Forced Visitation

Rapid would be better. Rapid would let him hold onto what he had left.

Ambrose raised his head slightly at Richard's words. 'Disheartened'? Perhaps. It was more like couldn't stand the sight of himself anymore. He wasn't in control anymore; he didn't know what half of him was thinking. Like . . . the fog had disappated, yes, but the threat of it was still there. And They were waiting in suspense to pull the figurative curtian.

Rapid would give him some dignity.

The vamp was over four hundred? He was nearly two hundred. And, he was reminded of it every day. The students here didn't understand just what 'immortality' meant. It sounded nice, but then you had to live most of it enclosed. Alone. Alone to just your thoughts, and countless others'-- if you weren't insane before, you would soon succum. You had to in order to survive.

Rapid would finally leave him alone, be alone with his thoughts. None of this clutter.

'Don't give in.' Too late.

". . . Darling?"

No. Not now. He didn't want to hear any words from any mouth, internal or external. Just leave him alone. Just let him be. Just . . .

"Go away," Ambrose mumbled, his voice hidden under the layers of his arms and now rolled-up knees. He was protecting himself. He had to. He had to, or else . . .


(( This is what happens when I am in withdrawl from creative writing-ness. > >; ))

Not sure if Ambrose addressed him, them, or just the whole world, Richard simply waited in silence, arms crossed, watching the bundle of misery huddled in the chair. It felt awful to see it and be able to do just about nothing. All he could grant the boy at the moment was some room to himself. He gave the chandelier an accusatory look. Really, deities? Well... he supposed Ambrose was older than he seemed, but cruelty to somebody who looked like a child still didn't sit well with him for some reason.

The boy brought it on himself, sure, but he didn't know any better. At least he tried to fight - unlike some.

After a while, he glanced around the room with hesitation, then cleared his throat on purpose. He didn't want to intrude on Ambrose, especially since he couldn't be sure if it wouldn't provoke a reaction from the thing... another breakout, perhaps. But he wanted him to know that, no matter of how little use he actually was, Richard was there. Ambrose wasn't alone.


((POOR AMMY. :< y u torment him so.))

(( We made a deal during NaNoWriMo: Am. brings torment upon himself. : O He needs no help from me . . . ))

Silence enveloped the room. The red-haired boy liked that very much. The tension of the room, he could care less for, but the silence . . . was very much appreciated. Rarely was he ever granted silence. Rarely.

It was hard for Them, too, he knew. Disaster told him that frequently enough. Because it wasn't Their time to truly take over the world's functions, They could only wait. Waiting was boring, though, so Ambrose provided the entertainment in the meantime. It made sense.

Screw making sense.

"Darling?" Disaster broke through again, obvious concern in his voice. "Darling, it's okay. . . . I'M here for you."

That was the problem none of Them understood: They were always there now, except for before.

Duing dark nights, when the boy would feign sleep when he was never able to close his brown eyes in the first place, Ambrose just wanted to scream at Them the seemingly obvious question: 'Where were you in the asylum?' Over a hundred years went by in there, and he could count the number of times They visited on a single hand. Disaster was there three times, Dopamine once. That was it.

And now, he couldn't get rid of Them. The irony was simply sickening.

Ambrose raised his head slightly when Richard cleared his throat. So, he was still here, too. Wonderful. It was becoming crowded.

"Yes?" Ambrose asked, his voice low and cracked, as if recovering from a nasty sore throat.

"I... just wanted to say I'm sorry. I am not qualified to give advice on what to do when you're transforming into a god against your own will." He paused, picking his words carefully. He didn't like admitting it - but what else could he do?
"However... What I can help you understand and deal with are the emotions this situation is causing in you."
He let his arms slowly slip down to his sides to rest on his desk and began to stroke it absent-mindedly again. Whatever dark place and bad memories Ambrose was slipping into... he was certain he couldn't pull him out of. Ambrose had to do it on his own. However, Richard could do his best to aid him in that in whatever meager way he could.
"But, if you would rather relish the silence for a bit longer, I will heed your wish." He inclined his head. "Feel free to do whatever helps you. I will not interfere."

