Paper Flowers

Author's note : Sorry guys, bit of a filler chapter here. I'll get things moving again next time ^^'

---


: chapter six :

He stayed there, huddled on the floor until the cold seeped into his bones and his body shuddered with the force of his shivering. Miserable and hurting, Styx finally struggled to his feet and dressed, then, moving like a sleep walker, made his way back to his room.
On the way he again crossed paths with Solitaire, the red haired Machra he’d seen earlier. As before, Styx could feel if not see the man’s eyes on him, and a wave of uneasiness washed over him. There was a strange, unreadable expression on the red head’s face, and he stood there in the hall, watching Styx until he slipped into his room and closed the door firmly behind him.

Breathing a heavy sigh, Styx leaned against the door and stared blankly into his room. He was too distressed and heartsore to expend the energy wondering about Solitaire, yet wonder he did. The guy gave him the creeps. And what had that expression been? Pity, understanding, disappointment? Some combination of all three, or something completely
different? Styx wasn’t sure, and it made him uncomfortable just thinking about it. He might be a lycanthrope and considered a freak by ‘normal’ humans, but he wasn’t immune to the prejudiced and fearful views of the general public concerning the Machra. They were something he didn’t understand, and so he feared them.

Eventually, the need to get clean and then lose himself in the oblivion of sleep outweighed Styx’s concerns about Solitaire. He shuffled across the stained carpet to the bathroom, making a frustrated noise when he saw the bath. The dirty clothes he’d left to soak floated half submerged in the cold brown water, bobbing like dejected islands amid a sea of desolation.
Dealing with the wet clothes, draining the tub and then refilling it seemed like far too much effort to Styx’s current state of mind. Instead he turned to the shower. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into a steady stream of water, as hot as he could endure without scalding himself. Lost in a world of hot water and billowing steam, Styx cried anew, scrubbing every inch of his body viciously, trying desperately to wash away all remnants of Alejandro’s touch.

By the time the water ran cold, Styx had cried himself empty of tears and a strange, yet not entirely unwelcome numbness had fallen over him. He dried himself off in a daze and dressed in a clean pair of loose fitting pants before climbing into bed. Though his sleep was fitful and restless, it was mercifully dreamless.

+++

He stood there a while, gazing at the door, considering the man who had disappeared behind it. When he’d first seen the blonde newbie earlier that night, he’d given Solitaire an impression of strength and determination. Not the usual broken shell Solitaire had come to accept as the norm around here. The man’s strength had intrigued him, and he’d wondered what he was doing at the Inferno. As a rule, Mephistopheles’ brothel was the last stop on a long road of desperation. No one came here unless they were completely out of options, at the end of their rope. The newbie had been desperate, Solitaire could feel it, but he was still strong enough to resent it, and that alone should have kept him well away from the Inferno.

Now, a few hours later, it was like the blonde man was a completely different person, and Solitaire wondered if his initial assessment had been inaccurate. His eyes had been fogged, his shoulders slumped. Despair rode him harder than any client ever would. Solitaire was surprised to find that he was disappointed. He’d thought the man would be different than the others. A kindred spirit, perhaps. Apparently, he’d been wrong. Solitaire knew that the blonde man’s first appointment had been with Alejandro Landrianos, a teddy bear compared to some of the Inferno’s regulars. If the newbie had been broken after just one session with Alejandro ... Well, it was obvious he wasn’t as strong as Solitaire had thought.
Never mind. It wasn’t like it mattered anyway.

With a little under an hour to kill before his first appointment for the night, Solitaire pushed aside all thought of the blonde man and made his way through the halls of the West Wing to the lounge.

A private room reserved for the use of the handful of ‘special’ men and women who worked on the second floor, the lounge was one of the few places in the Inferno that could almost be described as pleasant. During the winter months a wood fire burned in the back corner and a pair of comfortable faux leather couches rested against the side walls. A thick rug lay over the carpet in the centre of the room and an antique bookshelf held a scattering of dusty old books. There was an electric light fitted, but tonight the only light in the room was cast by the fire.

Solitaire had expected to find the lounge empty, so he was rather surprised to find Malakai sitting cross legged on the floor before the fireplace. The Vampyre didn’t move or speak, or give any indication that he knew he was no longer alone, but Solitaire knew his entrance had been noted. Not much escaped Malakai’s notice.
If it had been anyone else in the room Solitaire would have turned and left. For although he’d never done anything to give the impression he was anything but harmless, the other whores regarded him with, if not outright fear, then definitely uneasy wariness. He didn’t care much what anyone thought of him, but their nervousness prickled his skin like marching insects, making him snappish and irritable. Most of the time he avoided the others, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with their emotions.

Malakai was the only one who wasn’t afraid of him. For that alone Solitaire would have liked him. But the Vampyre was also a man who appreciated silences and didn’t feel the need to make mindless small talk. He never complained or gave in to bitterness. And he always kept his emotions closely guarded, which made being around him blissfully peaceful.

