People cried when they lost someone they loved. They tended to scream, thrash out and say all sorts of stupid things that they didn't mean anyway. But Gannen wasn't most people. He hadn't been 'most people' for quite some time now-the sheen of his purple skin was testimony to that.

The candlelight ricocheted off his eyes, making them glitter like garnets. It had been over three hours since the battle near the circus of freaks. Three hours where Gannen had just sat thinking. Thinking about things long past-too far away that the details were blurred so sometimes he wasn't sure if what he was remembering actually happened or his mind was just filling in gaps.

Vancha. He had hoped, when it first happened, that they'd meet again, even though it had been forbidden. And over time, Gannen had learnt not to cry, not to say a word. Because really, his brother may as well be dead, but it was all the more painful that he wasn't.

He looked at his sword, glimmering in the yellow light. It was a fine sword and he'd killed with it many times. Vampires, humans, there was no difference. Vampires were weak. That meant Vancha was weak, but Gannen knew that wasn't true. At least, he knew it wasn't true for the Vancha he knew. Vancha was a vampire, a vampire Prince no less, the embodiment of what the vampaneze hated about them. Gannen looked at his sword and winced. He served and protected, that was his job. Vancha had nothing to do with it. If it ever came down to it, Gannen could never choose his alienated brother over the clan, never.

Gannen sighed miserably. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to get up and leave, walk out on Steve and his madness and go talk to his brother. But the main thing that the last three hundred years had done was relieve him of any impulsiveness he might have had. He couldn't, just couldn't.

Someone was standing behind him-it was Steve.

"Still moping over the jungle man?" he laughed. Gannen's clenched his fist, but Steve didn't notice. "Isn't it ironic: your brother showing up? I'd be willing to bet Tiny set it up himself. He's good..."

"And what do you think you know of it?" Gannen said softly.

"Oh come on Gannen, lighten up! You haven't seen Vancha in what, a thousand years?"

"It seems like that."

"Well then what's the big deal? We'll kill him along with the others. What difference does it make?" Steve sighed exaggeratedly. "Looks like I have to do everything myself as usual!"

Gannen spun around. "You ingrate! You foul, obnoxious child! What do you know about anything except how to ruin and destroy! Your mother must have cursed the day she gave birth to you!"

Steve was stunned; Gannen had never lost it before. And he wasn't finished.

"I do not know how a cretin like you will save our clan. All I ask is that when this is over; kill me so I don't have to put up with the shame!" He pointed his sword at Steve, who obediently moved to the side, his face blank with shock.

Gannen didn't walk very far. He sheathed his sword, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. Perhaps he and Vancha were a bit like Remus and Romulus. They'd both helped to build their own empires. And now they would tear each other's down.

Very short, I know-but it was a fleeting idea. Always welcome the reviews!