A Battle Worth Fighting (Syrena)

[cedric simon fallon]

It was dark. It was dark, and Cedric puffed out that taste of the wretched cigarette. Still, he glanced down at Leyla, inhaling deeply as she marveled up at him. The look of awe that sparkled in her young eyes was enough to melt his heart. He slung his arm around her shoulder, their footsteps sloshing in the dirty London puddles. It was like any other night; all so similar and unidentifiable as the last that they melded into a general ghost of a nightmare.

Especially that look. That look that Leyla would give him, where he could see the inspiration and admiration glowing in her innocent eyes. It was every night that he told himself he wouldn’t surround her with those leering men, drunken gamblers, violent clubbers. Still, every night she asked to go and every night he felt the pain in his core to impress her; to show her that he could do something right when his parents felt he couldn’t. But one night was worse than the rest.

He’d opened his sassy mouth a little too much. Pushed those men a little too far. Found a corner a little too dark when they came after him. Leyla hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t yelled. She looked at him as they grabbed him. She tried to speak the way he would have. Down she went, her head on the cement. Cedric screamed. He wasn’t sure what kind of sound had left his mouth, or the sight of her glistening red blood on the grungy alley floor-

Cedric shot up, mangled gasps escaping his throat. He looked at the dark room, the emptiness pressing in on him as if it were suffocating him. He fell back, icy cold sweat dripping down his face. He mopped it away, but the gesture did nothing to alleviate the phantom feeling. He rolled over, wishing that he could be in the total darkness the room should have been in. His eyes adjusted far too quickly, the skeletal shadows leering at him out of the darkness in the foreign room he found himself in tonight. Sleep was not an option.

His movements were mechanic as he pushed back the blanket, prying it from where it stuck to his skin. He stepped lightly on the old floorboards, careful not to wake the others, blessed with ignorant slumber. He clenched his eyes shut as he opened his pack, pulling out his shirt and yanking it over his head. He gasped, Leyla’s emerald eyes gleaming in his memories. Shaking his head he found his pants on the chair, zipped them up and bolted from the room, not bothering to lock it behind him. He knew there was no use in it. Cedric didn’t often carry anything worth stealing. There was no use. He’d be in one town one day, another country the next. Anything happened to go missing, there was simply no hope of recovering it. He liked to think that the less he carried, the less he was tied down.

The October night air bit at his face, the streetlamps having long since burned out, and the bars already closed. He’d already done his fair share of gambling, and found himself twenty galleons poorer for it. He sloshed through the street, kicking up the puddles to wear the icy water soaked through his pants. He paused, a shift in the wind bringing a strange scent to his nose. It was one that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Fear. His head swiveled around, and sure enough, a shriek ensued.

It wasn’t long for Cedric to find the source, the shrieks clear, and the fear growing. He rounded a corner, barely able to take in the scene he saw. A young student, pinned to the ground, shrieking as three men took turns with their wands. It was barely a second before Cedric felt something snap, the sight of the glittering red blood on the tainted floor making his stomach lurch. With every ounce of strength he possessed in his immortal body, he threw the largest one, back snapping as it collided with the old brick wall. The others turned on him, but Cedric didn’t care as he flashed his teeth, eyes the burgundy red of a blood-thirsty vampire. They faltered, but still they came, and Cedric had less mercy for them than he had for the first, their heads colliding at the guiding of his hands. He could hear the audible crack of the sound, both crumpling at his feet.

”Shh,” he whispered, kneeling next to the weakened girl. He rolled her over, blood and bruises damaging her face. He didn’t miss the gleam of her enlarged teeth. She couldn’t have been more than half, he knew. But that didn’t matter. He bit his lip, stomach twisting itself into a knot. ”Please hold on,” he slid his arms beneath her, her body limp, growing heavier with each moment as he stood. ”It will be okay,” he promised soothingly to the green eyed girl, unsure how his feet had started moving, or why his body had brought him to the old Hogshead; the only pub open this late. Even his instincts could remember that.

His foot collided with the door, blowing it back as he rushed in, barely taking in his surroundings. ”I need help! Call a Healer!”

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[syrena blaire davenport]

Syrena wasn't really sure what to do with herself. She was happy and successful and confident, and everyone was looking to her for guidance. However, things were off, they seemed wrong in some way. She didn't know what it could be and was terrified of her assumptions. There wasn't much that she could do about the anxiety she felt, there was a lot on her plate. She had every right to be anxious and tense, there was so much going on in the world that required her attention and so little time to set everything in motion.

