Chapter Text
The salon is bursting with the drunken energy of the evening, townsfolk laughing and merrily chugging along, unaware of the two presences touched by the supernatural lurking in their midst. But really what did it matter that the brunette man at the center of the cheery crowd with a stubbled jaw and uneven scars had the blood of thousands of monsters on his hands when he could drink just as well as ordinary humans and flash a smile charming enough to worm his way into bar and bed alike.
Black Swan nurses on her ale, finding it not quite to her taste but hoping to get buzzed enough so the secondhand embarrassment of watching her partner live it up would fade away quicker. They have an important day tomorrow after all, “pre-extermination rituals” be damned.
She shifts on her stool, trying to get comfortable even amongst all the rowdy singing and chanting. A flap of her cloak falls away, revealing a deck of tarot cards strapped to her thigh next to a simple dagger. She’s quick to reorient the black fabric, concealing the implements and the exposed slit of her padded bodice. For tonight, all she has to do is make sure Gallagher didn’t choke on his own vomit after all his gallons of liquid courage.
She could not wait for the chance to select her own partner from the Family in a few months. After three grueling years of dealing with the antics of the drunkard, the hunter knew of all the rookies she deserved a change from her assigned teammate. As good as he is, his fighting (and life) style is, plainly put, incompatible with Black Swan’s own. He preferred to flirt with death; she preferred to control it.
“Are you gonna finish that?” Slurred speech breaks Black Swan out of her thoughts, she looks in dismay at her partner who’d finally moseyed away from the hubbub just to demand her half-filled stein.
“Knock yourself out.” Literally, please. She slides the stein over to Gallagher, who’s looking worse for wear with a sweaty, flushed face and tousled hair. He grumbles a thanks before latching his lips to the lip of the cup, not breaking contact until the vessel is emptied with a satisfied sigh.
He slams the stein on the table, whole body swaying forward in a teetering imbalance that escalates into his head striking the wooden bar unceremoniously. It seems all the gallons he downed earlier have finally caught up to him. He slumps over in that position, eyes bleary as the world dances around him. The barkeep stares aghast at the mess of a man, in this state was it even ethical for them to try and kick him out?
The employee looks at Black Swan pleadingly, the unasked question of if she knew him answered when she sighs and swiftly stands, slinging one of the man’s arms over her shoulders.
“We’ll be on our way,” she smiles, eyes closed in her grimace as she strains to lift her partner from the bar and begin to walk away. It’s not the first time she’s had to do this the night before a mission.
She shuffles him out of the tavern after what feels like an eternity of “coming through”s and “move please”s, the cool air of the empty night washing over the pair refreshingly. As soon as the door swings shut behind her, Black Swan drops Gallagher to the ground, earning a pained moan from the barely conscious man.
“Oh please, guilt trip someone drunk enough to care about you,” she scans the exterior of the building, looking for any prying eyes.
Finding none she drops a hand to her side, fishing through her cloak to unclasp the holster of tarot cards. Her eyes glow intensely and a torrent of the thin metal cards is unleashed, circling around Gallagher with a bright purple light.
He begins to levitate, confined within the rotating ring of cards and he floats along easily when Black Swan begins walking the way back to the inn.
“I hope you don’t expect us to delay our plans to take out the nest tomorrow. Bright and early, like we said.” She murmurs, more than annoyed at the reeking stench of sweat and booze emanating from the man. It’ll be a godsend if he manages to hold in his puke until they arrive at their lodgings.
She picks a route through some back alleys of the town, avoiding the main streets where there are more likely to be people. Avoiding witnesses to her magic is a must, especially civilians who are unaware of the supernatural.
The pair walk (and float) through winding alleys, not a soul in sight. Black Swan occasionally reaches out with her mind, scanning the path ahead for the presence of any townsfolk or undesirables. There’s nothing lurking between them and the next few turns to the inn.
But when her arms break out in a foreboding gooseflesh, Black becomes all at once aware of something watching her from behind.
