Volterra - Week Two.
The dais starts to visit him at the end of the first week. Every time they come by Carlisle rushes to his feet, taking care to brush off any dirt or grime from his clothing as they enter his (cell) room. Make himself presentable.
It's Marcus today, with a human. Bleeding human.
"Fix him or feed," Marcus launches the human on the floor at Carlisle's feet. "It matters not to me."
There is no choice in the matter to be honest -- the wounds are infected and aggravated by the treatment he's received. The least Carlisle can do is use his shirt to staunch the blood.
To keep the smell away.
An hour later a guard comes to take the human away. Carlisle tries to give the man a slight smile, some shriveled up piece of kindness to his near-black eyes.
There is no way that man'll last the night, even if the Volturi do not kill him.
"You chose to help yesterday," Caius notes calmly. Carlisle still stood for him, even if he is picturing launching Caius against a wall.
This time a human walks in. A woman, short, blonde like Carlisle himself. She keeps her gaze downward.
"She is dying. You could help her if you cared to."
Carlisle knows what he means. What he is inferring. He walks up to the woman, leaning into her ear and swallowing back the venom that wants to pool in his mouth. "You do not want this, my dear," Carlisle tries for politeness. It comes off harsh. "You have my jealousy, but my sympathies as well."
The woman starts to cry; Caius doesn't take her outside before killing her.
It all smells like blood.
He still won't drink it. Doesn't want it. He's still locked away, hungry and close to forgotten.
The door to his (room) cell turns blue and begins to shimmer. Carlisle thinks it's a trick, until he hears the voices.
Then that could just be a talent. Like the talent he saw in court, one of the few times he attended.
But the door opens, and he has nowhere else to go.
It's Marcus today, with a human. Bleeding human.
"Fix him or feed," Marcus launches the human on the floor at Carlisle's feet. "It matters not to me."
There is no choice in the matter to be honest -- the wounds are infected and aggravated by the treatment he's received. The least Carlisle can do is use his shirt to staunch the blood.
To keep the smell away.
An hour later a guard comes to take the human away. Carlisle tries to give the man a slight smile, some shriveled up piece of kindness to his near-black eyes.
There is no way that man'll last the night, even if the Volturi do not kill him.
"You chose to help yesterday," Caius notes calmly. Carlisle still stood for him, even if he is picturing launching Caius against a wall.
This time a human walks in. A woman, short, blonde like Carlisle himself. She keeps her gaze downward.
"She is dying. You could help her if you cared to."
Carlisle knows what he means. What he is inferring. He walks up to the woman, leaning into her ear and swallowing back the venom that wants to pool in his mouth. "You do not want this, my dear," Carlisle tries for politeness. It comes off harsh. "You have my jealousy, but my sympathies as well."
The woman starts to cry; Caius doesn't take her outside before killing her.
It all smells like blood.
He still won't drink it. Doesn't want it. He's still locked away, hungry and close to forgotten.
The door to his (room) cell turns blue and begins to shimmer. Carlisle thinks it's a trick, until he hears the voices.
Then that could just be a talent. Like the talent he saw in court, one of the few times he attended.
But the door opens, and he has nowhere else to go.