Lark Wakes

Łark Ċaderyn
~Heartache, was something that the undead became accustomed too. Watching the world change and shift to suit the next generation, all the while staying the same, untouched by the seasons as they changed. Watching mortals and immortals alike pass on into the here after, whist awaiting your turn to follow. The Chevalier however was duty bound to live, for as long as he could, oathbound to die in the service of something greater than himself, and yet...There was some heartache that even duty could not soothe, some pains that time would not heal, and sometimes no matter how much the world around you desired you to stay, you simply could not. This, was how the Chevalier felt as he retired from the world this night, There was no revenge, for the corpse of the assassin lay upon the cobblestone streets of the city, where the Chevalier revealed the monster that had been hiding beneath the guise of a man. There was no returning home, for it like his life had turned to ash and cattered to the four winds. He'd chosen his final resting place with care, deep in the mountains, surrounded by cold stone, mythril veins and the rumble of something vicious and voraciously hungry above him. The Chevalier removed his armor, and his sword, leaving them for some lucky adventurer to find in their exploration. In his right hand he held a wooden stake, carved from the remnant wood of his home, in the other a bag of undelivered sweets. Why he had them? not even he really understood. But upon a stone slab, The Chevalier bid farewell and watched his last moon as it traversed the sky. Then, when conviction outweighed rationality. He drove that wooden steak, deep into his chest and through his heart. Pain, was fleeting, and the black that he'd come to expect from his final moments crept upon him as he whispered sweetly to the air. Words no doubt lost upon the winds, but spoken nonetheless. final death, came swiftly, his body began to wither, turning to embers and ash. There would be no tombstone, no touching eulogy, only crude wooden weapon left upon stone. Thus ended the life of The Lunar Chevalier ~....But where one door closed another often opened, As it was so eloquently put in so many works of literature and film. "Death, was only the beginning." If there was a heaven, then it was beyond a veil of unending darkness, and if Angels heralded your arrival with song, then the dull ~Beep...Beep...Beep~ Was perhaps the most unusual song that could be sung, and the smells that surrounded him felt entirely synthetic. Something invaded his mouth, while something else heavy seemed to hold his chest and arms firmly to his side. When his eyes opened they were assaulted by the glow of halogen lights, the pain was inimaginable, as his eyes were forced to adjust swiftly, forcing him to blink rapidly before finding some form of focus. When his hand finally found freedom from its blanket bindings. It was to gather the clear tubes protruding  from his mouth in a moment of sheer panic. He could hear voices, many voices around him but their words were garbled, coming too swiftly for his mind to process, despite this, he was able to pull the tubes from his mouth and throat, gagging and choking the entire time. Another deep breath into weak lungs sent him into a spasm of wheezing coughs, that ended with him spitting up a strange sweet liquid onto the blankets before him. The world, slowly coming into focus and a croak of a voice trying desperately to get the attention of any listening with the repeated question of " Où suis-je?" [Where am I] that seemed for the moment to go ignored.

