Iron

When Marie went into churches, the foundations didn't collapse around her. The wine didn't boil when she took communion, nor did the bread turn to dust. If it weren't for the fact she had to go to the pre-dawn mass, if she went at all, nothing would seem different. She wasn't a 'good Catholic girl', never had been, but it made her mother happy to know she was still going, that she was still alive, so she went when she could.

After crossing herself and nodding to the priest she left, slipping through the small congregation of pre-dawn to the door and then out. A couple would give her a nod or a wink as she passed; those like her, those with secrets.

She nodded back and continued on her way.

Liz was waiting for her outside, reading a battered paperback she'd probably read over a hundred times by now and humming to herself. She was cloaked in tones of silvery-grey, faded in the pre-dawn light; her gilded hair dull and faded, her faint tan looking pale and jaundiced. She almost didn't look part of this world, like one of the things that they hunted.

Marie shook her head. Standing near her partner--in crime, some would say, but Marie knows she's got her back--to announce, "I'm done. Want to get some breakfast before heading back?"

Liz looks up at her, smirking slightly as she packed herself up. "Yeah. You Catholics take too long; it's almost dawn." She slung the backpack onto her shoulder like a girl used to carrying heavy history tomes, treating the back with the casual sort of care anyone would give their possessions. No one would know that there's an arsenal in there, a quick stash of clothes, money, and weapons; Liz has been living on the road so long that she literally carried her life on her back.

Marie smiles. "Hush, you heathen. Just because you're atheist and have no appreciation for the fine rituals of the faith--"

"Three bloomin' hours. In Latin." Liz gives her a look as they walk away, face full of sardonic good humour. "I know better and more interesting religious rituals that are even older. And besides, it's not like you ever believed."

It's true. Even before, she never gave much thought to the church or her ethereal standing. It was like a story that the teachers would tell; if you're good you'll go to heaven, if you're bad you'll be eternally damned. By six Marie had already read more interesting stories involving ghosts and magic. She didn't quite 'lose' her faith; she never really had it to begin with. Liz was the same, but her parents had been more open-minded. She never had to lie, to do a ritual she didn't believe in so her mother could have another week of believing that her daughter was saved.

"Yo. Marie. Enough wool-gatherin'. 'm hungry." Liz shook her out of it with a light tap, giving her a concerned--well masked, but concerned nonetheless--look. Marie smiled, and started moving again.

"You're hungry? And here I thought that you never needed to eat, that you live off the misery of those around you," she teased, smiling. Liz rolled her eyes--they were an odd grey/green right now, shifting steadily towards blue; who needed a clock when they had Liz's eyes?--and snorted.

"Please. We all know I feed off despair, not misery. It's stronger."

"Oh gee, my mistake."

They looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes, appraising for several long moments before laughing. Maire's hair fell lightly into her face, copper-brown wisps fighting free from the clips holding them back. Liz took another look at her and laughed harder, earrings chiming together.

"Marie, you're hair's escaping again. 's'gonna eatcha," she pointed out unhelpfully, still sniggering, hand pressed against her mouth. Marie scoffed and didn't bother to answer, just turned into the tiny street-level diner and slid into a booth. Liz followed, a wicked smirk on her face.

The waitress smiled indulgently at them as she comes over, note pad at the ready. "What can I get you girls this mornin'?" she asks in a slow, steady drawl that clearly marked her from the south.

Liz smiles at her, all charm and demure looks. "Can I just have two toasted english muffins and a mug of coffee, please?" It never fails to surprise Marie how polite Liz is to strangers, people they don't know and probably will never see again.

The waitress smiles for real now, though, and turns to Marie. "And you, hun? What can I getcha?"

"Just coffee, thanks'm." She can't eat or drink much, most things'll make her sick, but coffee she can still handle, and thank god for that. Coffee's her one and only true-blue vice.

Liz is looking at her again, she realized, blue eyes sharp and thoughtful. "You hungry?" she asks quietly, grabbing a few sugar packets and shaking them out.

Marie shrugs a shoulder slightly, stealing one. It's not like they can do anything here. The waitress--Dora, or something of the like--dropped off their coffees with a smile, promising Liz that her english muffins would be 'right out'.

When she's gone, Liz inspects her coffee like an unstable experiment and says, "I got some stuff while you were at mass. 's'in m'bag. You need it, jus' take it inta th' bath." Her voice is barely a whisper, but Marie can hear it clear as day. She thinks about it, adding creme to her own mug until it turn a light golden brown and takes the first sip.

By the time she's polished off her mug, Liz's food's arrived and they've ended up ordering a pot. They're away from the windows, and the buidings around them are blocking the light; it's the latest she's been out in a long while. It's nice; she'd forgotten.

Grabbing Liz's bag, she stage-whispers "Bathroom break--brb" and leaves, twisting through the seating till she reaches the tiny, rundown bathroom. Snagging some paper towels, she secures herself in the farthest stall from the door. Carefully rooting through Liz's bag, she pushes aside books and an old jacket until she finds the packet. She nearly knocks Liz's sunglasses out onto the floor pulling it out and slips them onto the outside of her pocket. She might be fine walking back, but Liz would get one helluva migraine if she wasn't careful, especially since she ran out a week ago.

Closing her eyes, Marie made a mental note to contact Ampersand for more pills, hyper-aware as she slid her teeth into the packet. Luke-warm blood flooded her mouth, taking off the edge of the hunger she hadn't even noticed was there and spiraled away. When she sucked the last bit from the packet, she wrapped it in the towels and slid it back into Liz's bag, making sure it wouldn't stain anything. Washing her mouth quickly, Marie rejoined her friend, finding a perfectly mixed coffee waiting for her.

She smiled, masking the copper taste with burnt coffee and fake cremer and handed Liz her sunglasses. Liz quirked her lips and slid them on, relaxing slightly, eyes given a bit of relief.

Marie stirred her coffee. Foundations didn't crumple; water didn't boil; she saved people rather than killing them. Hail Mary, full of grace. I thank the lord for the gifts he has bestowed upon me.

"You mind if we visit my mother later? I'd like to say hello."

Liz's smile makes Marie feel like she's finally done something right.

AN: Written 08.02.07 -- The first story.
On one hand, my soul feels dirty for writing vampires, fer chrissake. >.@ On the other, she's more like an SPN vampire. Less angst.

Marie, Liz, and some others are all minour characters for NaCl, but I like them a lot, and they begged to have stories to tell. So I'm grouping them together as Iron right now (there is a point to that, swear). Marie is a twenty-year-old girl who's been a vampire for three years and has never killed someone for their blood. Long story short, she was supposed to kill Liz, a hunter, in sheer hunger but Liz managed to get her out and take care of her. They're best friends nowadays.