And now, the vamp was second-guessing himself. Great.

"It's 'deity,'" Ambrose corrected absentmindily, not quite sure why he even bothered correcting. It's not like he wanted to help Them in any way . . . Still, They could be quite touchy on such labeling. Such correction was now automatic.

His emotions . . .

"Take up his offer, darling!" Disaster urged. "Go on!"

Like he needed prompting.

"Any help . . . is welcomed," Ambrose finally told the vampire, lowering his legs slightly to reveal the bottom half of his face. It was worn, solemn, but still had some energy, some fight left. "At the very least . . ." What was the best way to say this? ". . . I would like to know what it's like, being . . . in your condition. The agelessness."

He did not dare use the word 'immortal.'

He furrowed his brow. "Ah, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware there was a difference."

It took a moment before he spoke again. From not knowing what to say he went to not knowing where to begin. Ambrose seemed not at all thrilled with the prospect of living forever. It wasn't his will. Richard chose it for himself, he made it happen, and he had never regretted it.
That meant he couldn't relate as much, but perhaps he could share some of his enthusiasm.
Slowly a bright smile spread on his face.
"It's wonderful." he said simply. "It truly is. I am free to do whatever I want. Any hobby that a human would struggle to squeeze into their busy schedule, I can devote a decade to, if I feel like it. Money is a non-issue. If I need it, any museum or a private collector will shell out obscene amounts of cash for objects I paid a few coppers for a few centuries ago."
His smile turned a little crooked.
"Being immune to what kills humans is another barrel of laughs. Eat a spoonful of arsenic just to see how it tastes. Take a walk on the sea floor - you can't drown. Start a fight with seven thugs and laugh as they weep like babies at you getting up after getting stabbed."
Richard chuckled with a shrug. "Giving up your humanity has its disadvantages, of course, but everything does. Looking at the positive sides is the important part."
He sighed contentedly, glancing at Ambrose with curiosity.
"Can you see any positive sides to your situation?"

"Neither was I, at first," Ambrose admitted, then carefully listening to the vampire's words.

He raised his head out from the folds of his arms and stared at Richard intently, the words sounding almost foreign to him at first but then becoming more and more understandable. These . . . were things Them would probably do with their deitihood, except . . . not nearly as creative.

Arcenic. None of Them had thought of that before. It made one curious. Disaster even ooo-ed when Richard mentioned the walk on the ocean floor. These things were actually interesting, things that Ambrose could nearly respect. It wasn't playing with other's lives, it was playing with your own. And, that made all the difference to him.

. . . Things he could do with a long life? He had . . . Because he was in the asylum for so long, doing virtually nothing except read a dictionary of scientific words from cover to cover thrice, Ambrose had never . . . thought about the possiblities. Just the limitations. He thus had to think about this for a while.

"I . . . could break into any bank without a care, if it wasn't for the curse," Ambrose pondered. Perhaps if he sent a letter of announcement . . . It would not only up the challenge, but let everyone know his name.

Ambrose grinned. Yes. Yes, that would do wonderfully.

Richard grinned back, fangs poking into his lower lip. That was the right direction, wasn't it?... It made the boy finally crack a smile, besides... it could end up leading somewhere interesting.
"Easily. But why a bank? Money is nice, sure, but there are more worthwhile material goods to...obtain."
He chuckled breathily. "You could steal anything in the world. You could nick the Mona Lisa to hang it up in the washroom of your flat in Hampshire. Just for giggles." He spread his arms. "You can create a collection of the world's finest treasures. Heck, it was never my goal, but the souvenirs I have gathered are not too shabby, if I may say so myself." He glanced around the room in disappointment. Too bad he hadn't managed to move some of them in there yet to illustrate his point.
Looking at Ambrose again, he couldn't help but picture him as a young, fiery-headed version of Arsene Lupin, performing daring heists on a grand scale. It fit... it fit very well. But, wait...
"What curse?"

