still sped up when she began considering not the face, but the neck -
She'd wanted this the entire time, why deny that?
Polly closed her eyes. Her fingers felt for the high collar she remembered, and pushed it away. Her lips found the point that felt about right. It didn't matter much.
She could have sworn she felt Mal tilt her head somewhat underneath her, and the result was, to her surprise a... better access, of sorts. Was that done on purpose? Highly improbable, thought Polly, and then she thought no more.
She bit, deep, and there was a strangled cry of sorts, and then nothing, no breath, no voice, even that rhythm slowed down. The only thing left was the flow, sticky and salty and with just the tiniest hint of bitterness, of -
Coffee.
It was that hint that restored her sanity, at least partially, that, or Mal going completely limp underneath her. Polly felt Mal's arms sliding off her back, and Polly opened her eyes, and she saw Mal losing balance, and it was Mal, really Mal who was falling, no crazy woman in a blood-stained nightdress.
She reached wildly for Mal's arm and got a hold of it, and for a moment they were both falling, and then Polly's other hand caught the window frame, and they weren't. Polly dragged Mal in through the window, and Mal collapsed onto the floor, hands over her head, breathing heavily. Crying, maybe, Polly didn't dare to look.
This was not real. Couldn't be.
"C'mere, Polly," said Mal, finally, her voice weak and strained, but there. Polly couldn't not obey. She knelt down next to Mal, fully expecting to have her head ripped off before realizing that Mal wasn't quite capable of that right now.
Somehow, this was worse.
"I need -," said Mal, reaching for Polly's face.
Polly moved closer, not looking at her. "What do you need?" she asked.
Mal seemed to pull herself together for one moment. "I'm sorry, Polly, but I really can't waste anything at this moment," she said. Her hands were holding on to Polly's face, and she moved closer and -
It very much wasn't a kiss, because kisses were something completely different altogether. This was Mal getting something of her own back, softly licking over Polly's lips and face, which probably should have felt strange to Polly but didn't. Mal was being distinctly unsexy.
Yeah, well, as if that had been the point, anyway.
"Okay," said Mal in a slightly more normal voice. "Okay. Where did I put the coffee beans?" She got a lace-trimmed handkerchief out of the pocket of her waistcoat, and pressed it to her neck, wincing as she did so.
"Your pocket," said Polly.
"Oh," said Mal, "right." She dug the coffee bag out of the other pocket of her waistcoat, changing the hand holding the handkerchief in place as she did so. Her left hand came back covered in blood. She looked at it, lost in thought, and began to lick off her fingers carefully, one after the other.
She then proceeded to eat coffee beans in a calm and concentrated way.
Polly collapsed onto the bed. What she wanted, now, was to be somewhere else. The battlefield would do, she thought. An arrow in her side, a soldier's death. Nobody faced with immortality could possibly stay sane for long.
Strange, how things could slip away from you.
She wanted to say something, anything, but thought better of it. Not because she was afraid of being accused, or hit, or simply screamed at, but because she was afraid of Mal telling her it was okay and that she had expected this. She couldn't possibly spend that much time with someone who thought this kind of thing was okay.
"Get ready," said Mal, after too long a while. "We're leaving."
Polly didn't believe her ears. "Did something just happen or what?" she asked.
"Stay, then," said Mal, in a voice that was tired more than anything else. "You'll fit right in."
*Defies cold, posts fic*
This chapter is rated M on account of it being a little disgusting.
Plogviehze, Baby: Chapter 9
"The music's bloody awful," whispered Polly, because she felt she had to comment on something as they were walking along corridors again, and she rather wanted to leave the topic of distressing vampire ladies alone. Also, the music that was waving over to them in bits and pieces was pretty awful, disharmonic and yet almost organic, in the way that probably-rat-scubbo was almost organic.
"Yeah, well, the harmonium's a bit old," said Mal. "And I think someone got Igor to oil the pedals, which wasn't a very good idea at all, 'cos Igor can't say no to a little bit of squeak. We're nearly there, now listen, Polly."
There was a pause.
"Yes?" said Polly. "I'm listening. I can't help it, on account of the whole having ears business. I hate your dramatic pauses."
