This is totally uninspired and not very well written, but I've had MASSIVE writer's block so I wanted to throw something out to see if I can get back into the swing of things! This is intended as an introduction so it isn't massively exciting (I'm selling it really well I know) but hopefully something good will come out of it in the end...
Paris was a strict master, but occasionally he allowed Arrow leave to roam as he wished while he was attending to something important. Arrow had never been to Vampire Mountain, but he understood that his mentor held an important position there, and understood that he occasionally had things to deal with while they were on the road together. He assumed, when he awoke as the sun was setting and Paris was nowhere to be found, that this was one of those nights. He never knew what the old vampire got up to while he was away, and he didn't ask – Paris was private by nature and didn't enjoy being questioned – and truthfully, he enjoyed his rare breaks from his master's ever-watchful eyes.
This period of peace lasted only for one night, this time. Arrow roamed the hills as he wished, caught a fox to eat and continued his training as best as he could without instruction. As he awoke, after sleeping a little late, Paris crouched beside him. Arrow assumed that he was about to be reprimanded for oversleeping, and he jolted upright guiltily, but then he noticed that Paris' turquoise eyes were filled with something that wasn't anger.
"I am leaving again," he said, wincing as though he wasn't looking forward to his next trip. Arrow longed to know the secrets of his mentor's world but, as always, he kept his mouth shut. He didn't like to anger the man he considered a father, and he trusted that if Paris considered it appropriate one day he would let him in on his mysteries.
For a moment, the silver-haired vampire looked unusually uncomfortable. He brushed a few stray strands of his grey hair away from his eyes and pressed his lips together.
"We have a visitor," he said, and Arrow craned his neck to try and see who it was. Paris snapped his fingers to attract his attention again. "I would appreciate it if you would keep an eye on him while I am gone."
This seemed like an appropriate time for a question. "Who is it?" Arrow asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had met a variety of Paris' friends over the years that they had travelled together, and he did not relish the idea of spending a lot of time with some of the older, more boring ones.
Paris pressed his lips together, and suddenly Arrow realized that something wasn't quite right. Paris was rarely raucously cheerful, but he rarely looked so concerned either. He had always been level-headed, and he had lived for so long that very little seemed to concern him. Now that Arrow was wide awake, he was becoming acutely aware of the way his eyes seemed duller than usual, the way the lines around his mouth were more pronounced than normal. He seemed to take a moment to think before he responded.
"Calling him a visitor may have been incorrect," he said, and now Arrow knew something was wrong. Paris never misspoke. "He will be here permanently. Like you, he will be my assistant."
Arrow opened his mouth to speak, and promptly closed it again. He was naturally less composed than Paris, but he was trying to be more like his wise master and consider his words before they came out of his mouth. The idea of having another assistant around both worried him and pleased him, and he wasn't sure which of those feelings he should portray.
Paris straightened up and looked over the hills, towards the nearest human dwelling.
"You must watch him while I am away," he said. "I am trusting you to take good care of him."
Arrow was fumbling over so many questions that he wasn't sure which one he wanted to come out with first. Paris seemed to sense his indecision, and gave his shoulder a comforting grasp.
"I do not have time for a lengthy discussion," he said apologetically. "But I promise we can discuss your thoughts when I return. In the meantime, will you make sure that he is taken care of until I return? I will not be more than a couple of nights."
Dumbstruck, Arrow nodded. Satisfied with that, Paris gave him a brief smile and then gathered up a couple of supplies and started off again into the woods. When he was a few feet away, Arrow clambered up to his feet and stretched. Now that his eyes were focused, he could see the outline of another man sitting at the edge of their little makeshift camp, facing the other way. He waited for a moment for his new companion to turn around, but it seemed like he was lost in his thoughts.
There was a strange feeling somewhere inside him that Arrow couldn't give a name to, but he understood it to some extent. He had never had friends, as such, or family, like other human children did. He had expected to feel concerned about having to share Paris' attention, but after a few moments he realized that he wasn't really worried about that at all. Instead, he was eager to finally make a friend.
He crossed the clearing and fetched up a rock and one of Paris' bags on his way there. Unsure of how to proceed, he settled down next to the space where he had created a fire the night before, a few feet away from the other man. He could see the profile of his face now, framed by black hair, but he couldn't catch his gaze. He was tracing his index finger over the new scars on the fingertips of his left hand, and then clenching both fists tight and looking up at the trees again in the same direction Paris had gone.
He waited for a long couple of minutes, and then finally cleared his throat. This couldn't possibly be as difficult as it seemed.
"Hi," he started, trying to sound friendly. "I'm Arrow. What's your name?"
The other boy's shoulders moved slightly, as if he didn't want to be interrupted. Then, mercifully, he turned his head slightly to acknowledge the voice.
"Mika," he snapped, without meeting his eyes, and then turned back again.
