There was sunshine, and it was unwelcome.
It was pouring through a busted, frameless, once-a-window next to where she had been sleeping on a pile of rags. She was no longer sleeping. She was still wearing the bloody sheet, now crusted and brown instead of crimson, and her chest still hurt, though less.
The pile of rags was located inside a clearly derelict loft. It was half-lit by a half-collapsed roof. The less illuminated portion showed signs of being used as a ramshackle living-space, with a few pieces of furniture.
Beside her rag pile, there was a folded white smock, and a pile of apples.
-
The nameless woman groaned and dug the thick crust out of the corners of her bloodshot, bleary eyes.
Spitefully, she turned her face from the sun and took notice of the provisions beside her.
She rolled to her side and attempted to reach for one of the apples, only for a loud, crackling pop to come from her shoulder.
She yelped instantly and couldn't help but jump at the sudden shock, grasping at her arm with her free hand as numbness radiated down into her fingers.
"Fuuuuck," she nearly sobbed, tears forming over the remaining yellow mortar that yet stuck in her tear ducts.
The more she noticed her body the more she became aware of her overwhelming discomfort. Every inch of her was stiff, bones locked together by whiplashed muscles.
"Hello?" she mewled.
There was no response. Maybe the dude who brought her here was out.
She allowed her head to fall back and hit the floor, lamenting in her solitude.
After a few more moments of silence, watching the dust drift though the sunlight, she grabbed her failing limb with the less broken one, shimmied herself onto an incline, and wrenched her arm upwards with a sickening pop.
She yipped and a single tear rolled down her cheek, but slowed her breathing until she saw a few less stars.
"Alright," she reassured herself. "It's ok. It's fine."
Pulling the sheet off of her chest she folded it in half and tied the two tips together, cautiously slipped her recently re-set arm into it, and slung it over her head.
She shuffled over a few more inches and grabbed an apple, taking a a bite as she scanned the seemingly abandoned space.
-
It was surprisingly clean for a caved in attic. The only exit seemed to be a hole in the right side of the room--it looked like it led down to a mound of debris that might be scrambled down to the floor below.
There was a table made of a door set on small kegs. It was covered in what appeared to be a half-done sewing project--something tan and pants-shaped.
The caved in rafters made for a convenient series of hangers for more finished works: a vest, trousers, a coat. They were well made, but oddly proportioned. Too long and narrow, like they'd been made for a towering stick figure of a person. The detailing was hodge-podge--mismatched buttons, and changes in cloth made a strange juxtaposition with expert tailoring.
There was a trunk that looked like it served as both storage and seating. A stack of papers and quill, seemingly discarded in the middle of the floor.
The largest and most intact piece of furniture was wedged into the darkest part of the shadowed section--a wardrobe on its side.
In response to her yelp of pain, there was a sound from within the wardrobe. A faint shuffling that quickly subsided.
-
The shuffling drew the woman's weary attention, and she sat transfixed, too nervous even to chew for some time.
When nothing came bursting free from it, she slowly, stiffly stood up. She crept over the creaking floor, trying to subdue her limp as she did so, and placed the apple on the table on her path across the room.
She stood in front of the wardrobe and gently rested her hand on it, as if waiting for a raccoon to leap from its interior.
Tense seconds passed and turned into minutes. No raccoons manifested. Apparently whatever was inside those cherry-wood doors had settled back down.
She slowly backed away from the wardrobe and bumped into other table, almost knocking it from its legs were it not for her quickly catching it.
She exhaled slowly and shifted the door back into place and re-settled the spool of thread which had been knocked onto its side.
She turned her attention to the mess of papers and curiously plucked one from the floor.
'A Traveler's Guide to Arcadia.' The slightly crumpled page seemed to be an introduction to the city for the benefit of a casual tourist. It used phrases like 'magical experience' and 'breathtaking vistas.' There were some editorial notes scribbled in the margins: <i>Should use more flowery language to match other material. Alternatively, could attempt to strangle myself.</i>
The other pieces of paper were other rejected excerpts of what was clearly a larger work. They were, for the most part, the pages that the writer apparently discarded for being too sardonic.
She huffed in mild amusement and let the page drift back to the ground.
She casually glanced around a room a few more times and recollected her apple, taking another crisp bite as she leaned against the keg and stared at the ominous wardrobe that sat tantalizingly close.
