Freak Out

Sheriff's Estate - The Vault

This room covers almost the entire ground floor of this house. The majority is taken up by a stylish reception area; three chunky, white leather couches places in a neat U-shape, with a low table in the centre. Another corner holds a modern, black table, six comfortable chairs placed around it as though for conference. The final feature is a bar, well-equipped behind it and with a pair of chunky fridge-freezers, containing a variety of synthetic blood. In one corner is a staircase, leading upstairs. On the same wall is a door through to the only area on this floor not part of this room, where sits a small bathroom and the route downstairs, a featureless door, metal constructed and lockable from one side only, though plated to fit with the design of the house.
Three walls are white, the fourth covered in ceramic panels to give some colour to the place. The floor is tiled, in a pleasant, neutral shade. Windows at regular intervals stretch from floor to ceiling, concealed blackout blinds above them. One wall bears a huge flatscreen television, and one aware of their surroundings will spot the speakers concealed at various points in the room. The general feel of this area is a clinical style, a blank, neutral canvas for whatever happens to be going on. Those who know Will generally refer to this area as The Vault, for the round pillars that stretch up to the roof.

A message left on Chloe's mobile phone. A pleasant tone. "Chloe. You will want to speak to me at a point in the near future, I imagine. I would advise the best place to have such a discussion is at a particular place in Upper Greenville." A quick set of directions is given. "I will be available tomorrow evening, from approximately ten oh clock, otherwise call when you wish to have the conversation."

She /will/ want to? Because he knows her mind so well? Chloe has half a mind to tell him to stuff it. She's still irritated by the fact that whatever he did to her, the medication - even a double dose - is no longer effectual to keep her mind her own.

So it is that Chloe shows up at the residence, looking a bit irritable, and a lot fiery. She just gives security a look as she brushes past them with a muttered, "I'm expected." Then she's knocking at the door, awaiting admittance.

Security allow her in, expected as she is indeed, with a quiet, "Ma'am." The human mind ponders what Will wants with this one, something kinky, probably. Not seen a human in there in a while. Last one didn't come out again, but that was business.

The door opens silently, sweeping open to reveal the Vault in all its glory. There does not appear to be anyone opening it, though. William Grant is seated one of the large, white couches, whilst a neat blonde sits at the conference table with her ever-present laptop. Will glances up as the door opens. "We will continue this later. Chloe, please do come in."

The thoughts are pushed away. She's got to, or she'll lash out at the guard for thinking them. Dirty minded…

Eyes drift toward the blonde first, then to Will. "You summoned," Chloe says, perhaps a tad snarkily.

"I did?" wonders Will, lifting the bottle of synthetic in his hand to take a long draught. "As I recall, I suggested you would likely want to speak to me."

"Mmhmm. Seemed that way on the message." Chloe shrugs, then makes a face at the bottle. Okay, that is possibly the one thing she'll never be able to get used to. Vampires drinking bottled blood. It's kind of gross. "So explain all the effects, beyond the fact that my medication is no longer working and I'm seriously considering walking right back into Green Oaks, just to get the voices to stop."

"Not my intention," Will tells her, simply. He finishes the bottle of synthetic with a quick swig, placing it to one side. "I would theorise that for the same reason you are feeling so strong, healthy and hale, your gift is perhaps stronger than the poison you use to rid yourself of it."

Chloe frowns slightly. "It is not poison when it is helping me remain sane," she points out. Though that's pretty much what she told herself as well. "What else, Mr. Grant? What else do I have to look forward to now? A life of servitude?"

Will lounges back into the couch, lifting his feet to rest on the low level table. "It is poison, by definition, for it is damaging you." Closing his eyes, his head resting against the back of the sofa, he continues, dryly, "I tend to find that complete obedience follows approximately two weeks after the first drink."

For her part, Erica snaps the laptop shut, delivering a coy smirk to Chloe, and standing to take the computer with her. She heads for the stairs up.

Arms fold over her chest, and Chloe gives him a stern look. "It is helping me by allowing me to function normally without a constant barrage of other voices in my head." The frown deepens, creasing her brow. "Do not think that I will /ever/ be in servitude to you, Mr. Grant. Forcing it will not work. I will ensure I am out of reach if that is to be the case."