"Ack, sorry," said Mal. "I think that's genetic. Since you're listening and all, I just wanted to remind you that you've got to be really really careful. Don't talk to people and stick with me. Please?"
"You know, Mal," said Polly, "the way things have been going, I'd say that sticking with you rather leads to grievous bodily harm, instead of, you know, medals and pie and suchlike. I have one last question."
There was another pause.
"See?" said Mal. "You're doing it as well."
"Just to show you how really damn nerve-grating it is," said Polly. "Why didn't you tell me about all of this before?"
"I wasn't sure how you'd take it," said Mal. "You made a somewhat unrelaxed impression."
Polly considered this. "Who's sergeant here, then?"
"You are," said Mal. "That is, you were. Right now, I think the squad would run screaming from you."
Polly considered her current attire. "Burst out laughing, I should think."
Mal shrugged. "Or that."
And whose fault was that, anyway? she thought. Come to think of it, it was the fault of whoever bloody well shot her. And the army surgeon's.
Oh, and Mal's, of course. Die, Mal, die!
The music grew steadily louder as they were getting closer to their destination. Behind an official looking doorway, Polly could see a lot of mostly black-clad people moving about in the flickering light of thousands and thousands of candles.
"There," said Mal. "Take care. We're just here to talk and smile, okay?"
Polly did have violent carnage in mind, but as she was - what was the word - assessing the situation, she figured that something like that would rather count as a famous last stand and was therefore impractical.
That last step through the doorway felt like a step away from sanity, a step into the realms of batshit crazy. Heat washed over Polly, and she had to concentrate on thinking logically.
Of course it had to be warm in here, with all the candles burning merrily and dripping wax all over the place, no really, but of course they did that in a most stylish way, building up artful clusters and streams. Polly was drawn to one of them, reaching out a finger to touch one tiny stream of hot red wax.
"Don't you dare discover your inner Lofty right now," hissed Mal. "Besides, this place doesn't burn too well." A smirk. "I tried."
I think I already discovered my inner Lofty, in a way, thought Polly, and then thought, wait. Where the hell did that come from? She chalked it up to bad influence.
Dear Nuggan, they all looked like... they all looked a bit... ambiguous, if that was the word. Those wearing suits, at least. Some of the dresses were, Polly had to admit, rather frank about it all.
There was a lot of music in the room, and Polly didn't quite know where it came from. She could see a woman in a dramatic white headscarf torturing a harmonium, but that one was merely squeaky. She almost couldn't hear it.
Mal, next to her, was greeting people, and sometimes Polly got introduced to distant cousins and old friends and elderly aunts. Everyone's got elderly aunts, thought Polly, and very nearly had to giggle, because apparently even Mal had a bunch of Aunt Hatties. "But do you get enough proteins, dear?" was said twice. It was surreal.
"So, what's the point of it all?" whispered Polly at one point.
"Bugger me if I know," said Mal. "We're just not very social is all, but nobody likes to admit it."
"Found out anything yet?"
Mal shook her head. "They're clueless, mostly. Un-po-li-ti-cal." Her eyes caught Polly's; and her glance made Polly feel a little uncomfortable, as if she was being taxed. Leaning over, Mal said, "Are you quite sure you're all right?"
"Bit warm, is all," said Polly.
"It's not, as a matter of fact, very warm," said Mal.
"Must be that fifteen-piece-suit I'm wearing, I suppose," said Polly. "The shawl thing, especially, is trying to asphyxiate me through sheer embarrassment. I think it adds at least five degrees to an already unsatisfactory ambience."
"Yeah, it's somewhat old-fashioned," murmured Mal.
"So, is there any chance one might get something to drink in here?" asked Polly. "Oh look, how cute!"
That last sentence was out before she could stop it, but she didn't scold herself. Much. Two tiny vampire children, dressed in white lace drapery, were bouncing over the floor, aided by leathery bat wings sticking out of their backs. Their teeth were very visible in smiling faces. The sight would have made even the most independent woman coo in adoration and then clutch her belly and possibly other assorted body parts in gratitude that these two belonged to someone else.
Polly stared in fascination, until she felt eyes on herself. Looking up, she saw a man staring at her, a rather threatening smile on his lips. "So good of you to approve of my children," he said.
