War and Peace and Pancakes

Far from Home Part. 2

Ferya woke up with a start, knowing immediately that she wasn't anywhere she should be. Dreams, filled with her memories of working for Vialen, continued to haunt her even as she sat up in bed and looked around, wincing.

Her arm hurt, and looking down at it, all she could see was the thick, clean bandages wrapping it from wrist to elbow. The rest of her body ached, though she supposed it had something to do with being thrown into the bushes by an angry shapeshifter.

No. Not angry. The man and his pack had been ready to kill her, she knew that much. Still, she didn't know what the vampires had been doing. Specially not the scary one with the tattoos and swords.

It was the smell of food that had her rolling off the bed and onto her feet, noticing that she had been marginally cleaned up, though she was still wearing her clothing, sans boots. A glance to the door showed her that they were set there in orderly fashion, as if she could put them on and leave whenever she wanted.

But the vampires were close. She could sense it. Ten years of living under Vialen's benevolence had taught her the feeling the the air when a vampire was moving, even if you couldn't hear one. She would bet everything she had that there was at least one outside her door, waiting for her to make a break for it. She glanced to the window, frowning when she noticed that wherever she was, she was far higher than she was used to being, looking out over a seemingly endless expanse of city. More towers dotted the landscape, blinking lights, and as she approached to look, she could see little people and cars moving down below her.

"A werewolf doesn't phase you, but a window does?"

She forced herself to not jump, turning as calmly as she could to see the tattooed vampire sitting in the chair, frowning at her. He didn't look like he had changed from earlier, though judging from the fact the sun was setting, she had been asleep almost a full day.

A pair of swords sat on the coffee table in front of him, where it appeared he had been polishing them, though they now lay forgotten as he sat there, watching her, waiting.

"Not the window." She murmured softly, glancing up at the screen on the wall that played a loop of the same things Haniel had shown her, "what's that?"

"The television?" his tone was skeptical, glancing that way, before looking back to her.

Ferya blushed and shrugged, looking down at her bare feet, "only television I ever saw was a big box, with nobs and wires sticking out of the top."

His tone was dry, a sarcastic humour his words as he murmured. "Where have you been for the past twenty years?"

"Oh." She looked back up to the television, frowning again. "Is that really all real? Everything, that happens every day?"

"Jesus." He breathed, shaking his head and moving to stand, though he stopped when she flinched away from him, "I don't understand you. You stared a werewolf down, and I've done nothing but save your life, and you treat me like I'm a monster."

Ferya paled slightly, looking down to him again, though she flicked her eyes away before she could meet his, focusing on the swords. Something about them seemed familiar. "I have met far more shapeshifters that were nice to me, than vampires. In fact, I've met a whole one vampire who was nice to me. And he was murdered by his sire, because of it."

When he didn't move to stop her, she stepped up to the table and reached down, picking up one of the blades, spinning it in her hands and then putting it down with a clatter. She gave him a bewildered look, then turned and walked towards the table laden with food. There was definitely something familiar about the blades.