Forced Visitation

Richard blinked. Absent-mindedly, he traced his finger along the edge of the desk, then blinked again. No, his eyes weren't deceiving him... It was the boy's eyes that were the culprit.
He said nothing, just staring in awe.

The voice breaking the silence made him flinch a bit, then gaze less dumbfoundedly into Ambrose's face. Somehow, the name, together with the way it was said, made an unfamiliar feeling of dread go down Richard's spine. Funny. Ambrose spoke with such a sense of real threat that the vampire really believed it was serious. And those eyes-

Richard shifted a bit, then looked a bit more alert. Chaos. He couldn't say he was a big fan of that. Quite the opposite.
He put the tips of his fingers together.
"At what pace" he said slowly. "do your... alterations progress?"

Ambrose didn't quite understand what the vamp was staring at but said nothing towards the action. This was a hard enough conversation as-is. Expecially when he always seemed to ask the wrong questions. Or, the right questions. The questions he didn't want to touch . . .

He took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He expected his temper to flare-up at any moment, but it wasn't. As if IT wanted to know, too.

"It depends.

"Usually, the process is automatic, but because I . . . denied Their contract immediately afterwards, I am a 'special case.' The in-betweens are referred to as candidates," Ambrose noted to keep the vamp up on terminology.

"Without a physical contract-- a 'diatoma,' as They call it-- the transformations are . . . unfiltered. Rapid." It was becoming harder and harder to talk about this. Like a lump was rising in his throat, threatening to sufficate him. "Very, very rapid."

He didn't want to admit that he no longer had his diatoma, and so remained silent. His eyes were still red, though, and his hair . . . was becoming a brighter shade of red. Slowly, but surely.

However well he hid it, the growing hesitance Ambrose spoke with did not go unnoticed. Neither did the change in hair color, as Richard was now watching the boy steadily. He nodded to signify he understood everything so far, then sat up straight, crossing his arms.
"A 'diatoma', you say? Do you have yours about your person right now?"

Somehow he still found some amusement in the situation, even despite the possibility of it ending with some sort of an immediate danger. A brief smile crossed his face as he tapped at his chin in thought. Well, if something was to happen, he would deal with it. There was nothing in the room that could hurt him, Ambrose included. The fireplace was filled with embers, slowly turning into ash as they warmed the room ever so slightly. That was the usual state Richard's fireplace was in - far from an open flame.
He glanced briefly to the chair Ambrose originally occupied, now lying there, kicked aside. Its leg was split in half, hanging on by just a bit of wood. If one was to grab that leg and apply some pressure, it would break off easily and look uncannily like a wooden stake. No - it would simply be one.
Not that it mattered much, but...

He wiped the traces of a smile off his face and looked to Ambrose again with sobriety.

"I am asking because if we are talking 'rapid' as in... a matter of minutes, I think one might be happening right now."

The vamp always knew where to hit the hardest. Damn him. He was highly considering lying, at this point--

Answer the nice man, darling.

--but, They wouldn't allow it. Such exposition was just too much fun to let go of. Besides, the diatoma . . . it was really his fault.

"I gave it away."

And how much he regretted that now. In one way, it was a huge lift off of his shoulders, but in another, getting rid of the gold coin was the worst thing he could possibly do. Getting rid of the contract did not mean that he rejected it.

The second half of the vampire's comment struck Ambrose as out-of-place and odd. He glanced upwards to a rather blurried scene-- why the hell was everything so fuzzy? It was like a sheet was put over his eyes, getting darker and darker . . .

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ambrose questioned, then hurriedly covering his mouth. He . . . didn't mean to speak in italics. Not now, not ever. It was disturbing, the way that the voice sounded so far away and yet all the more demanding. Echoing, threatening like a distant thunder crash.

He tried again. "It wouldn't--" AGAIN. Inhale, exhale. "I'm not--" Oh, frick. Before Ambrose could stop himself, he was up from the chair, screaming down upon the counselor."THIS ISN'T HAPPENING!"

