can i ever change?

By now their faces had started to blur together. Enough towns, enough experiments, the majority of which had failed, and they were just … things. Mal supposed it was a blunt way of putting it but you didn’t remember every steak that came across your plate, did ya? This wasn’t all that different. Each town gave them another string of people to work on, squealing little captives who wouldn’t stop the whining and crying until he asked them to really nicely. Most towns had been left in the rear view mirror with a pile of bodies, most who’d been listed as missing for a couple of days in one way or another. No explanation, no evidence left to give the authorities a breadcrumb trail to follow them.

He should’ve realised Mystic Falls was different before he had but it wasn’t until those successes had started to stack up that he’d begun to look at them in a different way. A smile on his face as he watched them through the bars of their cells, a saccharine tone to his voice as he wiped their memories of their little home away from home. That sense of success putting a spring in his step as he strolled through town. It was hard to keep the smile off of his face as he spotted one or another. Mal had been able to play it off as nothing but friendliness when one or another had spotted him. A flutter of dark lashes, a warm hello from one of the town’s docs. All very friendly like.

All absent as he’d watched her scramble out of the building on campus.

Mal had stood in the doorway of the med school building on site, hands in his pockets as he listened to the professor’s voice continue droning through the cracked door behind him. This week’s little joy, teaching all the good boys and girls how to find a vein on their first go. It had been butchery in there. Lucky for all of them they didn’t practice on each other anymore. It woulda been bandages up to the eyeballs and black and blue arms come morning if it had been. Medicine was a little barbaric these days, a little less fun if you asked him.

Maybe it was what had continued to make the other side so appealing. That perfect confluence that brought him here, her here with those thin threads of electricity dancing over her tawny skin, and that sudden bone deep sense of satisfaction. Either way Mal was grinning, drawing away from the building.

Tugging a hand out of his pocket to smooth it over the beard he’d been sprouting of late, he followed her into the woods. Little Red Riding Hood trying to outrun herself into of the wolf. He saw her barrel through the front door, heard those heels clattering as she skittered inside. Mal clucked his tongue as he approached. ”Not gonna do you much good love,” he crooned lightly. A laugh bubbled out in its wake. She was going everything to try and make sure it would though. Hiding away while she went full on Emperor Palpatine – he might’ve been old by most standards, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t spend a decent portion of that time staring up at the big screen, thank you very much.

Moving in behind her, booted fight light on the old boards, he heard her call out. God, what’d her name been? Something like the ones the girls down on the dock had picked … they’d thought that sort of thing more exotic and appealing than plain old Anne or Nancy. Mal narrowed hazel eyes as he pressed a palm flat against the door and eased it open. She was on her knees in the middle of it, all sparked up. Those dark eyes came up, a hand flung out with it. Stop? Not … fuck me.

The bolt hit the wall just to the right of the door, coming within inches of lighting him up like a fucking Christmas tree. Jesus wept. Mal darted in, pressing himself against the wall behind the door on the other side. One hand came up, fingers spread as he stared at her. ”What in the holy hell was that love? You manage to trip a live wire in here or were yer just glad to see me?” Oh it was more than that. They rarely dug deep enough to see what they were all capable of before they let them toddle off into wild so to speak. He peeked around his outstretched hand at her, narrowing his eyes. Ronni … Roxxi … that was it … Roxanne, he’d seen it on her college ID when he’d had a poke through her stuff. ”You wanna put that down? Save fryin’ my arse?” There was a slim chance it wouldn’t have much effect but he’d seen vampires go up like kindling before and that weren’t exactly what he had in mind for the way he was eventually going out.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 839

That voice snapped out as tight and bright as the bolts of electricity that had been racing over her skin as she’d scuttled out here. No, stop! He hadn’t bloody listened as he. That shriek of warning that would’ve stopped any other stupid sap in an instant. Any of other stupid sap that was human fragile and would’ve been on the floor, leaping around like a fish out of water as their heart stuttered in their chest before it stopped entirely. A human defibrillator, created, alright partly, by his own fair hands.

Mal had seen that electricity strike her the first time, not even out of the chair when it had started. It’d continued in the cells as he’d watched – at a fair distance, he weren’t entirely an idiot after all – licks of that energy working over her skin without a single ounce of harm for her. Such a pretty light show that was terrifying the shit out of her.

As the bolt had come too close for supposed comfort, he’d pressed himself back against the wall. Letting his breath out ragged like he still had a heartbeat that could race in his throat like a jackrabbit’s. Mal held one hand up like that would do anything but act like a lightning rod for the rest of him if he weren’t too careful here. ”Maybe you shoulda put a sign on the door,” he warned, his hand still shielding his face for a moment. ”Saw ya comin’ in, lookin’ a little freaked out.” And followed. Trailing her as she’d rushed across the campus, looking like a bat out of hell crossed with a taser. Why indeed love.

Mal peered around his hand to stare at her. The name had floated up out of the deep reaches of his memory. So much about these people discoverable when you started digging through their pockets, their bags, their lives. Italian. Once upon a time he’d helped take an Italian merchant’s ship that the French had been holding on tight too until they’d ripped the bottom out of their ship, leaving the Italians for the taking. Curses thrown at them, especially that little ditty. He’d laughed then and now he had to squelch the grin that flashed teeth. Son of a bitch. Precisely. Closer than she’d ever know.

