pennysheets | Vampire cult nonsense (PSL for Natasha)

It hurts, not the sharp sting of a needle, but a rawer pain. There will be bruises tomorrow, and her hand will be stiff for a few days. (If I survive, that little voice in the back of her head whispers, and she thrusts it firmly away, not because she trusts him not to do her lasting harm but because it isn't useful right now.)

Outwardly, there's a sharp indrawn breath and tensing of her muscles, but she fights the urge to jerk away - it would only do more damage, lay her wrist open, possibly leave her down a hand for the near future. She may never have seen a vampire bite before, but she's seen bites from other creatures with sharp teeth, and they're never as neat as people tend to assume. She turns her head aside, eyes almost closed, studying the circle from beneath her lashes. Anticipation, relief, jaded boredom...she can guess the experience of the cultists from where on that spectrum they fall.

She's starting to worry as he pulls away, and she doesn't have to feign her slight stumble as she pulls her arm to her chest, fingers clamped tight around the wound in lieu of bandages. The dizziness recedes, though it doesn't quite vanish, won't until she's had a good meal and enough fluids to begin replacing volume.

Which won't happen right away. She needs to find out what he's been tasked with; whatever it is, it can't be anything benign. Benign wouldn't need his sort of power, or the control they've exerted.

Shimmer looks maybe a little baffled, Raven annoyed, and Fox thoughtful. Star just seems relieved enough to maybe pass out, herself, and Hawk is... impossible to read. Whatever she's thinking, it's locked behind her eyes. Stolen Moon catches an arm around Natasha when she stumbles, and his expression is clear: he'd been sure she was a goner, and is relieved she's not.

"You did good," he murmurs, and Raven shoots them a warning look, presumably for speaking at all.

"The ritual is concluded," Fox intones. "Until the death is complete and our instrument returns, you may rest, children."

Shimmer leads the junior members out again, back they way they came towards the baths, but the hall continues in the opposite direction, as well, and there's an open door with light spilling into the corridor, and the sound of metal fingers collecting... something... from a stone table. Just loud enough to hear if one strains.

Out from under Raven and Hawk's watchful eye, Stolen Moon dares speak again. He's trying to keep an arm around Natasha for her support, and also because she's gorgeous, okay, and he's like 22. "Wow, the last time they let that guy out, he made a mess of the new guy. You are really lucky."

She leans on the young man perhaps a little more than she actually needs to, and if it frees up enough of her faculties to listen and note the direction the fanged man must have gone from the faint sound of metal on stone, well. There are benefits to appearing less dangerous than she truly is.

"I was born under a lucky star," she says, and she doesn't have to entirely feign the edge of unease in her quiet laugh. "Do we have an infirmary? I think I want to get this wrist bandaged up before I lose any more blood."

(That, at least, is true.)

"Oh, yeah, sure. I can take you there if you want. It's, uh." Stolen Moon pauses, looking ahead at Shimmer, then jerks a thumb back the way they came. "That way."

Back over next to where where the vampire is still gearing up. Lucky? Maybe. More like it's prudent planning to put the infirmary next to where they keep the violent monsters.

It's not the worst planning, though the part of her that's been trained to consider all the angles notes that it would be a large, tempting target should the vampires the cult has caged break free. Which could be part of the point - lure them to an easy food source and trap them there until they can be contained again. She doubts anyone in that room would balk much more at sacrificing one of their own than they would at sacrificing an 'initiate'.

She hesitates a moment, then nods carefully. "That would be great. Thanks. You won't get in trouble for it, right?"

She cares far less than would be kind. He's still the closest thing she has to an ally here.

"Pretty sure they don't set the awful vampires on people for just getting an initiate a bandage," Stolen Moon says, and slows to start getting them turned around. Shimmer doesn't even look back, and the others have all filed out and gone the other direction now.

They have to pass the vampire's prep room, and when they do, he's looking over his shoulder at them, as if he heard them coming, though the lower half of his face is covered by a black cloth mask. A lot of him is covered in black and gray, now, all the clothes lightweight and matte, clearly a stealth suit, but one meant less for protection and more simply for silence and invisibility.

Stolen Moon twitches, but then pulls up a bright (if nervous) smile and... waves at the vampire who he's seen tear people apart.

She notes that laxity, though it's far from unexpected; they're not incapable of keeping secrets, but these are not people who have been trained in security practice.

Then again, they can just feed anyone they catch spying to vampires. Apparently.

"Good to know," she says, with a quiet huff of something that sounds like it would probably be laughter if she weren't light-headed.

She sees the door to the prep room standing open - choice, or compulsion? do they afford their weapons any privacy at all? - and is unsurprised to see the vampire watching them. They're taking no pains to be silent, and even aside from whatever enhancements he might have, his would be a role that would require alertness.