Aw, crap. Richard silently mouthed a far uglier word as he pushed himself off from the desk to stand in front of Ambrose. He raised his hands and looked into the boy's eyes with all the calmness he could muster, much like one could try to stare down an agitated dog. "Shh. Focus. Don't give into it. Quell your anger, it's only making it worse."

It likely did - Richard didn't know. He knew nothing, basically, other than the bits Ambrose managed to tell him so far. Thinking on his feet wasn't his first choice, he much preferred to have a far reaching plan - but this was no time for regrets. He combed his brain for a solution.

"Where is it?" he asked coolly, like it wasn't a question of life and death. "Your diatoma. Who did you give it to? Is it on the island?"
He sincerely hoped that when Ambrose said 'physical', he really meant an object. Finding out it wasn't something that could be located and fetched within minutes was the last thing Richard wished for.

Ambrose barely managed to catch the swear off the vampire's lips. Huh. And people said that he had a dirty mind-- not that the usage of language mattered much at this point. Still, it was something to keep in mind for later.

If there was a later.

It's . . . It's all right. If that Leon can control his creature, than so could Ambrose, right? Right. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale-- Screw this, it's not working.

His vision kept blacking in and out, in and out . . . right alongside his breathing. It was becoming difficult to control . . . His vision was nearly gone . . .

The red had stayed. It was brighter than ever, so unnatural yet there nevertheless.

"It's . . ." Exhale, inhale. ". . . not here." Exhale, inhale. "I gave it . . . Exhale, inhale . . . "to HER. It's far away now. . . ." Off the island and who-knows-where . . . Obviously, the diatoma wouldn't be of any use right now. But, the mere thought of the girl . . . calmed him down. Just a little, but still. Calmer.

Her . . . Metis. The mirror-girl.

Richard took a deep breath, subconsciously matching it to Ambrose's rhythm. Asking him if there's anything he could do to help would be admitting to his own incompetence and not at all reassuring to the boy. He was going to keep feigning confidence... for now.

Okay, so the diatoma was unavailable. All they had to work with was Ambrose's willpower.
Great.

He narrowed his eyes in thought, his gaze glued to the glaringly red hair. Chaos, chaos... what is the polar opposite of chaos? Order, of course. What would be a representation of order that could work as a weapon in these circumstances?... Hm.
Good Lord, it was a ridiculous crapshoot, it was laughable, and would probably only end in his humiliation, but he had to try.
He had no other ideas.

"Ambrose" the vampire said. "Hear me. The times table. What is six times three?"

His vision was all but gone now-- it was all just a mass of colors. Some gray-brown mass was talking to him, which Ambrose had to assume was Richard.

. . . What?

"Twenty . . . Twenty-one?" Ambrose panted, squinting his vibrant eyes so that he could barely make out the vampire's blue irisis. His vision seemed so distant now, despite knowing just how close he was. He couldn't concentrate on math, of all things, not when there were so much more pressing matters. Still, that answer didn't sound right.

Six plus six was twelve, and twelve plus six was-- oh. "Eighteen," Ambrose corrected, scoffing a little but noticing immediately the change in tone. The italics were gone. Maybe the vampire actually knew what he was doing . . .

"Give-- give me another one," Ambrose ordered, holding despirately onto this small piece of hope. The red was still there, but maybe . . . that could change. Change back to normalcy.

Richard winced slightly in anticipation of Ambrose's - or Entropy's, rather - imminent laughter at the preposterous idea that elementary grade math could help fight off a deity. He blinked when the boy actually answered - and when he corrected himself, Richard grunted with surprise.

His shock lasted only half a second as he clasped his hands together and leaned forward slightly with renewed hope.

"Four times seven?"
He paused, hesitating. Maybe a more difficult problem to solve would be more absorbing, but then he could just find it too hard and give up, shirking what they have achieved so far. He couldn't be sure about Ambrose's math prowess. Well, a faster pace surely cannot hurt.
"And what is the square root of sixteen?"