Ambrose's grin grew wider and wider as the vampire spoke, his eyes sparkling with the possibilities. Yes. Yes! He could continue to expand his vast collection! He had been eyeing the Mona Lisa for a while . . . He had already nabbed The Scream, though, right before things became sour. It would get jealous.

Ambrose's smile faded a little at the question of the curse. He had wondered why . . . Regardless, he had to explain now. He felt obligated to.

"Remember how I talked earlier of the witch? She cursed me so that, if someone did not know my name, I would only be percieved as a spider." He rolled through the description casually-- it was a sign of his trust towards Richard. Usually, he'd be more cautious detailing such things. "Such a curse makes thievery . . . quite difficult." As in, the very treasure you were nabbing could suddenly become too heavy to lift with the mere glance of a security guard. Yes, one could escape easily, but at what cost? The abandonment of the shiny?

"I suppose you heard my name before and was thus unaffected. If you don't believe me," he added, because not many people did, at first, "then call down a new student or teacher-- their reaction always tells." He said the last part bitterly, knowing the usual first glances all too well. . . .

It felt good to see that kind of happiness on the face that was so bleak just moments ago. The cause for a grin this wide did not matter much in the long run.
Richard nodded lightly as he listened. That was a twisted and creative way to curse somebody, so twisted that he wasn't sure if he understood correctly. Before he asked anything, though, he waved his hand dismissively and smiled to Ambrose in a friendly way.
"Of course I believe you. I told you I would, and I stand by my statement. So far everything you have said made sense."
It was either that Ambrose's story was true, or he was completely deranged and believed in it with all his being. Richard saw no third option. He couldn't have been lying.
"Is there any chance of lifting that curse?"

The vamp believed him. How refreshing that was. . . . Ambrose had definately made the right choice of whom to confide in. He smiled a little despite himself-- it felt nice to do so.

Lifting the curse?

"I've . . . never really thought about it," Ambrose told Richard frankly. "Overriding the curse, yes, but removing it . . . I'm not sure it's even possible."

"For one, the cure would have to come from her."

"For one, the cure would have to come from--" Ambrose repeated, then stopped, screwing-up his face slightly. What did he say?

Is she even still alive? Ambrose interrogated mentally.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she were," Disaster noted with a shrug. "Witches aren't exactly easy to kill."

Ambrose groaned. It figured as much: the bitch wouldn't die that easily. . . .

During this small conversation, Ambrose entirely forgot to include Richard in Their affairs. It was merely habitual, not at all intentional.

Ambrose's small smile made Richard happier than it probably should. But it was a victory, however small. No - it wasn't that small. The student walked in stressed and outright hostile, and now he was talking openly and cracked a grin. It gave Richard some hope. Maybe, just maybe, the vampire wasn't completely out of his depth working as a school counselor at this wacky place.
He struggled to keep a goofy smile off his face as he waited patiently for Ambrose to finish consulting the voices in his head, as that was clearly what he was doing. He could tell the signs by now.

"From who?" he finally asked. "The one who cursed you?"

". . . Yes," Ambrose replied, glancing up at the ceiling a little. "Apparently."

"Apparently," Disaster (supposively) grinned back. Then: "I'm so happy you like your counselor, darling. We All are."

"I'm not looking for Their approv--" Ambrose started automatically, but then halted in his tracks. That last sentence . . . wasn't mental.

". . . Disaster?" Ambrose dared to ask, turning his head now away from the ceiling and instead towards the door. No. No, he couldn't be--

There was a poliet knock on the door. Directed towards Richard.

Ambrose got him involved with Them. And now, it was time for the introductions.

Where does one find an old witch, if one needs her...? Where do witches live, anyway? Do they have little huts in forests, or have they moved on with the times? Do they have plastic surgery to fix the hooked noses and warts?
Deep in thought, he opened his mouth to automatically say 'sorry, I'm currently occupied, please come back later' - maybe he should invest in a small plate saying 'busy' to put on the door and flip around when somebody is in - but then he blinked in surprise. Waiit... What? Ambrose's reaction was interesting enough on its own, but what really threw him off was the fact that he did not hear any approaching footsteps.
Disaster... That could easily be a name of...
Never averting an intrigued gaze from Ambrose, he slowly raised an eyebrow.
"Please" he said. "Do come in."

