I've Got Fire in My Soul

[Jillian Frost]

Prompt List

• Origins
• Disturbing
• Gift
• New Year's
• Frustration
• Erase
• Monster
• Masquerade
• Run
• Nightmare

[Jillian Frost]

N E W  Y E A R S

It had started as a small fight at first, with Jillian making barbed remarks to Kyle where nobody could hear. They'd both been playing the gracious hosts, and such a beautiful home they had, such a beautiful couple they were, such a beautiful life they had - why not fucking display it for their friends to see? Except, Jillian didn't have any friends there. They were all Kyle's friends.

Even in her own home, she felt isolated. Like it was all his. Everything she contributed somehow became molded to suit him in her absence. She didn't recognize a goddamn thing, honestly.

When the tension became too strong, Kyle pulled her into a room a few doors down from where the guests were, confident the music would pad them from listening in. Of course, had he known Jillian was going to blow the absolute fuck up, he might have gone into the goddamn wine cellar. Then again, she would have had a lot more to throw than random items on his desk.

"Jill, you need to stop," he informed her, his voice low as they separated upon entering the room. "You're scaring Samantha. You need to warm up a little," he told her, his tone changing from warning to pleading.

"Why?" she spat. "She's not going to come near me no matter what I do, and you know it. Honestly," she sighed, glancing to a clock on his desk where she had resigned herself to standing, "honestly, I need to repack my bag. I have a flight out tomorrow, first thing."

"You - what?" Kyle sputtered. "No, you said you'd be here for the week, I don't understand."

"I booked a job about an hour ago." She sighed. "Let's just not, okay? It's stupid that I came. I'm just gonna stay in the guest room, and leave first thing. It's fine, Kyle, it's fine. I just - I can't be here."

Kyle went to her, reaching out to her hands to take them. She allowed him to, but she didn't know why. She regarded him suspiciously, wondering what he was up to. It was so foreign to her, the idea that he might actually love and care about her. She saw him totally differently than he saw himself, and he was about to become very aware of it.

"Come on, Jillybean," he said gently, using his pet name for her. "Just relax. Everything is fine," he said, voice still soft. He spoke to her not unlike how he spoke to himself; calm, steady, tender. It was the easiest way to deal with such volatility, as he had learned, and it was something key to the survival of him, as well as the family he had and loved a great deal. He felt her hand loosen in his own, her body not so stiff as it had been. Fuck, but he had her under some sort of spell. She could never say no to him, could she?

"I love you so much," she whispered, feeling herself bend to his gentle will. But something was in the way, and she knew it as he leaned in and kissed her. When he pulled away, satisfied that he had calmed her down and pulled her back into reality, she was staring at him intently. "I love you so much, but - I'm done, Kyle." She paused, then nodded, her tongue running across her lips where his taste lingered. "I'm done."

He jerked away, feeling like he'd been slapped. He let her go so abruptly that it surprised her (and him, if one was being honest), moving back several paces to put distance between them again. "What about Samantha? he asked, trying to appeal to the bond he knew she desperately wanted with her daughter. He could see it - wolves knew something about familial bonds, after all. He could see how much she wanted Samantha to love her, but she wanted so much so quickly, and she was gone so often, and she was so impatient.

"I NEVER WANTED SAMANTHA!" she screamed suddenly. Her eyes went wide as she said it, wider than he'd ever seen them before. She let it hang in the air, a sob causing her chest to heave violently for a second before she steadied herself, her hand flying to her mouth as she tried to process that she'd just fucking said that. Was she sure she wanted to proceed? She looked at how shocked Kyle was, and knew that in this moment, she had control - for once, she had control of the situation. And god damnit, she was going to use it.

"I never wanted her. And I never wanted this," she said, making a sweeping gesture around her. "YOU were the one that wanted to get married. YOU were the one who wanted a kid. It was like you needed something to - to fulfill you, like somehow just me, just being me wasn't enough."

"Are you serious?" Kyle said, voice low and full of anger. "Are you FUCKING serious?" he repeated. "Jillybean, please - "

"Don't FUCKING call me that!" she screamed. Her hand shot out and swiped at a glass jar on his desk, knocking it off as hard as she could. It flew across the room, barely missing him, and exploded onto the wooden floor, sending all of the little buttons that Samantha collected and put in it for daddy.

Kyle raised his hands, pressing his palms together, and exhaled. He was trying very hard not to (a) shift and (b) hit his wife. Instead, he loosened the tie to the casual suit he wore, trying to stall for time and calm down.

She paced, like a lioness, across the floor, arms pulling the knitted duster she wore tightly, the sleeves bunching in her fingers as she made fists with her pale hands. "You know," she started, "when I came home for Christmas - when I risked my fucking life to fly out of that shithole third world terrorist-riddled sand-trap - JUST to be here for her for Christmas, it's like she didn't even know who I am. She didn't run to me, she didn't even fucking acknowledge me. She stayed by you the whole time - Christ, she was more affectionate with my parents than me, and they hate you," she breathed, finally turning her eyes on him. They were blazing; he'd never seen her like this before.

She was off the rails with emotion, all of it having been kept silent for so long. "It's like - I may as well not even exist. I may as well not even come home. I almost didn't even fucking come home for this bullshit New Year's party but you wanted me to and so I did and - "

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit, Jill," Kyle cut in, holding a hand up. "You don't do a goddamn thing unless you want to. If we're being honest, let's be fucking honest." He wasn't yelling, but he was raising his voice finally. He felt himself wanting to shift, the anger rousing the wolf inside of him, but clenched his raised hand into a fist and lowered it carefully. No. He would not give in to that.

"No, I did it because you asked, because I can't fucking say no to you without you looking like I've fucking taken your heart out and crushed it under my heel - "

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING NOW, JILLIAN?" he finally screamed.

"So I came back to this house for this stupid party and I hold my hands out to my little girl and she just - runs right by me. To Thomas. THOMAS fucking GRIMM. How is it that he's closer to my own blood than I am? Is it a WOLF thing? It's like I don't exist!" she said again, throwing her hands up wildly. She was a mess; she had tears and mascara staining her eyes and cheeks and her nose was red and runny. "She's not even my fucking child, you know? I was just a - like, a vessel, just here to give you what you want because it's always about what you want. I gave so much of myself to you that even something that I grew inside of me for nine months is YOURS" she roared.

She was gasping for air, shoulders shaking. "I wish I'd just stopped after the first miscarriage. It was a sign, and I ignored it, and here we are," she said, sweeping her hand around the room. "Here you are, you and your little wolf cub that you wanted so badly because I wasn't enough."

Kyle's eyes were wide, the whites exposed as he tried to process the fucking hurricane that was Jill in front of him. "Is that how you really feel? You're mad because you're not part of the club? Hm?" His voice was shaking with rage, and he started to advance on her.

"You stay the fuck away from me," she warned him, but she backed up anyways.

But he didn't. He kept advancing, until he was practically pressed against her, pinning her against the wall. He could smell the salt in her tears, he could feel how hard her heart was beating.

"I can make you a wolf right now, Jill," he threatened. "I can take your humanity away just like that." The fear that broke through her anger and rolled off of her in waves was tangible, and it was like food for the thing inside of him. His face was right in hers, and he moved it to the side, whispering in her ear as he spoke. "I could make you like me, and then you would truly be mine." His lips were against her ear now, running down the edge gently.

"Please, don't," she begged, voice barely audible. "Just let me go."

"Why?" he asked, moving to look intently into her eyes. His hands were planted on either side of her, stopping her from going left or right - and she damn sure wasn't going through him. "You've given me everything else, Jill. Give me this, too." It wasn't even him anymore - it was the wolf talking now. His eyes were bright, gold and burning, and he leaned in to her MORE, if that were even possible, until he touched his forehead to hers.

"KYLE!"

The sudden shout caused the thrall to break, and he turned his head, giving Jill an opportunity to slide down and dart out from around him. She didn't run, though, instead turning to face him and putting her back to Xander, thankful that he'd broken the door off the hinges to stop whatever was about to happen. She crept away from him slowly, unwilling to turn and expose her back to him. One thing she'd learned from her travels across the world - you did not run from an immortal creature. And you never, ever, showed your back to them.

"Xander, I - " she started.

"We heard everything," he told her, cutting her off with his deep, booming voice. He jerked his head towards the door, the order being issued for her to evacuate the room and put distance between herself and her extremely volatile husband for the moment. When she had, he looked back at his friend.

"Guests are gone. Thomas has Samantha, and you - you, my friend, need to cool down," he told him.

Kyle nodded, shaky breaths loud as he tried to pull himself together. He put his hands to his face, fighting back all of the emotion that the wolf inside of him was trying to bargain with. I will eat them, it whispered. I will eat your fears, your rage, your pain, just let me out. "No," he hissed to himself. He wouldn't.

