“Certainly that would not end with an Adelaide-inspired statue decorating the park, and poor Diego without anyone to hold his leash,” Diego agrees, sheathing his weapons as he follows Adelaide upstairs. “Maybe if you were to sell them in your antiquities shop, it might be a little less obvious..? Though I doubt anyone spends any time in Petris Park to begin with.” He doesn’t seem to be swayed much by her goodness – though she could easily be described as a baddie. “I’ve always liked the idea of ceramics, honestly. I like the… spinniness of it.”

“Shall we arrange some ceramics lessons for you?” Adelaide questions Diego, smiling as she turns away from the view of the park to head in the opposite direction entirely, over to the back of the shop that’s so rarely gone explored. “A leash is an intruiging prospect, though. Perhaps we should get you one,” she comments while she goes, unabashedly ogling Diego’s juicy neck, so much so that she almost fails to notice the cloth-covered object right in front of her as she turns a corner.

There’s a startled little noise at the back of her throat, and then she rounds the corner right back. “Diego, dear, I do think that is a mirror. Will you take a look and let me know if it is worth anything?”

Diego looses a nonverbal sound of agreement from the back of his throat, then steps up towards the cloth-clad maybe-mirror. “I already had my brains scrambled pretty good by that lotus maiden earlier,” he mutters under his breath, gauging exactly where Adelaide stands so that he doesn’t catch her reflection in his viewing. “What harm in a little sanity-breaking vampire imagery?” The lean muscles of his forearms shift visibly as he grabs onto the cloth, then tugs it aside – not wholly disrobing the obscured object, but parting the veil enough for him to get a good look at whatever lies beneath.

The mirror is a beautiful thing – obviously worth something even to Diego’s eyes not quite trained to spot antiques. A frame of gold surrounds it in a halo of sunbursts radiating outwards, some sections pointed enough that they look like they may draw blood if someone brushes against it just right.

“Oh, quite gorgeous,” Adelaide remarks – because she’d been looking, of course, even if she’s staying just out of where the mirror may show her a glimpse of her cursed reflection. “There’s no need to be so dramatic, you know,” she tells Diego wryly. “A little look won’t hurt you at all.” Of course, she doesn’t look herself. He can risk it.

In the mirror, Diego’s reflection turns to look at Adelaide, just out of frame, and there’s a narrowing of his eyes before he lifts his long knife and darts in her direction, knife lifted to slam right into her chest – a splatter of dark blood splashes upon his mask.

“Ah,” Diego says – but that’s not all, folks. Both hands snap out in front of himself as he heaves at the gold-and-silver mirror with his metal-manipulating abilities. He’s careful, of course – Adelaide would be most displeased if he cracked or warped the pretty thing, even with his pseudo-reflection leaping off to kill her. Slow and steady is not/span>Adelaide cannot see the reflection, of course, so there is only a tilt of her head, unassuming, at Diego’s warning, and a glance around as though there might be an attack coming she’s unaware of. There is nothing, because that would be silly. “Yes, Diego?” she questions, even taking the time to pull out her phone and read a text she’s just received, so detached she is from whatever’s going on in the mirror.

Speaking of the mirror, though, what glimpses Diego may catch while moving it show Adelaide falling to the ground – off-frame, of course, only betrayed by her hand visible in the corner as Diego turns it away from them. His hare-masked reflection looms over her, stabbing silently – over and over and over, as more and more blood pools upon the ground.

Out of sight, out of mind. Diego finishes twisting the mirror to face away for good measure, then promptly informs Adelaide, “My reflection killed your reflection. Also – I saw your reflection. I didn’t have a stroke. It was just a glance, but I still think I felt less than I should.” He eyes her for a lingering moment, then says, “You look fine, but how do you feel? Before I write the mirror off as a spooky cursed mirror that shows you horrifying things but doesn’t actually bring harm.”

The mist rises outside and floats into the shop through cracks in the windows, gathering around their feet, and the mirror stays faced away from both Adelaide and Diego, as the former ponders it with thought after Diego’s words. “Interesting,” she murmurs, stepping closer – not in front, of course, only at the back – to the mirror and lifting a hand to touch it, despite nothing indicating that may be a good idea at all. “I wonder…” comes the musing thought, sentence left half-finished on purpose as she considers the thing. “I did not feel anything,” she informs Diego, fingers trailing across the back of the tall mirror as though trying to get a feel for something.