Damnit, he was speeding-up. Let's see . . . Seven plus seven was fourteen, plus another seven was . . . twenty-one? And another seven made . . . It was hard to think in all the fog. Like something was clogging-up his brain.

"Twenty . . . twenty-eight," Ambrose answered hesitantly, then quickly moving onto the next problem. He understood square roots pretty well, but what the hell sort of number made sixteen when squared? Think . . . think . . .

"Four," Ambrose spit out, then glancing towards Richard with slightly darker eyes than before. The hair was still a bright red, but the eyes were threatening on brown. His vision was becoming clearer, too . . .

He looked to the vampire for more questions. Math was actually working. And, he wanted it to keep working. Drive Entropy away.

He really didn't want to give in to false hope, the possibility everything could fail was still very real and seeing the light at the end of a tunnel only to have it disappear would make it that much harsher. He wrung out his hands.

"Square root of thirty six?" he said, his eyes showing a flicker of optimism anyway. But careful, don't let him settle into a rut. A different kind of an operation...

"Fifty six divided by four?" No, that could be too hard to calculate in one's head. Add a somewhat easier one, quick... but maybe Ambrose needed more difficult ones as his senses returned? Richard was so focused that only now did he notice the dull pain rising in his hip from having stood so unnaturally rigid and still, staring at the boy for a while now.
"Nine times five?"

Square root of thirty-six-- he knew this one. The answers we coming faster to him. "Six." His eyes flashed with red--

The next one completely stumped him. Let's see: fifty-six minus four is fifty-two, then fourty-eight, fourty-four . . . Four times eleven was fourty-four, he knew, so then-- Wait, how much did he subtract by again? Damn it.

His eyes were fading more and more into a stable brown as he stumbled over the more difficult problem. Thirteen? "Fifteen," he finally answered, hesitant but sure after double-checking.

Nine times five . . . Forty-five? That sounded right. "Forty-five."

It was only then that he found his vision to be much clearer. The fog from his brain had been lifted, too. His hair was still a bright red, but it wasn't threatening. In fact, it seemed almost natural now.

"One more," Ambrose asked, wanting to make sure that the threat was gone.

Richard folded his arms across his chest and shifted one foot forward a bit to take some weight off the aching joint and allow it to recover. If there was any weakness in his knees, he showed nothing of it as he eyed Ambrose warily in search of any traces of blazing red. There weren't any. He was far from celebrating a victory early, though.

One more...
"Thirty-two divided by four" he said slowly. "times three."

He looked Ambrose up and down, scanning him carefully, then settled his gaze on his face, his eyes slightly narrowed in a resolute expression.
"Is it gone." he said in a tone so flat it didn't sound much like a question at all.

Thirty two divided by four . . . Four times five was twenty, so if he went from there . . . Eight. Eight times three . . . Come on, what was it!? Sixteen plus eight. Sixteen plus eight--

"Twenty-four," Ambrose breathed, rubbing his temples. He used to do these stupid mental practices in the asylum all the time, but he was so out of shape with it. It was almost embarrassing, except that the equations weren't for sick entertainment anymore. They had a purpose.

With the vampires words came relief. Ambrose slumped back into the chair, sighing heavily. He ran his fingers through his now bright red hair.

"That . . . was close," was really all he could say. He didn't know what exactly happened, but . . . whatever it was, it was a close shave. If the vamp hadn't been there . . . Then again, what if the vamp somehow caused the event to occur? That was definately possi--

Ambrose's brown eyes finally caught sight of the long sideburns of the vibrant hair and froze. What the--

"What the hell happened to my hair?" Was this some kind of joke?

Oh, how he wanted to abandon all dignity and just stumble backwards to fall onto the reassuringly sturdy old oak. No. However, as he stepped back to lean on the desk, a sigh of shaky relief escaped his lips, betraying the tension he'd been trying to conceal. He combed his fingers through his hair.
"When we're done talking, you will go to the library, acquire a book of math problems and keep it on your person at all times." he said in a tone that left no room for discussion.
Richard sighed again, running his hand along the edge of the desk in a manner rather like petting.
"Oh, that?" he said. "All those shenanigans started with your..." He glanced at Ambrose warily, only now noticing that his hair hasn't exactly returned to normal. "Should I be alarmed?"

