Jon rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts, then opens the door just in time to see Allerick stalking off, a defeated slump to his posture. The wizard sighs, watching him go, but doesn't let him get further than halfway to the end of the hallway before calling after him.
"You are well and truly an enigma, Mr. Silva." He says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "You spew venom like a viper almost constantly, but when the same is dealt to you in turn you wilt like a daffodil in August. If a conversation is what you're after, then come in and sit. Besides, you still haven't given me your father's information, for the event that my inquiries to The Archives prove favorable."
He steps aside, then, inviting the vampire into his room. He hasn't opened the curtains yet to see if the weather has cleared, and so the room is still somewhat dark. The bed isn't made either, but he can't bring himself to care. Allerick is hardly what he would call polite company, and the man has already seen him mostly bare through the dream they shared the night before last, so the fact that he's clad only in his loose sleeping pants means little in that regard.
Platinum watches, eyes narrowed and a growl in his throat, from the rumpled blankets atop the bed as the two men enter the room. Jon doesn't bother to straighten them out, preferring to let his dragon have his hiding place, but sits beside the beast's nest so that Allerick can have the chair. He's pointedly said nothing about offering the vampire another meal just yet, in part because he doesn't fancy trying to hike back up the mountain with the afterimages of a dream clinging to his consciousness, but also because he is far more curious to know what Allerick wants to talk about that couldn't be whispered in the ear of some common wench who would easily succumb to his charms.
"There's paper and a pen in the writing desk." He says, reaching under the pile of blankets to scratch Platinum's chin. It seems to soothe the creature a bit, though he still eyes the leech with hatred and distrust.
"You are well and truly an enigma, Mr. Silva." He says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "You spew venom like a viper almost constantly, but when the same is dealt to you in turn you wilt like a daffodil in August. If a conversation is what you're after, then come in and sit. Besides, you still haven't given me your father's information, for the event that my inquiries to The Archives prove favorable."
He steps aside, then, inviting the vampire into his room. He hasn't opened the curtains yet to see if the weather has cleared, and so the room is still somewhat dark. The bed isn't made either, but he can't bring himself to care. Allerick is hardly what he would call polite company, and the man has already seen him mostly bare through the dream they shared the night before last, so the fact that he's clad only in his loose sleeping pants means little in that regard.
Platinum watches, eyes narrowed and a growl in his throat, from the rumpled blankets atop the bed as the two men enter the room. Jon doesn't bother to straighten them out, preferring to let his dragon have his hiding place, but sits beside the beast's nest so that Allerick can have the chair. He's pointedly said nothing about offering the vampire another meal just yet, in part because he doesn't fancy trying to hike back up the mountain with the afterimages of a dream clinging to his consciousness, but also because he is far more curious to know what Allerick wants to talk about that couldn't be whispered in the ear of some common wench who would easily succumb to his charms.
"There's paper and a pen in the writing desk." He says, reaching under the pile of blankets to scratch Platinum's chin. It seems to soothe the creature a bit, though he still eyes the leech with hatred and distrust.
Just yesterday, he couldn't have imagined feeling so relieved by the sound of Jonathan's voice. Needling though it may be, the compliment—or what Allerick thinks is a compliment—does something to shore him up a little against the weight of his emptiness. But, upon parting his lips to shoot back a reply, he finds he is fresh out of his signature venom at the moment. All his acidic wit and sour quips are dried up, turned to ashes and moth balls. He slinks up the hallway again, taking his time, wearing the mien of a man who has very little reason to be happy and wants everyone to ask him what's wrong.
Allerick enters the room and glances dully around at the dark atmosphere, wishing very much they were retreating inside an opium den rather than this faintly musty bedroom. His pale coin eyes flick over Jonathan's bare torso for a moment, then the hateful little lizard, and finally to the desk when it is mentioned. He nods before turning and drifting toward it like the mere shadow of a man who once existed.
"You and Gable should come to the vineyard yourselves when the sun returns. My father will be curious to meet someone who means so much to him. We rarely ever saw the other one. Alex or Aliz…" He flaps his hand languidly, dismissing the woman's true name as being insignificant. His tone as he continues is still sullen, but warmed just a little by a sense of pride and nostalgia.
"We have traditions for things like this, conosci. The joining of families is very important in our culture, and my father would want them to be done properly for his eldest. And it isn't every day an archmage accepts a farm boy as his own, after all." His smile, though thin, is genuine.
The vampire takes a seat on the corner of the small desk, barely resting any weight against it. Despite being dressed so darkly, there's a gauziness to him, like he could float away or simply dissolve into the other shadows, if not for that strikingly pale face.
Allerick enters the room and glances dully around at the dark atmosphere, wishing very much they were retreating inside an opium den rather than this faintly musty bedroom. His pale coin eyes flick over Jonathan's bare torso for a moment, then the hateful little lizard, and finally to the desk when it is mentioned. He nods before turning and drifting toward it like the mere shadow of a man who once existed.
"You and Gable should come to the vineyard yourselves when the sun returns. My father will be curious to meet someone who means so much to him. We rarely ever saw the other one. Alex or Aliz…" He flaps his hand languidly, dismissing the woman's true name as being insignificant. His tone as he continues is still sullen, but warmed just a little by a sense of pride and nostalgia.
"We have traditions for things like this, conosci. The joining of families is very important in our culture, and my father would want them to be done properly for his eldest. And it isn't every day an archmage accepts a farm boy as his own, after all." His smile, though thin, is genuine.
The vampire takes a seat on the corner of the small desk, barely resting any weight against it. Despite being dressed so darkly, there's a gauziness to him, like he could float away or simply dissolve into the other shadows, if not for that strikingly pale face.
It is interesting to watch the way Allerick has changed over the course of the four days Jon has known him. From the cool and confident, highly charismatic entity he was on the first day to the excitable and clingy creature he had become yesterday, and now... this. He isn't really even sure how to describe it. The vampire's mood is clearly dark, but without any of the glistening charm he'd grown used to seeing from him.
"I plan to." He says, tilting his head and giving the young man a curious look. "Especially if we decide to move forward with having you assist some of the archivists. It isn't that I don't trust you'd be able to provide for them, I hope you understand. We simply must be certain that we perform our due diligence in ensuring their wellbeing before releasing them to your care."
"Well, from what I hear there was little love between them anyway." The wizard continues with a shrug, completely missing Allerick's insinuation as Platinum crawls out of his nest and curls up in Jon's lap. "I wouldn't want to share my family with someone who mistreated me or my son either, if I was in his place. I can't say I'm happy their marriage didn't last, but I can say that I am happy that he and Lee have found their way into my home."
Jonathan frowns, then, hearing the leech speak of joining families and traditions. Surely he doesn't think... no, there's no way he could mean it that way. He must be talking about Gabe's decision to remain at Black Pine Crossing instead of returning home to his blood family. As far as he knows, he hasn't given Allerick a reason to suspect otherwise, and so that is what he wagers the phrase is referring to.
"Davvero?" His smirk isn't dark or prideful, just mildly surprised and almost a bit giddy. It seems a little strange to be thinking about it this way, seeing as he hadn't really considered the possibility of formally adopting Gable before this moment, but now that he has ahold of the idea, he can't help but admit it: The prospect excites him. "I wouldn't have thought your father would give up his hold on Gable so easily. He seems... possessiva, sending you out here to collect him and all. I'm surprised he would even entertain the notion of anything so official, let alone condone it."
"I plan to." He says, tilting his head and giving the young man a curious look. "Especially if we decide to move forward with having you assist some of the archivists. It isn't that I don't trust you'd be able to provide for them, I hope you understand. We simply must be certain that we perform our due diligence in ensuring their wellbeing before releasing them to your care."
"Well, from what I hear there was little love between them anyway." The wizard continues with a shrug, completely missing Allerick's insinuation as Platinum crawls out of his nest and curls up in Jon's lap. "I wouldn't want to share my family with someone who mistreated me or my son either, if I was in his place. I can't say I'm happy their marriage didn't last, but I can say that I am happy that he and Lee have found their way into my home."
Jonathan frowns, then, hearing the leech speak of joining families and traditions. Surely he doesn't think... no, there's no way he could mean it that way. He must be talking about Gabe's decision to remain at Black Pine Crossing instead of returning home to his blood family. As far as he knows, he hasn't given Allerick a reason to suspect otherwise, and so that is what he wagers the phrase is referring to.