"It's okay," Xander reassured him.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, looking up suddenly. "Did she hear?" He couldn't fathom what fucking psychological damage Jill had just done - she'd done a number on him, and he was a fucking well-adjusted (he thought) adult. But their daughter? Hearing her mother rant about how she'd never even wanted her? That was guaranteed to be years of therapy. Especially since the truth was Samantha asked for Jill ALL the fucking time. Jill was just so goddamn cold and intimidating that when Sam saw her, she was scared of her. SO MANY nights Kyle had held her and told her that mommy would be home soon, SO MANY drawings Sam had made with Jill above them in an airplane. She'd even started a collecting jar for Jill; finding the prettiest pieces of tinsel she could, and stuffing them inside. It looked like electricity when the light hit it. Thankfully Jill hadn't fucking broken that, too.

"You can't see her just now," Xander told him gently. "You'll calm down, first. Then we can, okay? Then I can take you to her," he promised him.

Kyle nodded, and then felt the room shift as his knees buckled. He slid down to the floor, covering his head as he tucked it into his knees. He just needed to sit and be for a while. He just needed to sit, and to be quiet. Just for a while.

[Jillian Frost]

F R U S T R A T I O N

"I'm not a FUCKING paleontologist, Brooks. And neither. Are. You. You should have handed that off! And now look, it's 1 AM in London and you're calling me, blithering like a right idiot because you're too stupid to know your fucking role in this organization. No, Brooks, no, I can't bloody come out and fix it. I've got a fucking baby in me eight-months steady, and I have been restricted by my doctor from flying, so no, I can't come and save your arse."

She was so mad she was fucking frothing, and had to reach for her water to try and re-hydrate herself. Her head hurt; throbbed, really. She drank greedily at the water, setting the glass back down with a click. She turned, seeing her husband's head over his computer in the office across the hall from her. Working from home sucked all kinds of dick, but it was always amusing to see him turn his eyes downward as soon as she spotted him, like he had not been watching her while she was on her calls.

He didn't drop his eyes this time, though, instead looking at her thoughtfully. She smiled at him, then whipped around as Brooks gave her more bad news. "What do you MEAN we lost the spot at the House Gallery? Brooks, what exactly the fuck does that mean?" she demanded, lips directly to the microphone of her headset. She paced in the office, bare feet sinking into the plush pile of the dark red carpet. It reminded her of blood. She was shaking, and her cheeks turned red.

She didn't hear her husband get up and vacate his chair, nor did she hear him approach her, intently listening to that idiot Brooks explain that they'd lost a display spot with a museum that they'd been trying to strike a relationship up with for the past two years. She opened her mouth to yell, when suddenly the headset was taken from her, and she felt a gentle touch at her side.

"Brooks, yeah, hi, it's Kyle. Yeah, no, she's ah, she's pretty mad, man. I think you should probably figure it out before you call her back, yeah? Okay? Can you do that? Okay, great. Bye, now," he said, and tossed the device at her chair lightly so that it wouldn't break.

"My love, your blood pressure is through the roof," Kyle said, taking his wife by the arm while he further wrapped his other limb around her, guiding her out of the office. She protested, of course, but it was clear that she would get nowhere with this one. Kyle escorted her to the bedroom, only stepping away for her to cross the threshold of the room and sit down on top of the lavish comforter. "Can I trust you to stay here?"

She huffed, her face still red. Her husband went to the bureau and picked up the arm cuff and stethoscope, approaching her with the medical instruments. "I need to check your blood pressure, Jillybean," he coaxed. She gave him her arm, but he could tell she was still in a Mood. "I'm sorry he lost the account," he offered, squeezing the little ball that tightened the cuff. "You'll get it back. You always do."

"Yes," she said finally, catching him with her sharp blue eyes finally. "Yes, when I'm there, Kyle. Not from several thousand miles away, with an ocean between me and my objective," she protested. She waited for him to take the cuff off, and rolled her eyes as he motioned for her to swing her feet up onto the bed.

"No more excitement tonight," he told her, kneeling down next to her. He reached up to stroke her cheek, and despite her current state of mind, she couldn't help but lean into it a little. He loved that about her. His other hand ventured out, resting atop her pregnant belly. Hi, Sam, he thought to himself.

She caught his hand on her womb, letting it rest for a moment before pushing it off. "Don't," she warned. "It will start kicking and break my bloody spine," she said, voice laced with some emotion he couldn't rightly deduce. She exhaled sharply, making a loud noise. "Oooh, I'm just so bloody frustrated!" she shouted, slamming her hands down on either side of the bed. She wriggled into a position that was sitting up more, and looked at her husband.

"Kyle," she said, taking his hands in her own. "I am going to fucking kill that boy the next time I see him." She nodded firmly.

"Yes, I know you will, Jillybean," he said, his voice encouraging. "You'll impale him with some ancient and sharp artifact and display him," he mused, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. She had already closed her eyes, smiling as she envisioned Brooks pinned up on the wall like an insect. Oh, how wonderful it would be. "But for right now, rest. Okay?"

She looked into his eyes, and felt her anger retreat into somewhere else, some place that she kept all of her emotions. She felt herself relaxing. "Okay," she agreed.

"Great," he said, pulling her hand up to his mouth and kissing it repeatedly. "I'll come get you when dinner's ready, sound good? Great." He got up off the bed, unable to help himself from reaching out one last time to take her face in his hand. His fingers gently traced her jaw before dragging away with the rest of his body. Despite being married for years, he still found himself glancing over his shoulder at her as he exited the room, trying to steal a look at Jill in a candid state. As far as he knew, it was nearly impossible to do - Jill was the portrait of perfection. Even with red cheeks and swollen ankles and a temper that was as turbulent as a bomb cyclone, she was angelic to him. She was truly his mate. He watched as she sighed and reached over to the bedside table, groping for a book, and then pulled one to herself, thumbing it open  - and then, satisfied that she would obey, went back into his office to close out his work for the night. He had a dinner to make.

[Jillian Frost]

R U N

It was late at night/early in the morning, and Jill was still awake. Or, perhaps she'd taken too long a nap when they'd arrived and it had messed her internal clock up. Either way, she had slipped on her boots, checking them for scorpions and other creepy crawlies first, of courrse, and headed out to the site to just be for a while. She glanced at her new attache as he lay beneath a small blanket on his cot, a pillow over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight he'd seen before he fell asleep. She held a chuckle in her throat - everyone's first trip to the Middle East was the same.

She stepped out into the evening air, and breathed in deeply. She was thousands of miles away from home, but it felt more like millions, and honestly, she was okay with that. She walked slowly, stretching out her arms and legs as she did so (which looked silly at times, but nobody was up to witness this), thinking all manner of things that related to what she might find in the future. She loved finding ancient things and learning about them; she felt like the more she knew about the past, the better prepared she could be for the future. The money didn't hurt, either. She thought briefly of Kyle and smiled a little, but the smile faded as she thought about something else.

An upended pillar lay half-buried in the sand, its massive form reminiscent more of the setting for a video game than something one might see in real life - but then again, Jill had been to all of those places that video games had based their content around. Fortunately for her, she hadn't been attacked by any T-rex's like in Tomb Raider, but she'd seen some things, all the same. She climbed up onto the pillar, carefully holding her arms out until she achieved balance on it. It was certainly wide enough for her to stand on, and she proceeded to do so.

Star-gazing occupied her for almost an hour before she was alerted that something, perhaps, was not quite right. She heard something in the darkness, and walked slowly from her position, heading along the white of the pillar to where the higher side was.Maybe she could hear it better, there? She couldn't, though - it was more ambient than that. It was strange, unfamiliar to her. Beating of wings? But it didn't sound like any bird she'd heard before. It sounded like, perhaps a bat. The flapping was leathery. But what sort of bat would make such a loud flap?

"Ben...?" she called out. She reached to her back, thankful that she'd had the good sense to take her rifle. The local occupation of US troops had insisted that they should remain armed at the dig site, and she was usually inclined to agree, but this place had seemed very off the beaten path, and not exactly a hotbed of hostile activity. At any rate, she'd slung it over her shoulder when she walked out, though it was to her back, not to her front. Except now, she was reaching for it, shifting the shoulder sling to bring it around and centered.

She heard whispering on the wind, and gritted her teeth. "Ben?" she called again, this time more urgently. Damnit, Ben, she thought. Where was he?

Ben was asleep in his tent, pillow over his head to block out the sound of the excavation teams, although those had mostly stopped. It was actually quiet now, except for someone calling his name, which is what actually had woken him up. Just then, the distinct sound of an M4 being fired rang out, and he leapt out of the cot. He may not have been able to change his shape, but he damn sure knew when there was danger. He snatched his own rifle up and ran, smacking the flap of the tent out of his way as he did so. He followed to where he thought the noise was, but it was quiet for the moment. He turned around in a circle, sure he wasn't going crazy.

She found him before he found her, though, apparently, her loud scream as she hit the sand keying him in to her presence. Not to be deterred, she leapt up, and was was in a dead sprint, running adjacent to a fallen support structure. She looked banged up as fuck, too - how was she upright, right now?! She had her rifle unslung, but she wasn't looking back, instead taking a hand off of it to wave at him.

