Seth_icon.gif Francis_icon.gif

Summary: Francis and Seth meet up once again in the cemetery. It does not go well. Things explode.

Date It Happened: December 11, 2001


Calvary Cemetery

Quiet, subdued, well-kept, Calvary Cemetery is watched over by angels, disciples, and other celestial figures — or so the heavily Roman Catholic masonry and theme would have one believe. This graveyard is home to many beautifully crafted stone figures who keep eternal watch over those interred here. Among the most famous dead here are Lionel and Ethel Barrymore, and Lou Costello of Abbott&Costello. Also within this cemetery is Calvary Mortuary, which serves Catholic cemeteries and families throughout the city. Additionally, there is a mausoleum with breathtaking stained glass windows of a religious flavor.

But no heavily religious motif can protect from what might be lurking amidst the tombstones when the sun goes down…

It's so late in the evening it's almost come back around to the morning. The cemetery is deserted - save for the very notable exception of a man who is kneeling in front of a small family plot, the naming headstone of which reads 'Moore'. A small blanket has been spread underneath the man to prevent the grass from getting his clothing damp and an electric lantern is seated on one of its corners. Seth's jacket is neatly folded in another corner, and the sleeves of his shirt have been rolled up past his elbows and he seems to be chanting something under his breath. It's not any recognizable language. Two small candles are lit in front of him, and there's a thin curved knife between them with its blade stained with something dark and sticky. Two guesses on what it is. Cursing the bones of a father seems to be a literal thing tonight.

There's a faint snuffling and a growling from back among the tombs. A baby vampire is overcome by bloodlust, not having learned the silence and subtlety it needs to survive. And Francis is there as clean up man. Abruptly, a little intersection in the walkways some few yards from where Seth works is illuminated by the stagelight flash of the vamp going up like a Roman candle.

Francis must have some sort of fetish for making Seth shriek like a girl. Really. At this point it's just embarrassing, and it's managed to bungle the warlock mid-incantation. The gravestone flares with a weird purplish light and then there's a loud *CRACK* as the dominant headstone splits right down its center, accompanied by various hairline cracks. "…Dammit!"

"Oh, sorry," comes Francis's voice, with a complete lack of real contrition, once he's determined that it's not another vampire in need of his tender care. He comes peering around the tombs in between them. No need for a flashlight because his hand is on fire, and burning merrily. It's not consuming flesh, and there's no apparent pain. Evening. Mr. Human Torch.

By the time Francis comes near Seth is sprawled with his back flat against the gravestone, bloody knife clutched in one hand and pointed forward with his cane in the other, held tightly to his chest like some sort of lifeline. Most other people would probably be very disturbed to see another individual's hand on fire, but in Seth's case it's really more of an unpleasant surprise. He stays quiet, possibly not trusting himself to speak just yet.

Francis lets the light die away, and extends his own other hand, as if offering a hand up. "Sorry," he says again, tone a little more patient. "You okay there?"

"Frank." Ahem. "You might want to never do that again unless you want to bleed from unusual places when you least expect it." Seth makes no move to take Francis' hand, instead moving the knife to keep it in line with the other man's form.

Francis withdraws his hand, and turns it up, palm out, in a gesture of peaceableness. "I'm sorry. I can't let the damn things proliferate just to keep from startling you. You really should have better safeguards in place, considering."

Seth eyes Francis suspiciously, then brings the hand with the cane in towards his neck so he can pull out a chain he wears around it, at the end of which there is a dangling silver cross. "I have a few. It's not like vampires rise every night."

"Wise," Francis approves, with one of those bright grins. "Not as dim as I'd feared." Oh, thanks. "So. What were you up to?"

Dim? Dim? To say the least, the warlock looks offended. He sneers, grasping the split headstone so he can haul himself to his feet. "None of your business, not that you seem thrilled with minding your own."

Francis spreads his hands, grins beatifically. ''This is my stomping ground. Please, give me a reason not to run you off, in either my official or unofficial capacity."

"I think man evolved beyond the need to establish personal territory a few millennia ago, Frank. Only nations are allowed to do that these days." Seth gets his cane into a position where it can actually be used to aid walking, but he keeps the blade readied in front of him. Frank is creepy.

"Guess I'm just a caveman, then," Frank says, apologetically. He eyes the blade with an amused cock of his head.

Seth gestures with said blade, pointing it for the briefest of moments towards the graveyard's exit. "So scat, cat."

There's a chill creeping into the blue eyes. "No," he says, quietly. "I don't really know who you are. As you said, it's not particularly my business. But I've got other stuff to take care of here."

Seth grins just a teeny tiny bit, though he's more than a little put off by the look he's getting from Francis. "You don't know who I am and you're not going to get the chance to find out. Just move along and we won't have a problem with each other."

"Was that a threat?" Francis wonders, tone very genteel.

Bravado seems to be the way to go, and accordingly Seth offers Francis a stiff-jawed nod. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. I don't care to explore it."

Francis eyes him for a long moment. But decides that now is apparently not the point at which to push it. And actually withdraws….bu it's deeper into the cemetery, not out to the street.

Seth curses audibly as Francis moves, sullenly using his bad leg to kick one of his guttered candles. It clatters out onto one of the paths and rolls, nestling down into some fresh dirt. This is another spoiled night.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License