She whips around just in time to see a gleaming thing shooting towards her face, the cards floating around her partner dropping him in a heap to deflect the projectile in a splash of sparks. What she realizes is a sizable katana clatters on the cobblestone noisily, laying prone just long enough for Black Swan to take in its ornate detailing before a glove hand picks it up deliberately.
Long, dark indigo tresses fan over a modified kimono, the lengthy sections of fabric cut asymmetrically and woven with weighty ornaments. The front is held open, revealing an array of leather straps and armor not unlike the standard protective equipment given to hunters. Black Swan had not heard this woman approach. A mysterious power radiating from her as she takes the time to inspect her weapon for damage, unfazed that her attack was thwarted.
Black Swan gathers her cards into spinning rings at each of her hands, ready for the next maneuver the new arrival pulls. The woman stares at her glinting purple cards emotionlessly, letting out a small noise of consideration.
“So you are a vampire,” she drawls out, the words stretching slowly from her mouth so the lunge she takes forward seems all the more sudden.
Black Swan can barely react fast enough to stretch out a row of cards that shield her from the swipe, once again emitting grinding sparks where metal meets magic metal. She leaps away, trying to put space between her and her opponent.
A couple meters is between them now, Black Swan nearly against one wall of the alley. It’s not a good position to be. She could run, the alley entrance is much closer to her than to her assailant, but then--- she sees the woman walking towards Gallgher, slowly reaching a hand towards his neck.
“Don’t touch him!” Black Swan shouts, flicking out her hand to send a stream of tarot cards at the woman. She swipes down the first two, before being forced to dodge away from the unconscious man because of the sheer number, each individual one charged with a bright blast.
Smoke wafts upwards from where the woman stands, holding her sword horizontally in the position she held to block the final card. Only one of her eyes is visible from the fringe of her bangs, but her unpahsed expression is fully on display. Black Swan grimaces, realizing how strong her opponent is. The cards begin to return to the hunter, taking their sweet time while she mentally urges them to fly faster.
“Afraid I’ll steal your prey?” Black Swan is taken aback by the taunt. Maybe this woman--- Before she can say anything she’s pinned against the wall. Her back aches from the feeling of the stone walls slamming into her back, but it's the least of her worries as the katana inches closer and closer to her neck.
She managed to catch the sword, one hand gripping on the hilt over her opponent’s hand while the other attempted to hold the blade back with her leather forearm guard. The hardened material is resistant to most injuries, but under the unrelenting piercing pressure Black Swan knows it's only a matter of time before it begins to slice away at her flesh, but it’s better her arm than her neck.
“You let your guard down way too easy for a bat,” Acheron stoically speaks, her voice soft and neutral though her words are taunting. She leans into the hold, Black Swan’s shaking arms straining to keep the katana away from her. Her face is so close now, their noses almost touching, but despite the amount of effort Black Swan feels the swordswoman bearing down on her she barely looks like she’s exerting any strength.
She’s outmatched, and soon she will die. Black Swan tries to catch her breath, calming her fiery nerves and digging her nails into the spaces between her assailant’s knuckles in a desperate attempt to pry her grip off the hilt. Whether it's because of the gloves or her lack of strength, it doesn’t work, only allowing the sword to cut all the way through her arm guard, beginning to draw blood. The blade grows closer to her neck.
If she couldn’t fight her off she’d have to try and talk her way out of this.
“I’m….” Black Swan pauses after the first word, nervous that she could feel the cool metal against her throat when she used her voice. She strains her whole body, gritting her teeth as the sword slices deep into her arm, pushing past the pain to earn a centimeter of space to speak. “I’m not a vampire!” She asserts looking her assailant in the eye, trying to leverage the truth to disarm the tension.
The swordswoman barely moves but Black Swan can recognize the look of consideration in her eyes, and the pressure lets up though the weapon remains in place, cutting her arm and threatening her jugular. She’s earned the chance to plead for her life.
“If you’re not a vampire how are you able to use magic?” The woman’s demand is measured and biting. A red liquid begins to trickle down to Black Swan’s elbow, drops of the substance striking the stones at the women’s feet.
“The Family allows me to live because I am human,” Black Swan starts, trying to keep her tone even. “And they let me use magic as long as I’m a hunter. Look at my badge if you don’t believe me.”
