The woman gets shoved aside like a limp noodle, her hands sliding across the wall as she almost falls over from her meager attempts of resistance.
A brief scan of the room would reveal nothing in the realm of bite marks. The tendril used by the Nosferatu was like unto the bite of a mosquito. A blade so sharp and narrow it could be unnoticed. Like mosquito, they would crawl in through open window. Venom suppressing even the smallest desire to open one's eyes in favor of far more pleasant dreams.
Or in battle their teeth became like that of a flesh tearing predator. Rows of sharp teeth which could be used to rip away flesh in favor of greedily gorging upon fountains of blood, incapacitating their prey permeantly so that they may lap up the blood from their bodies and finish off whatever was left on the dirty floors. Such impure creatures who lie in dirt caring little for such sorts of filthy.
Here however were not enemies. They were people who Septimus wished reserved. Who we wished healthy. Who he ultimately to remain in a state where he could cyclically feed upon others. Some lie naked and most where dressed for the heat that so many warm bodies in the room generated in tandem with the fireplace a safe distance across the room. As though such warmth could hope to ever replace that of having that one person lying you in bed.
In contrast to everyone else, Septimus was fully clothed. As though he were ready to leave at any time. Within his lap was a woman who's name he could not currently remember. Lying down half on the bed -- half with her head in his hands. Her eyes closed.
His were wide open. More open than anyone's eyes had a right to be. Like that of an insect. Blood red eyes hosting two one dimensional black orbs locked onto the target. Ones which focused on the woman -- her faced locked in bliss. The only reaction to Ryoko's word in the favor of blood being his ears twitching. His hollow expression belying little of a sensation which surpassed the carnal aspects of sex.
However, once she had fallen into a slumber -- gently he began to let her down onto his bed. Once a place that was sacred. Now a place where many others lie. Strangers of different backgrounds. All sharing the common denominator of being in need of something. Some did it in part money offered for what was a paid blood donation. Others for the thrills and pleasure of it. Most for both. There were many more beyond the roughly dozen people that Ryoko saw her.
All the while he stared at her. The blood red eyes of an near-expressionless, starved beast fading in place of Septimus' eyes. And when his pale, icy blue eyes came to being, they finally spoke of something. They spoke of despair wrought of helplessness. Of a numbness born of sitting in this dark room alone and mulling around all the thoughts of the ways he was being wronged. Of what had happened. Of accepting it. And seemingly coming to terms with a conclusion of futility. Of the inevitable. Of faith. Of an entity bigger and vaster than himself commiting an atrocity as the whole world watches like sheep. Waiting to be shepherded. Chased by wolves.
There he sat on the bed. Motivation to reply to her began to come forth. What was the point in talking to her? To vent?
what had already happened?
Get the dragon to go away.
An unyielding obstacle had been placed before him. The light from the room illuminating her frame. The dragon standing in the doorway to his room. An implacable obstacle. Someone much less like Charleston who he could simply push away.
They killed her.
He shook his head.
"Where do I begin?"
I will not be reduced to the grieving husband.
"I have watched this world for some time Ryoko. Since eighty A.D. I have been many things. A son. A Carpenter. Slave. Gladiator. Hunter. I have seen people of conquered lands be made into slaves. Worked to death in mines. Or broken in so much that they may as well be dead. I had the opportunity to fight for my freedom, thankfully. By a matter of chance. But what world was I released into, I wonder? One which had a shine so bright as to conceal the rot. It was a putrid sight. I wished to be away from it. To sell wood. Like in the old days. And yet as I left it for my own solitary plot of land, I began to crave it once more. I craved something. The fight. What lie beneath the shining smile that concealed infection? I do not know."
It was funny how he spoke like this. Among his room were a great many books. Some of which well taken care of but clearly old. Written and filled out by himself. Others taken and found. Scavenged. The more recent purchased. A large ceremonial sword hanging above the wall. Another broken in the previous confrontation with Augustus.
"Once I was embraced by my own will, I watched as it rotted. Further and further. I became apart of the entity. Of the infection. I was drawn to it. And I understood it more intimately than most any rebellious outsider ever would. Eventually the weight of Rome's sin came crashing down upon it. And I was in the perfect position to kill the thing which harbored infection. To tear that monster masquerading as a beacon of hope. Only to watch as the dark ages took hold. It all burned. Everyone suffered. Violence had brought about the birth to more monsters. I questioned whether or not the world. Would get better."
He spoke without care for if she did listen to his long winded ramblings. He gave no regard to the lack of context or the gaps in Ryoko's knowledge.
"I saw someone die. Someone who pulled themselves out of the depths. Who was demon made themselves good. And I saw her die in a way she did not deserve. By the hands of a man. Violated. For nothing. For no reason whatsoever. And seemingly few spare I shall remember her name. They would cover her name to as to hide their sins. It was poetic almost how she got her spine ripped out by a sexual deviant that molested her before she dies."
Is this what happens with attachment? What does it all mean?
"I want to burn it all to the ground. But if I did that, I wonder what would be left.
Within his hand is a drive. The one which harbored such overwhelming evidence of Assurance's brief acts of terrorism. The amount of knowledge someone of his rank and knowledge of their internal structure had. And yet after all this work, to what end?
The budding hatred in his eyes stifled by despair.
"I want to kill them all. The guilty. The monsters. Even in my unlikely success seems failure. And I wonder what the point of it all would be as I stand in the ashes."
His eyes flicker red, the white in his eyes quite literally filling with blood as his pupils shrink. Before with a sigh they return. Most people in the room awkwardly quite. Almost as though they desired such conversation to end. Chatter among themselves began as they spoke of things [rrelevant.
Perhaps it is my fate to be killed. Here and now. By you. And be spared this world damned to decay.