He huffed out another breath, slowly lowering himself towards the floor, that hand still outstretched. On his knees and the single hand, Mal began to crawl closer, widening brown eyes on her as she bit out her question. ”Maybe love. Don’t think you screaming ‘arder at me’s gonna stop me though.” Wasn’t like he’d ever listened, specially not to one of them. A low ssh-ing noise slipped past his lips as he sat back on his haunches a yard for her, both forearms dropping onto his thighs, fingers splayed as he held them hovered out.

She was crying now. Those big dark eyes glimmering with tears, the fat drops rolling over equally dark lashes as she finally let her desperation spill out over full lips. Mal half dipped his chin, disguising the laughter that wanted to roll out with a hissed breath, a shudder working its way through his frame. She let out one then, that bolt of electricity shooting out from one of the hands she held against her chest, rocking her head back before it splashed against the ceiling. Letting himself fall back, Mal hit the worn boards hard, elbows clacking. ”B-b-breathe, just … just bloody b-breathe, love. It’s … it’s gonna be alright.” Like hell it was. She might end up with more control at some point but unless the mercury started pouring from her screaming an unexpected failure, this was it for life for dear sweet Roxxi.

Cautious, looking like he was watching for another lightning lash, Mal rolled up to a sitting position. He scooted in slowly again, one palm pressed to the floor like it would somehow ground him. He swallowed, then slicked a tongue nervously over his lips as he extended a hand to her. ”Told ya, saw ya comin’ in and you looked like you could do with some ‘elp. Obviously I was right. I wanna help, love, that’s all.” Wide eyed, Mal stopped inches from her, his hand extended slowly to curl over hers. If she did zap him it’d likely be one hell of a bloody tickle. ”Mal,” he breathed, dropping his eyes down to her hand warily and back up again. ”To ‘elp. That’s all. I’ve never seen anythin’ like this before. What happened?” Now, he could’ve told her that story word by word. The snatch, the compulsion that had kept her calm in their little lair, the air of celebration when that lightning had crackled over her skin. Werewolf eclipsed by the psychic and skinwalker. All those pesky little offshoots of power running through her now. Released but by no means left alone, not with him right here.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 824

Some part of him was preparing to wince away from this. She probably could’ve staked him out in a field like some sort of scarecrow, called down every bolt of lightning in the sky to hit him and he’d heal from it eventually – as long as it didn’t actually light him up that was – but it was human to feel that little tremor in the pit of your stomach at the thought of getting electrocuted. The stuff wasn’t even lighting up homes when he’d been turned. It was still candles, that dull flicker of flame that was more of an issue for him now than the flick of a switch, but when he’d seen those first crowds gathering around people like Faraday to witness electricity running through actual motors you’d have thought it was going to leap out and blow them all up. Mal narrowed his eyes faintly at the woman as he slid that last foot closer – was that what was running through her head too?

You and me love.

Here he went though, falling back on his ass as another bolt lashed out. Trying to talk her through it like she was a horse about to bolt, not some broad they’d picked up and turned into a human dynamo. Mal sprawled there on his elbows, his ragged breathing putting a hitch in his words before he started to exaggeratedly follow his own instructions. Hazel eyes remained on her, like he was waiting for another burst, until she started to get a grip on herself. Eyes squeezed tight shut, tears on her cheeks, her hands turned inward like that was gonna do a damn thing except shove the electricity back into herself.

It left him a little ballsy, crawling into her, hand taking hers cautiously, curling around it as she seemed to steady. She was still a little miffed about him walking in her after her. Suspicious? Mal pursed his lips faintly went to cut that thought off in his own head but she already had him chuckling, a little breathlessness shoved into the sound like he was still a little nervous that he might end up zapped. ”Followin’ a stranger or tryin’ t’play good Samaritan?” Oh she didn’t know the half of it. Mal shot a grin back at her, shaking his head before he tapped a finger lightly against her palm in emphasis. ”Not exactly fun. Call it outta the goodness of my heart, love. Nobody taught me much at all, ‘s all me.” One hazel eye winking at her as he let her lever herself up on him.

Mal shifted with her, eyes narrowing slightly at the sudden chill in her voice. Cautiously he wrapped the other hand around hers too, like he was somehow trying to rub some warmth back into her voice the same way he was her hands. His own were always a couple of degrees cooler than they should’ve been. Human food and booze lent him a little warmth for a while but he was the undead, it never lasted for long. ”Blackthorne,” he added, knowing it wouldn’t matter. Thanks to their tinkering he could compel any one of them, even after they were turned. She wouldn’t remember a minute of this if he didn’t want her to. A curve of Mal’s lips, a tilt of his head and he was brushing off his own past. ”Who said it was m’parents that called me it?” Mal. Bad. The rotten French tossed at a kid none of them had wanted in the first place.