Sitting down on one of the couches, Solitaire absently rubbed his right knee, a reflexive action to try and ease some of the pain. An old injury that had never really healed properly, it always acted up when the weather turned cold. The dim light in the room made it difficult to see, so he pushed his glasses up onto his head as he relaxed against the cushions. Eyes the same deep red as his hair drifted out of focus, idly watching the bright dance within the fireplace.

After a while Solitaire became aware of a tension in the room. His brow furrowed slightly, eyes shifting from the flames to Malakai’s profile. The firelight gilded his ivory skin and picked out red highlights in his lank black curls. His pale green eyes were hooded, thick lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks. He didn’t look any different than usual, but Solitaire knew something was wrong. The fact that Malakai was still up and about this time of night was reason enough to suspect. Solitaire’s Empathic power confirmed it without a doubt.

“Something is on your mind, Mal?”

Raising his eyes, Malakai turned to look at Solitaire directly. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just gazed at him thoughtfully, head slightly tilted to one side. Finally;

“Mm. Can’t sleep.”

Again there was another long silence. Solitaire was patient. He sat quietly, waiting until Malakai was ready to talk.

“Mephistopheles asked me to Turn a man today.” Malakai said softly, eyes flickering back to the fire. “He was dying, Mephistopheles wanted to make use of him.”

Solitaire raised an eyebrow;

“Do you do it?”

“Yes. After what happened last time, I didn’t dare refuse.”

“And you feel guilty.” It was a statement, not a question. Solitaire could practically taste the Vampyre’s guilt.

“Of course I feel guilty. I stole away any chance of freedom that man might have had.”

“You save his life.”

“That isn’t a good thing Solitaire.” Malakai’s voice was so soft it was barely audible. “Not a good thing at all.”

“I know ...”

Silence. Solitaire went back to rubbing his knee, Malakai continued staring into the fire. Time passed slowly. There were many things that could have been said to fill the lingering quiet, but neither man cared much for words. Sometimes, silent camaraderie was enough. Solitaire would have stayed by the troubled Vampyre all night if it had been an option, but he had an appointment and, like Malakai, he didn’t dare upset Mephistopheles by being late. He might hate this world he lived in, but he knew his place in it. And he knew that the world beyond would be far worse.

Before he left the lounge, Solitaire limped to the fireplace and knelt by Malakai’s side. Gently, he reached out a hand and turned the Vampyre’s face towards him, long fingers brushing back a stray curl.

“You do what you must. Same as all.”

Eyes troubled, Malakai nodded slightly, lifting his hand to touch Solitaire’s face, tracing the line of a raised and puckered scar that ran from the corner of his lips to his ear.

“Self preservation, right?” He whispered.

“Right.” Solitaire lowered his head, placing a brief, chaste kiss upon Malakai’s lips. Then, without another word spoken by either of them, he rose and left the room.

+++

Solitaire’s words remained in his mind long after the Machra left him. He knew them to be truth, yet he had a hard time believing it. He’d done what he had to do. As he’d said himself, it was an act of self preservation. A matter of his life, or a perfect stranger’s.

Malakai didn’t doubt that if he’d refused to obey Mephistopheles’ orders, the Master would have killed him. Losing the Vampyre might mean a drop in business, but the Inferno had never really been about the money. There were much greater things at stake here, and no matter how things eventuated, Mephistopheles would always come out on top. Each and every one of the poor bastards working at the Inferno were living on borrowed time. In the end, whether they survived the next ten minutes or the next ten years, they would all share the same fate.

Malakai shivered, cold despite his proximity to the fireplace. Turning Rafael had added another name to Mephistopheles’ list of victims, but it had also ensured that Malakai would live at least another night. He’d done what he had to do. What any of them would have done. Within the Inferno’s walls, that was the creed they all lived by. Self preservation.

A ragged scream, muted by walls and distance filtered into the lounge and Malakai shuddered in sympathy. So different to his soft speaking voice, yet Malakai had no difficulty recognising Solitaire. He bit his lip, unfolding his legs and rising from the floor with a creak of leather.
As he returned to his room, Malakai reflected that it was a bad night for all involved.

+++

It was a very good night.

Wrapped in the thick heat of his office, Mephistopheles sat on the couch beside his newest acquisition. Oh, the young man had fallen into sleep not long after Malakai was done with him and had yet to sign a contract, but Mephistopheles had no worries concerning the man’s fate. It might not yet be official, but Rafael belonged him.

Mephistopheles ran a long nailed finger down Rafael’s face, relaxed and peaceful in slumber. Since falling into sleep, his breathing had become quiet and regular, the horrible rattling already gone from his lungs. His skin was still pale beneath his dusky complexion, but a feeding was all it would take for some colour to return. He could probably be put to work as soon as tomorrow night.

A slow smile spread across Mephistopheles’ face as he thought of the night’s other new arrival. Alejandro had been well pleased with Styx, commenting particularly on how quickly the lycanthrope responded to and obeyed orders. Well, dogs were known for being easy to train. Mephistopheles now had high expectations of his little wolf.

It had been a very good night indeed.

---