"No matter how you word the invitations," said Mal, "someone always brings the kiddies." She tugged at Polly's sleeves, dragging her away from the children and their father.
"What the hell was that about?" asked Polly. "By the look he gave me, you'd think I'd just stuffed and eaten his first born. Or something."
"Er," said Mal, and fell silent for a moment, "it's like... you know. They're very tiny and helpless and easily impressed, and vampires don't like their children to be around humans much."
"But I'm not even -"
"You look human enough," said Mal.
"Aw, thanks," said Polly. "Best of both worlds, yes?"
Mal looked back over her shoulder, ignoring Polly's comment. "And look," she said, "they teach them to transform before they can walk. Kiddies will grow up mightily confused."
"As opposed to you, who're perfectly well-adjusted and also, so good at flying," said Polly.
Mal sighed wearily. It might or might not have been ironic. "I really really really need a drink," she said, scanning the room. "And I think they're over there. Come with me."
"You don't have to look after me," growled Polly, trailing after Mal.
"Er," said Mal. "Maybe you can look after me, if you want to? I'd rather we stick together."
"Ah," said Polly. "Diplomacy. I think I can live with that."
They reached a small table full of what Polly thought rather fancy glasses, the kind you inherited from resentful relatives that you really should have invited to that dinner party fifteen years ago. Behind the glittering nightmare stood Igor, looking rather put-off.
"How can I be of thervithe, thurth?" he said in a dignified voice. His lisp seemed to have worsened, Polly noticed, and his hunchback was so defined it strained his dusty black suit. Now, she recognised that behaviour; it was something she'd been teaching the lads: in times of stress, hold on to what you know.
"You don't like being a barmaid, do you?" she asked sympathetically.
"It wath all I could do to avoid the dirndl," said Igor.
"Is there any chance of a glass of water, Igor?" said Mal.
"Anything elthe? How about cocoa?"
"Whoa," said Mal. "I see you've been working on the sarcasm thing."
"Tho far, I have offered cocoa to thirteen guethtth," said Igor, beaming. "However, it'th to my deepetht regret that I have to tell you that all there ith that ithn't the, you know, other thtuff, ith warm red wine. I hear it'th the latetht fashion in Uberwald. The youngthterth love it."
"I see," said Mal, and leaned forward. "Are you perhaps dissatisfied with your current employment situation?"
"Lady Maladict, I am thure you know what not to athk thomeone in my pothition," said Igor. "I get good working hourth, an occupation with... hardly any embarraththment at all, and all the thpare limbth I want."
"Yes, of course," said Mal. "Now, a man in your position surely hears things."
"Are you, perhapth, implying thingth of a... thurtain nature? An obthcure nature?"
"Er," said Mal, looking confused. "Yes?" she volunteered. With an air of conspiracy, Igor leaned over to her.
"No," he said. "Nothing. No nameth, at leatht. They come from Uberwald. There'th twenty-theven guethtth from Uberwald, tho I thuggetht you athk them?"
"Oh, I will," said Mal, "thanks for helping."
"You know," said Igor, "you were the only one who wath ever fun to work with. No-one elthe died quite that often."
"Thanks, Igor," said Mal. "That really means a lot to me. Now, we've got to get on, I'm afraid."
"Good luck," said Igor.
"Well," said Polly, after they had left Igor surrounded by thirsty vampires (Polly couldn't help but feel guilty), "at least they're wishing us luck. Could be worse."
"Yeah," said Mal. "Could be pointy death, I suppose. Speaking of which..."
"What are you going to do, Mal?" asked Polly.
"I think I've got to ask the Uberwaldeans, do I?" said Mal. "No-one else seems to want to tell me anything."
"And you suppose they will?" asked Polly.
"Of course they will. Can't resist an opportunity to show off, right?" said Mal. She walked off into the crowd, and Polly realised she had a hard time only following her. Polly grew dizzier by the minute. It was the music, and the damn heat, and the lack of water, and -
I've got to find myself a window, or something, thought Polly. Anything to escape this air. All right, not anything, because she couldn't quite leave Mal alone in this...
The room spun, or maybe Polly was disoriented. Mal had vanished somewhere between the cold faces. Polly very much wanted to sit down, and was very much aware she couldn't hold still.
