Post by albin dimitrius allard on Oct 15, 2022 14:10:14 GMT -5
“
The universe truly did have a sick, twisted sense of humor.
Or maybe it was poetic; Albin's world had ended, and now the rest of the world was, too.
Death had succeeded in reshaping the world as it pleased, and now all there was left to do was survive. Survive, or die.
Albin had been supposed to meet Austen that night. He'd been spending a lot of time with his friend and his parent since Hogwarts closed for good—it was weird, living with Professor Holmes. Lauren had apparently entrusted Albin's care to her friend, but that didn't make it feel any less weird to be living with a near stranger.
So Albin had been finding refuge with his friend, finding reasons to stay late at Austen's place or sleep over entirely. His bedroom at Professor Holmes' house—Arthur's house, and his now technically, he'd been reminded again and again—was foreign, and he found that he slept very little when he was there. But with Austen, snuggled beside his friend on Austen's twin bed, it was safe, and he could rest.
Albin had been early to Austen and Del's flat; Austen was still away at some party, but Del had let Albin in and set him down with a bowl of soup and mug of hot chocolate while he waited. They were a kind soul in that way, and they took care of him as if he was their own.
They were still taking care of him, despite all that had happened
Everything that had happened in the last few days was a blur. Austen and Quinn had arrived at the flat just as the first screams began ricocheting up from the streets below. Albin remembered Del throwing things into a bag and grabbing his and Austen's hands before they disapparated.
Now, days later, things were no less chaotic. The three of them had been moving around a lot, finding refuge where they could and trying to stay alive. There seemed to be vampires everywhere, and nowhere was safe for long.
That morning, they were hiding in a partially-destroyed house on the outskirts of Manchester. They had arrived there late the previous night, after being run out of their last hiding spot by a pair of truly vicious-looking vampires. The sun was just peaking through the blown-out windows when Albin woke.
Austen and Del were still asleep, in various states of repose. Albin knew that Del hadn't slept much in the past days, focused on protecting the two boys and keeping them safe, so it was nice to see them sleeping.
That was why, when Albin heard rustling, he decided not to wake them. Instead he gripped his wand tightly and rose, moving towards the sound. He stepped over an overturned bookcase and into what looked to have once been the house's kitchen, though now it was little more than broken furniture and rubble.
The source of the rustling was easy to find, and it let Albin lower his wand. A bright orange tabby picked its way through the rubble, obviously looking for something to eat. Had this been his home, once? Had he lived here with a family that was now dead, or worse?
It didn't take a lot of coaxing for the cat to come to Albin, and before long he sat with the cat in his lap, gently stroking his ears and talking quietly to the thing.
"Albin?"
Albin looked up at the sound of his name. Austen, sounding panicked. Immediately Albin felt bad; the world was dangerous, now more than ever, and he shouldn't have wandered off. "Over here," Albin called quietly, his voice carrying over the silence.
Or maybe it was poetic; Albin's world had ended, and now the rest of the world was, too.
Death had succeeded in reshaping the world as it pleased, and now all there was left to do was survive. Survive, or die.
Albin had been supposed to meet Austen that night. He'd been spending a lot of time with his friend and his parent since Hogwarts closed for good—it was weird, living with Professor Holmes. Lauren had apparently entrusted Albin's care to her friend, but that didn't make it feel any less weird to be living with a near stranger.
So Albin had been finding refuge with his friend, finding reasons to stay late at Austen's place or sleep over entirely. His bedroom at Professor Holmes' house—Arthur's house, and his now technically, he'd been reminded again and again—was foreign, and he found that he slept very little when he was there. But with Austen, snuggled beside his friend on Austen's twin bed, it was safe, and he could rest.
Albin had been early to Austen and Del's flat; Austen was still away at some party, but Del had let Albin in and set him down with a bowl of soup and mug of hot chocolate while he waited. They were a kind soul in that way, and they took care of him as if he was their own.
They were still taking care of him, despite all that had happened
Everything that had happened in the last few days was a blur. Austen and Quinn had arrived at the flat just as the first screams began ricocheting up from the streets below. Albin remembered Del throwing things into a bag and grabbing his and Austen's hands before they disapparated.
Now, days later, things were no less chaotic. The three of them had been moving around a lot, finding refuge where they could and trying to stay alive. There seemed to be vampires everywhere, and nowhere was safe for long.
That morning, they were hiding in a partially-destroyed house on the outskirts of Manchester. They had arrived there late the previous night, after being run out of their last hiding spot by a pair of truly vicious-looking vampires. The sun was just peaking through the blown-out windows when Albin woke.
Austen and Del were still asleep, in various states of repose. Albin knew that Del hadn't slept much in the past days, focused on protecting the two boys and keeping them safe, so it was nice to see them sleeping.
That was why, when Albin heard rustling, he decided not to wake them. Instead he gripped his wand tightly and rose, moving towards the sound. He stepped over an overturned bookcase and into what looked to have once been the house's kitchen, though now it was little more than broken furniture and rubble.
The source of the rustling was easy to find, and it let Albin lower his wand. A bright orange tabby picked its way through the rubble, obviously looking for something to eat. Had this been his home, once? Had he lived here with a family that was now dead, or worse?
It didn't take a lot of coaxing for the cat to come to Albin, and before long he sat with the cat in his lap, gently stroking his ears and talking quietly to the thing.
"Albin?"
Albin looked up at the sound of his name. Austen, sounding panicked. Immediately Albin felt bad; the world was dangerous, now more than ever, and he shouldn't have wandered off. "Over here," Albin called quietly, his voice carrying over the silence.
Albin Dimitrius
Allard★
Allard★
dandy ♫