"Davvero?" His smirk isn't dark or prideful, just mildly surprised and almost a bit giddy. It seems a little strange to be thinking about it this way, seeing as he hadn't really considered the possibility of formally adopting Gable before this moment, but now that he has ahold of the idea, he can't help but admit it: The prospect excites him. "I wouldn't have thought your father would give up his hold on Gable so easily. He seems... possessiva, sending you out here to collect him and all. I'm surprised he would even entertain the notion of anything so official, let alone condone it."
“Ma certo, capisco. You have responsibilities to ensure their safety and comfort. But we will have a lovely time when you arrive, Gionata, and you will forget it is about business at all. Good wine, good conversation, stargazing, the hunt…” The expression that crosses Allerick’s face now is softer, something close to sentimentality in its wistfulness.
“Tch, you want to speak of venom? I am nothing compared to that acid-mouthed girl. She was very pleased with herself to burn the skin clean off a man’s bones.” He had been drunk and lusty when they first met, but that was no reason for her to call him an ugly, lascivious bottom-feeder.
“Possessivo,” Allerick corrects with a light, almost friendly snicker. He picks up the pen he had used to write his father’s details and twirls it absently with his head at a thoughtful tip: a mannerism (perhaps the only one) he shares with his big brother. “No, lui non è molto possessivo. If anything, he has been whatever the opposite of that word would be. Il nostro padre drifted away from Gable’s mother shortly after he met mine. My elder brother has written many letters asking him to visit, but he rarely does; there is too much business to attend to in the warm months, when it’s easiest to travel…”
“When I last came to visit Gable myself, as I do several times a year, I learned of his crimes and how he had fled towards your mountains. My father wanted me to pursue him and offer him work, so we can be together as a complete family business: ‘Melchiades Lucarelle & Sons.’ But… if he were to meet you, to hear you speak of your care for Gable and all the impressive things you can teach him to better this life, then perhaps he would entertain the thought.”
Jonathan’s hopefulness and excitement has done something to sway the vampire into a slightly better mood. He still doesn’t like the idea of returning home empty-handed, but if he can promise Gable isn’t far behind, and with something even more valuable to the family than his dumb strength, then perhaps their father will not be too disappointed.
“Will you be asking Gable to take your name? My father of course wishes he used Lucarelle, but ‘Kendall’ is so common and dusty, like that hole he climbed out of… I believe Eris could suit him nicely.”
“Tch, you want to speak of venom? I am nothing compared to that acid-mouthed girl. She was very pleased with herself to burn the skin clean off a man’s bones.” He had been drunk and lusty when they first met, but that was no reason for her to call him an ugly, lascivious bottom-feeder.
“Possessivo,” Allerick corrects with a light, almost friendly snicker. He picks up the pen he had used to write his father’s details and twirls it absently with his head at a thoughtful tip: a mannerism (perhaps the only one) he shares with his big brother. “No, lui non è molto possessivo. If anything, he has been whatever the opposite of that word would be. Il nostro padre drifted away from Gable’s mother shortly after he met mine. My elder brother has written many letters asking him to visit, but he rarely does; there is too much business to attend to in the warm months, when it’s easiest to travel…”
“When I last came to visit Gable myself, as I do several times a year, I learned of his crimes and how he had fled towards your mountains. My father wanted me to pursue him and offer him work, so we can be together as a complete family business: ‘Melchiades Lucarelle & Sons.’ But… if he were to meet you, to hear you speak of your care for Gable and all the impressive things you can teach him to better this life, then perhaps he would entertain the thought.”
Jonathan’s hopefulness and excitement has done something to sway the vampire into a slightly better mood. He still doesn’t like the idea of returning home empty-handed, but if he can promise Gable isn’t far behind, and with something even more valuable to the family than his dumb strength, then perhaps their father will not be too disappointed.
“Will you be asking Gable to take your name? My father of course wishes he used Lucarelle, but ‘Kendall’ is so common and dusty, like that hole he climbed out of… I believe Eris could suit him nicely.”
"Tch." Jon gives the vampire a tired eye-roll. He shouldn't get so bent out of shape about Allerick's teasing, but it hits a sore spot. While not exactly a point of pride, the wizard does admit that his knowledge of linguistics tends to lean more toward the wide than the deep, though he wishes it were both. "You try keeping up on a language when you have no one to speak it with. Noldorinwaië i lambë-ima, ténenca."
Jonathan is a bit taken aback at the insinuation that Gabe might want to use his name. After all, he had his pick of surnames in the past and made his choice. And he is an adult, and therefore has the power to make those decisions on his own. Well... he supposes he could make the offer.
"I'll let him determine that for himself." He says with a nod, straightening out some of the feathers of Platinum's wings. "Gable is an adult capable of making that decision on his own. I won't push him in either direction, I believe that's a choice he should be allowed to make. There's power in a name, after all, and I don't want to foist anything on him that he doesn't want. Same goes for Lee. I'll cede that decision to his father, and if he wants to let the boy choose for himself, then I'm amenable to that too."
At that point his thoughts turn back to what Allerick has been saying about his father's estate. It does seem like a lovely place, when described with the honeyed words of the vampire. But as much as he's told he would be welcome and treated well, there's still some part of him that feels wary of it. As a result, he can't help but hope that the leech's words about forgetting the visit is for business prove to be false, or that The Keeper disagrees with his proposal altogether and he ends up not visiting at all.
"We'll see how things go when we get to that point." He says blandly, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "Regardless, I'm glad to see Gable free of his former spouse. He and Lee seem happy in my home, and that's all I can ask for."
Jonathan is a bit taken aback at the insinuation that Gabe might want to use his name. After all, he had his pick of surnames in the past and made his choice. And he is an adult, and therefore has the power to make those decisions on his own. Well... he supposes he could make the offer.
"I'll let him determine that for himself." He says with a nod, straightening out some of the feathers of Platinum's wings. "Gable is an adult capable of making that decision on his own. I won't push him in either direction, I believe that's a choice he should be allowed to make. There's power in a name, after all, and I don't want to foist anything on him that he doesn't want. Same goes for Lee. I'll cede that decision to his father, and if he wants to let the boy choose for himself, then I'm amenable to that too."
At that point his thoughts turn back to what Allerick has been saying about his father's estate. It does seem like a lovely place, when described with the honeyed words of the vampire. But as much as he's told he would be welcome and treated well, there's still some part of him that feels wary of it. As a result, he can't help but hope that the leech's words about forgetting the visit is for business prove to be false, or that The Keeper disagrees with his proposal altogether and he ends up not visiting at all.
"We'll see how things go when we get to that point." He says blandly, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "Regardless, I'm glad to see Gable free of his former spouse. He and Lee seem happy in my home, and that's all I can ask for."
Allerick blinks at the incoherent string of pretty syllables that flow from Jonathan’s lips. “...That was lovely. Is it your native tongue? And yes, I suppose Gable isn’t much of a conversation partner... He has the vocabulary of a five year old. Possibly younger than that, and his pronunciation is horrid… Much worse than yours.”
The vampire dismounts the writing desk and paces over to the chair in which Jonathan had sat two nights ago, slumped and dreamy. He runs his fingers along the cool wooden arm before seating himself primly. He takes up far less room than the wizard did, making him look slightly dwarfed and childlike.
He frowns slightly at Jonathan’s final statement. It sounds as though the man sees their family’s matrimonial traditions as optional, and that doesn’t sit well with the proud young vamp. But for some reason, he can’t pluck up enough indignation to argue the matter right now. “I suppose if it is enough for Gable, it is enough for the family. But I am sure all of us would be much happier if things were done in honesty.”
Loyalty to the family is everything in a spouse… Who else, besides a brother, can you trust to bury your bodies for you?
Allerick falls quiet for a little while as he decides how to phrase his next request: breakfast. He settles on framing it like an offer. “Would you like to see Helena one last time, before we part ways?”
The vampire dismounts the writing desk and paces over to the chair in which Jonathan had sat two nights ago, slumped and dreamy. He runs his fingers along the cool wooden arm before seating himself primly. He takes up far less room than the wizard did, making him look slightly dwarfed and childlike.
He frowns slightly at Jonathan’s final statement. It sounds as though the man sees their family’s matrimonial traditions as optional, and that doesn’t sit well with the proud young vamp. But for some reason, he can’t pluck up enough indignation to argue the matter right now. “I suppose if it is enough for Gable, it is enough for the family. But I am sure all of us would be much happier if things were done in honesty.”