Alice
-:- The monotone beep, beep, beep, beep, beep of Lark's heart monitor plagued her dreams. A wilting, raspy ventilator punctuated the silences in between-- a reminder that her brother was basically as good as dead in his hospital room in the ICU-- where he'd been for two years. "Oui, deux ans." {Yes, two years} she spoke into the receiver of her phone. Long fingertips chased her bangs back off of her forehead and ran the short length of her cropped bob as she leaned one shoulder onto a hallway wall. The blank, sterile light was starting to get to her. "Je ne sais pas, je viens d'arriver hier." {I don't know, I just arrived yesterday} she continued, exhaling as she turned so that her back rest against the wall, warm hues searching the perforated ceiling tiles for some kind of answer. "...Le médecin dit qu'il pourrait ne jamais se réveiller..." {The doctor says he may never wake up.} she continued, despite being exasperated. The female Caderyn had flown in as Lark's only listed emergency contact. Why they'd waited two years to contact her was absolutely beyond her understanding. (And was borderline rage-inducing.) Lark's vacancy over the previous two years had been notable, but Alice chalked it up to something covert. Often, when she asked questions about his occupation, her brother made some kind of joke or found some way to segue the conversation. Aware that he'd applied for Interpol some years back, his sudden tight-lipped demeanor on the subject had been confirmation enough for her. Until now, she presumed he was up to something. Alice had allowed herself to briefly consider the possibility that he'd been injured, but when the family hadn't heard anything about him missing, all assumed he was fine. "Oui, j'appellerai demain. Je t'aime aussi." {Yes, I'll call tomorrow. I love you too.} and with this, a quick audible pucker and gentle smack of the lips to kiss the air in farewell to her aunt. The call disconnected and the lissome mademoiselle pushed herself off of the wall, passively smiling at the nurses at their desk as she walked past. Her eyes seemed almost permanently dewy, only having recently confirmed Lark's identity. (Though she suspected the staff had already known who he was, it might have explained what took so long.) The pity on their faces made her want to escape from beneath their gaze tout-suite. The cafe on the lower level of the hospital was somewhat less abysmal than the grey liquid they called 'coffee' that sat brewed in pots throughout the rest of the hospital. It was a brief escape from the pastel-colored , sobering halls of the ICU, but the smell of death and sickness permeated even the cafeteria. Being in the building made her feel constantly queasy. She wasn't even sure she wanted the cafe-latte she'd ordered, but she was glad for the distraction. On her way back up to Lark's room (where she'd only been permitted to visit during short 'visiting hours') she noticed the suddenly chaotic tenor of the attending staff on the floor as she stepped off of the elevator. Large, doelike hues scanned either side of the hall before she stepped off the lift, red lips pursed in thought as she considered the floor---and its purpose. Briefly, she made the sign of the cross over her chest and thought a silent prayer on behalf of whomever the floor was claiming. It took her no longer than thirty seconds down the hall to realize they were all rushing to Lark's room. Exclaiming an obscure french expletive, she dropped the coffee and ran along after. Her efforts were stalled not once, not twice, but three times. Nurses insisted that her presence wouldn't help, and that he was fine--- "Just please ignore the monitors!" they begged. "Oh, vous voulez dire ceux qui surveillent son cœur, vous êtes une vache impitoyable?!" {Oh, you mean the one monitoring his heart, you callous cow?!} Alice was heard arguing through irate tears. Not that any of them understood. And if they had, she didn't seem to care. -:-

Łark Ċaderyn
Within the confines of a room that in the opinion of the mind of a man who'd awakened to an unknown everything. He was in some kind of prison. His clothing and modesty stripped from him. Left to wear what he even for slaves didn't amount to much. He was connected to wires, leading to things he'd no understanding of. There were monitors going off all around him. Men and women attempting to hold him down and keep him from freeing himself from the odd contraptions. No doubt meant to torture and torment him until he either broke or died! (Not once suspecting they were there for the opposite reason). His body, was weak but with adrenaline pumping through him, he was still a force to be reckoned with, at least for the moment. "relâche moi! " [Release me!] he cried out hoarsely, his voice straining due to a tightness from an unused vocal cord. More struggling, more fighting, a doctor was even thrown a few feet back to land on his ass. Another given what amounted to a harder then a love tap, fist across the face. It lasted all of a minute, and it ended with Lark out of the bed and clutching to one of the monitors as if he was going to lift it and swing it at the staff attempting to calm him. Yet the truth of the matter was, the piece of equipment was all that was holding him together. His legs shook, and muscles already ached with effort. His body teetering on the brink of collapse, and yet his pride too great to show that weakness. He gnashed his teeth and bore the fangless whites at those around him. "Not Ano'zer step! " now that some clarity had been had he realized the language they spoke, and used it " I will not be 'eld prisoner 'ere! " There was silence for a moment, enough that he could hear the familiar intionation of Alice's voice. That beautiful melody that made his heart ache with hope! She'd come to rescue him! However hopeful he had been he still could not escape his own confusion as a part of him had been convinced of his own suicide. Why he was here, he could only assume had through the illusions of some kind of spell or magic that convinced him of lies and lead him to be captured by the enemy. Whoever....the enemy was. Despite that he clung to hope that Alice was outside the door with his Chevalier, prepared to fight her way in. "Alice je suis là! [Alice, I'm here!]" He took a step forward, and wavered, staggered, caught himself only to fall away from the monitor and against the bed, only to sink to the floor and land on his backside. " Bastards! what 'ave you done to me!? "

