[Allen has never had much in the way of proper survival instincts when he wasn't being stared in the face by immediate danger, and so he wanders into this place without noticing the ominous feeling surrounding it. He tips his head back, and finds no familiar smells - very few at all, really - and shrugs it off as being a new part of the place.
And clearly, the thing to do in new parts of the dressing room is celebrate their creation with a drink. So off to the bar he goes.]
[That's the usual way things like that work, as far as Allen knows, and he nods when she blinks. There was no panic in the eyes, even if they didn't quite seem to be registering him, so he doubted it was a refusal of the idea.
The mask is the first thing he goes for, carefully prying it off her face - and he's so glad to see that she doesn't really seem to be harmed beneath the plaster. He takes a moment to brush some of the plaster off her cheeks, pry off a few smaller pieces along her forehead, and leans closer to press the tips of their noses together while a hand comes up to carefully wipe the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.]
It's okay. I'll get you out of there in a minute-- I promise.
[Even with having a nose touching hers, it doesn't seem to pull her out of the stupor. She continues to stare straight through him, one tear soaking into the sheen of plaster-dust along her cheeks, followed by a second.]
[She doesn't say anything - even when her eyes finally do fall into focus and they widen - something not-quite-alive-and-yet-not-quite-dead is approaching from behind Allen. And whatever it is, it isn't good.]
[As it is, there's a sudden flood of the scent of iron and blood.]
[He almost smiles when her eyes finally fall back into focus, the muscles twitching in his cheeks, but stops halfway into it when he notices her eyes widening.
Then the smell - practically out of nowhere, because it certainly hadn't been there before, and not nearly as strong - hits him like a brick, and his eyes haze over with a very slight shade of red. Too much, far too much; the scent was too strong, stagnant and fresh at the same time. It made his stomach ache.
He spins around abruptly, holding both arms out at his sides in a gesture of protection, and bares his fangs at the odd figure - he didn't recognize the man (if it could really be called a man), his face also covered by a mask.
But enough of his face is showing to allow a smirk to show through on his face. Allen's lips pull back, and he nearly growls. Whatever the thing is, it is far, far too hostile.]
[It's a tall, wiry man wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a black vest, and black slacks with suede shoes. He's wearing the rabbit mask, splashed with dried blood and bent and snapped whiskers.]
[In his hand dangles a lead pipe, which is undoubtedly caked in blood and possibly a bit of brain. He hums a song as he brings the pipe up to tap the end of it into the palm of his hand.]
[It almost reminds him of the kind of thing a Tyki would wear, but the hair sticking out at odd angles from behind the mask doesn't quite match up; too short, and not quite curly enough to really be a Tyki.
Allen's eyes dart down to the pipe, and then up to the eyes of the mask. His own eyes narrow.
We don't have anything to do with the Earl. [But the man continues to move closer, seemingly unpersuaded by the comment - and so Allen steps back, before lunging at the man, making a grab for the pipe and attempting to ram it up into his jaw.]
[No Tyki would be caught dead wearing a rabbit mask. The man moves with inhuman speed - swinging the pipe away from Allen's hands - it makes a low woosh! as it cuts through the air - and twisting away, barking with laughter.]
[He skids sideways, and the pipe sparks as its dragged along the stone floor.]
Let's check to see if you are it~♥! [He laughs again as he swings the pipe in a high arch.]
[The curved end of it strikes Sleeper square in the face. The force of it knocks her head backward and her jaw completely askew. Her knees buckle and finally snap, though, and she falls into a bloody, crumpled pile.]
[He tries to turn - to stop the man, whatever he was - but he doesn't manage to reach out in time.
Sleeper is a crumpled mess on the floor by the time Allen lunges at the man again, wrenching the pipe from his grasp and throwing it across the room.
Whatever the man really is, it's still laughing even as Allen snaps it's neck without a second thought.
...and then he's scrambling to Sleeper's side, oh so very carefully lifting her into his arms. So much broken plaster and blood, and her face, and legs... He presses his ear to her chest despite the plaster lingering there, and can hear no heartbeat. But that's how it had been all along, wasn't it? This whole time, Allen hadn't been able to hear a single beating heart.