"RUN!" she screamed. "WE'VE GOT HARPIES! RUN!"

"When the fuck did we get harpies?!" he shouted at her. He didn't run, though, instead waiting until the dark flying beasts got into visual range. Fuck, they were huge. He began firing at them, hoping it would deter them, but it just seemed like it pissed them off, more than anything. He decided maybe it was time to run, and so he followed Jill, who had run into one of the excavation tunnels.

Inside it was dark as actual fuck, and Ben struggled to make heads or tails of where he was. Behind him, light appeared with the distinct sound of a torch being lit, and Jill approached him. "Hey, you good?" she asked, holding the light up as she searched for a wall notch to place it in. It was right in her damn eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said, sputtering. "What the fuck just happened, though?"

She sighed, still shaky, and wiped at her dirt-smudged face. People always talked about how beautiful she was, but they'd never seen her in some of the ways Ben had. The dirt was mixed with her blood and some dark fluid that, if he had to guess, was the harpy's blood. "Fucking bitch picked me up and dropped me," she said, still unable to process what had happened.

"I - you - what?" Ben stammered. "Did you find a nest when you were out walking around or - "

"No, I don't know, I don't know," she repeated, shrugging her shoulders. Her voice was still high pitched and shaky from the adrenaline, but the shock was starting to wear off. "I don't know, I guess it's close by? I thought they fucking checked this area to make sure we weren't going to have any issues," she said angrily. She spun around, torch still in hand, and finally notied a notch on the wall. She jammed it into its home, crossing her arms tightly as the sounds of frustrated harpies echoed down into the tunnel. They wouldn't come into it, though, so at least she'd been right about that. It paid to study monsters, it seemed.

"Well, I guess we must've pissed 'em off somehow. What happened, you said they picked you up?" he prompted. He was trying to get the full story out of her before she started to rewrite the details in her head to be less traumatic and create false memories of the ordeal.

"Yeah, yeah, I, uh," she stuttered, wiping at her face again. There was a lot of black shit on her; in her hair, on the side of her clothing, all down the inside of her leg. "I was standing on the pillar just looking out at the stars and I heard them, so I tried to run, but one of them grabbed me, and uh, it got me pretty high up but I managed to squeeze a few rounds off with the barrel pressed right against its - abdomen, I think, I couldn't see," she shrugged, shaking her head. "Fuck my joints hurt. The bitch ALMOST dropped me over the sand dunes behind camp. I don't know if I would have been able to get back from there," she confessed, very aware she could have just died. "But instead she dropped me where she picked me up. Probably hoped to crack me on that pillar like sea birds do to muscles and clams. I was calling for you before I got snatched, but I'm glad you didn't come out, or you'd have probably been grabbed, too," she said honestly. She looked over at him, the firelight and blood giving her a strangely primal, almost frightening appearance.

"How many were there?" he pressed.

"Uhh, th-three, I think. Two now, more than likely. I heard my winged friend eat shit a few yards behind me, but I didn't look back to see if it was still alive. I do know that the other two were way more mad and actively pursuing me after that." She paused. "Before, I think they might have just thought I was food." A thoughtful expression crossed her face, momentarily distracting her.

What the fuck, of course, was the only thing rattling around in Ben's head. Somehow in the time he'd been asleep, Jill had managed to get herself yeeted across the camp by a creature, a mythic one at that, and then mortally injure same creature, while simultaneously endearing herself to the other creatures who, up until that point, had no quarrel with her - or anyone else at the camp.

"When did you get so up on your harpy knowledge?" he asked her, brows raised. He found a large rock and sat down on it, relieved to have some pressure off his own joints. "For getting thrown around, you're still standing fine. Lot of blood on you, though. We need to get you checked out by the doctor, probably soon," he advised.

"History is my field of study," she reminded Ben. "Harpies are a part of that. Unfortunately, for us and them, we happened to be right in their migratory path. Yeah, Ben, they migrate. Anyways, now we're going to have to send out a party to kill the other two. They'll come back when it's dark again," she warned him. She nodded ahead at something, and Ben turned to observe the first hints of light as the sky turned a less dark shade of blue.

"Are you an archaeologist or a monster hunter?" Ben asked. He really wanted to know - no, scratch that, he really needed to know. He needed to know what exactly he'd signed up for. "It's okay if you say both, Jill, but I need to understand my job," he added.

Jill nodded. "Sure, I get that. I'm an archaeologist, and a seeker of all things from antiquity. And, I happen to know a great deal about monsters. And some of them aren't monsters, they're just scared little creatures. But, some of them are," she said, making a face and gesturing to the healthy bite in her shoulder. He hadn't noticed it before, but then again, the black shit she was covered in made it hard to tell. "Do I hunt them? No, absolutely not. I would never. But..." she trailed off, tilting her head back and forth. "Do I choose to arm myself with knowledge so that I know what to do when I encounter them? Yes. Don't worry - short answer is, no, I'm no monster hunter. You won't be here simply to kill things that we may or may not find."

"That's - good,  I guess," he grunted. She made a pained noise, and he stood up, offering her a seat on his rock. When she waved him off, Ben took it in stride. Honestly, it was refreshing - he'd only been to one or two other jobs with her thus far, and she was always on the mark every time. Of course, this was a black eye in their rapport that relied on her not being a crazy bitch, but he was sure she'd make up for it. She seemed stable enough. "Oh, and your book did have one thing wrong," he said, crossing his arms.

Fuck, Jill was in pain. Every bone in her body ached from that fall, and the black blood of the harpy was still wet on her. "What's that?" she asked, trying to keep her mind occupied.

"You never run from an immortal creature, Jill. Never run, and never, ever turn your back on them. Now, in this situation, it's kind of bad advice, because they were intent on taking you regardless." He smiled at her, but it was a tired, 'I know what the fuck is up' smile.

"I'll remember that," she said, nodding emphatically. Anything to keep her alive, she might try. She turned back to him. "Come on, it's light enough for us to go, now. Put that out, would you?" she asked, meaning the torch.

Ben extinguished it, dragging it along the mixture of dirt and sand at his feet to be sure, then put it back in the notch for the team to use in a few hours when they arrived on site. He followed her out, the blue in the sky now finally giving way to a little bit of pink. Everything was lit up in that ethereal pre-daytime glow, just before the sun truly broke the horizon. Ahead of him, Jill grunted, then dropped to her knees. "Jill?" he said, hurrying the few steps up to her. He crouched down next to her, hand on her shoulder.

"Shit," she hissed, teeth clenched. "I'm okay, I'm - yeah, I'm okay. I just need to get to the bathrooms and get cleaned up," she told him. For a moment he thought she'd push him away from her, but she took his extended hand, thankful for the support, and rose to her full height again. "Let me get cleaned up and I'll go see the medical tent. I promise, I just - lady things," she pressed.

It was then that Ben realized the staining on her tan pants wasn't all black, there was plenty of red, too. "Oh!" he said. "Oh, I have like ten sisters, it's totally - I get it. Here, I'll help you over to them," he offered. "Do you have the things you need for this?"

"You mean like feminine products?" she teased, walking in step with him. She was limping a little now. Fucking Harpies.

"Yes," he said, and he was genuinely unbothered. "Pads, tampons, whatever?" When she rolled her eyes, he laughed a little. "I'll take that as a yes," he said. "Okay, here we are. I'll bring you your things so you can change, and then we're going to the medical tent," he warned.

"Right, right," she said, pushing off of him with a wave. She disappeared into the area they'd set up for showers, and then immediately ran through it and to the private porta-potty on the other side, nearly ripping the door off the hinges. She couldn't tell whether she needed to pass out or throw up from the onslaught of pain she'd been preventing Ben from seeing this whole time, but the fucking show was over now. She gasped, sobbing - not because of what was happening, but because it hurt. There was another pregnancy for the books.

Fucking Harpies, indeed.

[Jillian Frost]

M O N S T E R

Gareth had been hearing about this "The Creatures of Antiquities" exhibit for a while now. He stood outside of the large building that housed the "mysteries of time" within it, scratching his chin idly with the ticket that Autumn had given him. She'd said it would be good for him. In truth, Gareth had no interest in seeing repeated inaccurate descriptions of monsters and accounts of sightings through the millennia. He'd seen enough in person to know what they truly were and, since was a contrary kind of person, had considered the reality that he'd very well just be arguing the whole time.

The prospect of arguing suddenly tickled him, and so he walked up the steps, handing his ticket to the man at the door, who directed him to the hall.

It opened up into a large gallery-like area, and he realized that the inside of the building was much bigger than the outside. He'd bloody well better not be in some pocket dimension he didn't realize he'd walked into, or he'd be mad. As he straightened the black coat he wore (because Gareth was dressed smartly, glad that Autumn had told him it was just a step below black tie), his eyes drifted to something on the wall - a broadsword.

His sword, to be exact.

"Hmm," he said, his lips making a fine line as he scowled. Who exactly was the curator of this exhibit?