Alice
-:- As suspected, Lark was responsible for all of the alarm. Having woken, slipped his confines, and proceeded to tear out his own intubation and IVs, the inconsolable Caderyn did what any other person did when they woke from a coma: panic. Alice could hear the sound of his voice between the tumult, weak and wheezing as it was. "He is confused." one nurse informed her, "And disoriented." added another. Alice felt an incoming explosion of rage. Of course he was! Did it take everyone in the Scottish medical industry to make blatant observations? With forceful, jabbing elbows, Alice emerged between nurses and peeked her head from behind one of the tall white-coats. Patience was not her forte. "Lark!" she chirped from behind the doctor, beaming a bright, wide smile at her elder brother. The long, lean vision that stood before Lark was hardly the Alice of his dreams. She was tall, strikingly angular in her features, and in the place of her lucent vampiric flesh was a russet-colored complexion, healthy with the flush of life. (Or with elbowing Scots right and left.) The only bit of her that had remained the same were the wide, deep brown doe-like hues. He was speaking English, as were those around her, and Alice frowned on the realization that Lark had taken care to remove all of his hospital accouterments. Had he woken alone? Instead of seeing this rationally, Alice became immediately irate and defensive. "'Ee was alone?!" she demanded to know, eyes narrowing at the nearest Doctor with unjust ire. Slinking through the gaps flexibly, Alice moved toward Lark without any further obstacle. "Mon alouette..." (an old sobriquet from their youth) she cooed with sisterly affection as she settled down onto her knees beside him. Worry touched her features, erasing any sign of frustration that lingered. "Est-ce que tu vas bien?" {Are you alright?} she asked as one hand lifted to graze the long-healed wound just beyond his hairline. "Laissez-moi vous aider..." {Let me help you} she said with a reduced tenor, speaking low so that the conversation remained between the two of them. Collecting his hand between both of her own, she motioned to drape it over her shoulder so that she could assist him. The doctor stepped forward to assist, and despite the strong urge to bark at him, Alice reluctantly accepted that she'd need help. As withered and fatigued as Lark was, he was still a bit too heavy for her to lift on her own. "You need to let zem assess you." she offered in broken, heavily accented English. Despite being angry with his doctors, she understood that they were more equipped to help Lark than she was. When the pair had finally gotten Lark back into his bed, Alice sat beside him, holding his hand as she listened to the ensuing conversation. -:-

Lark
His body, was weak, his chest burned and his heart raced. Every movement was as if he'd been trying to move mountains. There upon the floor the Chevalier who in that world of his dreams had hundreds of years of experience in being unbreakable, was a broken man. Both mentally, and physically. No one, not Alice, not the men in white coats could begin to comprehend the pain he was experiencing in this moment. Nothing was as it should have been! Even Alice was different, She looked vibrant, and young, and untouched by the curse of darkness that had besieged them both. Turning what had been a happy family into one ever kept within the cold unfeeling world of the damned. How his heart ached, and swelled to see Alice as she should have been. As she would have been if he'd been stronger in those days long gone. If he'd been able to protect her! Now he was barely able to fend of woman and men who by rights had none of the experience he should have had. However as Alice came close to him, he felt suddenly overwhelmed with succor. In his dreams Alice had left him, not out of spite but because she desired what the Chevalier had come to love and cherish. A family, and she intended to start one with her betrothed. He was overjoyed for her then. Watching as they left aboard a vessel for unknown lands, intent to spread the name Caderyn far and wide beyond the land he served faithfully. His hand weakly raised upward and his sapphire hued eyes turned toward Alice, finger coming to the side of her face, slowly at first touching the cheek then falling downward. to the floor with a soft skin to fake marble thud. " Papillion" he whispered softly, he could feel a stinging in his eyes. " ils sont partis et je ne pouvais pas les protéger. " [They're gone, I couldn't protect them] Of course, the poor woman likely had no clue what he was talking about, nor would she as the memories in his mind were so muddled and convoluted that even at this moment he was having issue remembering the sounds of voices, or the color of kins. But after a few moments something like a sob, came from his chest and worked its way upward. The wetness of tears trailed down his cheeks and his hands came upward to his face in an attempt to regain his composure. " Take me 'ome...please..." he whispered finally " I don't want to be here " But nonetheless he was rising with her coaxing, and placed comfortably upon the bed where he protected his modesty by placing a pillow over his lap. exhaling a slow breath to steady himself. The Chevalier shifted to look at Alice with a frown. " Où suis-je..?"