But-- she couldn't-- please, no--]
Allen-- [He lifts a hand, shaking fingers ghosting over her cracked and bloodied cheek. Please don't be dead. Dear god, please, don't be dead.]
[No, there's hardly anything alive - if it was ever alive to begin with. Her jaw is so broken and askew that it almost resembles some kind of macabre ragdoll whose parts were hastily sewn together. One eye is open and crooked, as if the blow to her head had knocked her eye completely out of focus; the other eye is closed.]
[Very much dead. If she was ever alive.]
[There's the sound of fabric rustling against fabric, and, should Allen look in that direction, he'll notice that the spot where the statue with mismatched eyes was sitting is empty, save for a pile of loose plaster.]
[He isn't paying attention in the least; the sound of movement doesn't register at all. The only thing that registers is the emptiness; the lack of movement; the single eye, staring at an angle that was so wrong.
He doesn't care if she was ever alive. He'd felt her skin just a moment ago and her lips her quivering and she was scared, and now she was dead.]
I'm sorry... [He doesn't hear the plaster flaking off the other statues, little fragments drifting to the ground. And he doesn't notice the other moving person now in the room with him. Far, far too distracted by the body in his arms.]
[He doesn't pull away immediately. Not quite. Allen makes sure to press a kiss to her forehead before gently setting the body down. He tugs his hoodie off, and lays it over her face, too worried to try closing her opened eye.
Then his eyes narrow, and he rolls up his sleeves, gaze darting through the dark corners of the room. The shadows look like they're alive.]
[The other statues are still motionless, though the bits and pieces of plaster are chipping away - it seems what's left on the statues isn't just writhing like maggots in the mirror's reflection anymore. Lavi, in the meantime, is sticking to the shadows; the only sign of him is the faint glinting of his eye in the dark.]
[He chuckles lowly, as if measuring. And, depending on how close Allen is listening, he'll hear what sounds like a mental countdown. He's gauging how fast he'll have to move in order to take the boy down.]
[Allen has always had better hearing than Lavi has, and his eyes dart through the room with each little sound, though they always return to Lavi's general location; no matter if he's across the room or two feet away, his own eyes locking with the mismatched ones reflecting light in the darkness. Despite the lack of real movement, despite the voices that had always drifted through the room, it seemed like it was only now coming to life. Everything in the room, despite not actually moving, was... it was like it was erupting, somehow.
He doesn't want to fight. He doesn't have a lot of fight in him right now, honestly. ...but he will.]
[Well, if that's what Allen wants~ a chair falls over as Lavi darts from one spot to another. It is an intentional mistake; something to crash around Allen's ears and hopefully overwhelm him in order to catch him off guard.]
[And all at once there's a darting vampire headed straight for the other's throat; he climbs under one table and over the next, fangs bared with every intention to rip out the other's throat before leaping for Allen, snatching at his shirt and trying to pin him down.]
[It does an excellent job of catching him off guard, actually - Allen lifts his hands to covers his ears, hissing at the commotion.
He doesn't manage to dodge though and stumbles into another one of the plaster statues as he falls to the ground with a thud and a crack - the statue falls as well, shattering like glass (like mirrors) when it hits the ground. But Allen pulls back his good arm and aims a punch at Lavi's jaw before he can do any real damage with those fangs.
Meanwhile, the voices of the nonexistent crowd have begun to laugh, as if someone just told a particularly good joke.]
And clearly, the thing to do in new parts of the dressing room is celebrate their creation with a drink. So off to the bar he goes.]
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The mask is the first thing he goes for, carefully prying it off her face - and he's so glad to see that she doesn't really seem to be harmed beneath the plaster. He takes a moment to brush some of the plaster off her cheeks, pry off a few smaller pieces along her forehead, and leans closer to press the tips of their noses together while a hand comes up to carefully wipe the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.]
It's okay. I'll get you out of there in a minute-- I promise.
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[She doesn't say anything - even when her eyes finally do fall into focus and they widen - something not-quite-alive-and-yet-not-quite-dead is approaching from behind Allen. And whatever it is, it isn't good.]