In an effort to stave off her curiosity, she hobbled up to the hole in the floor and peered down into it.
It was a very steep pile of, well, mostly house. A broken mound of wood, stone, and plaster.
A board beneath her feet groaned ominously and she slowly backed away, holding her one good arm out in cautionary balance.
When she arrived back to (relative) safety, she sighed and looked back to the wardrobe, sitting there untouched and full of... something.
She blinked slowly, somehow exasperated with herself, then walked back up to it. She took a final bite of her apple before before tossing it into the house-crater and placed her hand firmly on the door.
"Alright," she whispered to herself. "It's gonna be ok."
And then she opened it.
-
The wardrobe was full of giant albino bat monster.
It had long black claws, visible fangs, and veiny ears the size of dinner napkins. It was huge--curled in on itself as compact as possible to fit inside the wardrobe.
Its eyes were closed. It seemed to be asleep, and the area was dark enough the the opening door hadn't cast any light on it.
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" she shouted as she teetered back, he bum leg tripping her up and sending her crashing into the the table she had so recently bumped into, sending needle, thread and garments fluttering into the air. She scrambled and grabbed at the table, but it shifted as she attempted to lift herself by it, and instead she simply skittered across the floor as quickly as her injuries would allow.
The giant bat monster woke at the yell, blinking its huge, black eyes, ears swiveling like a confused cat. It scrabbled blearily up, knocked its head on the top of the wardrobe, and let out a long hiss. A feral sound, like an angry snake.
"What the FUCK?!" she screamed in its direction, from the floor. She spent a second longer of staring at the creature in wide-eyed horror. "What the ACTUAL FUCK?!"
She scurried around the back end of the table, snatched an apple from the small pile and hurled it in the creature's direction. She had impressively good hand-eye coordination for a terribly injured woman who had just been born last evening. The apple smacked the monster in one of its large, black, bullseye-like eyes. It cringed back and let out another hiss of pain.
It reeled for a moment, groggy and disoriented. Then it reached out, grasped the brass knob of the wardrobe, and pulled the door closed.
As the monster lowered itself back down into its sleeping area, the woman gawked and whispered, "What the fuuuuuck..."
Slowly she crawled back into her corner, her eyes never leaving the wardrobe, and sat there, her good arm holding one knee.
A collection of long second passed.
The wardrobe opened a crack. The monster peeked out at her. Then quickly closed the door again.
What the fuck, was it shy?
She briefly considered the window for a moment before she realized that she didn't particularly feel like risking falling from any more heights, despite her apparent skill at surviving such things. Nothing in the immediate area would serve as a weapon, and she was less than capable of defending herself in this state anyways.
Instead she made herself small and quiet, not sure what else to do.
A voice came from within the wardrobe--muffled and somewhat familiar. "I'm coming out. Please don't throw anything."
"Uh," the woman stammered. "O-ok? I guess?"
The wardrobe opened, and like some sort of magic trick, an entirely different figure emerged. An extremely rumpled, disoriented Talos. He gingerly clambered out. As he did his eyes were drawn inexorably to the slanting sunlight on the far side of the room. He forcibly dragged his gaze away from that and looked at the woman. He rubbed his head.
"Hi. I'm, ah, sorry. I was...sure you'd sleep through the day."
The woman blinked and continued to breathe heavily, not quite ready to uncoil from her position just yet.
After several seconds of awkward silence she blurted out, "What the hell was that? What're you? What is happening? What the FUCK man?!"
"Yes, I'm very, very sorry. That was, um, me." He sounded regretful, mortified, and extremely bleary. He started to sit on the side of the wardrobe, missed, stumbled, recovered, compromised by just leaning where he'd stumbled to. "I am, um, that. But I can look not like that and generally, um, prefer to. That is, prefer, very strongly, not to be that. That is, by which I mean I am, a monster. A very, extremely, nocturnal monster." He rubbed his face, clearly trying very hard to stay awake, and the next sentence came out slowly, as if he were forcing himself to say it: "Vampire, in the common parlance. I believe. I am so sorry."
"Were you gonna like, eat me or some shit?" she asked, still a bit too mortified to be tactful.
"What? No." He blinked at her. "Why would I...does this look like some Lloyd Webber Toredor boudoir nonsense? Do you have any idea how HEAVY you are? I just spent a day trying to keep your blood INSIDE you. And I don't EAT people," he said, sounding rather petulant.