This alone proved he’d made something of himself without them. Mal grunted back at her, like he was returning the lob of the comment. Yes love, we didn’t make you deaf as well as zappy. He let out a low whistle, peeling one of the hands off of hers to steady her at the waist as she eased herself up over him. ”You just blinked and suddenly … buzz? Seems like there’s a lot of that goin’ around if you read the papers. This town’s a mecca for the weird.” One of the reasons why the Doc had brought ‘em here in the first place.

Out of the goodness of her heart this one had run. Mal dropped his gaze below the hollow of her throat, watching that lanyard swing back and forth. Roxxi. He shoulda remembered that, they’d had her in the cells for long enough while they’d tinkered with her. That’d left him to poke through all her personal belongings. ”It was the same weren’t it. Roxxi … Mal. Still a name and trust me love, it ain’t ‘alf as weird as some I’ve heard.” All those little joys of Farquaad or Jabeth or even Increase like that preachy Mather bloke drifting away over the years.

A low sound worked its way through him, his hands shifting to her hips now as she bracketed his thighs. Just balancing her, not anything else, not when she was still skittish as a shy horse and probably twice as deadly. ”Guess you dunno til we try, Roxxi. Couple of weeks is nothin’ in the grand scheme of things, ‘specially when you’ve got a doctor right ‘ere to try and help. It’s what I was …” Before he went to explain about the medical school she was jolting him like a defibrillator. Electricity charging from her hands, straight into his chest, leaving him convulsing for a moment under her. He flopped back, mouth hanging open in silent astonishment. For a few long moments the heart that barely beat in his chest writhed around like a bag of worms, not beating, just shuddering while he stared up at her.

He’d been right, that was one hell of a rush.

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 957

Six years old, with something to prove, he’d blackened more than one eye for the jibes about his name. Other kids sneering like their mothers weren’t working them same brothels. Only difference was that their mums had kept them. Whelped little brats that robbed them of the bodies that had once gotten them first pick of the sailors through the door. If that had bothered his own to the point where she blamed him, resented him, for it, she’d never spoken up. None of them had. The name had just been there on the lips of the madams as he drifted from one of those stinking houses to the next. His only constant until he’d been dragged into the navy and everything else had been whipped into him.

Mal shrugged, his fingers still working over hers. Maybe he should’ve cast that off the way he had the Navy after he got turned. Coulda reinvited himself entirely – Bruce, Bernard, bloody Billy maybe – but it’d stuck, just warping a little with the addition of ‘Doctor’ to the front of it. ”Who said I gave it myself either?” he asked, amusement pulling his lips into a smirk. ”That’s what they told me. In the orphanage.” Hazel eyes rolled despite it being the truth. ”’s a good enough name, short for somethin’ if I gotta defend it hard enough against the judgy.” There was no bite to his own words, just that same teasing note. Usually he defended against it with fangs or compulsion, payback a bitch when you couldn’t even protect your mind against it.

This one couldn’t have fought it if she tried, hadn’t when he’d stripped the memories of what had happened from her that first time. She’d have undoubtedly clawed his eyes out if it hadn’t worked on her, clawed at him before she fried him and fuck him, too many zaps like the one she blasted him with this time might just have gotten Little Miss Lightning Bolt free.

He’d been anticipating it at some point in this conversation but one minute he’d been going on about the disappearances he’d orchestrated in this town, although he weren’t about to trip out that story for her, the next he was tossed on his back by that bolt of electricity. Back bowed, heels digging into the worn wooden boards. Every nerve in him lit up like a bloody Christmas tree with her sighing out that swear word like a pre-cursor for the string of what he presumed was Italian ripping out of her a minute later. Single words penetrated like cannon balls, tearing through that cloud of oh fuck until they’d shredded that curtain.

Mal groaned out a laugh that broke off into a pained cough. His eyes squeezed shut, the rest of him not quite following his commands yet. When he opened them she was there in his lap, a lot of leg on show, hands on his chest, eyes right there, peering into his. ”I told you … I’d be … fine if I d-did,” he muttered. Grunting, Mal lifted his head a couple of inches. He tried to roll up to a sitting position but got no further than settling his hands on her thighs. Sighing, he let his head thump back down and patted that lean line of muscle like he was accepting the apology.

She’d told him but even if she hadn’t he hadn’t exactly ever been the sort to do anything anyone told him. What was it they called it now? A problem with authority? He’d definitely had that, the Doc the first one he’d ever followed willingly. ”You told me and … I was … enough. You wanna look a gift ‘orse in the … mouth Roxxi?” He winged a brow at her, letting out a low hum. ”What am I?” Like he was questioning that observation. Any revelation was just gonna lead to another and another and another and then she’d be scurrying off of him like her knickers were on fire.

The hands that patted her thighs slid higher, his head ticking side to side against the floor as he shook off the zap and her apology. ”Don’t you worry love, I’m gonna be just fine. Might need to get everythin’ checked out though. If you’re up for playin’ doctors and nurses.” The hitch was gone from his voice, the grin returning. Mal winked at her, technically it wasn’t far from the truth. Just a Doc checking on one of his patients here as his fingers reached where the hem of that skirt lay and started helping straighten it and her out.

Fade to black…

Tagged: ROXANNE BRASCHI * Word Count: 773