She watches the swordswoman’s eyes flit down to her chest, where the dark cloak is pulled open by Black Swan’s arms to reveal a metal pin in the shape of the Family crest. It’s irreproducible, a subtle mark for hunters to recognize their own kind. And it’s all the proof Black Swan has that she truly is what she says she is.
In an instant the woman pulls away, leaving Black Swan to crumple to the ground out of relief. She clamps her hand over the wound on her forearm, trying to stifle the bloodflow even as her muscles go faint from the fading adrenaline rush.
“I’m so sorry,” the apology is accompanied by the sound of a katana returning to its sheath. The woman drops to her knees in front of Black Swan, shrugging her bag off her back. “I see now I was rash. I saw that man unconscious, and you using magic….”
Black Swan is still too in shock to fully process her words, the near death encounter exhausting her body and mind. Sure, her life has been in danger before, but most of the beasts she hunts are animals running on pure, twisted instinct to kill. Something about the way this woman subdued her was chilling, calculated, and straight up terrifying. Even playing the bait to draw out werewolves, or holding back swarms of endless undead spawn, Black Swan had never felt like the quarry being hunted.
It was admirable, being so strong and so efficient. Her partner’s wanton ways could take a lesson or two from this woman.
“There were rumors of an alpha around here that looks like a beautiful woman, luring civilians out to her nest,” the swordswoman’s voice gives Black Swan something to latch onto, mind drifting aimlessly from the feeling of blood pumping through her arm. The woman takes items out of her bag, turning her full attention to Black Swan’s injury. “If you looked like a regular vampire I would've tailed you back to the nest. But I thought you might be the alpha.”
The woman works fast, gently prying Black Swans fingers from the wound and deftly unbuckling the impaired arm guard. She washes the area with a stinging antiseptic; it must have some kind of numbing agent as well because Black Swan hardly feels it when she inserts a needle to and fro, stitching up the wound. The depth of the cut truly is a testament to the sharpness of her blade.
“I didn't know it was possible for a human to use magic. This was my mistake,” the woman firmly wraps a clean bandage over her impeccable handiwork. Black Swan’s nerves are finally calm enough to start answering the unspoken question lingering in the air.
“That alpha you mentioned. She's the one my partner and I are currently hunting,” Black Swan gestures to Gallagher, who’s still a snoring heap on the cobblestones. She swears she can see a new flash of guilt washing through her attacker’s eyes. “Several years ago I was one of her victims; she experimented on me, killed a lot of us. Hunters raided the nest but she got away. I was the only survivor that was still completely human. But I can channel
magic through certain mediums now.”
Black Swan summons up one of the many tarot cards in demonstration, something in the minor arcana.
“So she's doing it again. The experiments.”
“Right. And I asked the Family to allow me to be one of the hunters carrying out her extermination. I can make sure she doesn't get away again.”
“Wow….” the woman attempts to process the revelations, questions of magic and the true power of nest alphas, testing everything she knows about the supernatural creatures. “That's a lot.”
Black Swan’s face flushes at her deadpan tone. She had to sit in confinement for months before the Family was convinced she was human! Her existence is probably the most well-kept secret within the hunter society, and here this woman was reacting as if she just learned a chicken laid an egg.
“Do you not believe me?” Black Swan crosses her arms, the metal pin on her bodice digging into her skin. The scattered cards begin to pick themselves up from the ground, floating into their holster with a glow of their wielder’s eyes.
For the first time the swordswoman smiles, the thin, hard-earned thing stretching across her mouth. She leans in close, voice dropping to a husky, teasing jaunt. The tarot cards that hadn't made it to the holster yet freeze, dropping to the ground once more.
“Is it more believable that an alpha learned to replicate a hunter’s badge or that a human learned magic?” A finger lifts Black Swan’s chin lightly, the woman’s eyes inspecting her closely. The smirk never leaves her lips, which Black Swan is struggling to not look at, gaze constantly drifting down from the woman’s eyes.
“You know that's impossible,” Black Swan’s voice is shaky, but it's not from fear this time. She stares over the woman’s shoulder, unable to keep looking at her face. “It's a blessèd symbol.”