Jillian, of course, had done her due diligence with every artifact. She had placed them all with great care, lovingly scripting every detail of how they came to be, and their history, making the placards by hand. When she was married, she could never do these things at home, having her attention split six ways as she had to cope with the blitzkrieg that was her husbands questions, emotions, everything. But now? Now she could sit quietly in her home, papers everywhere, antique books that were centuries old in their cases in a humidity controlled room where a child could not wander and rip pages out to their delight... It was heavenly.

She wove in and out of groups of people, greeting them and speaking politely with them, but still, all of her attention went to the pieces displayed around the gallery. She'd had help from Ben, of course, who, while not as enthusiastic as she was about the mythos of it, was an awesome research buddy and had found that Ben particularly liked staging pieces. He had an eye for it, too - the entire entrance room being dedicated to immortal people, and not "creatures", had been his idea. He'd chosen exactly where to place items such as the sword of an old monster hunter, a necklace belonging to the progenitor of the vampire race, and a hair comb made of coral and pearls that belonged to, as she was told, the Mother of Sirens.

She noticed a man standing below the aforementioned sword, but continued her path, ensuring each exhibit was being actively engaged by her guests. So far, so good. Glass of champagne in hand, she made her way back to the more typical exhibits that one would find - the monsters, to be specific. These were the things people were exited to see, if only because information had never been so public about them before. She would have made an excellent Therrayan, did she not lack the ability to keep her hands off of things. She had been approached by the organization, but she could never just sit back and observe. It wasn't in her nature to be still. It was what destroyed her marriage.

  "Manticores are like those bugs from Game of Thrones," she heard someone say. She approached curiously, staying far in the background of the small crowd that had gathered. She couldn't identify the man who spoke, nor could she identify the people that he spoke to - she assumed they were either guild hunters or young vampires, but she didn't know, and she wasn't keen to find out. Still, it tickled her that he took issue with her research.

"Yeah, this is wrong," the guy said again. He launched into some diatribe about how it was fake and incorrect or whatever else problem he saw with it. He'd been speaking loudly enough that he attracted more people - one of those people was Gareth. Or, as Jill recognized him, 'sword man'.

Gareth had heard the ranting about "fake information" as he'd been making his way back through the gallery, momentarily distracted by another item he was sure belonged to him (a dagger, this time). When he got to the group, he made his way inward, and opened his mouth to absolutely wreck the man in front of him. The exhibit was painfully accurate, by the way, if the scars on his shoulder told him anything. But before he could get a word out edgewise, another, lighter voice came in.

"Actually, George R. R. Martin went entirely with the scorpion concept, feeling that a true Manticore, with the body of a lion, would be too fantastical. He just churched it up by giving it a jeweled carapace. The idea was that it could fold into the shape of a scarab, making it ideal for assassins. I assure you, the real thing does no folding, nor bowing, of any kind, and cannot be enlisted to fulfill the will of men, mortal and immortal alike."

"Oh, so you've seen one?" the man challenged, everyone in the group turning. They were attracting a crowd, now.

"No, of course not," she said, giving her head a sad shake. She looked up to the artwork of the Manticore and sighed. "They were said to be such beautiful, majestic beasts - but unfortunately, incredibly aggressive. They expanded territory rapidly, and posed numerous threats to the people around them. And, it wasn't necessarily an issue of humans settling on land where they had first existed - Manticores believe that they own everything. Their territory had no boundary; it was infinite and eternal. So," she continued, walking closer to the exhibit, "they were hunted to extinction."

"But, if they're these massive lion things with poison tails, who would do that?" a girl asked.

Jill smiled. She addressed the crowd, but Gareth felt her eyes on him, and struggled to remain neutral as she spoke. "Oh, there was once a great monster hunter - or so texts say. His sword is actually displayed in the front of the gallery, and if you missed it, all of the history we have on it is there. Anyway, don't worry too much about the Manticores - they fought well. They had noble deaths. And, if the texts are correct - they took their pound of flesh from the hunter."

She raised her glass of champagne to the group. "I hope you enjoy your time here. Please, if you have any further questions, read the vignettes. They will tell you everything you need."

When the crowd dispersed, Gareth remained. He held his arms behind his back, splitting his attention between the blonde and the exhibit. In the background, he was dimly aware of the soft downtempo music playing. It was certainly setting a mood - what, he didn't know, but a mood, indeed.

"That was an interesting story," he told her. "You had them wrapped around your finger." It was a compliment. He sensed no Fae aspect of her, which was good.

"I think you are mistaken, but thank you all the same," she said, inclining her head.

"Mistaken?"

"It's not a 'story'. The way you say it makes it sound like I've imagined all of these fictions. I'm sure I have not." Jill had risked her life for much of her work - she wouldn't be told repeatedly that it was all fake.

He chuckled, looking down for a moment to collect his wits. When he looked back up at her, he gave her a half-smile. "I liked your facts, then," he said.

"And I like your sword," she told him, smiling mischievously.

"You - what?" he sputtered, eyes going wide. "What is that, a euphemism?"

She laughed. "No, of course not. I've got no interest in that sword, I promise," she assured him. "But if you thought you'd come into my exhibit, Monster Hunter, and I would not know your face, you are wrong. Just because I kept the personal information out of the prying eyes of the public does not mean that I have not devoured it in private." She paused, and then smiled. "I promise, I would know you. I would know you even if I were blind."

And for that, the Monster Hunter had no response.

[Jillian Frost]

G I F T

"I have a gift for you," he told her, but refused to say anything further. He told her that fancy attire was not necessary, gesturing to his own outfit of black slacks and a simple button-down in a dark shade of blue. He'd just gotten off work, so he was still dressed "nicely". Nicer than some of the detectives, anyways. She came out in a cream-coloured sweater, the fabric of which was as soft as a cloud and made him inexplicably want to touch it. He did get a small feel of it on her shoulder as she passed him to get her shoes, then turned in the hall to the door.

"I don't like surprises," she warned him.

"I promise, you will like this one," he assured her. 

  Layla Hale, or more commonly known as Lala, was one of the bartenders for the establishment called Hellcat's Hollow, which amused Gareth to no end. The Hellcat was a nickname given to one of the younger Tristes he'd known; Ash Leone. He couldn't recall if it was because of his last name meaning 'lion' or if it was because he was the progeny of Tibault - prince of cats. Of course, 'prince of cats' was a derogatory jab at him in the sense of the Shakespearean play , whereupon Mercutio had called him that repeatedly to piss him off. It seemed like he took the nickname in stride though, and it was true, he was known for his erratic and selfish behaviours. But this was less about the irony of where they stood and more about who they were looking at. Layla. And Layla was something... mythical.

  Layla, however, did not feel mythical. She felt irritated. There was a shuffling in front of her at the mostly-slow bar, and she glanced up at a man at the bar who handed her a drink, rolling her eyes at him. "Yeah, yeah, listen, it's a shot. I can't water down a shot. It's literally only the alcohol," he heard her argue.

Gareth silently hoped that Layla was only like that with customers. He looked from the bar to Jillian, brows perked only slightly. "Do you see anything that interests you?" he asked. He realized she had an expression on her face like a person who was seeing - well, seeing a unicorn for the first time. Was it that obvious? Gareth glanced back at Layla, who had spotted them. She smiled at him, but it wavered a little when she saw Jill. It made Gareth nervous. What if this blew up in his face somehow? Oh, he'd never live it down.

Jill, however, knew exactly what she saw when she saw it. Perhaps it was that thing inside of her that recognized Layla, like holding onto the hope allowed her to see what she really was. Or maybe it was her years of looking, of reading texts about the signs of their presence, that let her recognize what Layla's true nature could be. Either way, Jill's hand made its way to her mouth, covering it to muffle a cry of anguish. Her other hand tightened around Gareth's arm, to the point where he put his hand on hers just to let her know he was still standing there. She didn't know what to feel, so she felt everything.

He stepped forward, but found himself rooted by his companion. He began to wonder if it had been a bad idea to bring her here; Jill said she didn't often frequent places where supernaturals hang out, because she wasn't necessarily a fan favourite for putting some of their exploits out there. It was funny, because she did absolutely attempt to keep anonymity, and she often left out some of the more sordid details when they pertained to things that could impact the image of older vampires and others who were still very much active in the area.

"Gareth," she whispered through her hand. He turned to look at her, gently prying her fingers off of his arm and giving her hand back to her. "Gareth," she said again, moving her other hand only slightly from her mouth. "Is - "

"Well, you said you'd never seen one. In fact, if I recall exactly, you said it might be the one thing you don't believe in."

"You - you know her?" she asked, her heard jerking to look at him. Her blue eyes were wide and wet, with tears threatening to spill over.

"Who, Layla? Yes, I knew her after a fashion." Once or twice, they'd crossed paths, but it had been a long time ago. Far, far before Jill was even a thought, and her parents, and their parents - hell, her bloodline probably hadn't even been established yet. "Anyways, I thought maybe this would make a good gift. I felt like you had all of the jewels and watches and old, dusty books a woman could possibly want."

