The Home

As the room settled into silence, the vampiress smiled at Maxwell before turning towards Rocio. Things had finally gotten interesting and she wouldn't let this chance pass her by.

''Maybe I've said it before," she started, "but being here isn't what I want. I'm only here because I need to be. Nothing more, nothing less. I'd simply rather not kill any more vampires, especially not someone from my own clan."

Rogue lifted her hands to her hair, intending to tie it into a ponytail, but letting it fall free instead. Was she the only one who had killed someone? she wondered. If that were true, it made her the most dangerous, and that excited her. It put her at the top of the pecking order, didn't it, and wouldn't that mean no one would dare bother her? She had to be sure.

''Am I the only murderess among us?" Her slanted eyes, blue like sapphires, held a strange spark as she scrutinized the others.

Thinking it over, Rollin shrugged. "Well, I've killed fellow wolves, hunters... I might have made a meal of someone too, along the way." He rubbed his jaw, trying to remember if that was true. It seemed possible. He wouldn't put it past his wolf. As a rogue, you often had to do whatever it took to survive.

Maxwell's eyes widened in exaggeration. He bit his lip, holding back laughter, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Narrowing his eyes and raising his brows at the vampire and the wolf, he started, "Geez, this is why I have trust issues. These days, you never know who could be a killer."

Shaking his head, he glanced towards Rocio. "How can this help us? How can people like us try and lead normal lives when it's impossible? Look at us, we're nowhere near normal." He stood up, rising out of his seat so the room's attention was drawn to him and his next words sat firmly. "We're one step closer to being locked up in the loony bin. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't possibly relate to a divine God!"

Accusingly, Maxwell's finger pointed to Blyme, who'd been silent since his introduction. He shook his head, chuckling silently to himself in an attempt to quell his anger as well as the violent voices shouting in his head, trying to enrage him even further. "If you wish to relate to me, you need only pray for guidance," he replied, standing up to face Maxwell and flexing his experienced fingers. "Although I doubt a puny being such as yourself could ever relate to the power of a god like myself."

Blyme turned to Abby. "I am insulted that I must spend time in the company of petty murderers and fools such as these."

Maxwell turned his body to Blyme, locking eyes with him. He felt his hands clench into fists at his sides and straightened himself, trying to appear as tall as he could. The voices in his head egged him on. He could feel the flow of his magic through his body and he felt the sparks of white electricity spill through his hands.

"Well, first thing's first," he held up a finger, the electric sparks softly radiating off of it, "I hardly pray, especially to narcissistic Gods like you. Secondly, what is a God doing here? You seem full enough of yourself to manage. What? Not enough people worshiping you anymore?"

"You dare mock me?" Blyme growled. "My followers are plentiful in number! Mortals tremble when they speak my name, and their prayers will add to my power! Do not think you can incur my wrath and survive." He took a step towards Maxwell, raising one arm threateningly and causing sparks flying from his fingers again. "I will not hesitate to smite you down."

Maxwell chuckled, taking another step forward to Blyme, bridging the small gap of personal space they had left. "Why don't you try, Blyme? I'd hate to burst your bubble when I just come rising back from the grave though," he smiled devilishly, "Immortal, remember?"

The werewolf looked between the two 'powerful beings' and shook his head. What was the point in this? He wanted to go and search for the maker of the sandwich he smelled a couple of minutes ago instead. He was hungry and being hungry was never good for the wolf. His mouth watered. The sandwich he smelled included pickles. From what he remembered of his old life, pickles were, in his opinion, the best part of a sandwich. His mind went blank as he inhaled the lingering scent of chicken and his tongue met the sharp ends of his canines.

When his vision sharpened, he knew he was no longer in his own mind. Yellow eyes shifted his view from the arguing immortals to the human who called herself a doctor. A small bang from behind the doors to the room interrupted his wolf's growing hunger for raw meat. He stood up in a rush, the plastic chair tumbling back.

"Okay, this is fun...but I'm hungry."

"Mr. Rollin, you will sit down!" Abby stood quickly, arms raised in front of her, fingers spread. "Please, everyone, stop this! There will be no incurring of wraths or smitations here! In fact, no threats at all, Mr. Blyme! And no goading of other residents, Mr. Maxwell! And no one will be trying anything! In fact, if everyone can just remain silent for a moment, that would be wonderful. Yes, of course, that's just what we need, a moment of quiet reflection. Eyes closed, everyone! Deep cleansing breaths! In...and out....in...and out..."

In a harsh whisper to Rocio, Abby continued, "What in God's green pasture is that banging sound?" She turned to the group, flustered and red faced, and yelled, "WHICH ONE OF YOU IS MAKING THAT GOD-AWFUL BANGING SOUND?"