Oh, damn.
A part of her mind knew what that might be, but really, no. She had no idea. She felt very very alone. Look, no humans in sight, no humans at all, only monsters, and Polly right in the middle.
"Polly!" hissed a voice, and she realised it was Mal, who had come back for her. Good old Mal. She felt herself being grabbed by the elbows.
"You all right?" said Mal urgently.
No, I'm bloody well not, Polly wanted to say, but only managed, "Yeah, of course."
Now, that would really be a good time for a bit of mind-reading, Mal, thought Polly, but Mal didn't seem inclined.
"Come along then," said Mal, dragging her by the hand again. "I'm going to talk to a few people, and you'll be watching. If anyone starts to get overly sarcastic, then -"
Pause.
"Remember what I said about -" began Polly.
"That wasn't a dramatic pause," said Mal. "That was a clueless pause. I have no idea what to do if anything happens, so just try and drag me away then. Politely, if possible."
"I'll think of something," said Polly. Hey, who's sarge in here? she thought, and then, but I'm swaying, and if I don't take care I'll start drooling, so what's my point again?
And then she thought, oh wait...
"Cousin Heinrich," she heard Mal say some distance away. Mal was greeting a tallish, lanky man who seemed about thirty, thirty-five. From his receding hairline to his polished black shoes, and with the possible exception of the teeth, Polly thought he rather looked like an everyday caricature of a bank accountant. It mystified her.
The man was taking Mal's right hand, and he must have squeezed, because Polly saw the slightest wince in Mal. It looked painful.
"Isn't that going a bit far?" said a voice right behind her. Polly spun around, her nerves being a little fragile at the moment.
"Oh, it's you," she said, somewhat relieved. Benedict made a tiny gesture towards Mal.
"Now, I know I told her she might find things out, but -"
"But what?" asked Polly.
Benedict shrugged. "That's brave," he said.
"Do you know anything?" asked Polly. "'cause you rather make the impression that you do, and I don't like it."
"Suit yourself."
Between the heat and the music and her general indisposition, Polly found it rather hard to concentrate on the concept of anger management. Still, she tried.
"Look, I know you don't like me and that's okay, 'cos I don't like you either, but -"
It must be something in the family, Polly thought. Very few people could convey that much amusement in a single glance.
"If you're looking for the way to get me to do you a favour, that isn't it," said Benedict.
"What I was going to say -," said Polly, "is that I think you might like Mal a bit, 'cause she's family, well, probably not because she is family, considering, but, you know, and I think you also know there's crazy murderers after her, and -" that weak flapping sound, thought Polly, must be eloquence fluttering away, "- and I think you might have an inkling about who these people could be, so considering all this, why can't you just tell me?"
"Ah," said Benedict, "but the only attempt on Mal's life I personally witnessed was performed by you, so why, pray tell, do you think I should trust you?"
Good question, thought Polly. She watched Mal, who was talking to someone else now, and she watched the Uberwaldeans, who were all watching Mal. There wasn't even the slightest hint of upcoming trouble, but somehow Polly couldn't help the feeling that neither she nor Mal would get out of this alive.
"I don't know," she said to her own surprise. "She does. Trust her judgment, will you?"
"Okay then," said Benedict. "How do you know you can trust me?"
"'cos you're still wearing that godawful ribbon," said Polly. "Only the good side's that stupid. I mean, there's rather a lot of crazy fundamentalists around."
"Yeah, well," said Benedict, "I could be a very cunning double agent."
By now, things may have got a little silly.
"No," said Polly, "'cause, you know, and I don't mean to be offensive here, a vampire's idea of cunning is spelling their name backwards."
Benedict looked thoughtful for a while. "You know," he said finally, "I always found it rather curious that they'd call themselves Ecnarepmet Itna. I mean, it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."
Polly did some visual thinking, then groaned.
"Told you," she said. "Now, you gave me the name of the group, anything else?"
"Yeah," said Benedict. "Have you seen Hypovolemia?"
"Changed your mind about the jewellery, have you?" asked Polly, accepting defeat. She turned her concentration back onto Mal, who was engaged in a rather stilted conversation with a black-robed man and a woman in a white head scarf. The harmonium player, she remembered.
