Author's Notes: I edited this when I was on the road home from checking out my prospective college (Which apparently has caught the interest of my father, and he's hard to impress, so it seems I'll be going there after all. Woohoo.) It's at least two hours away from home, but it's in the same state, so I don't have to pay extra tuition charges, lucky me. I just hope I can get my grades up in time…
As I was saying, I edited this on the road. Since I get terribly carsick if I read in the car, and I had done an essay just before this, there might be some flaws I missed. I apologize for that, and if you catch them, feel free to rant at me. I doubt I'll get around to fixing them, but it's nice to know someone else is paying attention to my grammar besides me. Space Cadet me needs as much help as I can get. (laughs) Enjoy.
Chapter 10: I'm feeling motion sick…
Year of Three Emperors
London, England
Year 1888 A.D.
It was dark in the room when he opened his eyes. The fire had died down to embers and the thick curtains were drawn against the sun, but he was tucked into the burrow he'd dug into the sheets, sharing his warmth with the usually chill vampire who was wrapped around him. Chest to chest, the body beside him was still, not even breathing, lacking a heartbeat. The black head was tucked between his chin and collarbone, silent and calming by its presence, its familiarity. The edge of such close proximity was negated by the sense that while they were alone, the vampire couldn't physically hurt him without suffering backlash.
"You're awake." A gust of cold breath hit his shoulder and his sighed.
"Ja, and you too…"
"I never went to sleep," the vampire stated. He could feel the smiled against his skin, just the barest movement of lips. He pulled out of the vampire's grasp, resting again several centimeters away. He squinted into the dark, studying the vampire's face in the dim glow. Déjà vu, but he got that a lot. Time always overlapped; if you lived long enough, you'd know…you'd learn.
"We're still leaving? The boat sails this evening," Rothen said as he reached out to brush the long hair from his master's copper eyes. The vampire nodded the affirmative and turned his head to nip gently at the fingers.
"Later," the other said, reaching over the pull the werewolf back in his arms. Rothen could feel the vampire's too-long nose burrow into his hair and breathe in his scent, the chilly fingers gripping gently around him, holding him rather than holding him back. There was rarely a need to hold him back anymore.
"I'm tired," Vladimir's voice came again, softening the syllables on his half-sleeping state, blowing the fur on his ears.
"Then sleep, Master."
Sin virus.
Hell and damnation vicars, shouting from their podiums, thumping their bibles like the madmen they were.
Rothen didn't like them, didn't like the noise and clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut against the oncoming headache that London was constantly pressing on him. Vladimir didn't seem to notice, his fingers twisting the long locks of his raven hair as he stared reflectively out the window of their carriage, watching London town pass before him. He looked sad, like he would miss it and would come back someday. Rothen expected as much, the vampire had had much fun here, but he was not so keen to return any time soon.
Their boat was leaving right before sunset, a small cruise liner that was popular for skirting around France and through the Mediterranean. It was larger than the last ship they had traveled o n, a trip in 1560 to France, but it seemed far less seaworthy. Rothen didn't trust something made entirely of metal to really float, and his nose rebelled the scent of iron he thought he had just escaped.
Now he would be encased in it.
Their tickets had been bought the day before, their luggage transferred from the house to carriage to shipyard to storage a few hours before their arrival. When the carriage stopped, they stumbled up the gangplank and locked themselves in their cabin. Vladimir was muttering about the human body odor fuming from the tiny bed, but Rothen ignored him and opened the window to let in the fresh air so his sense of smell wouldn't make him ill.
He pressed his forehead against the rim of the round window and breathed in deeply, taking in the vague smell of steel and iron and ancient London, the stink of seamen and the rotten wood of the wharfs and the tang of salt…he hadn't missed any of it. The vampire would be sick the while way and Rothen would have to deal with his snappish attitude without complaint, discreetly picking off the cats and mice to keep himself in good humor while his master groaned from starvation and seasickness.
Vladimir stripped the bed and then himself, laying down and pulling the spare blanket they had dragged from their bed that morning over his nudity, tucking his head in the crook of his arm. Rothen adjusted the chair so it sat nest to the bed and piled books and sketchpads and journals and pencils by the bowl on the nightstand and on the floor by the bed when no more would fit. The vampire didn't move.