All at once the woman rocks backwards and laughs, finally standing up and putting a healthy distance between her and Black Swan. She reorganizes the supplies in her bag, slinging it back over her shoulder. Black Swan sits, dumbfounded, mulling over what just happened.
She gathers herself, and the rest of her cards, testing her legs before rising up. She's mostly intact, she stretches out her bandaged arm to feel out the range of motion.
Both women walk over to Gallagher, Acheron turning him face up. He emits a displeasing snort, but remains happily snoozing.
“This is Gallagher. And I’m Black Swan,” the magician introduces, squatting down to briefly check her partner’s head for any sizable bumps. He had been thrown around a lot for one evening.
“Cute codenames,” the stranger muses, placing a hand on Black Swan’s shoulder before crouching down beside her, hooking her arms underneath Gallagher’s. She stands, lifting the man’s upper body off the ground with a humbling ease.
Black Swan frets, going to pick up the man’s legs when the woman ushers her away.
“Let me handle him. It's the least I can do after wrecking your arm.” She begins walking, dragging Gallagher with her. “Just give me directions.”
Black Swan leads the way, the pair falling into a quiet air interrupted only by the sound of Gallagher’s shoes clacking on a particularly high stone or his occasional groans.
Black Swan glances over to the swordswoman from time to time, questions bubbling up uncontrollably. She finally turns and pops the first one.
“What's your name?”
The woman pauses for a moment, silence truly taking over the air with the lack of dragging feet.
“Acheron,” she answers simply before continuing her gait.
“Then, how long have you been a hunter?” Black Swan asks curiously. How long would it have to be for someone to become so skilled with their weapon? How come she was here when the Family assigned this best extermination to Gallagher and Black Swan?
“I don't know,” this time Acheron replies without stopping. “And I’m not sure if I technically still am one. Having to sit around for assignments didn't suit me.”
Black Swan stares at her, aghast, wondering how she could so nonchalantly be admitting to vigilantism.
“What about your partner?” she probes. Every hunter had a partner. It was illegal to operate without one.
Acheron shrugs despite Gallagher’s weight.
“I ditched him at some point or another. Can’t really remember. But he wore a hat, I think.” Again, her matter-of-fact tone of voice takes Black Swan aback. Is the Family aware that a defected hunter is still tracking down vampires?
“We’re here,” Black Swan states, stopping in front of the inn. She hesitates to go inside, unsure how far Acheron is going to drag Gallagher for her. The woman follows in when she opens the door.
After several odd looks from patrons and the innkeeper himself, the pair made their way to the hunters’ room. Gallagher lay on his bed, snoring loudly with an empty bucket placed strategically by his head for when he woke up in the morning. Black Swan sighs, knowing in just a few hours they had to be up and about again ready to fight.
She looks at Acheron, who has taken a seat on Black Swan’s unoccupied bed, stretching her arms out after dragging Gallagher all the way from the back alley. The woman meets her gaze, tearing her own eyes off the organized hunting equipment laid out on the night table.
“So you're planning on heading out tomorrow then?” Black Swan wasn't expecting Acheron to speak.
“Yes,” she hurriedly answers. “We've been monitoring the nest for a few days. The morning poses the best odds of finding just the alpha awake. Though it shouldn't be too hard to take out any vampires still up and about.”
“Do you mind if I tag along?” Acheron breaks eye contact, her purple hues flitting back to Gallagher who’s slumped over onto his face, comically muting his snores. She leans over and turns him back onto his side, not letting him suffocate in his pillow. “I don't feel right about injuring you before your big day. Getting revenge on the vampire who wronged you and all.”
Black Swan blinks at the swordswoman. Sure, she and Gallagher could handle this extermination easily like any other, but it wouldn't hurt to have an extra set of hands killing any bats they found.
“That would be nice,” she nods to herself. “I could use some company that isn't either downing a pint or complaint about a hangover every hunt.”
Acheron returns her smile, a much gentler one compared to the one she teased her with earlier.
The next morning the trio heads out to take on the Dahlia’s nest.