literature

Of All the Things... -HINABN

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Literature Text

Here's the kicker.

For brief moments, Doc Worth could be dashing. Conrad didn't like to dwell on it, or so much as consider it for that matter, but facts were facts. Though he couldn't begin to explain it, he thought he'd seen it.

Inexplicable as it was, evidence had proven that there was some vestige of humanity apparently left in the doctor's rotten, smoke-blackened heart, buried very very deeply under the layers of sarcasm and callous antipathy. It didn't so much struggle to get free as it did struggle to remain hidden and safe and perhaps napping, sliding into whatever cracks were closest... a bit apathetic itself. It hid quite well, allowing more aggressive portions of the doctor's psyche free reign.

But Conrad knew it was there. He'd seen it.

It was never a good sign when a man's conscience thought watching somebody fall down the stairs was funny. In fact, Conrad had told the doctor so as he popped his shoulder back into place--being in a state of undead limbo did help with that sort of thing, he had to admit--amid much cursing and so forth.

"Ain't my fault if y' can't handle a li'l love tap."

"Love tap! You don't have a loving bone in your cancer-ridden body!"

Worth grinned and tilted his head to one side, looking down from the top of the stairs on his sometimes-patient like a king looking down on a serf--or maybe a highwayman looking at his next meal-ticket.

"No?" the doctor asked, sucking on his ever-present cigarette. "'Spose not. Ain't got a lotta use fer love, y' might say."

A little bell went off in the back of Conrad's head, almost drowned out by the PAIN! signals his shoulder wouldn't stop sending.

"Well that's convenient," he spat back, "since you're not getting any love from my direction."

The doctor raised a brow and went strolling down the steps, easy as you please, mocking Conrad's tumble of a few moments before. "Now why would y' say that?"

Ah, just the opening he'd been hoping for. "Shall I count the ways? One, you're a dirty git. Two, you're literally a dirty git. Three, I've met steel wool less abrasive than you. Four, you're crazy as fuck. Shall I go on?"

"All true," Worth shrugged, "but nah, think I got the concept. Now, my turn."

Worth bent over his reluctant companion, pulled the cigarette from his lips and shook ash onto his face. Conrad nearly planted a fist in the older man's gut, and he would have too if it weren't for the rather distracting pain of that recently dislocated shoulder. He decided to give it a minute.

"You," Doc Worth informed him, taking the time to pronounce the full word, "'r a pansy-ass, purse-wavin' faggot with a dick the size of my li'l finger. An' if y' wanna go 'round insultin' me, I suggest y' find somethin' I'd actually take offense at, y'know?"

Although he was loath to admit it, that was actually pretty good advice-the problem was, Worth happened to be in possession of the most fucked up brain to ever grace humanity, and comprehending it was a task that would daunt even the most experienced puzzle masters, let alone Conrad. He'd always been a fairly rational sort of person, for an artist.

"Now…" the doctor said, extending a gracious hand. Great timing, asshole.

Conrad ignored the hand and pushed himself to his feet, dusting off the front of his rather expensive shirt. Worth gave him a fleeting blank look.

"…Bitch."

Conrad spent about a minute fantasizing about what he'd do to the bastard if he had a pen with him--it involved the creative use of ink and blood, for one thing. It made him feel better, but it didn't get rid of the problem.

"If I'm so utterly repulsive to you, then why," he demanded, "oh my god, why do you insist on following me around? This isn't even your side of town!"

Worth grinned and slung an arm around his unwilling companion's shoulder. "'Cause yer funny, now stop twitchin'-y' look like a goddamn retard."

As the vampire struggled both with the bony hand gripping his arm and the many neuroses vying for his attention, they managed to wander into a part of town that Conrad was more than vaguely familiar with. In fact, he'd been to a couple clubs around here maybe two years ago, back when it was still cool to be depressing and one of his friends had been into the scene. The ventures had not been enjoyable.

"Oh, fuck." The younger man struggled twice as hard to get free now, desperate not to get caught with someone as sketchy as Doc Worth in a place where people might possibly know him. The doctor, of course, just held on tighter and pressed his side up against Conrad's, like he wasn't covered in who-the-hell-knew-what or completely uninvited here.

It was in the midst of this great battle of the wills that things managed to get a lot worse in next to no time. Shockingly fast, an unidentified force jerked Conrad out of Worth's grip and into the shady embrace of an unidentified back alley. He spared a moment to wonder why he hadn't been able to pull himself way so easily-surely he wasn't that scrawny?

The shadowy figure standing in front of him seemed to have more immediate concerns.

"Gimme your wallet," his assailant ordered, still a vague figure standing a couple feet away. Contrary to Hanna's belief, vampirism had not helped his sight in the least.