A book of math problems. Ambrose completely agreed with the sediment and so did not argue with such a request.

His hair . . . turned bright red on its own? What the hell? It had never done that before . . . had it? Everything was so confusing now.

"I . . ." He grasped the long strands, examining them carefully. It was hard to admit this. ". . . don't know. Everything feels stable now, though, so . . . I think its safe."

Ambroe never liked opinions-- he wanted to know. He might not know for a long time, though. He would have to live with that.

"Did anything else unusual happen with my . . . appearance?" he questioned. With the blurred vision, other changes were quite possible.

"Fair enough..." he said, pushing himself up to sit on the desk's edge again. "Please warn me, should you feel it coming again, won't you? I did not sign up here to be a math teacher." He chuckled. "It wasn't all that easy to come up with those so quickly."

Richard thought back to the events of the past few moments. It all went by so fast, he wasn't even sure how much time actually passed, thirty seconds or five minutes.... But, he was fairly certain of one thing.
"It started not with your hair, but with your eyes." He gestured vaguely towards Ambrose. "And I'm pretty sure that they first flashed red when you dropped the name. The one starting with E."
Better safe than sorry. What if saying it aloud was the cause for the boy's impromptu transformation?

A few of Them chuckled at and with Richard's math remark. The vampire was growing on Them. After all, anyone that was familiar with Them couldn't be so bad, could they?

His eyes? That might explain the blurred vision . . . but, why the eyes? Why the hell was it the eyes? There was probably no good answer for that, but all the same . . . Ambrose would like to know.

'The one with the E' . . . Ah.

"You mean Entropy," Ambrose blatently said, sighing a little at the repetition of it all but nothing else. Damn it. It made too much sense. "It wouldn't be the first time." It was one of the first that he bore witness to, though-- exactly how many times this had happened before only They knew, and They weren't the type to answer such 'boring' questions automatically. No. Ambrose would have to figure this out on his own.

Richard cringed a bit at the name being said so outwardly. Nothing seemed to happen, though, and he slowly began to relax a bit.
"Yes... Entropy." He looked to Ambrose hesitantly. Honestly, he felt he wasn't the best person to handle a situation such as this. He managed to avert the crisis, yes, but it was more through a lucky shot than through his abilities.

How could he tell Ambrose that, though? Let down the faith that the student put upon him by deciding to confide in him? He couldn't. He was going to do his best to help, despite the fact he wasn't sure how. Surely a solution would eventually emerge, if he kept his eyes peeled and his mind open.
However, that didn't mean he was going to feign understanding.

The vampire sighed silently, folding his hands.
"So... care to tell me what exactly happened? I have a vague idea, but I'd like to hear it from you."

Ambrose, even after all that had occured, watched Richard with a careful gaze. This man-- this vampire had to be the one to know, for better or for worse. An ally, at the very least. Ambrose didn't have many of those, expecially within the academy . . .

His version of events . . . wouldn't help that much. Still, a description wouldn't hurt.

"Everything became blurred," Ambrose immediately dove in. "There was some red, but it was mostly . . . in a fog. My head throbbed, and my speech, you heard for yourself." Italics. They were notorious for it. "The math problems helped . . . because I had something else to focus on." Ambrose stated this, but it was unsure nevertheless. "A distraction, perhaps. The fog lifted, and here we are."

He pulled down some of his longer hairs, examining them. Still a bright red . . . Was this pernament?

He listened attentively, inclining forwards slightly as the boy went on. A few questions immediately popped into his head - he hoped Ambrose didn't mind them. He had to have a clear idea of what was going on. He didn't expect him to have any issues with Richard asking, though. He had already shared a lot, after all...