Loyalty to the family is everything in a spouse… Who else, besides a brother, can you trust to bury your bodies for you?
Allerick falls quiet for a little while as he decides how to phrase his next request: breakfast. He settles on framing it like an offer. “Would you like to see Helena one last time, before we part ways?”
“That is Noldorinwa, the language of the Deep Elves.” The wizard explains, pointedly ignoring the fact that Allerick has gone back to insulting his brother again. “Not my native tongue, but one I use frequently enough in my work. After all, the royal family of Canatorn will tolerate no language by their own spoken within the walls of their home, and I have a fair number of dealings with them. Regretfully, I grew up in a merchant’s household. I was taught to speak many tongues during my education, but we always used common at home. Falgate has enough traffic through it that it was the most practical.”
Jonathan tilts his head curiously at the vampire's comment. "I am not trying to be dishonest with you or your family, Allerick. But whether or not We visit your family's estate hinges on several factors I cannot foresee at the moment, one of which is Gable's comfort, which I am not about to discount purely because of societal obligations."
This has turned into a truly bizarre conversation, and part of the wizard isn't really sure he even knows what it's about anymore. But no matter, it seems the leech is through with it, finally, and they sit in silence for a moment. He'd almost be tempted to call it companionable, if it were anything close to that. As it stands there isn't enough animosity between them to call it a tense silence, and not enough amicability to call it friendly. Perhaps thoughtful is the right word for it, for the space that hangs between them while Platinum slinks back under the blankets.
And then the silence is broken, and Jon answers with a contemplative sigh. Does he want to see Helena again? That answer is too complex to relay cleanly to the vampire. It had been nice to see her again. But it had also hurt. She lived a long, full life, but he had still lost her in the end to the only thing that will never kill him: Old age. The reminder of that had stung, coloring his memory of the dream in a different light from what Allerick would have understood.
"Helena? No, I do not think so." He says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands steepled before his face. "But I would not be opposed to another dream. Something to show off just how far your creative skills can reach? Or a memory of yours, perhaps. We could even make a game of it, and you can show me what you think I want to see, and at the end I'll tell you whether or not I enjoyed it."
Jonathan tilts his head curiously at the vampire's comment. "I am not trying to be dishonest with you or your family, Allerick. But whether or not We visit your family's estate hinges on several factors I cannot foresee at the moment, one of which is Gable's comfort, which I am not about to discount purely because of societal obligations."
This has turned into a truly bizarre conversation, and part of the wizard isn't really sure he even knows what it's about anymore. But no matter, it seems the leech is through with it, finally, and they sit in silence for a moment. He'd almost be tempted to call it companionable, if it were anything close to that. As it stands there isn't enough animosity between them to call it a tense silence, and not enough amicability to call it friendly. Perhaps thoughtful is the right word for it, for the space that hangs between them while Platinum slinks back under the blankets.
And then the silence is broken, and Jon answers with a contemplative sigh. Does he want to see Helena again? That answer is too complex to relay cleanly to the vampire. It had been nice to see her again. But it had also hurt. She lived a long, full life, but he had still lost her in the end to the only thing that will never kill him: Old age. The reminder of that had stung, coloring his memory of the dream in a different light from what Allerick would have understood.
"Helena? No, I do not think so." He says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands steepled before his face. "But I would not be opposed to another dream. Something to show off just how far your creative skills can reach? Or a memory of yours, perhaps. We could even make a game of it, and you can show me what you think I want to see, and at the end I'll tell you whether or not I enjoyed it."
Intrigue warms the young vampire’s expression and he leans forward in his chair. “Davvero? You would like to play a game?”
Well, he now knows that anything to do with Gable is a sure win. But if he’s honest with himself, he couldn’t replicate the big oaf well enough to pass under the scrutiny of a man who wants to marry him… Not by far. He hasn’t paid that much attention to the details of Gable’s eyes, for instance, or the kinds of words he uses. Does he have freckles? Scars? Crooked teeth? He really doesn’t know, and frankly he doesn’t care to spend this opportunity doting on his older brother anyway.
No, if Jonathan wants a show, then Allerick will give him a dazzling fantasy that’s as real as their own noses. Since first mentioning the vineyard the day before, its beautiful rolling hills have glowed bright and crisp in his mind’s eye. That is where he will bring the wizard.
Unlike the other times he entranced Jonathan, he won’t be feeding from him while he spins his web. Not at first, anyway, because these are his own memories; the act will demand all of his concentration and he will close his own eyes, too. But he still expects to be paid with a meal once he can transfer ‘ownership’ to Jonathan’s mind, he explains. “When you have absorbed the world and its details into your own memory, I may return to the waking world while continuing to guide you from afar. You understand? You agree to my drinking from you? Good. Then let us begin.”
-
Warm, welcoming summer sunshine pours down upon their shoulders and the taste of sweet earth is in the air. A symphony of chirping of insects and birdsong surrounds them with music and the rush of a pleasant wind keeps their clothes from becoming sticky in the heat.
Allerick, or a version of Allerick that reflects how he sees himself, stands beside Jonathan. He looks even younger than he does in the waking world because this is the last face he can recall himself wearing. He is a dark, handsome boy, naturally tanned with a healthy ruddiness to his complexion. His eyes are still intense, but not so sharp; a pleasant shade of green softens them as opposed to that glinting, colorless version he wears as an undead thing.
”Ready for the tour, Gionata?” It isn’t clear which language he’s speaking. Either way, Jonathan would be able to understand him as effortlessly as though his words were the wizard’s own thoughts.
They’re standing in a grassy valley at the base of many rolling hills. He gestures upwards. HIs father’s house (a mansion, really) stands proud and straight like a fortified stone city on the top of one of those hills. ”This way.”
The climb is steep but pleasant, and it doesn’t tax their bodies at all. Nothing hurts, nothing is strained. All the benefits of immortal youth are at Jonathan’s disposal. He could break into an unfettered gallop at any moment if he wanted to and hardly need to breathe. Allerick invites him to eat of the grape vines along the way; green, red, deep bluish-purple, all fresh and swollen with nectar. “You can eat anything you want here.”
Allerick supplies the sensation of breaking through their delicate skins with his teeth, followed by a gush of flavor as real and robust as if it were really happening.
At the top of the hill, huge masses of lusty, dark pink bougainvillea vine flowers cover an army of trellises along the mansion’s walls. All of the windows have been thrown open and a sampling of savory foods wafts in their direction. The scent of sun-warmed herbs thickens the sweet wind, too. He leads the wizard through rows of thyme, rosemary, huge mounds of oregano, and every other herb imaginable. They pause to taste those, too.
”Let me give you some lunch to enjoy. Then I will drink while you lie in the sun. Agreed?”
Well, he now knows that anything to do with Gable is a sure win. But if he’s honest with himself, he couldn’t replicate the big oaf well enough to pass under the scrutiny of a man who wants to marry him… Not by far. He hasn’t paid that much attention to the details of Gable’s eyes, for instance, or the kinds of words he uses. Does he have freckles? Scars? Crooked teeth? He really doesn’t know, and frankly he doesn’t care to spend this opportunity doting on his older brother anyway.
No, if Jonathan wants a show, then Allerick will give him a dazzling fantasy that’s as real as their own noses. Since first mentioning the vineyard the day before, its beautiful rolling hills have glowed bright and crisp in his mind’s eye. That is where he will bring the wizard.
Unlike the other times he entranced Jonathan, he won’t be feeding from him while he spins his web. Not at first, anyway, because these are his own memories; the act will demand all of his concentration and he will close his own eyes, too. But he still expects to be paid with a meal once he can transfer ‘ownership’ to Jonathan’s mind, he explains. “When you have absorbed the world and its details into your own memory, I may return to the waking world while continuing to guide you from afar. You understand? You agree to my drinking from you? Good. Then let us begin.”
-
Warm, welcoming summer sunshine pours down upon their shoulders and the taste of sweet earth is in the air. A symphony of chirping of insects and birdsong surrounds them with music and the rush of a pleasant wind keeps their clothes from becoming sticky in the heat.
Allerick, or a version of Allerick that reflects how he sees himself, stands beside Jonathan. He looks even younger than he does in the waking world because this is the last face he can recall himself wearing. He is a dark, handsome boy, naturally tanned with a healthy ruddiness to his complexion. His eyes are still intense, but not so sharp; a pleasant shade of green softens them as opposed to that glinting, colorless version he wears as an undead thing.