Syrena was tense because of her leadership position. She was powerful and strong and dedicated to the Children of the Moon. In all regards, the vampires under her were like her own, private coven, something she hadn't felt in such a long time. The only time she remembered being apart of a coven was when she was still under the bond of her Turner. It had been a horrific experience, and then with Charlie being killed shortly after breaking the bond, the idea of being around other vampires made her uncomfortable. But, with those under her, she felt safe and secure for the first time in years.

Of course, leading them to their goal was proving to be difficult, albeit satisfying. There were new vampires and half-vampires coming under her wing every day, and it was pleasing her greatly. However, it was stressful, having to plan their next attack and when they would reveal themselves. Then there was the matter of Syrena's marriage. She loved Logan greatly, but, lately, she'd begun feeling that he was pulling away. She'd been warned of this, but had never imagined that it would actually happen.

However, after 3 blissful years of marriage, Syrena was afraid that Logan had found his true mate. There wasn't anything she could do if that was the case, she just wished that he would come forward and tell her that he'd found her. Their love was strong, yes, but the passion a true mate brought would crumble their marriage instantly. Syrena hadn't thought that his true mate would come around, and she thought that she would never find hers. Still, panicking wasn't going to do anything. She'd already told herself, when the marriage started, that if true mates made themselves known that they would go their separate ways.

It wasn't anything that Syrena particularly wanted, though. The thought of losing her husband to a werewolf was devastating and heartbreaking. She highly doubted that she would be able to find her true mate, vampires finding their mates was a bit more unlikely than werewolves finding theirs. Werewolves worked in packs, they were around their kind more often than vampires were. She was a solitary creature by nature, and that thought terrified her. She hated to be alone, but it was simply hard-wired into her brain.

"I need help! Call a Healer!"

Syrena perked up at the sound of this voice. She'd been sitting at the counter of the bar, lightly running her index finger along the edge of her wine glass. The entire pub went quiet as they turned to look at who had entered. Syrena could only stare, feeling a pull for this stranger. He was another vampire, that much she could sense, but there was something powerful there, something pulling her to him. It felt as though she'd been hit by a train. Syrena was on her feet in an instant, rushing to his side.

"My God,"

[/color] Syrena muttered, looking at the girl in his arms. She was a half-vampire, that she could see, her eyes glittering an unnatural green. The man behind the bar, also a half-breed, didn't hesitate to turn on his heel, Apparating to St. Mungo's to retrieve a Healer. Syrena turned towards the pub patrons, pushing them out of the way and clearing a table with one swipe of her hand. She gestured for the stranger to put the girl down, catching his burgundy gaze.

The electricity in the air was palpable, and Syrena couldn't believe how close she felt to him, even though she didn't know his name. Once he set the girl upon the table, Syrena grasped the girl's hand, pushing her hair from her face. "Shh, sweet child, help is on the way."[/color]

Syrena's Outfit[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[cedric simon fallon]

Trembling inside and out, Cedric placed the Layla on the table. He paused, an imaginary hand crushing around him as he heard Layla's name echoing in his mind. This wasn't her. But she might as well have been. He paused, hand reaching up to brush her hair away from her seat-beaded face, only to find another hand there- soft, and calming.

Cedric looked up, throat closing as he met the auburn eyes of the woman. He could smell the vampire on her...but there was a different scent. Nauseating wasn't the word, although it was something that made him feel as if his head had floated far above the smoke and grime of the pub. His attention fell back to the young girl, beneath their hands.

Shh, sweet child, help is on the way

Cedric found the words soothing, for himself. He clasped the young girl's hand, other trying to keep the blood from her eyes, applying pressure with his jacket to the wounds only visible on her face. He didn't want to think about where the blood staining the rough wood table was dripping from.

It was as if an eternity dragged by, the world teetering beneath his feet. The pub was silent, everyone watching with baited breath for the Healer's to arrive, peering over the pair's shoulder to look; although they were careful to keep their distance, the two of them huddled closely over the young student.

Bright lights blared and Healers swooped in, pushing Cedric back as they scooped the girl up, vanishing once again the next second. He paused, hand on his chest, unsure how long he could stay on his feet. He collapsed into the booth, head in his hands, eyes following the blood stains left behind on the table.

"Thanks," he said, unsure he could look up at the breath-taking woman; especially with the boiling tears staining his cheeks. He heaved a heavy sigh, shoving both hands through the mess of hair on his head. Finally he braved a look up at the woman. "I've never known anyone to do that for someone before," he whispered hoarsely, voice lost in the quiet murmurings of the pub. The spectacle was over, and quidditch matches and floozy broads were now of more importance; they'd forget about this in a week's time.

"Let me buy you a drink or something," he gestured to the seat in front of him.