"You should train your ability, learn to control it," Will responds. He lifts his head off the back of the sofa, opening eyes to look at Chloe. "I will ensure that at some point you will stop believing that I am attempting to harm you in some way. I was teasing. The blood has no such strength. Now please, take a seat."

"I would much prefer to stand," Chloe says, asserting her independence while she still has it. She has no reason to trust that he's telling the truth about the blood, since all she could find about 'V' was that it drove some people absolutely mad with lust and desire - neither of which she's feeling.

"As you wish. There are various drinks behind the bar, if you would like anything," Will says, his head sinking back to the sofa. "You are aware of the narcotic usage of the blood of a vampire," he states. "Your body is currently operating at a higher threshold than otherwise would be the case. I will be able to feel your emotions, especially when you are scared or otherwise threatened. I am able to contact your mind directly. There may be certain other emotional effects, though with every person it is different."

"Said Hades to Persephone," Chloe mutters. She shakes her head at the offer of something to drink. "No thanks." At least she can be polite while upset. "As wonderful as this…" What's the word she wants to use? "… gift… is, when will it wear off? Surely it is not a permanent thing, otherwise every fangbanger in the city would be enthralled by some vampire or another."

"You are no more enthralled to me than you were a week ago," says Will. "You may feel certain, ah, physical impulses. The emotional and telepathic connection I have to you is permanent. The physical changes are temporary."

Lovely. So a definite higher dosage of medication to numb /that/ down as well will be needed. Chloe just /glares/ at him now. "Unacceptable. You will stay out of my head," she demands, the silent 'or else' hanging in the air between them.

"You say that as though I have a choice," Will says, dryly.

"You don't," she huffs. Chloe reaches up to adjust a strand of hair, and move it from her face. "I swear to /God/ that I will never have any physical impulses toward you." Hmph. Take that, Will. She just called you ugly!

Will actually laughs, a rich, vibrant and genuine laugh, with his head thrown back. "Your will is impressive, for one so young. I believe you, that you do not wish to admit to such a feeling." He arms stretch out across the back of the couch, resting on top. "Time shall tell the truth of it."

The laugh just goes to further her anger. "It is not a matter of admitting a feeling, Mr. Grant, it's a matter of not having any of that sort." Chloe has pretty much always avoided male contact due to being able to read their thoughts. Unlike other women, Chloe doesn't long for such things, and she accepts that. "Is that all of it then? My abilities work better, my hair is shinier, I feel healthier, and I'm supposed to have these sinfully lusty feelings for you?"

"I did say may," Will suggests, pleasantly. "Other effects I have witnessed before are increased aggression, a reduced ability to reason, and a tendency to the shrill." Slowly, his legs cross. "Now, is there anything you would like to say?"

"Yes," she states rather hotly. "I am not being shrill, nor is my ability to reason being hampered." Chloe hmphs, then starts for the door. "If that is all, Mr. Grant, I will be on my way. I'm certain you have far better things to do than insult me."

"I grow bored of your anger," says Will, suddenly moving at speed, at his utmost speed, a dark shape that appears between Chloe and the door. "I grow bored of your paranoia, and your desperate wish to believe that I am somehow attempting to control you. I grow irritated by your constant deliberate misunderstanding of my motivation. Instead, I would rather you release your rage unto me."

Chloe grins. Oh, how she grins. She's upset him. He may want to control her and force her into servitude, but she's upset him. It means she still holds some of the power. "Give me a stake, and I will," she says, staring at him now that he's blocking her path out. Dangerous words to be uttering in a vampire nest, but she /is/ angry.

The sheriff's fist suddenly moves at speed, crashing through a table at his side. When the splinters settle, in one bloody hand is a jagged piece of wood, held out on the flat of his palm. Crimson drips from it, an opposite to the clear blue of his eyes; eyes which hold a dangerous gleam. "Try," he whispers.

Oh crap. Chloe figured he'd just send her on her way, disgusted with her. Instead, he's bleeding and handing her a jagged piece of wood. Taking it from him, she grips it tightly in her right hand. She raises it up to his chest, where his heart should be.