The suit is...familiar, in general form if not in any specifics, and specialized enough to take as confirmation that someone in the organization has some serious ties - bought and paid for, probably, but notable nonetheless.

She doesn't wave, and resists the urge to jab an elbow into Stolen Moon's side. It's harder to resist the urge to roll her eyes in commiseration with the vampire, and she settles for a careful nod of acknowledgment.

They move past before the vampire can really do much, but Natasha might catch a sound like a snort. It's probably an amused sound.

Stolen Moon gets her settled in on one of the infirmary beds next door, and bustles about getting her bandages and disinfectant. The wounds aren't big, so stitches aren't necessary. He readily answers any questions she has. He's seen two other of the vampires be woken up, and only one of those two got the chant, the other just climbed out and greeted the cultists pleasantly. The other chant-receiver was hardly intimidating at all, more timid-seeming. He's been fed off of before, but not by this one. He doesn't know what the vampires are sent out to do exactly, but given the cult's purpose of cleansing the world of evil, he's assuming it's murder-related.

It's also clear that, despite being relatively friendly and even a little charming in his own way, Stolen Moon is a true believer. He's not stupid, either, he's just... fanatical about creating a paradise free of abuse and hate, even if they have to use some nasty tools to do it. Those tools are in the hands of the righteous, so surely it's fine, right?

"We'll be expected to sleep here tonight," he says as he helps Natasha off the bed again. "They might not want us there when he comes back, but they might. We can get you some juice and dinner, before we have to turn in, or you're going to feel awful in the morning."

"Like Red Cross," she says, with a wan smile that masks all the ways she wants to shake Stolen Moon until something in his brain rattles loose enough to make room for the realization that the cult is exactly the sort of evil they purport to be against. Fanatics are always the hardest to deal with, even when they don't belong to a death cult. Push back against their beliefs, and they'll only take it as reinforcement.

"Do they always keep us here after one of the vampires has been out?"

"Usually," Stolen Moon answers apologetically. "Whenever it's on a weekend, anyway."

This is a cult, not a job. They're still expected to work, so their money can support the cause.

He tucks her hand into the crook of his arm, clearly hopeful that she'll stay close as they head back out into the hall again. The vampire's prep room is empty and dark, now, the vampire himself long gone. "Do you want to go to the kitchen, or back to your room? I can bring you something if you want to rest."

She leans into him a little, playing up her lightheadedness. Playing up, not feigning - it's at least half adrenaline drop, but she is drained after being, well, drained. It's not enough to bury the brief flicker of frustration that she can't inspect that prep room now, when there's the best chance of the vampire being gone long enough for her to be in and out without getting caught.

"I'll come with you," she says, because that will at least allow her to see a little more of the complex, if not the most useful parts. "I'm pretty sure I'll be out cold about five seconds after I stop moving."

"I know the feeling," Stolen Moon says, clearly sympathetic, not just happy to have the pretty new initiate in his care for a little while longer. "That one hasn't fed from me before-- and thank god, that's the first time I haven't seen him murder somebody-- but the other two have. It does leave you pretty woozy. Here, it's this way."

The complex isn't really very big, in the end. There's three wings off the entrance hall, which is the only room with any windows at all. There's the vampire's wing off to the right with the infirmary, coffins, the prep room full of weapons, and (perhaps incongruously) a small library. The dormitories and baths are off to the let, where the initiates had gotten dressed, and where a couple higher-ranking members have offices. The a third wing goes straight back, with a couple conference and meeting rooms, a big dining room, and a kitchen.

Stolen Moon takes her straight back to the kitchen. All the doors on the way are shut tight, and Stolen Moon holds a finger to his lips as they pass. Natasha might overhear muffled voices coming from one of the conference rooms: Raven, Fox, and Hawk. Raven sounds irritated, Fox still thoughtful, and Hawk impatient.

Now that's interesting, and while Natasha is certainly grateful that the vampire hadn't drained her dry, she can't help but wonder why he'd made an exception, and what it might mean for her cover.

The warning to silence buys her a little time to consider how to ask after the vampires' patterns in a way that won't sound like anything more than curiosity and perhaps a little bit of unease over being expected to provide sustenance again. The voices catch her attention, and she strains to hear anything of note as they pass, regretting the fact that a sudden spell of dizziness that forces a pause would probably be suspicious.

Stolen Moon does slow a bit, too, as they pass, as if he, too, is listening. (It's possible he might have yet another motive for taking her down this way.)

They can make out a couple words as they pass, Raven saying, "--should check the spell."

Fox puts in slowly, "Maybe."

Hawk replies, "No, we would know if--" and then they're past the room, the voices fading to muffled sounds again.

Stolen Moon doesn't speak again until they hit the kitchen, and then it's to brightly say, "Have a seat, then, Snakeroot. And let me know if there's anything you absolutely hate, or are allergic too."