[syrena blaire davenport]

Syrena continued to nurture the child, but the man across from her was distracting her far too much. Every so often, she found herself looking up at him, trying to catch his gaze. It was too much to bear, but it was a pleasant feeling. Her head felt light and fuzzy, similar to the feeling that a little bit of alcohol would have given her human brain. It was distracting and Syrena was trying to focus solely on the girl in front of her. Lightly brushing the girl's hair from her face, she continued to coo soft, reassuring things to the girl.

Time seemed to stop, or at least crawled forward. People behind them were buzzing, hovering, and they were making Syrena nervous. Her senses were raging, and all the blood in the room was causing her throat to pulsate. She had gotten incredibly good at maintaining her composure and keeping her thirst in check, but there was so much blood. Swallowing, she glanced back up at the stranger, feeling a strong pull towards him. It was too much to handle and she was becoming a bit woozy.

Finally, the Healers arrived, pushing her and the strange man out of the way. A slightly feral snarl threatened to rip past her lips, but she swallowed it down. That was the proper way to get her kicked out of the pub, regardless of the fact that she had possibly saved this girl's life. She backed away, pulling out her wand quickly and washing the blood from her hands. There was nothing to be done at that point. She slumped into the booth across from the stranger, once more drawn to him.

"Thanks. I've never known anyone to do that to someone before.. Let me buy you a drink or someone."

Syrena smiled softly. "It's no problem... I'd love a drink,"

[/color] she said softly. For the first time, she got a good look at the man before her. He was handsome, strong, and just generally perfect. The pull that she felt towards him was making her sick. What on Earth was going on? Could this be her mate, the one that the Fates decided she should be with? It was strange, but Syrena wasn't going to say anything, not yet. Maybe it was just the adrenaline that she felt from the situation that was causing all of this...

Syrena waved over the bartender, looking up. "The best damn vodka you've got,"[/color] she muttered. The man, having returned from St. Mungo's after getting the Healers, nodded. He wasn't among her ranks, but he respected her as much as she respected him. Half-breeds had her utmost respect. The man nodded and looked towards the stranger before her. Syrena's gaze leveled on him, unable to look away.[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[cedric simon fallon]

The best damn vodka you've got

Cedric let out a laugh at that, looking at the woman, who was already watching his face. Her glittering eyes gleamed in the dark room, red penetrating the darkness as they watched each other. She had...such smooth skin. A cord in his core rung out as he wanted to caress her cheek. It wasn't as if he had never seen a beautiful woman before...often he found himself doing much more with them- but this one; this one had a sloping chin, framed by her hair in a way that not only robbed him of his breath, but robbed him of his thoughts.

"I'll have to stop by St. Mungo's before I leave town..." he wasn't sure who that comment was for, be it him or her. He just knew that suddenly, staying in town, thinking of Layla, and thinking of this girl, this nameless, defenseless girl, it almost physically pained him to look about a place where he had wasted his school years. Here he had supposedly gone to study, but always found himself dancing on tables with mates. He swallowed, eyes hovering downward slightly, the blood unsettling.

It could be the glorious scent that made his mouth water as if it were vanilla. Or it could be the sight of the red through hazy smoke that made his stomach churn in hunger and horror. He closed his eyes momentarily, before bringing his gaze back up to the angel before him. Angel. That was the word. He barely noticed as the waiter dropped off two shot glasses and a whole bottle of vodka and vanished into the haze.

She had the kind of face that you'd be able to find in everyone else's. He silently cursed, anger roiling in his mind, hotly pushing him to leave before sun up. He could have been free of that kind of haunting. A permanent reminder that there was perfection in the world: kindness, beauty and grace. And he'd never see it again.

"So, I take it you're from around these parts...?"

[/color] He poured the two glasses of vodka before throwing it down. It did nothing to calm the trembling he still felt every time he looked at her. He wasn't sure he wanted to know her name. If he knew her name, he was sure he'd never forget her. He couldn't afford to keep hanging around here in this haunted place.
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[syrena blaire davenport]

"I'll have to stop by St. Mungo's before I leave town..."

Syrena perked up at this. Leave town? Why would he leave town, leave her? Panic set in and it took her a moment to collect herself. This man was not her husband, and the pull that she was feeling was probably imaginary. Why did it matter than she might not ever see this man again... of course, that thought did bother her, and it did so immensely. Once more, Syrena pushed all thoughts from her mind. She didn't want to think anymore.

The bartender delivered two dainty glasses and a tall bottle of vodka. She refrained from reaching out immediately and grasping it, her hand practically shaking. It angered her to see her kind mistreated in such a fashion. In fact, it made her thirst for revenge. Anytime something like this happened, her feral side came out, desperately pulling at her to be more beast than woman. Still, she had learned how to control herself and had been doing a good job for years. The man who had Turned her and her brother had been very cruel and very strict, but he'd gotten their thirst under control in a good amount of time.