Arrow waited for a few more moments, expecting more, but nothing happened. He awkwardly drew one of the knives from his mentor's bag and set it down in front of him, trying to remember times that he had witnessed other people introducing themselves previously. Socialising hadn't yet been part of his training.
"How old are you?" Arrow asked eventually, investing this rare moment of spare time in sharpening his mentor's knives, making sure each one was polished and clean.
The younger boy said nothing. He continued staring out into the forest, as though he was expecting something extremely exciting to happen in the trees.
"I'm going to hazard a guess that you're sixteen, or seventeen," Arrow continued, trying not to be put off by the youngster's silence. "I was blooded when I was eighteen. Do you want to guess how long ago that was?"
He stared for a moment at his strange companion, as if allowing him a second to judge his age from his face – he hadn't bothered looking at him much so far.
"Twelve years," he blurted, feeling awkward when he didn't bother to look. "I'm thirty, but I still look basically the same as I did back then."
Mika said nothing, still. His head shifted slightly, a tiny nod of acknowledgement. That was a start.
"Paris is coming back," Arrow continued, laying the knife aside for now, watching the way the dark haired boy's eyes scanned the forest so intently. "He's gone to feed. He hasn't left."
Finally, it seemed that Mika's patience had run out. "I know," he growled, barely louder than a whisper. "I'm not looking for him."
Delighted by the response, however rude it had been, Arrow crossed the clearing to take a seat on the log Mika was currently occupying.
"What else are you looking at?" he asked, squinting into the dark. "We're in the middle of the woods. There's nothing here but animals."
"Go away," Mika hissed.
Arrow waited for a few moments, but didn't move. He noticed that the younger boy scooted almost imperceptibly along another few inches, just to preserve as much space between them as possible. He was slightly offended, but he remembered what it had been like in his first few weeks as an assistant. The adjustment period was difficult.
"I know it's dark," he said, keeping his tone low. "But we're safe here."
This time, Mika slammed a fist down onto the log next to him, so hard that Arrow wasn't sure whether the subsequent crack was the sound of the bark or his hand that had broken.
"I know the concept is probably foreign to you," he snarled. "But I'm thinking. I don't want to speak to you."
This time, Arrow felt himself losing sympathy.
"I'm just saying," he said, voice raising back to its normal volume. "That I know it's strange when you go from being human to spending all of your time in the wilderness in the dark. When I was first blooded, I –"
"I'm not scared of the fucking dark!" Mika cried, whirling on him. It was the first time their eyes had properly connected. His were so black that it was impossible to see where his pupils ended and his irises began in the dark. He had a sharp, pronounced jawline and such thin lips that it was hard to imagine him ever smiling.
"What is your problem, then?" Arrow asked, trying to keep his temper. He prided himself on being level-headed and understanding of others, and he rarely lost his temper or held a grudge over anything. He was determined that no matter how insufferable he seemed, he would be able to get along with Paris' new assistant. He waited for an answer, but none came, so after a moment, he nudged his new companion with his knee. Mika flinched so mightily that it was as though he might have struck him.
"I'm thinking about my family."
The admission took Arrow off guard, so much so that for a second it didn't even register. After that, he sat perfectly still, waiting for Mika to continue, but nothing else came.
"Are you sorry you left them?" he asked, after a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence.
"I didn't leave them," Mika replied, eyes closed. "No more questions."
Arrow made a split-second decision to ignore that last comment.
"I didn't have a family, before I was blooded," he said, deciding that he might be able to crack Mika's bizarre shell by telling him the bare bones of his story. There were parts that he wouldn't mention, not now and not ever, but he could tell a skeleton version of events after twelve years without it choking him up like it had done at the start. "I had a master, instead, but a different type. Either way, I missed –"
"I'm not sure how I gave you any indication that I cared about this," Mika interrupted. "But I'd like to make it clear now that I don't."
Arrow was taken aback this time. That had actually stung. He was not particularly open about his past, and all he wanted was for Mika to stop being so horrible – he wasn't here to be insulted. Arrow had been thick-skinned for a long time, and so he eventually just shook his head and sighed sadly.
"We're going to be spending a lot of time together," he remarked, standing again and moving to sit elsewhere. Mika visibly relaxed, as though he had been waiting for that. Arrow felt sad for the younger man, but he also felt wounded, and he had to fight to keep his tone even. "If you want to talk to me, I am not going anywhere anytime soon."
With that, knowing that Paris hadn't given him any tasks to complete that night, he decided to have a brief rest and stare up at the stars. He knew that if Mika ran off into the woods and got himself killed that Paris wouldn't be impressed with him, so he couldn't leave the surly new vampire to his own devices completely, but he lay on the cool grass several feet away and looked to the sky for the next couple of hours, becoming comfortable in the silence. He didn't turn to look at Mika again – and if he had, he would only have seen his dark eyes trained toward the trees all night, like they had been from the start.