There was a click of a leather heel and the turn of the door handle. . . .

Entering the room was a flamboyant man with long, wild yet pale and fragile blonde hair, parted to reveal striking blue eyes that could turn stormy with a snap of the wrist. He wore a sleeveless black jacket, black fingerless gloves, a tight gray shirt, and criminally-tight pants, light reflecting off the stretched latex to make a shimmer. A shimmer almost like lightning . . .

"Hello!" the flamboyant man cheered, a stud on his tounge being revealed as he spoke. His tall boots clicked on the ground as he walked, regardless of carpet or no carpet. He rather liked the sound. "Shall I close the door behind me?"

He didn't even let anyone answer his question. The man simply snapped his fingers, and the door was closed. Just like that.

Ambrose was up from his chair now, inching away from the doorway. He was not fearful, but cautious. Very, very cautious. The man didn't notice this, however, and clicked his heels right up to the red-haired boy.

"Did you dye your hair, darling?" he pouted. "That's no good. You should keep it natural."

Ambrose said nothing, but merely glanced over at Richard. The man gasped.

"Oh, I've been so rude!" He walked over towards the counselor, beaming. "The name's Disaster, or Occurance, or what-have-you-- Vernal Equinox, if you will. I much prefer Vernal."

As the man walked in, he shifted his gaze from Ambrose to him and watched him with a rather blank expression, saying nothing. His eyes briefly lingered on the gleam on the newcomer's thighs, then flickered to the door as it shut itself. The man's presence was rather overbearing, in large part due to his... eccentric outfit, no doubt. Richard supposed that being a deity had the plus side of not having to bother blending in. But frankly, he liked his ashy gray suit anyway. He doubted his legs would look good in that kind of thing.

He noted the boy's wariness. Of course, Disaster's demeanor spoke of no friendliness, the fact that he ignored the, after all, host, until the last moment was clearly deliberate disrespect. A show of power, a way of saying 'I don't need to pay attention to you'. Well, Richard wasn't a stranger to these games, was he?

He kept his poker face on as the man cooed over Ambrose, then as he finally turned his attention to him, he pushed himself lightly off the desk and grinned in his most charming way. "Evening." he said, taking a small bow. "Richard Wallace. Feel free to call me Richard, if you are so inclined."

Disaster watched Richard bow and let out a giggle-snort. Ambrose frowned at such action. Typical . . .

"I apologize," the man chuckled, covering his open mouth with a hand in a vain attempt to be 'polite.' "Really, I do, it's just--" Disaster let out a short burst of laughter. "--listening to you before, I was expecting something more-- more on equal terms. Not that it matters," Disaster chuckled, wiping a small tear out from his eye.

The whole concept of the immortal man bowing to Them was rather hilarious. Rambunctious laughter could now be heard echoing to and from the room, back and forth--

"Disaster," Ambroe growled, not at all pleased by these turn of events.

"Watch the italics, darling," Disaster told the red-haired boy, unfazed. "Besides, it's not like I'm letting Them do this." He now turned towards Richard, his eyes gleaming with the clouds of an oncoming storm. "It's just been so long since We've had a new toy to play with . . ."

Somewhere outside, a crack of lightning was released. The thunder echoed in the deep night.

He blinked in surprise at the unexpected amusement. Watching the man, eyebrows wrinkled in honest confusion, he went over both his and Disaster's words. As he reached no conclusions, he shot Ambrose a glance that silently asked 'what?'.
Finally, he clasped his hands together and chuckled. Ah, the bow.

Richard leaned lightly into the desk, folding his arms across his chest, a slight smile playing on his lips. "No, I apologize. You must have mistaken my formal greeting for an expression of servitude. I don't blame you. The only difference is how much one leans forward, and such customs are no longer common knowledge, I'm afraid."
He grinned, looking to Ambrose again, trying to get to him the message that everything was fine.
"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Lightning... that made sense, he supposed. But did this individual reign over only natural disasters, or was it also things like a massive leak in a washroom that he could cause? He mused over the possible answers to that, smiling affably at his new guest, not at all bothered by the 'toy' comment. It would take a little more to intimidate him... plus, even if it wasn't an empty threat, it could be a right laugh to be on the receiving end for once.