She threw her arm out dramatically, "Well how do I know?! And what is a torrid border web?"
"It's a...thing," Talos said unhelpfully, rubbing his face. "That is...not this. I'm really very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you. I should have left a note, or something. Do not open wardrobe. I know I look monstrous, but I really prefer not to be monstrous."
Her expression of tense terror softened a bit, weighed down by guilt. "I mean, your note could have just said, 'I look like a demon bat man, in wardrobe, sleeping, XOXO,' or some shit too." Her gaze wandered to the open window. "Ya know, just like, set expectations or whatever."
Talos winced slightly at 'demon bat man' but overall smiled at the charm of the suggestion. "Indeed. That would have been prudent of me. I should have mentioned. I just usually...don't."
Read: Avoid talking about it or thinking about it and hide it from everyone forever. He covered a yawn. Then something occurred to him: "How are you feeling? Do you need something?"
After blinking a few times, she looked over herself and allowed the ache of her body to be recognized. With a sigh she slumped back against the wall. "Nah. I just feel like a sack of shit that got beat with a sack of rocks."
"That sounds profoundly unpleasant," Talos said, sympathy evident in his voice. He squinted at her, noting that there was little new blood showing under her bandages, and recalling her ability to walk and maneuver. "On the bright side, you seem to be healing shockingly quickly."
She looked down at herself. "Yeah. I guess. I don't know man. Maybe that's a thing that just happens here? Maybe it was just like, a flesh wound or whatever."
"It was definitely not a flesh wound," Talos assured her, leaning more heavily on the wardrobe. He couldn't speak to the world though. There was literally magic in the air, and that was a convenient explanation if she preferred to avoid dealing with more disturbing and personal alternatives. Talos would never begrudge someone their denial.
After a few moments of contemplation she lifted her chin in his direction. "What about you? You ok? I didn't mean to like, startle you. Or wake you up. Or throw an apple at your face." She paused. "Well, ok, I DID mean to throw an apple at you, but not like, in a bad, uh, like, mean way."
Talos actually laughed at that.
"I am quite fine. I've had many less pleasant daytime disturbances." He looked at the slanting sunlight, which has taken on a fainter pall as the afternoon faded into evening. "And it's late enough that I think I won't continue to wardrobe."
He yawned again, but less hugely, and he walked over to the upset table. He recovered the in-progress pants from the floor and dusted them off. He looked around the room until he located the cotton smock, still folded next to the rag-pile-mattress she'd woken up on.
"Did the shirt not suit you?" he asked. "It is a bit plain."
Looking over to it, she shook her head. "I hadn't even noticed, with all the stuff on the ground." She picked up the shirt off the floor. She unfolded it and held it up to her chest. "It looks pretty good man. Like, it fits? How does it fit."
"I am fairly good at eyeballing sizes," said Talos. "And I cheated by making it loose. You can cinch it with a belt if you like. And it should serve you more easily than that toga until I finish these, which will need measurements."
She slipped the shirt over her head and pulled the cloth down, making a strange wad of it in her lap as she stared down at the baggy top.
"Love it." She looked back to the man in front of her. "So like. You gotta measure my ass or whatever now, or like... date first?"
Talos gave out a little huff of a laugh, half-amused, half-startled. He had opened the trunk and was picking through the objects inside. There was a lot of paper and cloth. He drew out a leather rope, marked with notches.
He drew it around himself. "Waist is here. Hips are here."
Then he unlooped it and offered it to her.
Groaning, she leaned to her side and took it from him. "Ok."
She gathered the sheet and the leather loop in one hand and used the other to awkwardly attempt to struggle to her feet. Snerking in frustration, she let her hands fall to her side. "Hey man, can you just turn around for a sec while I do this?"
Talos immediately turned about to examine the far wall. He did it so quickly that he overbalanced and had to catch himself against the wardrobe. He wasn't entirely awake yet. He folded his hands behind him.
"How did you sleep?" he asked over his shoulder.
She hobbled to her feet, the embattled, bloody blanket falling around her ankles. The leather cord flapped around as she wrestled with it.
"Like the dead," she mumbled, managing to lasso it around something approximating her hips. "Or I guess almost dead? I dunno, not great."
She looked up to Talos' back. "Is that what that phrase means? Anyways, thirty six... ish? Inches on the top part."