"So, I take it your from around these parts..."

Syrena looked up at him, watching his face. He poured a drink for both of them and downed his effortlessly. Syrena didn't hesitate to snatch up her shot glass and do the same, throwing her head back and relishing in the heat of the beverage trickling down her throat. Of course, it didn't help the wooziness that had taken hold of her brain ever since this stranger had shown up.

Syrena managed a nod, looking up at the stranger before reaching for the vodka bottle, pouring herself another shot. "I've been here for about a decade and haven't had the heart to leave,"

[/color] she replied. She'd stayed to feel close to Charlie, that was the truth of the matter. But this stranger didn't need to hear her tale, although she desperately felt that she needed to tell him. It was remarkable, the closeness that she felt to him. Syrena had read up on true mates and knew what the feeling was in words, but she couldn't say for herself whether what she was feeling was accurate.

Syrena downed her second shot and poured another, choosing to leave the cap off of the tall bottle of rich vodka. They were going to need it, Syrena was intent on finishing the bottle with this stranger. "My name is Syrena, by the way, Syrena Davenport,"[/color] she replied, holding out a hand across the table.[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[cedric simon fallon]

"I've been here for about a decade and haven't had the heart to leave"

Cedric's gaze snapped up from the filth smudge permanently engraved int he grainy glass to her face. A decade of memories. He swallowed. Sure, somewhere in the recesses of his mind he might have imagined whisking her away on the roads with him. But there was clearly something...someone that kept her here. Kept her heart here.

Cedric wasn't sure how he could ever stay in one place. Not with phantoms creeping into his mind every time he stood still enough to let them drag him into an icy reality. Once in a while he found a woman tantalizing enough that he was sure if he had asked them to follow him to the ends of the earth, they wouldn't have even needed to pack a bag. He would get bored though, in a weeks time. They would never understand night terrors, bloodthirsty hungers, gambling addictions. He didn't want to put someone through that, and he didn't want anyone to ever see him like that.

He recognized now, that maybe he would have craved this woman's company. The way she had touched that girl's face; with a gentle caring and compassion...riddled with understanding. He craved that. He wanted to feel her touch. He swallowed once again

"That's a shame..."

[/color] he swished the vodka in his glass, watching as the dirt particles from the rim caught in the liquid. "I've never been too found of staying somewhere. So much of the world to see. Once you've seen it once, it seems to lose it's glimmer," he downed the dirt ridden liquid, quickly pouring himself another glass.

"My name is Syrena, by the way, Syrena Davenport."

Cedric winced as he heard glass shatter, before looking down to discover it was the glass in his hand, filthy shards penetrating the skin and the vodka oozing into the cuts. He hissed in pain, shaking his hand as glass bits rained down. "Davenport?" He asked in shock. Bloody Hell, here he was fantasizing about the wif of the only chap who had ever shown him kindness. He looked down at her finger, but found it delightfully bare. "Any relation to Logan, by any chance?" he asked calmly, masking his hopefulness as he mopped his own blood and vodka from the table, although it was useless. IT was already permanently soaked in blood and booze. This time he'd be just another stain, stuck in the history of this goddamned place.

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[syrena blaire davenport]

Just thinking about Charlie made Syrena want to cry. Even after a decade, she was incapable of moving on from that terrible night. It had been sickening, she'd been out on the town with some friends of hers when she had gotten a really bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd excused herself from the bar and gone home in time to be jumped by a group of men. They'd come in swarms, knowing that they would be dealing with two young and strong vampires. Almost a dozen set of hands held her down while another dozen went after Charlie.

They'd held him down, even though he'd fought with all of his might, and set to ripping him apart, limb-by-limb. They'd tortured them and taken advantage of her while they murdered her brother right before her very eyes. They'd gone to do the same to her but she managed to fight her way out, powered by the sheer rage she felt. Remembering any and all of that memory caused her head to swim.

"That's a shame... I've never been too fond of staying somewhere. So much of the world to see. Once you've seen it once, it seems to lose its glimmer."

Syrena turned her attention back to the man before, who'd not given his name quite yet. She nodded slightly. "I suppose that's true. Still... ghosts have a funny way of holding a person in one place,"

[/color] she replied. Before she could say anything else, however, the glass in his hand shattered. She jumped back, eyes wide in surprise. Blood and vodka mixed, dripping onto the table and staining it.

"Davenport? Any relation to Logan, by any chance?"

Syrena's heart fell. She bit her lip, formulating a response. Finally, she nodded. "He is... was my husband... but he found his true mate, another werewolf... so he's with someone else now...[/color] she replied.[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]