Conrad crossed his arms. This guy sounded like a twenty-year-old punk with a shot of whisky rerouting his neurons, and Conrad didn't think he'd actually do anything. He'd fallen for this prank before--fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, get the fuck out.

"Bugger off. I've got bigger fish to fry than some pissant chav."

The flash of switch-blade sized steel had him instantly regretting that insult.

"Oookay," he said, suddenly wondering where Worth had disappeared off to. Probably went off to the nearest bar just when his company might have been helpful, the useless bastard. He took a step backwards. "So, uh, we got off on the wrong foot? I… don't have my wallet, actually, so maybe you, uh, can find somebody else."

The thief took a step closer. Conrad swore under his breath--tonight was so not a good night. He needed something, something to defend himself with, because he point-blank refused to get ripped off in an alley like some drunken teenager, shit no. Only, there was really nothing on hand that could match a knife and he had absolutely zero hand-to-hand training. Son of a bitch.

Maybe he really was screwed.

That was when Worth came stalking up past him, shoulders stiff and narrow eyes dripping murder. Conrad had about half a second to register that the doctor was standing almost protectively in front of him, suddenly so much more imposing than Conrad had ever seen him, before he'd sunk a scalpel into the punk's neck. The scent of blood was everywhere in seconds, crazy good smelling and disturbingly tempting. The doctor pulled back and slammed an arm into his victim's stomach, toppling him so that now he was curled wide-eyed-gasping on the asphalt, leaking blood into the darkness. Light from the street hit his face just so, revealing startlingly ordinary features.

There was a moment of silence while Conrad tried to process what just happened; part of him couldn't help but groan at the waste of blood, part of him couldn't quite get past the part where Worth saved him. Rewind, somebody, re-the-fuck-wind.

The older man, wiping the edge of the murder weapon on his jacket, turned and squinted at Conrad. His expression was beyond reading, so Conrad focused loosely on the smoke winding out of his cigarette instead. Still inscrutable, Worth took a step towards him-then another, until he was about an inch away and examining the vampire with the sort of contemplation you'd expect from a normal doctor.

"'Ey," he murmured, grabbing the younger man's chin, "'Ey, y' okay?"

"You… killed him…" Conrad managed, still in a state of shock.

Worth seemed to look through him for a second, dark-rimmed eyes focusing on something only he could see. "Some thin's you jess don't mess with."

If he hadn't been contemplating the first murder he'd ever witnessed-barring his own-Conrad would have asked what those things happened to be, if only because that gaze was just a touch too dark and the thin fingers around his face were just a touch too tight. But as it was, there were more important things to be considered, mainly how the heck he was going to deal with the reality once it set in.

"You killed him," Conrad repeated, and then gathering himself up, "what happened to the Hippocratic oath, you quack?"

And just like that, the dark look was gone. "Ah ah ah, I di'n take 'nything of th' sort. B'sides, I only did what you shoulda done 'nyway. Some vamp you are."

The younger man ripped the fingers from his chin. "So you took the hypocritic oath, did you? Fucking psychopath."

"Shame y' couldn't jess bite th' guy," Worth simpered, all fake pity. "But o' course, y' don't have enough teeth for that, do y' princess?"

Conrad finally snapped and planted a fist in Doc Worth's jaw.

"He ain't dead yet," the doctor pointed out, ignoring whatever pain had to he shooting through his mouth. "Y' can still call an ambulance, if yer gonna throw a fit like tha'."

so... He did. Even though Worth made fun of him through the whole call.

They went out of the alley and left one bleeding body behind them-Conrad liked to think that he hadn't actually died, just lost some blood-bitching at each other. As far as the vampire was concerned, it was just another eventful night that he would have been better off spending in his apartment, getting some work done for once in his afterlife. It meant nothing. The kid probably didn't even die-yeah, keep telling yourself that-and nothing got stolen.

The only thing that really kept him up at night, surprisingly, was the memory of Worth holding his face, searching him for some unnamed thing, lit black and white and dim orange in the night light of the city.

And, you know, he wondered what that look had meant. Or why the only word that he could think of when he remembered Worth cutting in, scalpel shining and eyes blazing, was… as cliché as it sounds…

Dashing.
NeverLetYouSweepMeOffMyFeet
[link] - much better version.

For... characterization shit... Refer to minicomic.

Help me Doctor Dick!

Conrad/Worth (c) Tessa Stone.
© 2010 - 2024 DesdemonaKakalose
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athenakt's avatar
*reads*

Have I ever mentioned to you that I want to take bits of your brain, carefully remove them, and insert them into my own head?

Not the whole shebang- not even the whole bit that enables you to come up with turns of phrasing like this and the version on ff.net. Just enough that would graft onto my brain and start regenerating it from years of Technical Writing, and back into Creative Writing.

Hey, bruthah, can you spare a graft? ;)