"Oh," she breathed. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't even vocalize that she didn't know what to say, because truly, she was speechless. She looked from him back to the bar, where the blonde had walked around from the back of it and was on the approach to where they stood.

"Gareth, I think I might faint," she told him, her voice rushed and quiet. She felt shaky and weak.

"You won't," he assured her. He kept his quip about being dramatic to himself, because honestly, she wasn't. Jill was probably the least dramatic woman he'd met. She was passionate, though, and sometimes people couldn't handle quite the level that she was at in terms of convictions. He could, at least, for the time being. As a Triste, he could pick up on what she was feeling, and when she felt like she was feeling "everything", he realized that yes, she was, in fact, experiencing all of her emotions at once, together, in some amorphous blob of feelings. He told her she wouldn't faint, of course, but he placed a hand at the small of her back, just to be sure.

"Hey, Gareth," Layla said, smiling broadly. "Long time no see, friend. Alright?" she asked, greeting him with a warm shake of the hand.

"Alright," he responded amicably. When she took her hand from his, he felt the warmth lingering. Unicorn magic was really something else. He felt the strained ACL suddenly on the mend, and gave her a nod.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she winked to him. They'd had a long conversation about this. Layla, of course, had been willing to do it, but he felt he needed to convince her anyways. She turned to look at his companion, who thus far was as still as a statue. "Hello," she said, the pitch of her voice changing. "I'm Layla. Feel free to call me Lala, though."

"Layla," Jill repeated softly, her voice still shaking. "I - " Jill stuttered. She'd waited so long. She'd had held hope close in her heart, through every horrible fight, through every nightmarish experience, through every trauma. In her heart, in the furthest, smallest piece, she was still just a small girl, chasing her father around the yard, begging him to take her to see a unicorn, pretending with her toys, pretending with her imaginary friends in her imaginary kingdom of mythical creatures.

"I waited for you," she managed.

"I know," Layla said softly. Gareth quietly stepped away from the duo, standing off to the side. This wasn't an exchange meant for him, and he knew it. Layla held her arms out, and Jill practically melted into them. She held the woman tightly, hands rubbing her back as she swayed in the hug, nose buried into her hair.

"I waited," Jill said again, sobbing. She gripped Layla tightly, able to feel the warmth from her body. She could smell the lavender and sugared scent in her hair, smell the remnants of lemon and lime from making drinks all night, and smell something else - something old and earthen. She could smell dirt and forests and some faraway place.

"I'm so glad you found me," Layla whispered. "So very glad."

  Now a healthy distance away, Gareth felt a light punch in his arm. He turned and looked, then looked down to see a man of about 5'8 standing there, brows furrowed. Gareth growled.

"You'd better have a reason for doing that, or an apology in the wings," he snarled.

"Do you know how much time I spent trying to pick out a gift for Layla? And you just blew mine out of the water," he said, still moving those eyebrows around.

Gareth snorted. "Well, I suggest you get back to the drawing board - and quickly. I've heard they don't like to be kept waiting," he said, speaking of the unicorn.

"Ahhh, bollocks," the man said, giving him a dismissive wave. He left, though, and Gareth returned to watching the union before him. They had gone to sit at a table, still utterly entangled with eachother. Jill held strands of Layla's hair, and Layla, Jill's. They sat as close as siblings, talking hushedly about all manner of things that Gareth was not privy to, and would never be told about.

It was a good gift, indeed.

[Jillian Frost]

O R I G I N S

Jill was sitting in the back of a car that she'd never been in before, with a man across from her who held a plastic bag in his hand. "I'll give it back when you leave," he informed her. He hadn't told her his name, and honestly, he didn't need to. She knew who he was. He was an ancient. What she didn't know was why she was being kidnapped - because that's what was happening. She'd been standing in the parking lot when the car had pulled up to her. And she'd been grabbed more than once while in Syria and Iran, so she knew what the setup looked like.

She called Gareth, but the phone went straight to voicemail. He was probably in interrogation. Fuck "Hi, it's me, listen, I'm about to get grabbed. He's tall, Middle-Eastern, well dressed - I think it's Jus-" and then her phone cut out, because Ember had come from behind and taken it out of her hand, turning it off. She pulled the sim out and put them both in a plastic baggie, then held it out for Justin to take.

"Since it seems you already know what this is, and who I am, would you mind, my dear, just simply following along? I don't want a fuss," he added. He smiled at her, but there was no warmth behind his eyes, and Jill backed up several steps, bumping into Ember again. She didn't know who Ember was, and shied away, caught between them with her arms up defensively.

"I wouldn't," Ember warned her. "I'm not going to hurt you," she told her, her voice strangely sweet for the company she kept. "We just need you to come with us."

"Could you - could you at least inform me as to why?" she asked.

Justinian sighed. "It's better my wife tell you herself," he admitted. "No harm is going to come to you, at least not in this trip right now. The rest... I cannot guarantee. But if Iloquil is requesting your presence, perhaps it is best to play along, and just... see," he advised her. He held his arm out, opening the door and motioning for her to get into the black sedan.

Jill sighed, giving one last look at the parking lot of the drug store she was in. Will this be the last thing I ever see? she wondered, ducking into the vehicle. She truly hoped not. Jill was nothing if not a survivor. Her mind raced back through all of her various traumas as they drove in silence, no doubt broadcast for the two vampires to see and hear. She was unaware that they were not, in fact, listening to her thoughts, as they both had quite enough of their own.



Iloquil smiled. "I want you to tell me a story," she said, as though that fucking explained everything. She gestured for someone to take the woman's coat, snapping at them repeatedly until they had taken it out of sight. "Wine?" she offered, but Jill just stared at her. She stopped walking, unwilling to follow her any further.

"Uh - I beg your pardon?" Jill stammered, still shaking from her nerves. "A story? You had me kidnapped to tell you a bloody bedtime story?" she demanded. She might be scared, but she'd been through quite a lot, and she was not about to be ripped apart by an ancient vampire before she at least had her say.

"Oh!" Iloquil said, tossing her head back and laughing. "No, darling, of course not," she said, waving her hand as though the idea was any more bizarre than the rest of this fucking nightmare that Jill was suddenly thrust into. "No, darling, no, not at all. You see, I have a dinner party tonight, and unfortunately we don't have any entertainment. And so, since you stole my necklace, and since you know so much about us, I thought, who better to tell us a tale than Miss Frost herself?" Her eyes darkened at that last bit, all of the playfulness draining from her voice.

"I didn't steal it," Jill hissed. "I found it buried by the Parthenon. It's not my fault you lost it."

Iloquil stared at her for a long second, and Jill genuinely thought that this was it. Instead, the vampire smiled, and nodded a little. "Ah, yes. That was a good night," she mused. "So much blood." She seemed lost in the memory for a second, and then snapped back to reality, clapping her hands together in enthusiasm.

"Okay, so you'll get changed, and you can enjoy dinner in the servant's quarters, and then - storytime!" she cheered.

"Changed?" Jill barked.

"Yes. Here, here, here," she said, motioning for someone to come forward. They handed her a beautiful white dress, something that looked like a dress Jill would have worn to a large opening - not to a dinner party. She thrust it into Jill's hands, but when she didn't take it, handed it to someone or something that stood behind her. "It looks like a lot, but I promise, it will be perfect for you, darling. But - change after dinner, okay? I don't want to see a speck on it," she warned.

Before Jill could protest any further, a massive man, who was now holding the dress, tapped her on the shoulder. He was tan and muscular, and boasted said muscles through a tight black t-shirt. "This way," he said, taking her by her upper arm to escort her.

"Hey!" she snapped. He paused, and she held her head up, taking a resolved breath. "You don't need to restrain me. Just lead the way," she commanded.

He regarded her critically, and then held his arm out. "Okay, then," he said. "This way, please." He was glad when she went; he didn't want to have to rip apart their 'closing piece' if he didn't have to."

She ate very little, the man who she heard called 'Cerberus' hovering near by. He actually sat across from her at one point, a massive plate in front of him.

"Surprised you don't eat from a bowl on the floor like a good doggy," she said in spite of herself. Her nerves were fairly frayed.

"Hey," Cerberus warned, pointing at her with his fork. "Don't be rude." He went back to eating, then glanced up again at her and the plate she'd barely touched. "You gonna eat that?" he asked, gesturing with the fork again, to the large helping of turkey and ham she'd been served.

"No," she said honestly, swallowing hard. She picked up the glass of water, almost scared to drink it, but she was so thirsty, and if she were to "tell a story", she'd need her voice. She was surprised to find that the water was a cucumber-mint mixture, and she wondered what the absolute fuck these people were doing with their lives. She pushed her entire plate toward Cerberus, who shot a large hand out greedily and swept it towards himself, thanks muttered in between bites of peas.