Alice
-:- Alice listened with empathy as Lark struggled to make sense of the world. His two-year absence was jarring, no doubt. Already, people were in the room collecting broken IV lines and plugging monitors back in. Lark had made quite the mess of things in his panicked outrage, the artist observed. "Shh.." she replied, one hand raising to stroke the breadth of his forehead. Pushing his hair back off of his face a bit, Alice took a closer look at the scar. She wondered, internally, if his frontal lobe had suffered damage. She was the furthest thing from a doctor, but had heard that the frontal part of the brain was where personality resided. Even then, if he wasn't making sense Alice couldn't blame it on -his- understanding of the world. She wasn't a mind reader, and certainly couldn't begin to understand the complex process involved to make one sure they belonged to a different time period or realm of existence. No, she assumed that someone under his protection during his service in the Interpol had been injured or killed, resulting in his wound, and following--coma. Her elfin features warmed when he requested to go home-- she wanted nothing more than to be home, too. "Nous sommes en ecosse." {We are in Scotland.} she explained quietly, hand falling from his hand to clasp with her other where it held his. Her round hues were baleful and doll-like, making it difficult for most people to take her seriously. She usually compensated by being kind of a bitch, "When can 'ee leave?" she asked, raising an expectant brow as she surveyed the doctors in the room. Nurses were bringing in fresh IVs to set up, though, blessedly, it appeared he would no longer need assistance breathing. Alice held up a hand toward one and turned her cheek sharply away. " 'old on!" she barked sharply, "Don't you poke 'im wi'zat." she jabbed a finger toward the needle. "I'zere some kind of tests 'ee is required to do, or can we leave?" she asked bluntly, hand gesturing in the air in front of her. "We would prefer if he stayed to be monitored." Dr. Ford, the good looking fellow with blonde hair and a nice smile (wasted on him, he seemed to know no other expression than frown!) replied. "For what ee-xactly?" she asked, English struggling to make as stern of an impression as she would like. "We need to check his cognitive functions and motor skills. We need to ensure his memory is intact, and likely begin a regimen of physical therapy." Dr. Ford continued. Alice's shoulders slumped with the sobering reality. "And 'ee must stay 'ere?" she asked in disbelief. 'This terrible place?' her expression seemed to read. "A place fo'ze dead and dying?" she added, as if to make her point. "Yes, Mrs. Caderyn--" she cut him off, "I'm not 'ees "Mrs.", I am 'ees seester." she corrected. "Alright, Miss Caderyn, yes. He should stay until we can be sure that everything is working properly." -:-

Lark
After a few moments, the fight or flight in his veins finally pushed its way out, and it left him far more able to comprehend what was going on around him. Now, he was not unfamiliar with Scotland, it was not non-existent in the world he had been dreaming of. But merely not a part of it, as was France and Germany and other such places. The time of course was different, and whereas it seemed The empire had not changed for the entirety of its existence, the world outside had. Not that he cared to attempt to measure the changes entirely. However as Nurse Joice came to attempt to penetrate his arm with a needle, he halted her and turned toward the doctor, and took in what was being said between the pair. " I'm not an invalid " he said after a few moments " I believe I am far more capable z'en you are giving me credit for non? " his brow lifted some and his features turned now toward Alice and he spoke quietly "Ils suggèrent que je reste, mais je n’ai aucune raison de le faire." [They're only suggesting I should say, not a requirement ] He shifted his focus toward the doctor now and cleared his throat. Even in his dreamworld, one thing about the Chevalier that stayed the same was his ability to piece together a situation swiftly and act upon it. As his sister and Dr. Ford communicated he was already considering how to 'remove' himself from the situation. Which didn't seem likely, at least not tonight. His form lay back into the bed as fatigue was grasping him anyway. His eyes closing " Fine, I'll stay " he muttered " But please, give me some of my modesty, and allow me a decent pair of pants! "