”Ready for the tour, Gionata?” It isn’t clear which language he’s speaking. Either way, Jonathan would be able to understand him as effortlessly as though his words were the wizard’s own thoughts.
They’re standing in a grassy valley at the base of many rolling hills. He gestures upwards. HIs father’s house (a mansion, really) stands proud and straight like a fortified stone city on the top of one of those hills. ”This way.”
The climb is steep but pleasant, and it doesn’t tax their bodies at all. Nothing hurts, nothing is strained. All the benefits of immortal youth are at Jonathan’s disposal. He could break into an unfettered gallop at any moment if he wanted to and hardly need to breathe. Allerick invites him to eat of the grape vines along the way; green, red, deep bluish-purple, all fresh and swollen with nectar. “You can eat anything you want here.”
Allerick supplies the sensation of breaking through their delicate skins with his teeth, followed by a gush of flavor as real and robust as if it were really happening.
At the top of the hill, huge masses of lusty, dark pink bougainvillea vine flowers cover an army of trellises along the mansion’s walls. All of the windows have been thrown open and a sampling of savory foods wafts in their direction. The scent of sun-warmed herbs thickens the sweet wind, too. He leads the wizard through rows of thyme, rosemary, huge mounds of oregano, and every other herb imaginable. They pause to taste those, too.
”Let me give you some lunch to enjoy. Then I will drink while you lie in the sun. Agreed?”
The world Allerick takes him to is truly beautiful. It is less wild, more cultivated, than his own tastes, but that does not make it any less pleasing to look at. It doesn’t take him long to realize that the estate he wanders with this younger, healthier-looking version of Allerick is the one the vampire spoke of. His father’s house, and the one where, should the good Keeper agree to their experiment, some of the archivists may come to live.
He’s pleasantly surprised to find that none of the aches of his aging body seem to bother him here, even as they climb up the steep hills and valleys of the estate. And the grapes… how long has it been since he’s been able to pop an actual grape into his mouth and fully eat it, feeling the taut skin of the fruit give way to a sweet gush of juice?
It’s all he can do to keep from gorging himself on them.
But soon the delicious taste of the grapes is put to shame, almost, by the veritable feast he is offered in the mansion’s kitchen. Warm, fresh bread with herbs and olive oil baked in. Plump round meatballs that practically explode with juice when he bites into them. Sweet red tomatoes and bright basil that sit in a shallow bath of dark vinegar with shreds of soft white cheese. Roasted veal shanks with charred vegetables.
It’s as if he’s died and gone to paradise, getting to taste all of these flavors on his tongue, feel the textures in his mouth. It’s a far cry from what he usually eats. Perhaps unfortunately, there’s nothing he can do to stop his dream self from reflecting the absolute bliss he feels consuming Allerick’s offered meal.
Speak of the slippery devil…
”Is this what you looked like?” He asks his question in the same not-quite-language way that Al had been speaking to him, in between mouthfuls. ”Before you turned, I mean.”
-
It’s been a long journey. It’s been cold, rainy, snowy, but nothing so far has caused more than a few hours delay. Luckily the storm she heard has been ravaging the South Rim Canyon seems to have cleared up too, so after a quick rest in town, she should be able to head straight up the mountain tomorrow without issue. Not that her mechanical steed has to bow to the same weather conditions that a mere animal must. Only the most heinous of storms would be able to stop her progress, though from what she’s heard this storm might have had the potential for it.
Ramona parks her mechanical beast behind the small barn at The Three Coons, where it won’t take up the space dedicated for actual animals that need the shelter from the elements. She could make it up to Black Pine Crossing today if she wanted to, but she’d be haggard and tired by the time she arrived if she does. And that just won’t do. She’ll want to be well-rested and on top of her game when she gets there. Maddox had made it sound like Jonathan was in rough shape, but not deathly ill. And she hadn’t received any updated communication since, which she would have if things had worsened.
She’ll stay at the inn tonight. Freshen up. Rest. That way she’ll be ready to meet with Jon in the morning. Hopefully he’ll be well enough for some socializing.
He’s pleasantly surprised to find that none of the aches of his aging body seem to bother him here, even as they climb up the steep hills and valleys of the estate. And the grapes… how long has it been since he’s been able to pop an actual grape into his mouth and fully eat it, feeling the taut skin of the fruit give way to a sweet gush of juice?
It’s all he can do to keep from gorging himself on them.
But soon the delicious taste of the grapes is put to shame, almost, by the veritable feast he is offered in the mansion’s kitchen. Warm, fresh bread with herbs and olive oil baked in. Plump round meatballs that practically explode with juice when he bites into them. Sweet red tomatoes and bright basil that sit in a shallow bath of dark vinegar with shreds of soft white cheese. Roasted veal shanks with charred vegetables.
It’s as if he’s died and gone to paradise, getting to taste all of these flavors on his tongue, feel the textures in his mouth. It’s a far cry from what he usually eats. Perhaps unfortunately, there’s nothing he can do to stop his dream self from reflecting the absolute bliss he feels consuming Allerick’s offered meal.
Speak of the slippery devil…
”Is this what you looked like?” He asks his question in the same not-quite-language way that Al had been speaking to him, in between mouthfuls. ”Before you turned, I mean.”
-
It’s been a long journey. It’s been cold, rainy, snowy, but nothing so far has caused more than a few hours delay. Luckily the storm she heard has been ravaging the South Rim Canyon seems to have cleared up too, so after a quick rest in town, she should be able to head straight up the mountain tomorrow without issue. Not that her mechanical steed has to bow to the same weather conditions that a mere animal must. Only the most heinous of storms would be able to stop her progress, though from what she’s heard this storm might have had the potential for it.
Ramona parks her mechanical beast behind the small barn at The Three Coons, where it won’t take up the space dedicated for actual animals that need the shelter from the elements. She could make it up to Black Pine Crossing today if she wanted to, but she’d be haggard and tired by the time she arrived if she does. And that just won’t do. She’ll want to be well-rested and on top of her game when she gets there. Maddox had made it sound like Jonathan was in rough shape, but not deathly ill. And she hadn’t received any updated communication since, which she would have if things had worsened.
She’ll stay at the inn tonight. Freshen up. Rest. That way she’ll be ready to meet with Jon in the morning. Hopefully he’ll be well enough for some socializing.
It wasn't only Allerick’s sense of sight and smell that became heightened with his new nature; taste, too, became overwhelmingly intense for him on the day of his rebirth. He nearly starved to death because of it. Every garish flavor and grating texture repulsed his stomach. It took time, and patience, and passion for him to return to the kitchen, and now his own meals require far less seasoning than they used to. His touch for human cuisine has probably faded with time, but his memories are strong, and he’s pleased to see them being enjoyed by someone so giddily indulgent.
He’s actually smiling as he watches Jonathan. But that expression shifts quickly at the wizard’s question.
Allerick’s fingertips lift and caress his own face, beginning at the pinnacle of a zygomatic bone that's sharp as a hunting knife and trailing downwards along his tanned, handsome cheek. He wears a slightly mystified expression as he murmurs distrustingly, "Is it really so different now?"
Like Jonathan, the young vampire can’t hide how he really feels in this world. Pain, vanity, regret, wistfulness, it all mingles together in a way that is unavoidably shared with the wizard, too, but not on Allerick’s face so much as a feeling that permeates the air. They are in his mind, now, after all.
He returns to the quiet, sulky mood he’d worn when he first came to Jonathan’s door in the waking world and looks as though something has been stolen from him, or he has been betrayed, or lost something precious. A nearby saltshaker is taken into hand as something to fidget with while he collects his thoughts. He begins to speak slowly, not because Jonathan has asked to hear the story, but because he has never spoken it to anyone before and it demands to be put to words before it eats him hollow.
“My father was meant to be reborn with me that night. I was... afraid. A sheltered child with a different idea of how his life should continue. He promised we would do it together. But when I woke up, so cold and aching, he looked nothing like the gaunt, ugly men who came to our home.”
“He said that was because of our ancestry. ‘Those men do not possess the secret we do, Allerdaro. We are like gods, not rats.’ He told me I looked beautiful. Just like him. But I quickly saw myself in others’ faces, my mother’s face, and knew that was not true.”
“This is how I remember myself, because I know no better. Would you like dessert?”
He’s actually smiling as he watches Jonathan. But that expression shifts quickly at the wizard’s question.
Allerick’s fingertips lift and caress his own face, beginning at the pinnacle of a zygomatic bone that's sharp as a hunting knife and trailing downwards along his tanned, handsome cheek. He wears a slightly mystified expression as he murmurs distrustingly, "Is it really so different now?"