"Actually," said Benedict, "her chauffeur has been standing in front of the castle gates for fifteen minutes now. He's repaired the coach. Nobody's eaten him yet. Please?"
"Damn," said Polly. "You really want to get rid of her, right?"
"I beg you," said Benedict. "Tell me, have you seen her? I must know where she is!" Benedict's hand was this short of grabbing Polly's impossible shawl thing in theatrical imploration. She knew he wanted to.
But how - ?
She saw Mal cast a glance back over her shoulder. Polly slapped Benedict's hand, and Mal grinned, and turned to concentrate on whoever she was talking to.
"No," said Polly. "Sorry."
"I'll be off then," said Benedict. "Good luck to you. Er, one last thing."
Polly cut the dramatic pause in half by saying, "What?"
"Your... condition is rather obvious," said Benedict. Polly raised her eyebrows.
"Condition?" she asked.
"Have you got any hallucinations yet?"
"I don't have any - I mean - I don't have a condition!" she said to Benedict's retreating back.
Now, if they'd only stop the music, she thought. And maybe open a window. And then she thought, damn, he could simply use gloves for the silver jewellery. He's got to be one of the good guys.
Flickering shadows were dancing in the hall. Polly needed a while to focus on Mal, and then she grew very concerned indeed. Mal was... not in danger, she thought, at least, not in imminent danger... but she was standing with her back to the wall, which could be a good thing if you wanted to fight but a very bad thing indeed if you didn't...
Mal was still talking to that black-robed mountain of a man and the woman in the white headscarf.
Polly considered her possibilites. One, she could keep standing around at a boring party, one of those where nobody liked you and the one person whom you'd managed to strike up a conversation with had just wandered off to pursue another female who, incidentally, was several sandwiches short of a picknick, and also had better hair. That sort of party.
And there, Polly's thought trailed off and she decided to go directly for the second possibility, which was, join Mal. She sauntered over in what would have been a nonchalant stride if Polly hadn't felt she was swaying.
When she saw Mal slowly taking off her gloves in an oddly pointed manner, she hurried.
"Don't you want to introduce me, Maladict?" said Polly and added, with just the right amount of clinging desperation, "You know that I don't know anybody here!" She was especially proud of the exclamation mark. A remarkable achievement, considering the amount of stress she was under. And anyway, Polly wasn't afraid of embarrassment; she figured they all knew she was a girl anyway, so possibly they also were backwards enough to let that count in her favour.
"Sure," said Mal with the strangest smile ever. "Mr Krueger, Miss Ainocard, may I introduce Sergeant Oliver Perks? I'm sure you've heard of him."
"Charmed," said Polly.
"Likewise," said Krueger. Miss Ainocard, however, did not seem to want to let go of Polly's hand at all once she'd got a hold of it.
"Mr. Krueger and Miss Ainocard are working a small business, Oliver, the name of which... must have slipped my mind - ?"
"I didn't tell you, Maladicta," said the man. "You won't have heard of it anyway. It's a small family business back home in the woods."
"I may have," said Mal. "I'm very interested in that kind of thing."
"Ecnarepmet Itna," said Polly, more to Mal than anyone else. Subtlety be damned, that woman was still holding her hand and Polly didn't quite know what to do.
Mal closed her eyes for a second, lips moving, then said, "Is that so?"
"Oh, Oliver," said Miss Ainocard. "Do you dance at all?" She had a most distressing expression, as if she was reading a romance novel: sloppy writing, predictable storyline, but amusing while it lasted.
Amusing at least, thought Polly. And I seem to get the guy.
Er.
"I don't think I can dance to this kind of music," said Polly, and then thought, wait, I'm talking to the harmonium player -
"... Ah," said Miss Ainocard, smiling.
Mal looked at her strangely.
"Polly," she said softly, "there's no music playing."
Polly freed herself from Miss Ainocard's grip, which proved to be a lot tighter than one expected from someone asking for a dance. "Oh, dear," she murmured. The rhythm was going on, and on, and on, and it was changing all the time.
Mal took her hand.
"We're leaving," she announced to the world in general and to Polly in particular. "Mr Krueger, Miss Ainocard, it's been a pleasure. Tell your coworkers I said hi. We've really got to dash."
She dragged Polly behind her.