Behind her, something stirs within the mist. The darkness of her shadow swirls, shrouded in fog, as it begins to rise, slowly but surely.

Fuck it – fuck this, fuck that, Diego did not want to deal with shadowy and immaterial threats, and if whatever-it-was coalescing out of the darkness was material, then all the better. “Sorry, Madame,” he exhales. He’d rather lose the expensive mirror than his liege at court. His hands clench into fists, which he brings together as he whirls around to face the other direction. The mirror heaves and groans as he follows along with his movements – then lifts up into the air as he bends over backwards, tearing his joined fists upwards and backwards.

There’s a momentous crash as the extremely heavy solid-gold frame is magnetically suplexed through the air, crashing through the floorboards where that shadow forms and hopefully dragging it down into the lower storeys with it. someone
The mirror’s glass probably cracked, too… But Diego knows better than to assume when it comes to cursed objects.

Fuck it – fuck this, fuck that, Diego did not want to deal with shadowy and immaterial threats, and if whatever-it-was coalescing out of the darkness was material, then all the better. “Sorry, Madame,” he exhales. He’d rather lose the expensive mirror than his liege at court. His hands clench into fists, which he brings together as he whirls around to face the other direction. The mirror heaves and groans as he follows along with his movements – then lifts up into the air as he bends over backwards, tearing his joined fists upwards and backwards.

There’s a momentous crash as the extremely heavy solid-gold frame is magnetically suplexed through the air, crashing through the floorboards where that shadow forms and hopefully dragging it down into the lower storeys with it.

The mirror’s glass probably cracked, too… But Diego knows better than to assume when it comes to cursed objects.

Adelaide lets out a decidedly undignified yelp of startlement as Diego pushes the mirror away from her questing touches and towards what was previously a perfectly good floor. “Diego!” she gasps – but, well, there goes the mirror, and surely, surely he has good reason for this. There’s a long stare over at him, and then she lifts her hand up to rest upon her cheek, considering. “That was probably worth a good bit, you realise.”

For what it’s worth, the whatever-it-is behind her has settled back into the darkness of her shadow, not quite trying its luck anymore.

Creeping forward to inspect the hole in the floor, Diego stares downstairs and says, “Either you were about to be very injured or I just dented the hell out of something made out of solid gold,” he agrees, nodding his head slowly. “But the tax man would probably have had a fit about you coming into possession of a solid gold piece like that, undeclared. No way you could have sold it. You should melt it down and let the Court sell the gold bars for you.” He crouches down, planting his hands firmly on solid grown before he leans his head fully into the hole to check for movement. “I think we’re good, Madame.”

“Well,” Adelaide sighs, hands upon her hips as she considers Diego. “I suppose that is as good an idea as any. It was certainly cursed, though you did not give me enough time to examine it to figure out how and why,” there’s a certain something in her tone that implies that’s Diego’s fault, and she should have been left to be stabbed by her own shadow while she figured it out, but it’s a little too late now when the mirror lies shattered below. “I suppose we can simply… figure out what to do with the gold, if it is real gold. Hopefully whatever is made from it shan’t inherit the curse.” And that is that – crisis successfully averted.

(Your target and their allies encounter the former thrall of a vampire who has run away from their previous master. Probably at least slightly mind controlled they’re likely confused and struggling with their decision. The characters need to either help them found a new life, or send them back to their owner.
)

For once, it’s Diego that arrives first, and Adelaide finds him in the middle of hitching dear Sheila to the post outside their anachronistic tailor’s shop. “I’ve called a few renovators to patch up that hole,” he calls over, reaching up to lift his mask away and reveal his marred features. “But we’d better get what’s left of the mirror moved out of there first. Might get shaved down, otherwise.” Once he’s done with Sheila’s reins, he moves over to help Adelaide off her own horse.

“Already?” Adelaide remarks, surprised, if pleased, at Diego’s efficiency. She climbs off her mare with Diego’s help, even if she’s entirely capable of doing it herself. “Thank you, my Diego,” she tells him with a pleased smile once she’s down upon solid ground again, letting him handle the horses. “That would have been a fine reminder before we rode all the way back,” she tells him, a little teasing.