She sat quietly, save for the two times she'd excused herself to go to the bathroom. She found that she had an escort for that, too (thankfully not Cerberus, but a beautiful woman with eyes one could get themselves lost in). She took that opportunity to change into the dress Iloquil had given her. Normally, she'd have been pleased with how she looked, but right now, she was just mad. She returned to the dining area, ignoring Cerberus as he whistled at her, and sat, again, silent. Around her, people spoke, and she observed that nearly all of them were beautiful to some degree. It was shocking - honestly, the entire experience was blowing her fucking mind.

A slender blonde poked her head into the kitchen area, glancing at everyone standing around and looking disdainful. She narrowed her yellow-green eyes at one in particular, the girl who had escorted Jill to the bathroom, and her lip curled.

"Mya, Taran is looking for you," she snapped. "I wouldn't keep him waiting."

The girl jumped off the counter in a flash, vanishing out the door and shouldering the woman on her way out. Jill heard her heels clicking all the way down the long hall as she ran to whoever this Taran character was.

"Fucking stupid phasi," the woman spat. She fucking hated that girl. She didn't care for Taran either, to be fair. Then again, Persephone didn't like most people.

"Bet nobody's lookin' for me," Cerberus challenged.

"Of course not," the woman snapped, her accent every bit as clipping as Jill's own. "Everyone knows that cats rule and dogs drool," she added. Cerberus threw his head back and roared with laughter, and the woman at the door smiled. "It's time," she told them, when he'd finished with his laughing. "They're all in the great room."

"Thanks, Seph," he said, setting his napkin down. Cerberus stood, then motioned for Jill to do the same. She did, but found it hard - she felt numb. Literally, she couldn't feel her fingers or toes or arms or legs or anything. Even the air around her felt alien as she walked the long, quiet walk to whatever the fuck the great room was.

"Keep 'em happy," Cerberus warned, bending to whisper into her ear. "Keep 'em happy, girl, and I'll walk you to the car when this is over." He paused. "I promise. And you know dogs are loyal," he added, trying to get her to smile a little. He opened the door for her, not daring to enter that fucking snake pit himself. She was a better person than he was, by fucking far.

Jill entered the room, and almost passed out. There were so many ancient vampires that the air burned with residual energy. She felt fear and pain immediately, her breath catching in her throat.

"Raphael," a tall blonde with a German accent hissed. "Why don't you tone it down a little. She can't even breathe right now."

A vampire, Raphael apparently, nodded to her in apology. Suddenly, the terror that had pressed so hard on her chest was gone, and she felt like a boulder had been lifted off of her. She exhaled slowly, then inhaled, and repeated it a few times, ensuring she was centered and steady.

"Please, Miss Frost," Iloquil said. When she stood, all of the other guests stood. It was easy to see who was in charge, despite the balance of power being drastically shifted between person to person. By far, Iloquil was one of, if not the strongest. Jill made a mental note to touch on that. Iloquil led her to the center of the room, and gestured to a stool, where a small table rested next to it with a pitcher of water and a glass.

Jill went for the water, and Iloquil turned to address her audience. "Tonight," she said, her voice full of excitement. "Tonight, I have such a special treat for you. I have found Miss Jillian Frost, of the Frost family," she announced. The room was full of curious sounds - most of them were aware of her exhibits, and many of the older vampires had experienced small run-ins with Frosts of time long past. Always hungry for knowledge, always digging for a new mystery to unfold.

At the whisper of Iloquil directing her to 'say hello, darling', Jill raised her hand in a half-wave, willing her fingers not to shake. She watched as Iloquil then raised her wine balloon in a toast, and swallowed as the vampire turned back to her. "When you're ready, dear," she said warmly. With that, she stepped off the small raised platform that had come up out of the ground with some automation, and took her seat by Justin.

"Could, ah, could you take the light off me a little?" Jillian asked. Immediately, the room dimmed, and the spotlight that had already been on her moved. A different light was put on her, one that was much cooler and softer. "Thanks," she said sheepishly.

She paced around on the platform - dais, really, marveling in curiosity at how it was rigged into the floor for moments such as these. With the light out of her eyes, she looked at her audience, taking in some of the faces that she did recognize. She inhaled sharply, seeing some vampires that had genuinely terrified her to learn about - two in particular. But they looked at her, brows perked and eyes attentive. They were not there to frighten her, they were there for her.

The realization, very suddenly, that all of these vampires, some of, if not the most powerful in the known fucking world were there to hear her lecture? Jill had never felt a surge of confidence like this before.

She took another sip of water, and then approached the center of the dais, thankful that they hadn't put a podium up for her. If they wanted a story, she could not treat this as a lecture. She took a breath again, and looked into the audience. She knew what she was doing, now.

Hands behind her back, she paced and spoke, her voice clear, accent only adding charm and mystique to what she said. "I was invited here by your lovely host for the purpose of regaling you with a tale. But, it was up to me to choose that tale," she added. She moved her hand from behind her back, gesturing to them. "And what tale should I tell? Or, better yet, whose?"

She stepped off the dais suddenly, coming closer to more ancients than, perhaps, any one human had, and lived to tell about it. "Should it be of the two brothers, one of Sleep and the other of Death?" she asked, making eye contact with Thanatos. His brother, Orestes, was of course absent, having no part in Midnight's bullshit, but the way that Jill had said it made Thanatos glance to the empty chair next to him - and that had been enough of an action to evoke. She had his attention, now.

"Or, perhaps the story of lost love - of two friends, now enemies, who will be locked in conflict into eternity?" she asked, now gliding across the room and looking directly into the eyes of Orpheus. "She will love you, even long after death, my dear," she told him, her voice barely audible. "Forever is a very long time, I know. But she will love you, even still. Even after what you have done." She held his gaze so strongly that he felt like he had been the one compelled for a moment. He blinked rapidly, and then shook his head a little. She had his attention.

  She looked a few chairs over, where Bacchus sat. "Or the mythic god of wine, fertility, and ecstasy?" The way she said the word ecstasy made Bacchus' blood warm in his body. He looked at her, brown eyes locked into her own blue ones, and smiled at darkly. He fully did not expect that she would smile back at him, which she did, and he felt completely disarmed, naked and exposed suddenly. She absolutely had his attention, and she knew it as he sat more forward in his seat, watching her every movement.

She turned from him abruptly, her dress swirling about her shins as she made her way to the center of the room. She stepped back up onto the platform, shaking her head. "No, no, those are amazing stories, to be sure, and ones that I would love to share with you - but perhaps another time," she said softly.

"No, today, I find it most appropriate to begin... at the beginning, really," she said with a laugh, holding her arms up. "I know it's something a lot of historians say - but where, truly, is the beginning? For those of you, my gracious hosts and revered listeners, that beginning starts right here, in this room."

She smiled, looking directly at Iloquil and the woman who sat next t her. Excitedly, the other woman, who Jill knew as Deja (she was pretty sure, anyways, as Gareth had described her and told her to run in the other fucking direction if she ever saw her), reached over and grabbed Iloquil's hand tightly.

"Today, I want to tell you about yourselves. Where you came from. Who you are. And that, my loves, is a Tale of Two Sisters. One of fire..." she said, holding a hand up to gesture to Iloquil. "And one of water.." she said, gesturing to Deja. She smiled warmly, looking around the room, knowing she had them, and began her story.



Verity lead her to the door, smiling as she handed her the coat that they'd taken and stored for her. She helped it onto Jill's numb body like they were old friends, then grasped her by both her arms.

"It was so lovely to meet you, Jillian," Verity sang. "So, so lovely. And your story was beautiful. Please, do feel free to come and entertain us any time. We would simply love it."

She pulled her in for an embrace, and said something that she did not want the others to hear. What she had to say next was only for Jill.  She tightened her grip on Jill, squeezing her so tightly that Jill thought she'd break a fucking rib. Again.

"And please, dear, do tell Gareth that if he ever, ever decides to kill one of my basilisks again, I will ensure that you will meet one and can never tell one of your wonderful stories again. I would simply love to collect a piece of art as beautiful as you," she said, her voice dark.

She released Jill from the hug, reaching out to smooth her jacket down from the sudden crush that she'd received. "Persephone will drop you wherever you'd like to go," she informed her. "So lovely to meet you," she said again, her voice trilling. "So lovely." And with that, spun on her heel and walked away, leaving Jill at the imposing, massive black doors of the manor in front of the operation that she now knew was Midnight.

"Come on," Cerberus said, a hand on her shoulder to steady her.  "I'll walk you to the car."

[Jillian Frost]

E R A S E

Stupidly, she had allowed herself to believe that she was safe within these walls. Stupidly. Gareth had warned her, and warned her, and it had actually caused a huge fight between them - she didn't know if it was what she'd consider The Fight since The Fight she'd had with Kyle had reached such epic proportions. How does one top screaming that you didn't want your own child? She snorted to herself as she'd ridden in the car on the way up. Gareth had refused to let her travel with one of them, despite her saying that Cerberus had been a perfect gentleman to her before.

Speaking of, he was waiting at the massive front steps for her. When Gareth got out of the car, too, though, he sucked his teeth. "Sorry, friend. Invite is only good for one."

