Chapter Text
He wasn't quite sure what to expect. Hellfire. Distant rifles. Nothingness. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't a dirt road through the woods, with his medical bag in hand and a cart disappearing in the distance.
Legs looked down at himself. Felt for the gashes and reopened wounds. As a final assurance, ran a thumb against his canines.
He was human.
Something of a relief. But that raised the question— how? And much more pressingly, where was he? The woods were… familiar, he'd hazard that this was still Oakhurst. He wondered for a moment if he was reliving it all, then thought, No, slow down. One step at a time. First: Shelter. So Legs looked around, spotted a small track branching off of the road, little more than a split in the undergrowth, and began to follow it.
He felt fairly vindicated when he saw a tall stone tower— one of the crypts. Though he didn't remember a path this near it. It does, at least, mean I'm close to the town.
And sure enough, the treeline broke, and he could see the wooden walls ahead. Something was different, though— he could see a few buildings over the top of them, and there were heavy-looking metal gates at the entrance, and, stranger, people, not milling about or keeping a nervous watch but actually guarding. They straightened as he approached, neither face familiar.
"State your business in Oakhurst." one, said.
Hesitantly, Legs replied, "I'm a doctor. I was hoping to— to settle here."
The two looked at each other a moment. Then, the other produced a polished silver mirror, and turned so that Legs was reflected in it. "Oh, brilliant." he couldn't stop himself from muttering. More vampire paranoia.
"You don't fear the undead?" the first guard asked as his companion replaced her mirror.
"No," Legs added, then realised what he was saying. "I'd be a fool not to believe in them, but I don't fear them."
The second guard gave him a sceptical look. "… Wiser'n most doctors who come here, I suppose. Might even be able to cure whatever the mayor's got."
The first sighed irritably, and Legs overheard their conversation as he passed. "Sun's sake, the mayor's not sick, he's just touched."
"'ve you seen him?"
"No, 'cause he never leaves the house. 'Cause he's touched. Come off it, the man's probably here for the lumberjack, anyways."
"Ah, true."
Legs stumbled, then turned back, interrupting. "Sorry, what was that last part?"
The second guard eyed him. "There's this lumberjack, got some sort of ailment." she said. "Most say it's the leprosy. Now, if anyone's touched in the head, it's him." she added conspiratorially to her companion.
"Never said he wasn't." the man said agreeably. "Poor fellow. Lives out in the woods and doesn't talk to no one. It'd drive me mad."
The second guard nodded certainly, but Legundo barely saw it, mind whirling.
"… You alright, doctor?" the first guard asked after a moment. "You've gone white as a sheet."
Legs dragged himself back to some semblance of composure. "Tired," he managed. "Long trip. The lumberjack— what's his name?"
"Owen, sir." the first guard replied. "Could point you in his direction if you like— Though, he might come to you when he hears about you."
I don't doubt that. Legs thought. "No, no, no need." he said out loud. "Is there an inn around here?"
The guard shrugged. "Not enough people come through for one. The last doctor left her place empty, though— no one'll mind if you move in. I can show you, if you'd like."
"Much appreciated." Legs said vaguely.
As the two walked, Legs took in the other man's appearance. He was bald, and broad shouldered, but that wasn't nearly as striking as his gear. Frankly, he put Avid to shame— a quiver of arrows and a massive longbow hung off of his back, a few glass bottles dotted his belt (doubtless full of holy water), and he wore thick leather chest armour that even covered his neck.
"You seem… equipped." Legs commented.
The man looked proud. "Well, we in the guard like people to feel protected." he said. "Against all sorts. Bandits, witches, vampires..."
"Pragmatic." was all Legundo could manage. "Are such things… common?"
He waved his hand back and forth. "Not so much these days. Apparently we've got a reputation. Good thing, I say. Keeps them far away from our town. Here we are," he added as they reached a ramshackle building, in slightly less good condition than the ones surrounding it. "Ask around if you need anything, and if you're out after dark, make sure you've got a light. And don't worry about the sky, it's always looked like that."
Legs nodded wordlessly, bid the man goodbye, and stepped through the door. It was about as uninspiring inside as out, with a few shelves of basic supplies and not a whole lot else. Inspection of the cupboards turned up a lot of dust, and the particularly unpleasant surprise that someone had evidently forgotten a jar of leeches quite some time ago.
Overall, far from the worst place Legs had ever stayed in.
He sat carefully at the somewhat rickety table, and took inventory of his own belongings, mainly for something to do. All of the medical tools present and accounted for. Change of clothes. Notebook— a quick flip through revealed that any of the notes he'd made on vampires had completely vanished. He contemplated replacing them, then filed that as a task for later. With little else to provide an excuse, then, Legs let the situation settle in.
Oakhurst. But not the Oakhurst he knew. Populated, equipped to handle vampires. And with Owen living at its edge. Owen, alive, ill… That sealed it. This was his Oakhurst.
Which begs the question… The last entry in his book was from just before he arrived in the town. Presumably, then, his physicality was the same. But Legs could remember everything that had transpired.
… Does Owen?
What would he do? Would he think to look for Legs? No, of course not, that would be ridiculous. But if he found out Legs was here, would he come after him? Legundo was struck by the memory of sabre fangs ripping into his throat, and stifled a wince. He'll be human, he reminded himself, probably. Hopefully. But what would Legs do even then? What would he do if Owen was still a vampire? Die, most likely, he thought sombrely. But then, what else could he do—?
It hit him like a bolt of lightning down the spine.
Louis.