“We weren’t going to get it out of there on horseback,” Diego scoffs, gentle as he leads Adelaide down by her hand. Her competence isn’t in question; this is simply how it is done. “You’ll need to use your car. Or maybe someone else’s car. The Caddie isn’t exactly in great shape.” He peels off the heavy, enchanted waistcoat Adelaide had made for him, putting it away with his weapons in his horse’s saddlebags, then moves for the shop. “I need a shower,” he complains. “I stink like brimstone.” Moving to the automatic doors, he pauses as they open, then says with a friendly customer-service voice, “Good morning, sir. We are the proprietors; could we help -”

BANG.

There’s a deafening blast from within the shop, and Diego flies back a foot or so before landing flat on his back, blood pouring from a wound to the chest.

“Shotgun,” he mumbles, ending the statement with a gurgling cough, and thrusts his hand out at the figure which rushes out of the store, knocking the shotgun out of his hands and back behind the closing doors. Weaponless, the newcomer is masked like a Hunter themselves, and clad in Adelaide’s own goods. Tall, male, clearly hostile – and a rasping, ruined voice grinds out, “Some replacement you’ve got yourself, Carrow.”

“Redstone does tend to do that,” Adelaide agrees, not quite putting her own weapons away just yet – the bow remains slung over her back, though unstrung, and her hairstick remains in easy reach. All that is irrelevant for the time being, though, and she straightens to turn her attention fully to this mysterious figure at the loud bang that is heard, taking a step or three closer to stand in front of Diego, giving him time enough to gather himself back up. It wouldn’t do to have herself on the ground helping him up, after all, especially in front of this mysterious foe. The show of weakness would be enough detriment without even considering turning her back to the man.

“Usually,” she begins, ice-cold. “People tend to introduce themselves before insulting me or mine.” A pause. Her hands remain at her sides, as though simply stood still and casual, though anyone paying close enough attention would be able to sense – or see – the magic gathering, the fiery opal in her band emitting a dim glow. Diego gets the teeniest, tiniest of glances behind her, before Adelaide turns again to the figure: “Your patronage is quite appreciated, mister…” the trailing off is quite obvious and quite urging him to give up a name, before she burns him into a crisp.

Insulting may have been to underwhelming of a word, on second thought, but it’s too late for Adelaide to change it now.

Unfortunately, Diego just took a shotgun blast to the chest. He’s not getting up. That’ll teach him for taking his armour off at all. Really, he’s just being dramatic, the way blood spurts from several open holes in his chest in time with his pulse.

The shooter snarls, horrific and brutal. “You’ll never see a cent from me, you selfish bitch,” he replies. He takes a step forward, shrinking the gap between him and Adelaide ever so closely. “I gave you seven years, and what do I get? Left for dead. A chew-toy for wolves.”

Ah. That makes it click. Vincent Royce – the knight Adelaide had kept around before Diego’s predecessor. The one who’d so valiantly sacrificed his life to save her from a pack of werewolves hunting her down… And who had certainly not been a vampire.

“I’m going to do to you,” the vampire swears, “Everything that they did to me. And more. And it’s going to be just as permanent.”

“… ah,” Adelaide utters most eloquently as she puts two and two together, not shrinking away from the now-advancing man. She remains stood over Diego as the knight gasps out his dramatic, shallow breaths – it’s just a bullet, really. People have surely survived worse. Like being mangled by werewolves, as an example.

“Oh please, Vincent,” she murmurs out, eyes narrowed as she watches the former knight’s approach, heat building up perceptibly around her, “Your life was sworn to my service – mine to spend, and spend I did, when it became necessary. What did you bargain with to get to this point?” Her eyes flick across the man’s aura, searching for signs of darkness, though not for too long.

“I suppose we shall never know,” comes the casual remark, before she unfurls her clenched fingers and let loose a burst of heat at the man, clothes catching on fire immediately, the wave of heat followed by a flick of a throwing knife, darting right through the air at him.

Adelaide lets out an annoyed little breath as a whip-thin figure dressed in Court attire and a tragedy mask entirely bypasses Adelaide to try and curbstomp Diego instead, and she pulls her stiletto-bladed hairstick out of her hair to stab it at the man. No further words are exchanged – she’s said what she wanted to.