Ambrose was impressed with how Richard was handeling his first encounter with Them. Usually, mortals did not fair well when encountering such forces. Then again, the vamp wasn't mortal.

The red-haired boy grinned back, although still unsure if things would be all right. Things hardly were, in his experience.

"'To what do I' . . . I like the way you speak," Disaster chuckled, the thunder now fading away long with Them's laughter. "And, can't I merely drop by to see how my favorite candidate is doing?" He wrapped his arms around Ambrose with care--

"Get off of me," the boy glowered, used to such treatment.

Disaster pouted, but let go nevertheless. "Fine, fine . . . I came to meet darling Entropy's new friend--"

"--confidant--"

"--italics." That quieted Ambrose. "That, and it's always nice to meet a new toy. No offense to the darling, but it's no fun watching the same mortal-immortal-what-have-you all the time. We need variety."

As the man spoke, he just stood, arms crossed, in a rather casual pose, keeping a welcoming air about him. It's not that he wasn't wary, or that he didn't consider Disaster a possible danger - it was just an attitude that he considered the best at the moment. They didn't need to be shown any weakness.

Observing Disaster's behavior, he could understand why Ambrose was so mad. That kind of touchy-feely unwelcome friendliness could push buttons in people, especially when coming from someone in glittering tights.

The deity seemed to consider himself some sort of a good uncle to Ambrose, as much as the boy disliked the attention. This made the whole situation seem somewhat like a student-parent-counselor conference, except, well, utterly bonkers. Richard smirked a little.

He nodded in understanding. "Of course. But... May I be blunt for a moment?" He cleared his throat. "Have you perhaps considered that this lack of fun could be your own doing? Depending on others - mortal, immortal, toys - to provide for you is hardly ever a good idea." He scoffed lightheartedly, only half-serious. "I'm not sure what do you expect of me, anyway."

Disaster kept smiling at Ambrose, nearly forgetting about Richard until his question was posed. He seemed quite puzzled by such a concept, as if the idea . . . never occured to him. Or any of Them.

"It's so boring to play with yourself, though," Disaster pouted as he snapped his fingers absentmindily, sending another crash of lightning conviently near the window. The Powers enjoyed showing-off whenever they could and never missed an opprotunity to do so. "We can't bother each other, or else there would be war. Best just to keep to ourselves." He focus was once more drawn away to a still-smoldering Ambrose. "That doesn't mean that we can't have common entertainment, though, does it?"

Ambrose said nothing, not daring to after his previous word being in italics. He didn't want another episode, expecially not face-to-face with Disaster. The deity began to play with the red hairs gently as he continued to speak.

"As for what we expect of you . . ." Disaster let his voice trail off, grinning wildly. "Well, you're already pleanty entertaining, dear Richard. I don't think there's much more you can do, except keep us in mind."

That was the tricky part about Them: it wasn't Their turn to manage the world. Hardly anyone knew of Them, and if someone did, it was a follower of a specific deity. There weren't any neutral parties left. But, now . . . things were different.

Disaster had an alternate agenda, of course, but he couldn't risk letting the Other Powers heard. The vamp was smart enough; he could simply figure-out on his own . . . if given proper opprotunity.

Ambrose's agitation caused some sort of protectiveness to rise within the counselor, but he shook it off quickly. He was just that - a school counselor. He would do everything within his power to help, but he was fairly certain that getting in a conflict with a deity wasn't within his responsibilities. Disaster's type of personality could be hiding a nasty temper underneath the pleasant exterior, and until he was sure a careless comment wouldn't start it off, he was going to try to hold his tongue.

Did he even realize that he was causing Ambrose's anger? Was it on purpose that he was doing it? Did he simply enjoy teasing the boy, or was he trying to make him... lose control, allowing Entropy an easier way through?