"Sleeping like the dead implies sleeping deeply," Talos reported helpfully, noting the first measurement on the hem of his project.
Scrunching up, she managed to tangle and untangle the measure before actually getting it around her hips. "Oh. No. I slept like the living then. Fourty two."
Talos made a sympathetic noise and made another mark. "Is there anything you need right now? Apart from pants."
"Water. And the blood of virgins. A high collar. Wax fangs."
Talos gave out another startled laugh, still standing and facing away. "I'm hoping three out of those four are facetious because I only have a solution for one."
She gathered up the blanket and wrapped it back around herself, then limped over to the table and hefted it back onto the legs. "What, you're a virgin?"
This laugh was a bright, loud, bark. "Not since 1742, I'm afraid. But there is a well at the end of the block."
With a shocked gasp she glared over at him, "There's a well full of virgin's blood!?"
He glanced bemusedly over his shoulder. "I am assuming that you are being silly, but given that you ARE an amnesiac, I feel suddenly inclined to check." Then, immensely pleased: "You fixed the table!"
The nameless woman flexed, then immediately regretted it as a bolt of pain ran down her back. "Yeah. I'm a regular fixer-upper I guess." She gathered up some of the things from the floor. "Also I need pants and this is the pants making station."
"Indeed it is," Talos said, turning around and setting his project down on the surface. "Give me five minutes, I can get these to visiting-the-well levels."
"Dooope," she drawled out, and wandered about, just barely resisting the urge to take another peek in the wardrobe.
Talos glanced up, clearly pleased she was walking, and then leaned over his work. He drew the leather loop around to the measurements she'd given him, marked the cloth, then measured again. Then he began to sew. His fingers moved quickly with the grace of familiar motions. He overlapped the cloth to the correct length, and fastened the sides with long, looping stitches.
The woman from the sky ceased her mindless wandering and watched the man work with quiet interest, and amazingly managed to stay quiet until he had finished. Talos redid a final stitch four times to fix it, then bit through the string. He examined the article of clothing for a moment, pulling at the seams, before settling into satisfaction.
"There we are," he offered them to her. "I should redo these eventually, much to hasty, but it will do for now."
The woman scooted them up her hips, the sound of a single stitch busting as soon as they were in place. She shipped the crusty, bloodstained rag off and slapped her newly covered hips happily. "Alright! I have pants!"
Talos laughed softly, leaning back and rubbing his eyes, still rather groggy from the earliness. But he'd been hand sewing clothing for literal centuries, so it was something he could manage on sleepy autopilot.
Kicking a small bit of debris into the hole in the floor, she gestured her head towards it. "So uh. Is this the exit?"
"In emergencies," Talos said. "There's actually stairs over there." He pointed at the edge of the collapsed portion of the roof. "Behind that bit of caved in tile."
"Oh," she said a bit flatly. "Well I feel stupid now."
"No don't," Talos urged her. "I cover it so that the path up here isn't obvious. I don't want anyone wandering up here during the day and, ah, being startled." He finished in apologetic reference to the events of ten minutes ago.
Shrugging, she leaned against a less-collapsed section of the roof. "So, uh, you wanna carry me? Or am I to be expected to walk and bend my knees and shit like a big girl?"
"Oh!" Talos stood hastily. "I didn't think...of course. Let me help."
He stood and walked over to the edge of the collapsed roof, keeping very, very carefully away from the remaining slants of faint sunlight. He pulled up a slab of cracked drywall to lean it against the wall, revealing fairly intact stairs and a dark lower level. He turned back to the nameless woman, who was a good five inches taller than his current mask. He anticipated looking rather silly. "How would be most comfortable for you?"
The small room was filled with her thick laughter, and she pushed him to the side and began slowly working her way down the stairs.
"I was kidding." She paused her descent to cast a playful look back up at him. "Fuck's sake dude, you have an incredible martyr syndrome for a twelve foot bat creature."
Talos huffed as she brushed past, looking put out, embarrassed, and amused all at the same time. "I was raised in Georgian England. And do you know many?"
"I know one," she quipped, limping down the stairs. "Also where's England. And why was George in charge? I don't know any Georges, but my amazing instincts tell me they're all toolbags."
"Your instincts are correct," Talos leaned against the wall. "Go and hydrate. I can't actually go outside for another hour. I'll be here to regale you with British history if you wish when you return."