The first thing Vincent does, indeed, is use poor Diego’s chest as a launching pad as Adelaide throws her fire at him. All those fire-retardant woollen blends she uses in her clothing… It’s very unfortunate. “Doesn’t burn like it used to,” he jeers, that guttural voice clearly the product of laryngeal damage. Unfortunately, where she’s been weakened by a curse, he only seems to have developed more skill in the decade and a half since Adelaide last saw him. His knee connects with her jaw with a fantastic display of acrobatics and athleticism; the kind of blow that would knock a living man right on their ass. He doesn’t stop there, though; he lashes out with a quick jab that slams into her kidney, then rockets up with an uppercut that makes two – no, three of her vertebrae pop with the whiplash. The body shot means nothing to a vampire. The second one’s a little more dizzying.

Adelaide doesn’t have breath to lose, but she’s still left a little staggered by the onslaught directed her way, the vampiress almost dropping to her knees – almost. It’s going to take a lot more than that to get her down, though, and she takes full advantage of Vincent’s knee being that high to stab a knife right into it. Take that, patella. A soft grunt is the only indication of pain, her eyes flicking over to Diego upon the ground, just to make sure she won’t end up stepping on him when she tries to maneuver away from the former-knight, getting enough space between them to begin channeling her magic again. “You shall regret this,” she informs Vincent as though it’s a matter of fact.

“I’m putting my old regrets to rest,” the whip-thin man replies, reaching down to pull the shears from his leg. There’s no sound of pain from the fellow vampire, but it’s clear he has to test his leg before he trusts it enough to rest his full weight on it. The inky whorls of his aura swirl around him. He’s one of the Fallen, and he’s stained enough that it’s tricky to tell if he’s invited evil into his life – or he’s the evil that Adelaide and Diego might have invited in. As the older vampire prepares her ward, however, he reaches up and tugs loose a token of his own from around his neck. A magical focus? He’d not had any magic when she’d known him, nor had there been time for him to really learn… No. Adelaide could smell it – that was werewolf bone. Not an arcane focus at all, but an anti-magic amulet.

“Did you think,” he sneers, “I wouldn’t come ready for you, Carrow? I served you for seven years. Your new knight’s taking a dirt nap.” He holds up the weapon he’d pulled from his thigh. “Now I’m armed, too. Why don’t you just give up?”

Look, Adelaide may not be a true combatant, but not everyone can learn to snip-snip with shears like the best of them. That’s a bluff and she’s not buying it. Her eyes narrow at the token beneath the other vampire’s neck, a disdainful little tch escaping the elder vampire. “Petty words and party tricks won’t do a lot for you, dear,” she murmurs to the man, head swirling with ideas as she readies her hair stick – there’s plenty of weapons around, even if she doesn’t have her shears on hand. Not to mention the myriad needles Adelaide’s got upon her person, hidden beneath hems and in locks of hair.

“The only regret that needs putting down is yourself, I am afraid, but perhaps we can catch up, once you are finished with this… phase of yours, yes?” there’s a blink at him, all innocuous, almost disarming, before the shears in his hand heat up to uncomfortable levels, threatening to melt skin off as the metal turns red-hot.

“You left me for dead!” Vincent bellows, his voice even more mutilated than Diego’s face. “And I did everything you wanted! What regret could I possibly be to you?!” He flings the shears forward, and they don’t so much as wobble in the air as they sink straight into the hospital wall behind Adelaide. He is deadly with those, apparently – and he’d been more of a baseball bat guy when she knew him, full of that spunky 90s-00s aesthetic. “Fuck you, Carrow. Look at this guy.” He gestures vaguely to Diego. “He’s a kid. And he has no idea what you’re signing him up for, does he?” He scoffs. “Go on, then. Take him in. Maybe we will have that chat. I’ll be in town. Watch your fucking back.”

Calmly, Adelaide’s eyes follow the path of the scissors as they fly all the way across the fucking street and the hospital’s front courtyard to end up embedded in the brick wall. There’s no way she’s going back for that thing at the moment, even if she could pull it out of the wall. Her gaze returns to Vincent after that, blinking once, slow and steady. “He has sworn himself into service as you did,” she reminds him, voice even, refusing to show an ounce of pity upon her face, though she does, indeed, walk over to lift Diego, helping him up from the ground with one arm curling beneath his shoulders.

“Come on,” she murmurs to Diego, voice softer. “We shall get that looked at.” What a shame, all that blood gone to waste.

This would, of course, be the perfect moment for Vincent to strike out, to do what he’d come here for, finish the job while Adelaide is distracted helping Diego up. Somehow, she doesn’t seem to think he will.