IC Time: September 11th, 2007 - late night
Location: Port Angeles - Spacious Loft
Synopsis: Stacy tells Ramona her 'bloodline' is at fault for Spencer and Alanna's problems.
Submitted by: Ramona
Anastasia knocks quietly on Ramona's door. A very Army-green, very large duffel bag is slung across her back, and the case for her Gretsch fills her right hand, while her big Orange practice amp had filled her right until a moment ago. "'Mona?"
Ramona's looked better, to be sure, though a vampire can't exactly look under the weather. She sports a pair of black velour sweats without socks or shoes, and her hair, usually styled, is flattened against her hair. It looks like earlier, she had made an attempt at least at looking good — makeup smears across her face and piles of normal clothes are on the floor. "Hey," she greets warily toward the door. "Come up," she adds, knowing Stacy can hear. The apartment is messier than usual. There's a stench of blood coming from the fridge.
Stacy opens the door, picks up the amp, and enters with more grace than would be expected under her heavy load (probably due to her vampiric strength). The smell nearly hits her in the face, and she has to bite her lip hard to force down an impulse to drop everything and hunt up the source. Instead, she nudges the door shut with a booted heel and carefully deposits her load near the door. She blinks upon seeing Ramona, staring for a long moment with wide eyes. "'Mona? Are you all right? And why do I get the feeling that you've been stocking up?" she asks, a bit worriedly.
"Not stocking up, just too lazy to dispose of it," Ramona replies after watching Stacy come in with her arms full. There is no offer to help, of course, just a blank stare as she leans against the banister of the stairs leading up to the loft. If one was observant enough, she might also detect the scent of a human — a living one — that was recently in the loft. "Or too busy, I guess. You came to practice, I guess?" she assumes, pushing off the banister and opting for the couch, where she flings herself rather unceremoniously. "I can't right now. I mean, not only am I re-thinking the band, but I'm involved in a bit of a fuck up right now, so." She shrugs aloofly, seeming to invite questions, but not answer them right off.
"Fuck-up?" Stacy blinks again. "And less practice, more wondering if I can stay with you for a couple of days… maybe at the right time to help you out of this," she says. "I make it a point to never stay anywhere without a guitar and amp handy." She pauses, eyeing Ramona's makeup-smeared face. "You're a bit of a mess, and no mistake. Here, let me clean you up a little."
Ramona stretches her legs across the couch and moves to turn the television on, enjoying the mindless chatter it provides in the background of her and Stacy's conversation. "It's Spencer, he —" She pauses and raises her brows. "Stay with us?" She turns to align her body toward the other vampire. "Why?" She rubs at her eyes before continuing on with her story. "No. I don't want to be touched." Her brows knit together. "Look. Something bad has happened. Alanna — whatever happened to her? She turned human again, but why? How'd that happen? And… could you turn her back?"
"At least wash your face, then… you look like an example of why I should switch to Maybelline SexyNeverSmear or something," Stacy retorts, with no real rancor. As Ramona continues, however, her eyes widen, and she drops to her knees next to the couch, something vulnerable in her steadily widening and now deeply black eyes, an unavoidable side effect of the strong aroma of blood. "Alanna's gone… I don't know where. And I don't know how it happened, so I can't say whether… wait. Spencer's come unvamped, too?" She suddenly looks very worried.
"Some people like the smudged look. It's kind of bad girl," Ramona remarks, not bothering to touch her face or look for a mirror — she believes Stacy. She glances at Stacy as she kneels near the couch, looking something akin to exhausted, though it's not quite possibly. "She's gone. As in, she left town, or she… died?" She flinches. "And yeah. He is. It was the same, just like Alanna. I was there when Alanna started having issues, remember? It's just like that. He thinks we should tell the Volturi."
Stacy rolls her eyes. "It's not very bad-girl right now. More like end-of-my-rope," she replies. "And she left Forks… she didn't say where she was going, and I didn't ask. She was safer that way."
She leans slightly closer to Ramona, her tone turning sympathetic. "Poor Spence… I don't like him much, but that's still horrible." She shivers at the mention of the Volturi. "Uugghhh… I don't like the idea of going to them. They used Inari, and were going to just kill her after. But I don't know what else to do… this is so far over my head."
She looks up, her eyes wide again. "I just had a really, really bad thought… Spencer was made by you, and so was I. Alanna was made by me. What if it's some kind of, like, a blood disease, and it's hereditary? Passed from creator to… um… created?" She shivers more violently, hugging her shoulders, staring at Ramona with huge eyes. "What if I'm next..?"
Ramona smiles weakly. "Probably. Luckily, you're the only one to see," she says lightly. It's rare of her to admit she looks anything less than smokin', really. It would seem her worries over the situation have her guard down, at least a bit. "Me neither. I think they'd want to experiment, to investigate. They're the last people I want to tell," she adds with a slight shake of the head.
At Stacy's solution, Ramona looks frightened — it lasts only for a few seconds before she shakes her head firmly. "Are saying I'm some kind of freak, then? Get out!" she growls, moving her foot to nudge the other vampire with some force.
Stacy squeaks, surprised by the nudge, toppling over onto her back. "No, no! Diseases make you just sick, not a freak!" she protests, scooting back a bit to get clear of Ramona's legs before starting to rise, dragging her too-large fatigue pants down a couple of inches in the process. "No, that didn't come out right… dammit, listen! Diseases have sources… and they have cures," she continues, regaining her feet, her hands held up as if to placate Ramona. "If that's what this is, then we're /both/ potentially sick. Maybe Natalia, too, since she made you. If it's not, we've got no more to worry about than anyone else."
"I'm not at risk for anything. I'm fine. I feeling fucking great," Ramona says, trying to interrupt Stacy as she continues on with her gentle convictions of this 'disease.' In the process, she becomes so fired up that she sits up on the couch, and quickly transfers to a stand, pacing the room in quick, irritated steps. Stacy's revealing outfit doesn't seem to affect her much in her agitated state, though she does cut a rather harsh look toward the other vampire. "Well, whatever. I'm glad they do. Someone can go cure all of the sick little humans in the hospital, then. There's nothing wrong with me," she hisses, tone dangerously low. "If you ask me, it has something to do with what they ate, or maybe some kind of wolf thing. I don't know. All I know is that I'm not going to let you come in here and insult me and my maker. Go! I want to be alone," she requests coldly, staring at her creation a moment longer before she stalks angrily toward the bedroom area, landing on the bed and slipping into one of Spencer's sweatshirts before gazing blankly at the ceiling.
Stacy watches Ramona stalk off, her eyes still wide. A sound that might have been a hurriedly swallowed whimper escapes her through her parted lips, her expression turning wounded. "I didn't insult you… I didn't insult Natalia… I didn't even insult Spencer," she says, slowly, her voice soft and brittle. Were she still human, she would probably be wiping away tears and sniffling right now. She bends and picks up her cap, which had fallen off when she had been 'nudged' a moment before. "But you're not listening anyway." Her tone is suggestive of a weak try at indifference, but the brittleness that remains betrays her. "Fine. I'll be back when you're tired of sulking, and want to talk for real."
With that, she straightens, puts her cap back on, and opens the door. Gathering up bag, guitar, and amp, she strides out, biting her lip until she can pause long enough to almost slam the door.
Outside, she sighs, deflating, and turns to trudge back to the Jeep. "Stupid girl… why can't you just stand up to her?" she hisses, forgetting the power of vampiric hearing, among other things, in her current state. She knows very well why she can't.