[As it is, there's a sudden flood of the scent of iron and blood.]
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Then the smell - practically out of nowhere, because it certainly hadn't been there before, and not nearly as strong - hits him like a brick, and his eyes haze over with a very slight shade of red. Too much, far too much; the scent was too strong, stagnant and fresh at the same time. It made his stomach ache.
He spins around abruptly, holding both arms out at his sides in a gesture of protection, and bares his fangs at the odd figure - he didn't recognize the man (if it could really be called a man), his face also covered by a mask.
But enough of his face is showing to allow a smirk to show through on his face. Allen's lips pull back, and he nearly growls. Whatever the thing is, it is far, far too hostile.]
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[In his hand dangles a lead pipe, which is undoubtedly caked in blood and possibly a bit of brain. He hums a song as he brings the pipe up to tap the end of it into the palm of his hand.]
The Earl's searching for his precious heart~♥
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Allen's eyes dart down to the pipe, and then up to the eyes of the mask. His own eyes narrow.
We don't have anything to do with the Earl. [But the man continues to move closer, seemingly unpersuaded by the comment - and so Allen steps back, before lunging at the man, making a grab for the pipe and attempting to ram it up into his jaw.]
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[He skids sideways, and the pipe sparks as its dragged along the stone floor.]
Let's check to see if you are it~♥! [He laughs again as he swings the pipe in a high arch.]
[The curved end of it strikes Sleeper square in the face. The force of it knocks her head backward and her jaw completely askew. Her knees buckle and finally snap, though, and she falls into a bloody, crumpled pile.]
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Sleeper is a crumpled mess on the floor by the time Allen lunges at the man again, wrenching the pipe from his grasp and throwing it across the room.
Whatever the man really is, it's still laughing even as Allen snaps it's neck without a second thought.
...and then he's scrambling to Sleeper's side, oh so very carefully lifting her into his arms. So much broken plaster and blood, and her face, and legs... He presses his ear to her chest despite the plaster lingering there, and can hear no heartbeat. But that's how it had been all along, wasn't it? This whole time, Allen hadn't been able to hear a single beating heart.
But-- she couldn't-- please, no--]
Allen-- [He lifts a hand, shaking fingers ghosting over her cracked and bloodied cheek. Please don't be dead. Dear god, please, don't be dead.]
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[Very much dead. If she was ever alive.]
[There's the sound of fabric rustling against fabric, and, should Allen look in that direction, he'll notice that the spot where the statue with mismatched eyes was sitting is empty, save for a pile of loose plaster.]
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He doesn't care if she was ever alive. He'd felt her skin just a moment ago and her lips her quivering and she was scared, and now she was dead.]
I'm sorry... [He doesn't hear the plaster flaking off the other statues, little fragments drifting to the ground. And he doesn't notice the other moving person now in the room with him. Far, far too distracted by the body in his arms.]
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[You might want to snap out of your stupor soon, Allen. You're being hunted.]
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Then his eyes narrow, and he rolls up his sleeves, gaze darting through the dark corners of the room. The shadows look like they're alive.]
...Lavi?
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[He chuckles lowly, as if measuring. And, depending on how close Allen is listening, he'll hear what sounds like a mental countdown. He's gauging how fast he'll have to move in order to take the boy down.]
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He doesn't want to fight. He doesn't have a lot of fight in him right now, honestly. ...but he will.]
...I know you're here, Lavi. Cut the crap.
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[And all at once there's a darting vampire headed straight for the other's throat; he climbs under one table and over the next, fangs bared with every intention to rip out the other's throat before leaping for Allen, snatching at his shirt and trying to pin him down.]
[Dodge? Take the hit?]
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He doesn't manage to dodge though and stumbles into another one of the plaster statues as he falls to the ground with a thud and a crack - the statue falls as well, shattering like glass (like mirrors) when it hits the ground. But Allen pulls back his good arm and aims a punch at Lavi's jaw before he can do any real damage with those fangs.
Meanwhile, the voices of the nonexistent crowd have begun to laugh, as if someone just told a particularly good joke.]
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