Like Jonathan, the young vampire can’t hide how he really feels in this world. Pain, vanity, regret, wistfulness, it all mingles together in a way that is unavoidably shared with the wizard, too, but not on Allerick’s face so much as a feeling that permeates the air. They are in his mind, now, after all.
He returns to the quiet, sulky mood he’d worn when he first came to Jonathan’s door in the waking world and looks as though something has been stolen from him, or he has been betrayed, or lost something precious. A nearby saltshaker is taken into hand as something to fidget with while he collects his thoughts. He begins to speak slowly, not because Jonathan has asked to hear the story, but because he has never spoken it to anyone before and it demands to be put to words before it eats him hollow.
“My father was meant to be reborn with me that night. I was... afraid. A sheltered child with a different idea of how his life should continue. He promised we would do it together. But when I woke up, so cold and aching, he looked nothing like the gaunt, ugly men who came to our home.”
“He said that was because of our ancestry. ‘Those men do not possess the secret we do, Allerdaro. We are like gods, not rats.’ He told me I looked beautiful. Just like him. But I quickly saw myself in others’ faces, my mother’s face, and knew that was not true.”
“This is how I remember myself, because I know no better. Would you like dessert?”
Jon takes a minute to truly study Allerick as the emotions play across the younger man’s face. He looks at the shape of him, of his face and body, the lay of his hair, the tone and texture of his skin. Underneath it all, he can see where the Allerick he knows came from, but that doesn’t mean the two are one and the same.
“You have changed in the way a tree changes with the seasons.” He starts off, putting what he hopes is enough poetry into his words that it will soothe over the vampire’s ruffled feathers. He’s at the man’s mercy, after all, letting him bite and feed again as he is. “You are not ugly, if it is any consolation. Does the oak become any less beautiful when its leaves drop in the autumn? Or when it lies bare to be clothed in winter’s frost and snow? Your youth is forever etched in alabaster, a stony homage to what was and will now forever be. Is it the same visage that stands before me right now? No. But is it any less than what was before? I would say not.”
He pops a tomato into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue for a moment before biting into it. His words are genuine, even if they are spoken in the spirit of self-preservation. The way his face doesn’t take on the usual flirtatious smirk that he wears when he’s trying to be charismatic and persuasive, the way it does when he’s being political, should be enough of a tell. There is nothing but honesty in the old man’s pale eyes.
“Yes please.” He finally answers, giving in to the temptation to rip off another piece of warm, spongy bread for himself. The fact that this is all a dream and that he doesn’t seem to feel overfull no matter how much he eats is a gift in and of itself. “Dessert would be lovely. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to consider more than sweetened milk for such a thing.”
The wizard waits a moment, letting the mood of the room settle before he pries further. He doesn’t want to upset Allerick after all. But now that the door has been opened, he would be remiss not to learn while he can while he’s here.
“So your father was originally supposed to turn as well, then? Was he not affected in the same way that you were when he turned? Or did he see what the curse did to you and decide to spare himself from it completely when it was already too late for you?” He has a hunch it’s probably the latter. The more he hears about Allerick and Gable’s father, the more Jon find himself wanting to hit the man over the head with a pair of forge tongs. “Either way the man sounds needlessly cruel.”
“You have changed in the way a tree changes with the seasons.” He starts off, putting what he hopes is enough poetry into his words that it will soothe over the vampire’s ruffled feathers. He’s at the man’s mercy, after all, letting him bite and feed again as he is. “You are not ugly, if it is any consolation. Does the oak become any less beautiful when its leaves drop in the autumn? Or when it lies bare to be clothed in winter’s frost and snow? Your youth is forever etched in alabaster, a stony homage to what was and will now forever be. Is it the same visage that stands before me right now? No. But is it any less than what was before? I would say not.”
He pops a tomato into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue for a moment before biting into it. His words are genuine, even if they are spoken in the spirit of self-preservation. The way his face doesn’t take on the usual flirtatious smirk that he wears when he’s trying to be charismatic and persuasive, the way it does when he’s being political, should be enough of a tell. There is nothing but honesty in the old man’s pale eyes.
“Yes please.” He finally answers, giving in to the temptation to rip off another piece of warm, spongy bread for himself. The fact that this is all a dream and that he doesn’t seem to feel overfull no matter how much he eats is a gift in and of itself. “Dessert would be lovely. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to consider more than sweetened milk for such a thing.”
The wizard waits a moment, letting the mood of the room settle before he pries further. He doesn’t want to upset Allerick after all. But now that the door has been opened, he would be remiss not to learn while he can while he’s here.
“So your father was originally supposed to turn as well, then? Was he not affected in the same way that you were when he turned? Or did he see what the curse did to you and decide to spare himself from it completely when it was already too late for you?” He has a hunch it’s probably the latter. The more he hears about Allerick and Gable’s father, the more Jon find himself wanting to hit the man over the head with a pair of forge tongs. “Either way the man sounds needlessly cruel.”
Allerick listens to the poetry with something of a wistful smile. “An oak in winter may be beautiful, but it is not truly alive, Gionata. It was created for grander things than to be a skeleton clawing at the gray sky. Its true purpose is to bask in warm sunlight; to bear the carvings of lovers’s names; to shelter children; to protect mother birds. I will never have those things now. …But your words are romantic and I like them. Perhaps I’ll steal them for my memoires.” A little playfulness, a little of the flirtation that is so natural to Allerick, flickers to life in his vibrant young eyes again.
The boy—the vampire—nods and stands again to prepare the desserts. Like the first time, when he ‘cooked’ the meals Jonathan has enjoyed so far, the process is somehow complete, yet condensed, just like in a dream. The steps all seem to be logical and chronological, but upon closer inspection, the details are as vague as smoke. And so, with no effort at all except what is required to keep the realness of the fantasy, he sets tiramisù, cannolis, crostata, and semifreddo on the table before the wizard.
The man’s question is answered with a wry smirk. “I do not believe he ever intended to follow through with his promise.”
“I see now that it would have been bad for business; the customers never would have loved him as they do now. For the same reason, the ugliness of a dead thing, I am not allowed to have any contact with them... So my work lies in the shadows. Recruitment, as I have said before, amongst other things.”
The boy studies the floral print on the tablecloth for quite some time. He smooths the edges of it beneath his fingers.
“Do you think they will be happy here? The archivists. Do you think my dreams could really help them to live?”
The boy—the vampire—nods and stands again to prepare the desserts. Like the first time, when he ‘cooked’ the meals Jonathan has enjoyed so far, the process is somehow complete, yet condensed, just like in a dream. The steps all seem to be logical and chronological, but upon closer inspection, the details are as vague as smoke. And so, with no effort at all except what is required to keep the realness of the fantasy, he sets tiramisù, cannolis, crostata, and semifreddo on the table before the wizard.
The man’s question is answered with a wry smirk. “I do not believe he ever intended to follow through with his promise.”
“I see now that it would have been bad for business; the customers never would have loved him as they do now. For the same reason, the ugliness of a dead thing, I am not allowed to have any contact with them... So my work lies in the shadows. Recruitment, as I have said before, amongst other things.”
The boy studies the floral print on the tablecloth for quite some time. He smooths the edges of it beneath his fingers.
“Do you think they will be happy here? The archivists. Do you think my dreams could really help them to live?”
”Dormant, not dead, Mr. Silva.” Jonathan’s correction is kind, coming soft like light rainfall as he watches the vampire prepare dessert. He finds he can’t look too closely at what the younger man does, lest he feel as though his head is splitting in two. Better not to pay too much attention to that. ”Both can be remedied, at least in your case. Much like lycanthropy, there are ways to rid oneself of vampirism’s curse.”
The wizard snorts, imagining Allerick thinking back fondly on this conversation whenever he needs an ego boost. What a vain, vain creature. He can’t decide whether or not he’s pleased about the thought of the vampire’s cold little heart warming to the words that just came out of his mouth, but at least they’ve served to amuse him for the moment.
But then the sweets come out, and Jon can’t be bothered to dwell on that anymore.
Delicate pastries that he’s heard of but never tried. Frozen cream treats that have a texture so smooth he never could have dreamed it up. Dense, coffee-soaked cake with silky toppings. Delicate, wide tarts with warm, decadent filling. In short: The man feels very much as though he’ll never see such a profound demonstration of culinary excellence again. At least, not one that he’ll be able to truly appreciate.