"Oh, no, Cerberus," Jill said, holding her hand up to explain. "He's just dropping me off." She turned to look at him, and it was obvious that he was still pissed at her. The car ride had been a fucking silent one. "Gareth," she said, speaking to him directly. Her voice was low, but she wasn't speaking softly. "I'll be home soon, okay. Cerberus can take me home. You don't have to stay up for my call - but I would love to hear your voice when I get home."

Cerberus turned his head, politely looking away.

Gareth flicked his eyes from Jill to the guard dog and back again, his jaw clenched tight enough that he almost thought he was dealing with Autumn's stunts - seriously, how was it that every woman in his life made him want to hit things eventually? He was going to start walking around openly armed again, he swore, but he nodded after the hesitation, conceding despite his narrowed eyes and the obvious look of distaste. "I'll be there."

The look he gave Cerberus didn't require a verbal threat to get his point across; if she didn't arrive at home, safe and happy, the dog would be the first in a long line of destruction. He turned his attention back to Jill, who was looking back at him. She leaned in, and then hesitated - as though she thought better of it. He saw her hesitation and it stung a little, and so he put his hand at the back of her head, and pulled her in for a kiss. It wasn't a wildly exciting kiss, but his lips did linger on hers for a moment after, and he nuzzled her with his nose before pulling away. He did not want to let her go, at all.

"I'll be there," he said again. He saw her smile, but was unable to return it. She moved from his grasp, and he felt her silken hair slide through his fingers, willing himself not to clutch a piece. He could ask for one of her hairs, and she would have given him three, this Galadriel. He waited until she was fully inside, and saw the dog come back out.

"She's gonna be okay, man," he assured him, but Gareth was not assured. Instead, the Triste just spat, then got into his car and left.

"Rude," Cerberus snapped.



She'd arrived early enough that she was able to mingle with some of the vampires. It didn't quite delight her, but she felt a false sense of security around them. She did have protection as Iloquil's guest, and they seemed to take that very seriously. If she only understood that vampire society was so much like Fae society. In fact, Iloquil's entourage was incredibly reminiscent of the Seelie Court - all glimmering, shining, and light - and violent, and unapologetic as they stabbed you with a smile.

She accepted a glass of champagne, speaking with Deja for a few minutes. The conversation had given her chills, honestly; it felt like Deja could reach into the depths of her soul when she spoke. "I'm really, so glad you're here darling," Deja said, her voice like a purr. "Did my sister ever tell you about her other mortal friends? He is a cat - Darren, I think. He comes to play poker with us sometimes," she explained.

"Oh, that's - no, I had no idea," Jill said, raising her brows. Really? Someone else rolled the dice on their life to come and hang in the motley Theatre des Vampires, eh? She had some thoughts on it, but she kept them to herself. A tap on her shoulder caused her to turn, and she saw Deja smile and flit away, distracted by the next shiny thing she saw.

"Oh, Bacchus, hello," she greeted politely.

"So glad you made it, Miss Frost," he said, clinking his champagne flute against her own.

"Really, it's - call me Jillian, or Jill," she offered. She could tell that he was trying to be proper, but he was obviously not the type for all of this fancy facade. "You look like you want to escape," she observed, her voice low, tone jovial.

"Would you run away with me if I did?" he asked her. "Seriously, though - I understand that you like old books?" He arched a brow, hopeful.

The joke he'd dropped didn't escape her, but she only politely ignored it. The books, though - that caught her attention. "One could say I love them more than I love digging in the dirt," she told him, laughing. "Why, do you have some? I expect this place is full of old things - inanimate ones, I mean."

"I do," he told her. "I had some set aside that I thought you'd like to see. We've still got time before dinner, would you?" He held his arm out for her.

In spite of something in her chest telling her not to go, linked her arm through his. "When we're out of site, you can take off that stuffy jacket and relax a little then, yeah?" she teased. "I'd like to get to know the real you." She looked up at him and smiled that angelic smile, and he smiled back, but there was something in his smile that she didn't notice.

Unfortunately, what she had just said had been taken way differently by Bacchus - who, again, much like Seelie Fae, had two parts of himself. One that he showed the group of vampires when he was social, and the other one - the one that people like Aurora knew. But, he'd never had someone who wasn't in his thrall ask to see him for who he really was.

He was intrigued, to say the very least. He took off his jacket as they entered the small study, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Jill paid none of these warning signs any mind, having dropped her guard to look at the books he'd found for her. She was astonished at the selection, practically cooing over their condition and translating ancient texts aloud, talking to herself about what they could mean, she felt his presence behind her. Slowly, slowly now, she put the book down. She felt his hand as it touched her hair; her hair could feel it. He placed a hand on her shoulder finally, speaking very softly so that they wouldn't be heard.

"Look at me," he urged her.

She took a deep breath, arms locked against the table for support. She could do this. She'd been faced with worse, right? Sure, okay. Just turn around. That's it, that's all he's asked. And, he's not compelling you, so you could still leave. She turned, slowly, regretting that he was so close to her that her hips rubbed against his, the closeness intimate and uncomfortable. "Okay," she said, swallowing hard. "I'm looking at you."

She was staring directly into his eyes, and it was seriously throwing him off. What was it about her, what thing happened to her that made her so unafraid? Was it a combination of things? One event? Or had she been born this way, always bold, always so strong. He wanted it. Whatever that was that was inside of her, he wanted it. And he wanted her. He'd already lost one who could have been his; regretfully, she'd turned her weapon on herself when she realized he had her in his thrall, and he had never stopped searching for someone who was as mentally strong as that.

"I need you," he said simply, as though that explained everything. And, in a flash, he had tilted her head to the side, splaying her across the table, knocking the books off. He was on top of her, effectively pinning her down. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself not to cry out. She wouldn't give that to him. Her heart was racing, blood was racing, mind was racing. She couldn't think straight - but she had to. Stop, she told herself. Stop. Stop and think. Who is Bacchus? What does he do? What is is gift? How does that gift impact his desires negatively? She finally opened her mouth, lips parting just before her time ran out.

"Bacchus," she said softly, aware that his teeth were against her throat and threatening to prick the skin. "Bacchus, please. If you do this, if you truly want this, you will take me, completely. You will erase me. Obliterate everything that makes me who I am." Very carefully, she placed her hand on his own, the one that had cradled her jaw as he tilted her neck. She pressed into it with her own, hoping to get his attention.

"Bacchus," she whispered. "If you do this, you will erase me," she said again. "And you may want me, but you will no longer have me."

The vampire hesitated, then pulled away from her. His eyes, normally so brown they were black, were actually black now. With hunger, with desire. He wanted her so badly; more than he'd wanted anything before. She could be his, forever, his new bloodbond, his new companion. She could tell him things for eternity and they would never sour, never get old, and never bore him - because she knew the secrets of time, and she knew how to keep them.

But the call in his blood, the thing that made his armies so powerful - she was right. It would consume her. He hung his head, brown hair pressing into her chest as he crumbled before her. She followed him down to the ground, unsure of what to do when he nuzzled into her, wrapping his arms around her to hold her. She reached out, gently rubbing his back.

"I can never be yours," she said, voice quiet, hollow, but matter-of-fact. "I belong to someone else." She said nothing further, and neither did he. After several long moments that felt like a fucking eternity to Jill, he pulled away from her.

"I'm so sorry," he said, placing his hand to her neck and allowing his fingers a moment to run lightly across her exposed skin. "I didn't break the skin," he informed her.

"Oh, I think I'd know," she said, smiling. She needed to raise this dire mood, and now, before he fell into another mood that pushed him to feed. "I'd be standing before you like Jeannie from that television show, asking what your wish was."

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, and then nodded. "That would be... fucking awful," he laughed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Here, let me help you up," he said, taking her hand. He put some distance between them, going to where the window was to try and get a little air - not that he needed it, since he didn't fucking breathe, but whatever.

"So, we can forget this whole thing happened," she offered. "It's easy, to lose your control every once in a while. Sometimes it even feels good," she admitted, thinking momentarily of Gareth. She forced her thoughts back to the present, unwilling to give the vampire any ammunition from her mind. "But, not when it hurts the people you care about," she added. She thought briefly of Kyle, and frowned by sheer muscle memory. Fortunately, he hadn't seen.

"That would be great," he agreed. He paused. "Did I hurt you?"

Something in his voice made her hesitate. "No, Bacchus," she lied. She forced a smile. "It's like it never happened at all."

He nodded at her, a lingering look before turning his attention back to the blackness that was outside. "Good," he muttered. And it was good, for so many reasons, the main one being that Iloquil would have burned him alive, had he actually hurt her.

"I'm going to go," she informed him, her hand moving to the door. "I'm going to go freshen up, and then we have dinner," she said. "And I'll see you there, okay?" She maintained eye contact with him, willing every cell in her body to tell him that what had just happened was okay.

"Right. I'll see you there," he said. He smiled at her, one of those damn attractive smiles, and gave her a nod. "Save me a seat, okay?"