Guiding the piece of wood, slightly to one side to more easily pass between ribs, Will then lets his hand drop to his side, dripping blood to the floor. "If you push now, you will end me," he whispers, with a dark and steady look upon his face. "If you truly believe that I am attempting to control you, to turn you into my creature, then will you thrust. You are not that person, Chloe Cornett."

"Don't. Don't you /dare/ presume to know what type of person I am or not! You do not now, nor will you ever have that right!" Chloe lifts the piece of wood up again, moving it closer to his shoulder before she prods him with it. Not jabbing into his body, just to nudge him away from her.

"No presumption," says Will. "A sinner, a bad person, would have allowed the drainer to make an attempt on my life. A fundamentally evil creature would not let an old vampire indulge his interest in experimentation in an attempt to understand himself better." He has not yet moved, does not move at the nudge. "Your anger is understandable, but it will achieve nothing."

"And it didn't ever occur to you that I just didn't want a bloody mess all over my books?" Chloe jabs a bit harder now, still keeping the so-called stake leveled at his shoulder. "An evil creature would probably not, unless they were going to use that to further manipulate you. A fundamentally stupid creature would know no better and allow it. A /crazy/ creature is more than likely a mixture of good and evil entwined. You want to hedge your bets on what a crazy person may or may not do?"

"It did not," Will replies, "as I do not believe that is your motivation." He allow the jab, piercing his tee-shirt as it does now, and possibly skin, and does not actually move. "I will brook no further suggestion of your insanity; we have proven otherwise. A tired, old argument will take you nowhere."


"Believe what you wish, Mr. Grant. I know what I am. I know my life. I want it back. I don't want to hear the voices. I want to be /normal/. Just as normal as my brother and sister, so that maybe they'll quit pretending I don't exist!" The 'they' obviously not her siblings. Chloe frowns. "But that's not going to happen now, is it?"

"I have been practising with my own abilities for a long time," Will tells her, gently. "The only way you will ever relieve the voices is to control them. Note how I am not broadcasting my thoughts to you?"

"I couldn't hear your thoughts anyway, remember?" Chloe considers. "Likely because you're not really making any brainwaves. Great. So I can be normal if I go hang out at the cemetery for the remainder of my life. Lucky me."

"No," Will tells her. « This is the telepathic contact I was talking about. » He switches back to speech out of politeness, though his tee is now darkening further with the pricks of blood coming through. His hand has healed. "There are exercises. Practise gives control."

Perhaps that bit of talking to her mind was a mistake. Chloe jabs the piece of wood as far into his shoulder as she can manage - consequences be damned at this point. "OUT! OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT!" Now she's taken to being a bit shrill.

The wood drives into Will's shoulder, though he does not flich. Blood begins to well at the base. "Now I am out. Practise brings control, Chloe. You can have control, and then never hear another voice again, should you so wish."

Backing away from him, she shakes her head vehemently. "No. No, no, no. Tried that, didn't work. Need the meds, and you ruined that." The hand that held the wood is a little bloodied, but it doesn't seem to matter as she brings both hands up to her temples. "No. I have to go. I need the quiet. I need to think." Pause. "Please move."

"Centuries of practise," Will informs her, stepping neatly to one side, and bringing a spare hand up to his shoulder, yanking the bloody wood out in a swift movement, and an unavoidable wince. "Would you like to keep this?"

"Ew, no!" Chloe just gives him a horrified look. Why on earth would she want to keep a bloody piece of wood? That's just.. well it's odd is what it is. Soon as he's moved out of the way, she's yanking the door open. The effects should wear off in a few weeks. She should be back to as normal as she can be, she hopes.

"You will never achieve even a facade of normality without me," Will tells her, as he allows her to leave. "I will not give up on you, even if you do yourself." He shakes his head, slowly, before reaching absently to pick at shards of wood in his shoulder.

Without another word, Chloe bolts. Probably to the surprise of the security guards at the door. She doesn't even bother stopping to get into her vehicle. She'll have Bobby come pick it up once he's off work. Right now, she just needs to /go/. No stopping for anything as she flees - more from herself than from anything else.

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