”Disgusting.” The wizard utters the word around a mouthful of cannoli, though it’s clear he isn’t talking about the dessert, seeing as he immediately takes another bite afterward. The delicate treats have obviously become a favorite, but still he shakes his head, continuing after he takes a moment to swallow the cannoli. ”He used you. You trusted him, and he abandoned you to become a tool for his own selfish gains. The more I learn about your father, the less I like him.”
The emotion he feels lies somewhere between rage and despair. He pities the boy before him. To have been betrayed and tossed aside by one’s own father like that… it’s a surprisingly familiar sentiment. As much as he hates to admit it, perhaps the two of them have more in common than he initially thought.
The wizard takes a moment to chew his lip, as opposed to one of the many desserts laid out before him, while he mulls over the vampire’s question.
”I do.” He finally says with a nod, recalling the wide open spaces the estate offers, and the sheer realness of the dream he is currently in. ”I think this place is fantastically equipped to care for them. Especially with what you can offer in terms of dreams. I have to keep reminding myself every few minutes that that is exactly what this is and nothing more… but I worry about your father. Leaving the archivists in the care of someone ruthless enough that they would lie to their own son and have him turned undead as a result makes me feel rather nervous about the whole thing. A good number of them don’t have much left in terms of free will, either because it’s been beat out of them or because their minds have deteriorated that far. If he could do what he did to you… I’m afraid of what he might think to do to them.”
The wizard snorts, imagining Allerick thinking back fondly on this conversation whenever he needs an ego boost. What a vain, vain creature. He can’t decide whether or not he’s pleased about the thought of the vampire’s cold little heart warming to the words that just came out of his mouth, but at least they’ve served to amuse him for the moment.
But then the sweets come out, and Jon can’t be bothered to dwell on that anymore.
Delicate pastries that he’s heard of but never tried. Frozen cream treats that have a texture so smooth he never could have dreamed it up. Dense, coffee-soaked cake with silky toppings. Delicate, wide tarts with warm, decadent filling. In short: The man feels very much as though he’ll never see such a profound demonstration of culinary excellence again. At least, not one that he’ll be able to truly appreciate.
”Disgusting.” The wizard utters the word around a mouthful of cannoli, though it’s clear he isn’t talking about the dessert, seeing as he immediately takes another bite afterward. The delicate treats have obviously become a favorite, but still he shakes his head, continuing after he takes a moment to swallow the cannoli. ”He used you. You trusted him, and he abandoned you to become a tool for his own selfish gains. The more I learn about your father, the less I like him.”
The emotion he feels lies somewhere between rage and despair. He pities the boy before him. To have been betrayed and tossed aside by one’s own father like that… it’s a surprisingly familiar sentiment. As much as he hates to admit it, perhaps the two of them have more in common than he initially thought.
The wizard takes a moment to chew his lip, as opposed to one of the many desserts laid out before him, while he mulls over the vampire’s question.
”I do.” He finally says with a nod, recalling the wide open spaces the estate offers, and the sheer realness of the dream he is currently in. ”I think this place is fantastically equipped to care for them. Especially with what you can offer in terms of dreams. I have to keep reminding myself every few minutes that that is exactly what this is and nothing more… but I worry about your father. Leaving the archivists in the care of someone ruthless enough that they would lie to their own son and have him turned undead as a result makes me feel rather nervous about the whole thing. A good number of them don’t have much left in terms of free will, either because it’s been beat out of them or because their minds have deteriorated that far. If he could do what he did to you… I’m afraid of what he might think to do to them.”
“Of course there are cures. An open flame, perhaps, or a swift pass of your sword through my neck.” Allerick’s rejoinder is amused and continues to remain playful. He’s enjoying the wizard’s attention towards him and it shows. “Forgive me, Gionata, but if you make a lycanthrope whom you care for to drink silver in order to cure him, I am a bit wary of what you would suggest I—your adversary—should do to restore myself.”
A look of horror flashes across his face until he realizes Jonathan’s startling remark of disgust isn’t actually meant for the cannoli. He snorts softly and shrugs. “He was not the only one who gained that day. I cannot say I bitterly dislike what I have become… only that I might have chosen a different path, or later in my life, had I known I would travel it alone.”
He’s fairly beaming with pride throughout Jonathan’s praise of his childhood home and his own robust talents, but all of that fades quickly.
It’s not like Jonathan’s concerns are a personal attack, but he still looks crushed by the wizard’s loss of confidence in the idea. It has begun to grow on him in a way very few things do these days. He could almost imagine himself being happy, genuinely happy, caring for those miserable zombies. He can't lose the opportunity now.
“You have become so passionate on my behalf. It… touches me.”
Allerick wets his lips and considers his next words carefully. If this were the waking world, he could spin nearly anything as being true. But here it’s a different story. Here, Jonathan can feel as well as hear his lies. So he won’t try to slip one past him. The trouble is, the truth, when it means anything, is so foreign to him that it sounds more fake than one of his stories... He communicates it a bit haltingly.
“I wanted this existence for myself as much as he did, at least in theory. I only wish I would have known he would not be joining me after all. It was overwhelming, at first, like the relentless cold air forcing itself into a bawling newborn’s lungs. But I’m accustomed to it now. And I want to use what I gained from that night in the way you have described. I want… I want to help.”
Allerick busies himself with rearranging the roses and lilies in the vase on the table.
“You must meet my father before judging him. He may not be brave or noble, but he is far from cruel. Trust Gable’s word, if not mine.”
He sighs and gives up his fidgeting. The flowers look worse than when he began.
“I believe I have lost my appetite. I would rather have a different kind of drink this morning. Would you like to join me downstairs?”
A look of horror flashes across his face until he realizes Jonathan’s startling remark of disgust isn’t actually meant for the cannoli. He snorts softly and shrugs. “He was not the only one who gained that day. I cannot say I bitterly dislike what I have become… only that I might have chosen a different path, or later in my life, had I known I would travel it alone.”
He’s fairly beaming with pride throughout Jonathan’s praise of his childhood home and his own robust talents, but all of that fades quickly.
It’s not like Jonathan’s concerns are a personal attack, but he still looks crushed by the wizard’s loss of confidence in the idea. It has begun to grow on him in a way very few things do these days. He could almost imagine himself being happy, genuinely happy, caring for those miserable zombies. He can't lose the opportunity now.
“You have become so passionate on my behalf. It… touches me.”
Allerick wets his lips and considers his next words carefully. If this were the waking world, he could spin nearly anything as being true. But here it’s a different story. Here, Jonathan can feel as well as hear his lies. So he won’t try to slip one past him. The trouble is, the truth, when it means anything, is so foreign to him that it sounds more fake than one of his stories... He communicates it a bit haltingly.
“I wanted this existence for myself as much as he did, at least in theory. I only wish I would have known he would not be joining me after all. It was overwhelming, at first, like the relentless cold air forcing itself into a bawling newborn’s lungs. But I’m accustomed to it now. And I want to use what I gained from that night in the way you have described. I want… I want to help.”
Allerick busies himself with rearranging the roses and lilies in the vase on the table.
“You must meet my father before judging him. He may not be brave or noble, but he is far from cruel. Trust Gable’s word, if not mine.”
He sighs and gives up his fidgeting. The flowers look worse than when he began.
“I believe I have lost my appetite. I would rather have a different kind of drink this morning. Would you like to join me downstairs?”
”In my defense, that cure has never been tested on individuals with inherited lycanthropy. I did the best that I could with the materials that I had.” He crosses his arms indignantly, though it’s clear that his irritation is only surface-deep. Jon is well aware that the hemonated silver was a bad call. He just doesn’t like being reminded of it. But between Gable’s desperation and the needling insistence of Blackstaff, he had made that bad call anyway. ”Besides, I don’t know that I’d call you an adversary, per se. A nuisance, perhaps, but not a true adversary. But if you are happy with your current condition, far be it from me to try and change that. As long as you can keep from drawing the ire of my associates, there should be no problem.”
He can see the heaving seas of Allerick’s emotions clear as day here, each crest and trough as the wizard praises the estate and its offerings, and then expresses his concerns over the vampire’s father. He rather likes the honesty of it all. Next to the food, that will probably be what he misses most about this dream when he is inevitably forced to leave it behind. It’s so much easier to talk with Allerick when he doesn’t have to constantly wonder if he’s being lied to.