"Perhaps you'd like to watch the launce?" the werewolf suggested. The vampire turned his face into his arm and sighed.
"I'd rather not," came his muffled voice, "You go enjoy yourself, I know how you'll celebrate leaving England."
Rothen's mouth twitched in a slight smile, ducking his head so his chin rested against his chest. The vampire knew him too well, nothing surprised him. He picked up his own battered and frayed sketchbook and tucked a pencil into the bindings and softly got to his feet.
"Of course I'll celebrate, we're going home," the werewolf said, hearing his smile din his tone. He was sure the vampire could too. A huffed laughed answered him.
"Only a dog would be so excited to go back to that dilapidated wreck of a castle."
"Naturally."
Rothen shut the door and silently climbed up the stairs, stumbling like a drunkard. He was not made for the sea. His legs faltered like a toddlers, but that wasn't so embarrassing now, not anymore. One stopped getting embarrassed about one's shortcomings when one was as old as he was.
He glanced around once he had reached the main deck, blinking the last remains of sunshine that burned like fiery magnesium in his master's experiments. Vampires were too curious for such demented legends, not at all like the werewolf clans, who were content with their spoken lore and didn't much care about geometry or science. Their few gods didn't stand for the way things worked in the world, nor for an afterlife or rebirth as trees in the forests, or rocks or streams or animals. They just didn't care, they were happier not knowing.
It was one reason why Rothen had never bothered himself to learn how to read. Surely he would curl up on his side of the beaten couch and listen to his master read aloud and would in turn tell his own tales and the tales of his tribes, but that was hardly the same thing.
He planted himself on a small bench by the railing, his stomach twisting slightly at the rock of the ship below his feet and dropped his hat onto his head to cover his ears. It was too hot a day to be wearing such a long coat, but he had to, lest his tail would be seen, and what a stir that would cause!
He sighed and flipped open his sketchbook, settling it into his lap, a blank, creamy page waiting for his next inspiration to take him. It came in the form of the shadows playing across the face of an elderly woman and her adult daughter, the way their hats and skirts flitted about in the wind and the soft expressions in their distant-looking eyes as they stared out to see, not looking back like the other people were to wave off friends and family. In his head, he was already making up a story about them speculating and wondering if it would serve as some small means of entertainment for his master. One could never tell.
He finished the sketch before the last dregs of sunlight filtered out of the moon-lit tea of night, and shut his sketchbook and contentedly made his way back to his and his master's cabin.
The vampire was dozing when he stepped in and did not start awake when he latched the door. Rothen checked the bowl if it needed dumping and was relieved that it did not. If his master was sick so soon after departure, they'd have to get off in France and travel by land to Romania, which would take weeks neither wanted to waste. Rothen set his sketchbook down on top of a pile by the bed and settled down in the chair, leaning his head back against the tallest rung and closing his eyes to rest.
He would've slept better on the floor, but he needed to stay awake enough so he could help his master when needed.
It was going to be a long trip.
Author's Notes: (frolics in la la writer land) I need to get more sleep…(crashes from caffeine high)
To My Readers:
LunaTheLunatic:Yes, I was addressing your spelling…but not to worry, the twitching will die down eventually. I'm just anal, pay me no mind. Thank you for your ardent reviews, though, they are appreciated.
As for the question about how long this fanfiction will be…
It'll end when it ends. I can disclose no more information. Sorry, Lovely, you'll just have to read more.
kikonisha: Thank you! I'm glad you're liking it! I'm afraid it isn't entirely historically accurate, though. I'm a bit timid after the whole Wikipedia incident a while back and I'm only pulling random facts that suit my fancy at the time.
About the translations…Babel Fish garbles everything, not just German. I used it for Italian a while ago and it really screwed it up. I appreciate your offer, but I think it would just take too long for me to send the text to you and have you send it back translated. That and I hate my email account…
In college I will be taking up a German Language course, so I could use the story to work on my translations, but until then, I think I'll stick with Babel Fish, to keep life simple.
Chinese Dragon Keeper: Yes, I have other fics. May I ask if you're at all familiar with this website? I have a profile name, a hyperlink that will take you directly to my profile and you can look up the other fics yourself.