"I see." he said. "You're describing this as a 'fog'. Does this fog feel... like an alien entity? Like there's some other consciousness invading you? Or is it just..." he glanced around the bare room, as if in search of something to aid him. "Just you, yourself, undergoing some sort of a change?"
He paused, watching Ambrose toy with his hair.
"If I'm not mistaken, you have said that this has happened before. But not the hair part." he said flatly. "Or at least it had reverted back to your normal shade afterwards."
Worrying. It could signify that Ambrose was... losing the fight.

Ambrose was rather uncomfortable with such questions. Talking about something he didn't know well himself was . . . difficult. Still, he wasn't about to show weakness to the vampire.

He strained to remember. "It's . . . warm." Yes, that was the right word for the fog. "Warm, and . . . familiar. Like blood." Blood spread all across his body, threatening to pour itself in. Vicious blood, ill-intented blood. Evil blood, for all intensive purposes. "Familiar, but it's suffocating. It wants me out." Out as in extinguished. Dead.

Now for the confessional.

"Yes, it's happened before. No . . . I noticed no physical changes afterwards." Were they there? Did he just miss it, let the differences slip past him? "I'm not sure . . ."

Not sure to what extent this lead. Not sure of the damage. Not sure . . . if it was fixable.

A heavy silence reigned over the room.

After Ambrose's last words rung out, Richard wanted to repeat them in the most emotionless tone possible. 'Not sure'. He wasn't sure if he had not undergone physical changes. What's worse, he had nobody to watch out for them.

What was he thinking?

The vampire kept that to himself, though; not only would it be impolite, it could be annoying. That's not what either of them wanted. Ambrose needed to stay calm and clear-headed.
He hoped the next question wouldn't bring too much distress.

"Tell me" he said, breaking the silence with his composed voice. "about this diatoma. Where is it?" He tilted his head slightly in thought. "Also, if you had it on you, what difference would it exactly make? You said the changes would be less... abrupt?"

Ambrose forced a laugh-- he couldn't help it. It was all so stupid of him.

"Like I said before, I gave it away. . . . It felt right at the time," he defended, but Ambrose knew he was just making excuses for himself. He knew what would happen, and yet . . .

"There was a woman at the New Year's party-- Metis." The mirror-girl from the tournament. "When I first saw her--" Several of Them giggled as Ambrose's face slightly flushed. He wasn't used to such feelings, and discussing them was degrading. Nevertheless, he plowed forward. "--I knew I could trust her, no matter what. When she asked for the diatoma, she made it seem like the right decision, and . . . I gave it to her. Where she is now, only They know." Much to his annoyance.

Keep talking. Don't dwell on what's been done.

"As for what difference the diatoma would make . . . the changes would be much more abrupt, more forceful. None of this fog. The power would remain seperate from me, and I would still--"

Ambrose stopped himself abruptly before the words could come out. He couldn't. Not now, not ever. He wasn't going to say such things. It . . . wasn't happening. Forget about it. He could still fight this. He would fight this. It was still possible. It had to be . . .

The bright red-haired boy slunk his head into his hands and remained silent. How could he even concieve such thoughts?

He flinched a bit at just how... bitter the laughter sounded. It was strange coming from somebody so young. Or young-looking, at the very least.

So, he trusted a girl, because... he felt he could...? Basically, he got manipulated into it, whatever Metis' intentions were. And now she was nowhere to be seen. Richard nodded sympathetically at the blush. He was long over such dispositions, but he could understand.

"You said that without it, the changes are rapid... But with it, they are forceful?" He ran a hand through his hair. "So the choice is between-"
He looked at the boy, frowning. "Come on, now, don't get disheartened. Everybody makes mistakes." He offered a small smile. "I'm over four hundred years old and I still make plenty of them. It's all about getting up when you fall down. There's bound to be a way to make everything better, as long as you don't give in."
He knew that Ambrose was too bright not to take what the vampire said with a grain of salt, but such reassuring words seemed to fit the situation. They were like a good luck charm - unlikely to have any effect, but maybe, just maybe, would bring a bit of comfort. The atmosphere in the room was heavy enough without Richard voicing his concerns.