"Mal," hissed Polly, as they were exercising their hasty retreat through the hall, "haven't you forgotten something? You've forgotten the goddamn carnage!"
"I was here to talk," said Mal, "and talk I did."
"Did you find out -"
"No! I mean, yes, of course, it's only most of them who're involved to the neck. Beats me who does the thinking, though."
Polly stopped. "Then we should stay," she said. "It's all a bit pointless otherwise, right?"
"I think I've got enough information to work with," said Mal. "Now, please Polly my darling muffin apple pie, move. We gotta leave before they've had a good think about what they just told me, otherwise I promise you there's gonna be a carnage."
Polly had mental images. "Sounds good," she said. Whoops.
"Polly..."
"Coming," she said, contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase 'darling muffin apple pie'. Who was going crazy here, again?
Well, she, probably -
Damn. So many reasonably human-shaped things around... Polly blinked and got moving. No getting distracted now.
The castle was still an impossible maze to her, and by now she had given up on trying to memorise its layout. Besides, she had the distinct impression that Mal was taking a more complicated route than even Igor.
"Nearly there," said Mal at some point, dragging Polly off into a corner. "Look at me, Polly." Polly did, and got stared at quite intently, in a way that made her feel like she should stick her tongue out and say, "Aah".
And then, something distracted her. It was hard to understand.
"Music's still there?" asked Mal. She was standing too close for comfort, and Polly realized that there was, indeed, no music. And then there was -
"Heartbeat," said Polly, absent-mindedly. "It's just yours now. I got confused in the hall, that's all. Didn't know it'd be that loud."
She tried to fixate on what was distracting her, and then -
"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," she murmured, and Mal grabbed her by the shoulders.
"What's up, Polly?" she asked.
"Wall's bleeding," she said, and then a bit of Polly came through to do some necessary logical thinking. "Well, probably not, you know, bleeding, but -"
"Er," said Mal. "Just follow me, and hold on. If all else fails, close your eyes."
Polly tried.
"That's worse," she said.
She heard Mal cursing.
A few minutes later, the corridor grew into something familiar to Polly. There it was, the door... she let go of Mal's hand, or Mal let go of hers. Polly noticed Mal was just staring at the door, an expression of horror on her face.
"Hey, we're there," said Polly, pulling the handle.
"Wait," hissed Mal, "there's someone -"
Polly stepped through the door -
- and into a nightmare. Her brain shut down without checking back with her. There was an overwhelming impression of red. There was a faint dripping sound. A strong scent which she didn't so much smell as feel -
So that was what distributed people looked like. Bits and pieces that she very much couldn't identify, despite all the practical battlefield anatomy in the world.
She felt Mal step behind her.
"This is not real," said Mal. "Calm down."
Drip drip drip. Polly shuddered.
"You can see it, too," she whispered.
"It's contagious," said Mal. "Flashsides. You know, someone else's flashbacks?"
"Whose?" asked Polly, but she knew, she knew.
"Mine," said Mal flatly.
Polly took a deep breath, and the room flickered back into normality. The dripping sound stayed, on account of the universe being a mean bastard, but this was a little more bearable. Besides, there was a more pressing problem right now.
"I've been expecting you," said Molly from her cushioned armchair near the open window. Curtains were playing in the wind. There was moonlight, and everything seemed so... traditional. Folkloric, even.
Sweet Nuggan, the blood was dripping right into her lap...
"Ozz, you go into the other room. I'll sort this out," said Mal.
"Benedict's looking for you, Molly," said Polly, concentrating on every word. Two heartbeats in the room now, save her own. "Says your coachman's waiting for you outside."
"It's Hypovolemia," said Molly, smiling. "And even though I admire your concern for my safety, I'm afraid that this is not acceptable."
"Ozz -," said Mal, a hint of urging in her voice now.
"Look," interrupted Molly. "I did everything. I've sabotaged the coach. I've spent an hour on the eyeliner. I'm wearing the underwire -"
"Ha!" said Mal.
" - how blooming obvious am I supposed to be? All I'm asking for is that someone, anyone in this castle finally get around to bite me. That'd be most perfect!"
Facing that much enthusiasm, Polly thought, one couldn't help wanting to be helpful. It was like pointing out the merits of a strategically worn pair of socks to Shufti.