”I understand.” He says contemplatively as he leans forward and rests his forearms on the table between them. In spite of never actually feeling full, he finds that he too has lost his appetite. He’s also unsure of when the cannoli he had been in the middle of eating seemed to have disappeared, but such is the nature of dreams. ”I am sorry to have had such a negative impact on your mood. Unfortunately, no, I won’t be able to join you downstairs. I’ll need all the daylight I can get if I’m to hike back up the mountain today. I’m afraid I haven’t got enough food with me to last too much longer away from home.”
"But I will keep in mind what you said about your father. I’ll speak with Gable, hear his thoughts, and balance what the two of you say against the Keeper’s wishes, and we’ll see how things turn out. For the record, I do think it would be good to get some of the archivists into a place where they can be given more attentive care than they are receiving right now. Especially with what you can do for them in terms of dreams.”
Jonathan can’t help but stare wistfully at the remnants of the spread he’s practically gorged himself on. Part of him wants to invite Allerick to accompany him back home if only so that he can experience this again, but for Gable’s sanity, he won’t. Besides, the past few days have been stressful enough, having a vampire around that he can’t get rid of. Having that become his everyday situation… he’d start looking Pamoyan’s age before he hit his third century.
He can see the heaving seas of Allerick’s emotions clear as day here, each crest and trough as the wizard praises the estate and its offerings, and then expresses his concerns over the vampire’s father. He rather likes the honesty of it all. Next to the food, that will probably be what he misses most about this dream when he is inevitably forced to leave it behind. It’s so much easier to talk with Allerick when he doesn’t have to constantly wonder if he’s being lied to.
”I understand.” He says contemplatively as he leans forward and rests his forearms on the table between them. In spite of never actually feeling full, he finds that he too has lost his appetite. He’s also unsure of when the cannoli he had been in the middle of eating seemed to have disappeared, but such is the nature of dreams. ”I am sorry to have had such a negative impact on your mood. Unfortunately, no, I won’t be able to join you downstairs. I’ll need all the daylight I can get if I’m to hike back up the mountain today. I’m afraid I haven’t got enough food with me to last too much longer away from home.”
"But I will keep in mind what you said about your father. I’ll speak with Gable, hear his thoughts, and balance what the two of you say against the Keeper’s wishes, and we’ll see how things turn out. For the record, I do think it would be good to get some of the archivists into a place where they can be given more attentive care than they are receiving right now. Especially with what you can do for them in terms of dreams.”
Jonathan can’t help but stare wistfully at the remnants of the spread he’s practically gorged himself on. Part of him wants to invite Allerick to accompany him back home if only so that he can experience this again, but for Gable’s sanity, he won’t. Besides, the past few days have been stressful enough, having a vampire around that he can’t get rid of. Having that become his everyday situation… he’d start looking Pamoyan’s age before he hit his third century.
“Pah. Only a ‘nuisance?’ Then I shall have to try harder.” Allerick’s smile is the kind that can only be born from a true bubbling-up of happiness. It isn’t quite a full-on grin, but it is sincere, even if his threat is not. He smirks at Jonathan’s crossed arms and grumpy sensitivity, but makes a somewhat placating gesture. “I would consider your offer, Gionata, and possibly even trust you to carry it out. But it is the vampirism that has given my abilities their strength. How else could I manage to force myself upon a powerful mage such as yourself? This very room, the food you eat, and the wine I offer are all part of a hunting technique that compels a victim to go quietly; I simply turned it into artwork.”
The wizard’s rejection of his invitation to join him, however logical, stings a little. It pries at that hollow feeling in his chest and, where Jonathan’s friendliness towards him had begun to insulate him from his miserable thoughts, a cold draft seeps in again. He nods shallowly and makes no attempt at convincing him to stay. It’s probably best that he’s alone now, anyway.
“I understand. I will ease you awake now.”
The kitchen on the hill fades into darkness gently but quickly, every sound and smell becoming distant and inconsequential, as though Jonathan has fallen asleep yet again. When his eyes open in the real world, a rush of pleasant warmth and the impression of a long, restful, heavy nap greet him. The vampire is by the door, already twisting its knob. He speaks over his shoulder without looking back. The angle is just far enough for a keen eye to notice a watery streak down his face that beads on his chin.
“Thank you, Gionata.”
The door shuts behind him before the wizard has the chance to reply.
The wizard’s rejection of his invitation to join him, however logical, stings a little. It pries at that hollow feeling in his chest and, where Jonathan’s friendliness towards him had begun to insulate him from his miserable thoughts, a cold draft seeps in again. He nods shallowly and makes no attempt at convincing him to stay. It’s probably best that he’s alone now, anyway.
“I understand. I will ease you awake now.”
The kitchen on the hill fades into darkness gently but quickly, every sound and smell becoming distant and inconsequential, as though Jonathan has fallen asleep yet again. When his eyes open in the real world, a rush of pleasant warmth and the impression of a long, restful, heavy nap greet him. The vampire is by the door, already twisting its knob. He speaks over his shoulder without looking back. The angle is just far enough for a keen eye to notice a watery streak down his face that beads on his chin.
“Thank you, Gionata.”
The door shuts behind him before the wizard has the chance to reply.
Jonathan nods silently, really just to show he understands what the vampire intends to do. There’s nothing he can really say to Allerick at this point. He’s made up his mind, down to the tavern he will go, and the wizard will not join him. At least he got a nap and a dream out of the arrangement.
He drinks in a deep, refreshing breath when he stirs. Heaviness still clings to his limbs, and his mouth tastes atrocious, as if he’s just awoken from a much needed nap. Still vaguely disoriented, the wizard’s head turns toward the door just in time to catch Allerick’s farewell… and the subtle shine of wetness on his cheek. His tongue still sticks in his mouth, and so he doesn’t have the chance to respond before the vampire disappears into the hallway, but he gets the feeling that the younger man doesn’t intend to see him again any time soon. Much as he wants to say that thought doesn’t bother him, there’s something in his gut that twists sourly at the notion.
But he puts that unpleasantness behind him, for now. As it stands he’s left his estate without himself at the helm for far too long. Even if getting himself moving is slow going, because unfortunately his old bones are hesitant to abandon the freedom the dream state had offered, he pushes onward. In less than an hour, has his things packed, himself bundled up in the heavy cloak that dried by the hearth overnight, and his snowshoes on his feet as he sets out into the cold winter morning.
With any luck, he’ll be home before supper time.
-
Her colleague must have been through town recently, if the way the inn feels when Ramona walks in is any indication. She doesn't know it, but she's only missed him by mere minutes, walking the same floorboards he did not an hour before as she pays for her room and heads for the tavern. The space is largely empty this time of day, with only a handful of travelers stopping for a bite to eat before hitting the road, now that the storm has let up enough for them to do so. Who knows how long they've been stuck here, the poor things.
As much as she would love to eat the same pre-made-and-frozen-in-time plate of eggs and sausages she's been breaking her fast on for the past week, the smell of bacon and fresh biscuits wafting out from the kitchen is too good to resist. In no time, she's collected a plate of the aforementioned, alongside a serving of fluffy scrambled eggs and two slices of toast.
She sits near the hearth, content enough with warming her old bones while she eats. The Three Coons isn't exactly world-renown, as far as inns go, but she certainly gets the job done.
He drinks in a deep, refreshing breath when he stirs. Heaviness still clings to his limbs, and his mouth tastes atrocious, as if he’s just awoken from a much needed nap. Still vaguely disoriented, the wizard’s head turns toward the door just in time to catch Allerick’s farewell… and the subtle shine of wetness on his cheek. His tongue still sticks in his mouth, and so he doesn’t have the chance to respond before the vampire disappears into the hallway, but he gets the feeling that the younger man doesn’t intend to see him again any time soon. Much as he wants to say that thought doesn’t bother him, there’s something in his gut that twists sourly at the notion.
But he puts that unpleasantness behind him, for now. As it stands he’s left his estate without himself at the helm for far too long. Even if getting himself moving is slow going, because unfortunately his old bones are hesitant to abandon the freedom the dream state had offered, he pushes onward. In less than an hour, has his things packed, himself bundled up in the heavy cloak that dried by the hearth overnight, and his snowshoes on his feet as he sets out into the cold winter morning.
With any luck, he’ll be home before supper time.
-
Her colleague must have been through town recently, if the way the inn feels when Ramona walks in is any indication. She doesn't know it, but she's only missed him by mere minutes, walking the same floorboards he did not an hour before as she pays for her room and heads for the tavern. The space is largely empty this time of day, with only a handful of travelers stopping for a bite to eat before hitting the road, now that the storm has let up enough for them to do so. Who knows how long they've been stuck here, the poor things.