"There are lots of entertaining things to do on your own, honestly. Especially when you're immortal." He smirked lightly. "But you know that, don't you? You have heard every word."

Richard glanced in a slightly accusatory manner at the fingers in Ambrose's hair. Really... He looked back up to Disaster's face. "Plenty entertaining?" He chuckled. "I shall take that as a compliment."
Folding his hands in his lap, he adopted a somewhat more serious expression.
"As you know," he said. "I would like to help Ambrose." He stole a glance to the boy. It wasn't nice to talk without including him in the conversation, but what else could he do? He seemed to be clammed up to avoid the italics.
"Do you have any method of finding out where is his diatoma?"

The flamboyant man widened his eyes a little as Richard began to speak and smirked back.

"Very interesting ideas you have," he admitted. "But, to be frank . . . once you have immortality, there's not much left to life. It looses that color, that pizazz."

Disaster's tone changed slightly, as if . . . there was regret somewhere. Ambrose was no longer smoldering in anger, instead biting his lip slightly in joined anguish. The deity quickly covered-up the emotions, though, and broceded to braid the long ends of Ambrose's hair.

"You should take that as a compliment," he continued, ignoring what just occured. "Quality entertainment is so hard to find."

As Richard became more serious, Disaster haulted his mangling with the red hairs. These were the words he wanted to hear for himself. 'Help.' The boy needed it so badly, and yet never properly asked for it. That was why he sent the boy here, after all, to ask help from a different source. So many times, though, he himself just wanted to interfeer, and--!

Wait. The diatoma?

"He misplaced it?" Diaster asked quietly, his voice falling gently into the commanding italics. A trademark of Them, if you will. Several bolts of lightning crashed against the night sky. "He--" No, this was not the person to bear his anger towards. The deity turned towards Ambrose. The red-head knew what was coming but still waited for it, eyes widened.

"I GAVE YOU THAT THING FOR A REASON!" Occurance exploded, the window behind him breaking along with the calm, glass shard flying everywhere. The deity hoisted-up Ambrose by the scruff of his hair, the boy clearly in pain. Disaster didn't care, though-- the boy should be in pain for what he's done.

He nodded slowly. Perhaps the man had a point. After all, what were all of the years he spent as a bartender, or a driver in a night bus, or simply wandering around in crowded places, if not a way of drawing enjoyment from others' lives through listening in on them? The only difference was that Richard wouldn't call those people toys. No. Pets, maybe, but not toys.

Ha, well, if he could provide entertainment, then he was glad to do so. He could agree with the sentiment.

Eyebrows rode up on his forehead as Disaster uttered the quiet question. Wait... he didn't know?! How could he not know, he was there when Ambrose said it-
In the blink of an eye, he ducked a shrapnel of glass, wincing at the noise. A bit too many decibels for a vampire's ears.

He took a step forward, hovering an open hand around one foot away from the deity's arm that held up poor Ambrose. His pose was nonthreatening, but confident. He wasn't about to start a fight, but hell if he was going to put up with more destruction in his office.
"Listen" he said calmly. "It's too late for violence to solve anything. It's better to make people want to obey you instead of forcing them to, don't you think?"
Yes, it was Disaster's own fault for not explaining the diatoma's role adequately. Seeing the accurately predicted temper in action prevented him from pointing it out in a more blunt manner.

Disaster took note of Richard's raised arm the same way one would take note of an elderly man walking his dog on a warm Sunday morning. It was interesting, yes, but didn't matter. The vampire couldn't do anything.

The red-haired boy gagged a little, clearly not able to breath well if at all. Disaster took little notice of this, as well; it's like a lack of air would kill the darling.

"I've tried that, you see," the deity breathed, his face facing Ambrose but his words directed at the vamp. "Asked nicely plenty of times, you see. But, you know what? IT DOESN'T WORK."

The grip on Ambrose's neck tightened-- it was a full-on noose. No more gagging. Just a slightly pale fifteen-year-old's body flailing about, grasping at the deity's arm, scratching, hitting, anything.

The deity grinned despite everything, his face darkened like a storm cloud. Just a little bit more . . .