Well, not quite, but -
"It's the silver," said Polly. "They can't touch it."
Molly touched one of her various necklaces with a heavily ringed hand. "Oh, that?" she said. "I can have that off in half an hour, tops."
"Don't you dare," said Mal. "I know it's a bit hard for you to understand, but right now it's your only protection."
"Now," said Molly, completely ignoring Mal, "I heard you say 'they', Oliver. Will you touch silver?"
Wait, thought Polly. This is Roundheels Molly, only dressed in velvet now, a honest farm girl looking for an adventure, and I don't have onions to save me help!
Damn.
"I don't recall ever having an intrinsic fear of that sort of thing," said Polly. She noticed, briefly, that she appeared to be moving on autopilot. She also noticed the dripping had stopped. Her mind was a one-way street now, and there was only one heartbeat left in the room. Molly's.
In the far distance, a voice shouted her name. She disregarded it, but trying to move on, she couldn't quite disregard the fact that she was being held back.
Damn, Mal was fast.
"Why can't I -," said Polly. It was hardly reprehensible, or anything. Molly wanted this. She'd be doing her a favour.
"You'd kill her," said Mal.
Wouldn't be the first time I - was what Polly began thinking, but didn't finish.
- being a vampire was really not all that different -
The room shifted again, and the armchair in which Molly was sitting looked thoroughly ripped apart, and so did Molly, ripped apart and put together again, and someone'd done a sloppy job of it, too. Two rows of teeth moved, and they said, in a tone of whiny shock, "Polly?"
Polly closed her eyes, and opened them again, and - it's Molly, only Molly, she thought. No thing with teeth. All right, a thing, yes, with teeth, probably, but not quite so...
... distributed...
"Yes," said Mal. "It's Polly. Girl inna fancy suit. Welcome to the wonderful world of vampires, Miss Hypovolemia."
The thing stared at Polly with an open mouth. "You're a girl," it said, finally. It looked like it would have liked to add an 'ew"' but wasn't quite sure about how this would be received, so it settled into a smile.
This kind of dumb bravery would have been worthy of Major Blouse, thought a somewhat disconnected part of Polly. Or maybe it was just dumb without any bravery at all.
"Now, how about you, Maladict?" asked the thing in the armchair. "They told me you're into tradition."
There was a sharp indraw of breath. "Get lost," said Mal finally, for some reason lacking in the eloquence department just now.
The thing seemed to think about this, then got up. "I think I'll go find Benedict, then," it said airily, and was off, and there was less heartbeat in the room, and at the same time, more.
"Welcome to the wonderful world of humans, Polly," murmured Mal and let go of her.
Polly turned around, slowly so as to not make the room spin even more, to face Mal, reassure herself that everything was quite normal, thank you -
- only not -
Bare feet on a sticky floor, and a white nightgown without sleeves. Naked arms were splattered with red, as was the nightgown, as was the face, a face so familiar and yet completely different. There was a lot of tangled black hair, partly tied into an untidy knot, partly escaped from it or threatening to escape.
Reality had shattered like an old mirror shattered, inescapably and without a cause.
Oh bugger.
Maladicta spoke, and she spoke with Mal's voice.
"This is not real, Polly," she said. Again.
Yes, thought Polly. She knew that already. She took a deep breath, and her vision faltered, but didn't change in the end, and neither did the overwhelming scent, and the sound of dripping.
"Looks real enough to me," she said. A part of her wanted to go cry in a corner. It wasn't the one that took action, though.
The nightgown didn't actually have a collar, but Polly could grab one, while logic jumped out of the window. Out of the window -
- she liked the idea -
Polly found out that she was stronger than Maladicta, or maybe simply angrier. The window was there, and open, and that was were they ended up. A short glance told Polly that they were right above a bloody deep abyss.
Good.
Maladicta stumbled and fell backwards across the windowsill. Her feet weren't touching the floor anymore. Long-nailed fingers dug into Polly's arms, her back, grabbed her impossibly shiny, frilly clothes, trying to reach everything that promised some sort of support. Polly kept trying to peel those fingers off her, one after the other, and it would only be a matter of time -
"Afraid of heights, are we?" she asked sweetly, or, to be fair, as sweetly as her condition allowed. Polly was ready to admit that she very much had a condition. She hated it.