"Of course," she said. With that, she walked out of the room as carefully as she could manage, keeping her back to the door and her front to where she could see him. He was looking out the window now, lost in his thoughts, and didn't notice her strange, graceful (due to practice) backwards walk. Once she was outside the room, she turned and walked down the hall normally, her entire body stiffening as though she'd had a slow-moving paralysis drug by the time she entered the servants quarters.

Cerberus was leaning against the kitchen counter, enduring multiple slaps with the flat part of the knife from the cook as he continued to steal pieces of the chopped steak that was for the salad. He looked up as she came in, immediately stopping his activity. When he received another whap, he jerked his head to look at the cook, narrowing his eyes. The cook set the knife down and slowly backed away, then fled the immediate area, an excuse of "going to check on the bread" hanging in the air as he darted off.

"Jill, are you okay?" Cerberus asked. He immediately began walking towards her, but she slid down to the floor before he got there. Thank fuck she hadn't actually fainted. "What happened, are you okay?" he asked. "Are you hurt?" he demanded. He grabbed her wrists, looked at her neck, lightly felt her legs and torso, checking for any spot that would make her jump in pain - but it was nothing. "Jill, what happened?" he asked again, his voice heavy with concern and panic. If something happened to her when she was Iloquil's guest, heads would roll, and he had no doubt one would be his.

When he asked, "Do you want me to call Gareth," though, she sprang into action. She took her hands from her face and put them on the floor, closing her eyes and tipping her head back slightly. She began whispering to herself. "You feel the floor," she said softly. "You smell.. fresh bread, and meat cooking on a grill. You hear Cerberus, you hear him asking if you are okay." She felt her blood pressure begin to return to normal, and concentrated on the things she could feel, smell, and hear, forcing herself to calm down.

"I'm fine," she said, looking at Cerberus. She didn't look fine, though. He offered her a hand, a doubtful look on her face. "I am, I really am," she insisted, allowing him to pull her to a standing position. "Please, do not call him," she urged him. Was that what had brought her out of her panic attack? Indeed, and it was because it was something that scared her far more than what had transpired with Bacchus. She couldn't tell him, ever. Ever.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom and clean up," she said, voice shaky, but clear. "The show, as they say, must go on." And with that, she pulled her small hand from his large one, and ran to the bathroom, not looking back at him as she did so. Once she got into the lavish accommodations, she stared at herself in the mirror, forcing herself to look at - well, herself.

"You are fine," she told herself, her voice serene. "Nothing has happened to upset you. You will fix your mascara, you will enjoy your dinner, you will entertain your gracious hosts. You may even sit next to Bacchus. But that would be okay, because nothing. Happened.. And if something did happen, you would never tell Gareth. Never, never tell him. Now, reach into the basket on the shelf, pull out a cotton bud, and clean up the stains on your cheeks. You have obligations to attend to."

And, in perfectly calm fashion, Jill did exactly that.

[Jillian Frost]

D I S T U R B I N G

Jill distinctly remembered several times when Kyle had told her that she had anger management issues. She'd thought that was hilarious coming from him (which was fully ironic given that Kyle had actually attended therapy for years, which Jill wouldn't know about due to her repeated absences throughout their relationship, and actually knew quite a bit about healthy emotional management and coping mechanisms because it was critical to him not wolfing out and killing everyone around him), and had dismissed the idea altogether that anything she did was unhealthy besides perhaps working too much. Unfortunately, because she was significantly good at channeling her rage into her work, her severely unchecked issues went unnoticed for a very long time to those around her. It wasn't until she was pretty deep into her learned behaviour that anyone even realized what was going on, and it was alarming what they'd learned.

"Thanks, Aaron. Yeah. I'll be in touch," Gareth said, his back to Jillian as he took the call that she knew had been coming. She was curiously still on the couch, wondering how Gareth would choose to proceed. He was no longer on the phone, but kept his back to her for a minute to hide the sheer shock in his face as he attempted to process what he'd just been told. He was trying to put together exactly when Jill had set the bar so high for quiet, psychotic behaviour, and how to even approach this. He turned to her finally, and the way he looked at her was intense.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He wouldn't say that he'd never been rendered speechless before, but it happened so rarely over his incredibly long lifespan that when they did come, they were nothing if not jarring. Even worse - in most situations, the Jill he knew would have probably attempted to speak first, to offer an explanation before he got the wrong idea (which had been known to happen on occasion, but typically with chaotic creatures like Nicholas, NOT Jill). This time, though, she only stared at him, and the expression on her face was at best blank, and at worst, unconcerned.

Gareth knew, right in that moment, that nothing he was going to say would matter. He could feel the impassive way in which she felt. If he looked, he could almost see a hint of satisfaction, but it disturbed him in a way that he had not yet known from Jill. He took a deep breath, folding his arms, and trying to approach this as best he could without going full on. "Jillian," he said. "I trust you understand what that call was about."

"I do," she said, looking at him with her cattish eyes.

"Can you... please... explain what motivated you?" he asked. He wasn't so much as struggling not to lose his shit on her as he was trying to remain objective. He was the monster hunter - he was known for being level-headed - but that didn't preclude his vision from being coloured when it came to considering someone he trusted.

Without missing a beat, Jillian said, "They get away with too much for too long. I saw an opportunity, and I took it." She spoke matter-of-factly, like she was telling him something that he already knew. Of course, to her, he did know. But the truth was somewhere in between, as was typical of a situation where stunted communication occurs - Jillian had been holding on to emotions so tightly after traumas that they manifested themselves as, apparently, psychotic tendencies.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, an expression crossing his face that said he knew where this was going but he didn't want to believe it.

"Chad was attacked, and his whole life was up-ended, and nobody lifted a finger. I can't say I'm surprised, but when I saw a chance to return the favor, I took it," she said, shrugging. She stood, moving to walk past him and into the kitchen. "I don't see what you're so upset about. Nothing happened that she didn't deserve," she said glibly.

Gareth grabbed her by the shoulders, ignoring how started she looked as he did so, and spun her to face him. "Jill, are you fucking crazy? For multiple reasons, there is so much wrong with what you've just said!" he exclaimed. "Do you understand what you could re-ignite all of the bullshit that we just put to bed? And in the middle of a much larger conflict?" He let her go as quickly as he'd grabbed her. None of what he'd done was aggressive, it was more like - worry. "Jill, nobody lifts a finger? That's just a fucking personal attack. I - we, all of us, including Chad, have bent over backwards attempting to help you move past whatever trauma you're still holding on to. And - let me be clear, you can hold on to whatever you want for as long as you want, but to say that nobody was lifting a finger? You being unable to cope doesn't negate everything we have done to try and help you cope."

"She deserved it," she said. She hadn't moved from where he'd spun her, and despite the high tension running through the room at the moment, Jill herself seemed impervious to the outburst. She just stared at him, electing not to respond to anything else he'd said. Unfortunately for her, her unwillingness to see herself as a responsible party to any tragedy she may have caused was only going to take any sympathy Gareth may have had for her away.

He stared at her for a moment, blue eyes fixed on the whole of her. He seldom used his magic to intrude on her, but he was reading her at the moment, and he could see that there was precious little he could say or do right then that was going to do anything except cause a further implosion of their relationship, and if he was honest with himself, which he was, it had already suffered a bit of degradation from the last few moments of the exchange alone.  "Being a martyr is overrated, Jill," he said, and he said it with a finality to his voice that told she had hit a hard limit with what he was willing to accept in terms of blame. He said nothing further, merely stepped around her and walked to the foyer.

"What will you do?" she asked, following him.

"I'm going to go see Chadwick. The person for whom you so valiantly championed while simultaneously having zero regard for," he said, not bothering to turn back. "And now we, as in he and I, will have to figure out how to clean up yet another mess of your doing because you chose to hide things from me." He snatched his keys off the table by the door and slammed it behind him, the sound punctuating the severity of his words.

Jill stood alone in the foyer for a moment, completely still - and then grabbed the first thing she could fit in her hand and threw it as hard as she could, screaming with anger as she did so. She stilled again for another long moment, thinking, and then reached for her phone. But who would she call? It wasn't as though she had gained any favors lately. Gareth may have been wrong about her attempting to martyr herself, and she'd deal with that aspect of it later, but he may not have been wrong about fallout. Much like before, Jill's plan had worked, but in a vacuum. She hadn't considered what the aftermath would be. Gareth obviously saw a pending future that she did not. She denied the fact that she was too consumed by anger to see the outcomes, but she'd accept that she'd made decisions with immediate thought and didn't think about the long game.

"Ben?" she said, speaking into the phone as she hurried up the stairs. She may have been on a manic high before, but she was currently being crushed by possibilities of what the future would bring, and it was not a good feeling. She grabbed a bag and began throwing clothing into it. "Ben, where are you? Nevermind that, leave the auction house right now. I need you to come get me. Where is Rebecca? No, don't call her. Don't tell her anything. Just come get me. I'll explain when I see you."