As much as she would love to eat the same pre-made-and-frozen-in-time plate of eggs and sausages she's been breaking her fast on for the past week, the smell of bacon and fresh biscuits wafting out from the kitchen is too good to resist. In no time, she's collected a plate of the aforementioned, alongside a serving of fluffy scrambled eggs and two slices of toast.
She sits near the hearth, content enough with warming her old bones while she eats. The Three Coons isn't exactly world-renown, as far as inns go, but she certainly gets the job done.
Alabaster cheeks stained with tears, eyes lidded with the faintest blush of pink, Allerick approaches the bar in his slim black suit looking like a beautiful, if tragic, angel of death. Glossy black bangs fall into his eyes while he murmurs his order to the tap mistress behind the bar. Her expression is one of shock when she turns to see the young man, so vibrant the night before, looking like a haggard raven caught in a rainstorm.
“Are you sure I can’t fix you some eggs with that, sweetie?”
He shakes his head slowly to her offer. “Just the wine. The whole bottle, per favore, senora, and a tin cup to warm it in.”
When she has obliged his requests, the young vampire slinks towards the hearth with the sullen grace of a lean panther who, though starving, could never be divorced from the regality of an apex predator. His gaze, pale and clear like prasiolite, lands briefly on the woman seated there and dances from her handsome, keen face to the pleasant arrangement of her thick white hair, then downwards over the rest of her smallish body. He’d die before he admitted it to himself or anyone else, but it strikes him that she looks rather comfortable to hug. Seeing her there, nestled comfortably in the chair beside the fire, almost makes him wish he had someone exactly like her who would let him get close enough to nuzzle in these short, brutal winter days.
Prostitutes don’t hug. They get nervous when their clients weep.
He pours his wine into the tin, then uses a set of nearby tongs to set it in the embers beside the hearth’s burning grate. Hot spiced wine is perhaps the most comforting and constant friend a man like him could hope for. He has accepted this fact.
Allerick’s long limbs fold up underneath him as he sits on his feet, knees and hands dangerously close to the open flames. He remains like that for some time. Perfectly still. Silent. Unblinking. Then he pulls the tin away before the alcohol can boil out of the drink. He scoops the cup into his hands with a borrowed bar towel and his dark, thick lashes flutter shut in the ecstasy of his first sip.
“Are you sure I can’t fix you some eggs with that, sweetie?”
He shakes his head slowly to her offer. “Just the wine. The whole bottle, per favore, senora, and a tin cup to warm it in.”
When she has obliged his requests, the young vampire slinks towards the hearth with the sullen grace of a lean panther who, though starving, could never be divorced from the regality of an apex predator. His gaze, pale and clear like prasiolite, lands briefly on the woman seated there and dances from her handsome, keen face to the pleasant arrangement of her thick white hair, then downwards over the rest of her smallish body. He’d die before he admitted it to himself or anyone else, but it strikes him that she looks rather comfortable to hug. Seeing her there, nestled comfortably in the chair beside the fire, almost makes him wish he had someone exactly like her who would let him get close enough to nuzzle in these short, brutal winter days.
Prostitutes don’t hug. They get nervous when their clients weep.
He pours his wine into the tin, then uses a set of nearby tongs to set it in the embers beside the hearth’s burning grate. Hot spiced wine is perhaps the most comforting and constant friend a man like him could hope for. He has accepted this fact.
Allerick’s long limbs fold up underneath him as he sits on his feet, knees and hands dangerously close to the open flames. He remains like that for some time. Perfectly still. Silent. Unblinking. Then he pulls the tin away before the alcohol can boil out of the drink. He scoops the cup into his hands with a borrowed bar towel and his dark, thick lashes flutter shut in the ecstasy of his first sip.
The young man who comes to warm his mug of wine by the fire seems… out of place.
It doesn’t take long for her to realize why. Pale skin, ice-like eyes, the sharp, almost gaunt lines of his face. That alone is enough to clue her in, but the ashy scent of crypt dust and metallic blood that comes off him in waves only serves to confirm her suspicions. This young fellow is a vampire, and not newly turned either, or she doubts he’d be in full control of himself at the moment. He has a look of hunger about him, but it’s not desperate. At least not yet.
He’s well-dressed, which is interesting to note. It’s far from the style found locally. He’s clearly an out-of-towner. Maybe that’s why she could sense Jonathan’s presence. A leech on the doorstep would be a good reason for any one of their order to investigate, the things could multiply like roaches if not kept in check. But the fact that this one is still alive (inasmuch as he can be) and upright must mean one of two things: Either Jonathan has already done his investigation and determined that the vampire doesn’t pose a threat, or the creature has somehow managed to evade her colleague entirely. Only one way to find out.
“Pardon the intrusion, but you seem to be imbibing the wrong liquid this morning, gravewalker.” Ramona says, a sly smirk playing across her face as she watches him sip his warmed wine, with air of self-pity permeating his demeanor. It’s all rather pathetic really. She picks up a slice of crispy bacon and has a bite, her expression morphing into something a little softer. “Did your breakfast run away from you, darling? Or did a big nasty wizard come by and ruin your day with some bad news?”
It doesn’t take long for her to realize why. Pale skin, ice-like eyes, the sharp, almost gaunt lines of his face. That alone is enough to clue her in, but the ashy scent of crypt dust and metallic blood that comes off him in waves only serves to confirm her suspicions. This young fellow is a vampire, and not newly turned either, or she doubts he’d be in full control of himself at the moment. He has a look of hunger about him, but it’s not desperate. At least not yet.
He’s well-dressed, which is interesting to note. It’s far from the style found locally. He’s clearly an out-of-towner. Maybe that’s why she could sense Jonathan’s presence. A leech on the doorstep would be a good reason for any one of their order to investigate, the things could multiply like roaches if not kept in check. But the fact that this one is still alive (inasmuch as he can be) and upright must mean one of two things: Either Jonathan has already done his investigation and determined that the vampire doesn’t pose a threat, or the creature has somehow managed to evade her colleague entirely. Only one way to find out.
“Pardon the intrusion, but you seem to be imbibing the wrong liquid this morning, gravewalker.” Ramona says, a sly smirk playing across her face as she watches him sip his warmed wine, with air of self-pity permeating his demeanor. It’s all rather pathetic really. She picks up a slice of crispy bacon and has a bite, her expression morphing into something a little softer. “Did your breakfast run away from you, darling? Or did a big nasty wizard come by and ruin your day with some bad news?”
If not for that impish smirk, which stirs something odd and fluttery in his stomach that he feels suspicious towards, Allerick would bristle at the tease. As it stands, he simply stares back at the woman like some apathetic street cat who will not be tempted to accept the bait and trap of a stranger.
Until she calls him ‘darling’ and mentions a wizard.
Here he perks up a little, both out of curiosity and a stirring of fondness for the old man who thinks of him as an artist. Still cautious, but too intrigued to help himself, Allerick holds the tin cup a little closer to his chest and inquires, “Do you speak of il mago sulla collina? Gionata Eris?”
A thin but proud smile forms on his lips when she confirms. His chest puffs out, just slightly. “I am the Maestro’s trusted Dream Architect, and he is not so big and nasty as he would like you to think.”
“Gionata was to provide breakfast for me, but he is old and has a long walk ahead of him. I will not ask for what he does not have. …But you seem quite healthy.” Here his smile warms a little and he brushes his hair out of his eyes. He offers the remaining half-cup of wine to the woman, but gestures for a slice of her bacon in return.
Until she calls him ‘darling’ and mentions a wizard.
Here he perks up a little, both out of curiosity and a stirring of fondness for the old man who thinks of him as an artist. Still cautious, but too intrigued to help himself, Allerick holds the tin cup a little closer to his chest and inquires, “Do you speak of il mago sulla collina? Gionata Eris?”
A thin but proud smile forms on his lips when she confirms. His chest puffs out, just slightly. “I am the Maestro’s trusted Dream Architect, and he is not so big and nasty as he would like you to think.”
“Gionata was to provide breakfast for me, but he is old and has a long walk ahead of him. I will not ask for what he does not have. …But you seem quite healthy.” Here his smile warms a little and he brushes his hair out of his eyes. He offers the remaining half-cup of wine to the woman, but gestures for a slice of her bacon in return.
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