"Ye-es," said Mal, and Polly blinked, and for a moment that was Mal under her, in all her... ambiguity, reasonably sane and also frightened to death. Mal took that moment to arch up and sling her arms around Polly, and interlock her hands between Polly's back, and Polly fell forward, fell down -
Only she didn't, steadying herself in the last second. Looking down, that was Maladicta again underneath her. All messy, tangled hair (impractical, cut it off), and silence, and the scent of -
She tried to claw off the arms wrapped around her, wanted to hit her but found she couldn't, not yet; it was too strange. Twice they nearly toppled over, and still fought.
"Let me in, Polly," whispered Maladicta, again in the voice of Mal. Nothing else changed, this time. Polly was so close to her face, and that rhythm was going impossibly fast, and still sped up when she began considering not the face, but the neck -
She'd wanted this the entire time, why deny that?
Polly closed her eyes. Her fingers felt for the high collar she remembered, and pushed it away. Her lips found the point that felt about right. It didn't matter much.
She could have sworn she felt Mal tilt her head somewhat underneath her, and the result was, to her surprise a... better access, of sorts. Was that done on purpose? Highly improbable, thought Polly, and then she thought no more.
She bit, deep, and there was a strangled cry of sorts, and then nothing, no breath, no voice, even that rhythm slowed down. The only thing left was the flow, sticky and salty and with just the tiniest hint of bitterness, of -
Coffee.
It was that hint that restored her sanity, at least partially, that, or Mal going completely limp underneath her. Polly felt Mal's arms sliding off her back, and Polly opened her eyes, and she saw Mal losing balance, and it was Mal, really Mal who was falling, no crazy woman in a blood-stained nightdress.
She reached wildly for Mal's arm and got a hold of it, and for a moment they were both falling, and then Polly's other hand caught the window frame, and they weren't. Polly dragged Mal in through the window, and Mal collapsed onto the floor, hands over her head, breathing heavily. Crying, maybe, Polly didn't dare to look.
This was not real. Couldn't be.
"C'mere, Polly," said Mal, finally, her voice weak and strained, but there. Polly couldn't not obey. She knelt down next to Mal, fully expecting to have her head ripped off before realizing that Mal wasn't quite capable of that right now.
Somehow, this was worse.
"I need -," said Mal, reaching for Polly's face.
Polly moved closer, not looking at her. "What do you need?" she asked.
Mal seemed to pull herself together for one moment. "I'm sorry, Polly, but I really can't waste anything at this moment," she said. Her hands were holding on to Polly's face, and she moved closer and -
It very much wasn't a kiss, because kisses were something completely different altogether. This was Mal getting something of her own back, softly licking over Polly's lips and face, which probably should have felt strange to Polly but didn't. Mal was being distinctly unsexy.
Yeah, well, as if that had been the point, anyway.
"Okay," said Mal in a slightly more normal voice. "Okay. Where did I put the coffee beans?" She got a lace-trimmed handkerchief out of the pocket of her waistcoat, and pressed it to her neck, wincing as she did so.
"Your pocket," said Polly.
"Oh," said Mal, "right." She dug the coffee bag out of the other pocket of her waistcoat, changing the hand holding the handkerchief in place as she did so. Her left hand came back covered in blood. She looked at it, lost in thought, and began to lick off her fingers carefully, one after the other.
She then proceeded to eat coffee beans in a calm and concentrated way.
Polly collapsed onto the bed. What she wanted, now, was to be somewhere else. The battlefield would do, she thought. An arrow in her side, a soldier's death. Nobody faced with immortality could possibly stay sane for long.
Strange, how things could slip away from you.
She wanted to say something, anything, but thought better of it. Not because she was afraid of being accused, or hit, or simply screamed at, but because she was afraid of Mal telling her it was okay and that she had expected this. She couldn't possibly spend that much time with someone who thought this kind of thing was okay.
"Get ready," said Mal, after too long a while. "We're leaving."
Polly didn't believe her ears. "Did something just happen or what?" she asked.
"Stay, then," said Mal, in a voice that was tired more than anything else. "You'll fit right in."