"No grapes," she says with a small, chagrined smile as she eases herself into a chair, tucking her bandaged wrist up against her abdomen.

She's silent for a moment before venturing quietly, carefully, "That sounded bad back there."

Privately, she's not sure it did. On the one hand, if the magic binding the vampires could be severed, there would be vampires on the loose. On the other hand, on the loose means not under the control of a death cult.

"Worried the monster will slip his leash?" Stolen Moon asks, back to her as he rummages in a cupboard. "Mmm. I trust the senior members will handle it, if there's a risk."

He turns back with a little smile, and a plate with a mundane ham and cheese sandwich for her. "Though maybe we lock our dorm room doors tonight, just in case. Shove a chair under the handle." Like that will do a lot of good against a vampire with a clockwork arm. From his expression, he knows it.

"Thank you," she says fervently - and honestly - and is a few bites into the sandwich before her complaining body relents enough to let her continue civilized conversation, without her mouth full.

"At least that would buy us some warning." A brief pause. "They don't do bed checks, do they?"

She wouldn't, she thinks, put it past them to want to be sure all the good little murderers are safely tucked away where they were left. It wouldn't even be bad practice. Aggravating, but not bad.

Stolen Moon laughs. "No, no. We're adults here, even if we're novices. Good thing, too." He grins, leaning is elbows on the counter. "There's a handful who wind up in each others' beds, instead of their own. We're not policed. So long as we don't leave the complex, and we're awake enough for the dawn ritual if they need us, they don't care what we do."

So, if she feels up to snooping, she can certainly give it a go-- though that's not what Stolen Moon is hoping for. Clearly.

She smiles at that, crooked and slightly sly, and while it isn't an invitation, it suggests that one may not be off the table - when she's not dealing with blood loss and likely to fall over unconscious as soon as she hits the bed. Any bed.

"Good to know," she says.

She doesn't linger long over the food, though she indulges in a little flirtatious banter to keep up the appearance of friendliness. Eventually, though, it comes time to depart for their quarters, and while she's exaggerating her exhaustion a little, there's certainly a weariness that has sunk into her bones.

Stolen Moon walks her back to her room. They're small, windowless things, with no more than a bed, a little desk, a small trunk, and a washbasin. Old fashioned. If she wants a full wash, before bed or in the morning, she'll have to use the communal baths.

"Sleep well, guess I'll see you in the morning," he says, lingering a little, but not beyond polite hope that she might ask him to stay. "We'll be up before dawn, for the vampire's return, so be ready for that."

Natasha lets herself sway very slightly, steadying herself with one hand on the door.

"Good night," she says, with a slightly-rueful edge to her voice that is utterly feigned. "Don't let the vampires bite."

Once he's gone, she takes the time to examine the room, searching it inch by inch for surveillance devices, then washes her face in the basin, waiting until the rooms fall quiet around her and she's fairly certain most of the others are abed. Her temples throb faintly, trying to remind her that bed is where she should be as well. She ignores them.

It doesn't take too long. If she waits half an hour, she'll hear the senior cultists pass by her room on their way to their own suites, Hawk murmuring to Raven, "We'll see what happens at dawn when we bring him in. Then we'll discuss it after. Okay?"

"Fine, fine," Raven mutters back, and then they're past.

Another ten minutes from that, and all is silent.

Natasha waits those ten minutes after the senior cultists pass, then another five for good measure, before she carefully opens the door and slips out into the hall. Her tread is careful, silent, as she retraces her path back toward the infirmary - and, more importantly, the vampire's staging room.

It's a risk - but she doubts much information is kept in the conference rooms, where anyone might poke their heads in, and the library seems far too easy.

The ritual room is locked, and it resists any lockpicks Natasha might have on her person. The staging room next to it is open, though, if she wants to poke around at the collection of clothing and weaponry. There's a twin bed in there, as well, as if occasionally a vampire is left out long enough to need a nap. There are a couple books next to it, cheap paperbacks.

There are higher-tech and more protective gear than the one from earlier put on, with sturdier masks, goggles, and even a full suit of very thick material in black-out black, suggesting attempts at letting them out during the day. Not all of it will fit the one she met: there's some in the staging room closet to fit a small, slender man; a tall but lightly built woman; and a short, broad man. That's four vampires total, despite there being five coffins.

Depending on how long she lingers, she might find she gets some company.

Natasha is thorough in her inspection, but efficient. She notes the range of gear, frowning slightly at the disparity between the apparent number of individuals and the number of coffins in the ritual room. Perhaps two of the vampires are close enough in size to share - or perhaps one of those coffins holds one better suited for other work.

She's aware of the night ticking steadily onward, of the risk of getting caught at this juncture. Eventually she determines that there's nothing more to be learned here, and moves on toward the library after all.

It may not be likely to hold answers, but it might tell her a little more about the people she's dealing with, and what they find important.

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